in a trance.
Jon looked all around. The hairs on the back of his neck were starting to rise. They’d had fairly good luck so far. Now was not the time to test it. “Dr. Thayer? Your turn. You go next.”
“Yes,” he murmured. “My turn. Astounding. Truly astounding. I used to be a big Dodgers fan. I understand they’re no longer in Brooklyn.” He looked at Jon.
“They’re in Los Angeles now.” Jon pulled him toward the passageway. “The Giants left New York, too. They’re in San Francisco.”
“The Giants in San Francisco?” Thayer shook his head. “I’m going to have a lot to get used to.”
“Come on, sir,” Jon said. “Down you go.”
“It’s odd, but I’m reluctant. Foolish, aren’t I? My mind and heart are very full.” He straightened his spine. Years seemed to fall from him, and he stepped to the fence, dropped stiffly to his knees, and crawled under. Jon immediately followed, and Chiavelli once more protected their rear, gazing carefully all around.
“Can you run, sir?” Jon asked urgently.
Behind them, the Uighers were already covering the wood squares with dirt again. Ahead, Asgar was dashing across the open space toward the trees. Jon and Chiavelli helped Thayer to his feet and finally got him to run. The stars seemed particularly bright. Too bright. At last, when they entered the safety of the forest, Jon felt as if he had just won the gold ring on the biggest carousel. They had gotten the old man out of prison. Now the trick would be to keep him out, keep him safe, and get him to America.
They stopped in a grove so Thayer could catch his breath. Sweat streamed down his face, but he was smiling broadly. He pressed a hand to his chest and inhaled raggedly. “I never managed an escape before. I tried.”
They stood in a knot, sheltered all around by trees, waiting for him to recover, as they watched uneasily everywhere. An animal scurried away through the underbrush, heading north. Thayer never stopped smiling, even as he panted. His brown teeth were dark in his face. Some were chipped and broken. Two of his fingers were crooked, as if they had been broken but never splinted, so had healed wrong, perhaps after torture.
The heaving in Thayer’s chest slowed at last, and they ran on.
Chapter Forty
The mood in the tomblike situation room was tense. An electric tension that sapped at nerves already frayed. Throughout the morning, the assembled joint chiefs, service secretaries, National Security Adviser, secretaries of state and defense, the vice president, Charles Ouray, and the president himself had been discussing, sometimes heatedly, the rapidly approaching moment when a decision would have to be made whether to board the Empress and risk a military confrontation with China. After each had summarized his readiness, Secretary of Defense Stanton brought up the larger matter of long-range strategies and appropriations. It was then that General Guerrero had reiterated what he called the army’s obvious need to enlarge their quicker, lighter concept to include heavy weapons for sustained campaigns against strong forces over large areas. He cited several examples of weapons, including the Protector mobile artillery unit, as vital to be approved and put into production. “You’re alone on this today,” the president told him. “At the moment we have a crisis to face that none of that can help us with.”
The general nodded agreement. “Yessir, you’re right.”
The president turned to Admiral Brose. “What can you give us, Stevens, that’ll make the Chinese and their submarine back off before all hell breaks loose?”
“Not very much, sir,” the admiral admitted, his tone uncharacteristically gloomy.
Air Force General Kelly said, “For God’s sake, Brose, you’ve got the whole damned Fifth Fleet out there. One carrier-based Viking, or even a Hornet, should scare the crap out of them.”
Secretary Stanton chimed in, “Doesn’t the Crowe have antisub choppers, Admiral?”
“Yes, to both comments,” Brose said. “Or was it three? In any event, what you gentlemen seem to forget is that this isn’t a military question, it’s a political nightmare. We have far more weapons than we’d need if we could attack. Hell, barring advanced capabilities we’re not aware of on that sub, the Crowe can juggle the situation on its own on at least an equal basis. But attacking first is precisely what we can’t do. Isn’t that so, Mr. President?”
“In a nutshell,” the president agreed.
“So what I have to offer is a cruiser. I’ve got the Shilo steaming full tilt. If it can get there in time, that might scare them off.”
The president nodded calmly. This was to be expected and did not especially disturb him. His manner exuded quiet confidence, except for his right hand. The fingers drummed reflexively on the table in front of him. “Thank you, Stevens. All right, where do we stand? Our attempt to secure proof of the Empress’s potentially lethal cargo by using the SEALs failed. We can’t attack first, or we’ll lose what credibility we have left that we’re a nation that wants only peace and respects the rule of international law. I am, of course, still pursuing diplomatic avenues. But that pretty much exhausts our options, with one exception.” He paused to choose his words carefully, while his fingers continued their reflexive drumming. “Earlier, I mentioned an ongoing intelligence operation designed to secure proof of the cargo. I can report that I have high hopes of a successful conclusion to that effort, within hours.”
The buzz in the room was excited. Emily Powell-Hill asked, “How many hours, sir?”
“Can’t say for certain. You should know that the effort is inside China, and of course it’s risky. Plus, there are enormous difficulties in running a mission on the other side of the world as well as having to contend with the vast distances of China.”
“May I ask who’s making this effort, Mr. President?” the vice president asked. “I’m sure all of us would like to pray for their safety and success.”
“Sorry, Brandon, I’m not going to reveal that. I can tell you our man’s close to success, but how close I can’t be certain. Which leaves us faced with a simple, if potentially devastating decision. If I fail to hear from inside China in time, the Crowe will stop and board the Empress before it can reach Iraqi waters, which, in practicality, means before it enters the Persian Gulf. Exactly how many hours is that, Admiral Brose?”
The chairman of the joint chiefs glanced at his watch. “Seven, Mr. President. Give or take an hour.”
After a harrowing run through the forest, constantly looking over their shoulders, Jon, Asgar, the two Uigher fighters, and the two former prisoners reached the Uigher unit. A few minutes later, the entire group slipped out across the fields toward their hidden vehicles. They climbed aboard. With Asgar driving, Jon, Chiavelli, and Thayer took the limo, so Thayer would be more comfortable. Three other Uighers piled in back, their assault rifles bristling like porcupine quills. The rest of the Uighers divided themselves between, the Humvee and Land Rover.
With the limo in the lead, the team drove off at a sedate rate in an effort to attract as little attention as possible. At the same time, they watched all around for pursuit, aware of every light, every boulder, every possible threat.
Jon studied the luminous green dial of his watch. “Where’s Alani and her group? Aren’t they still supposed to escort Chiavelli and Dr. Thayer to the border?” “They’re at the hideout,” Asgar told him, his voice clipped, as if waiting for more trouble.
“Meaning, you want to give Chiavelli and Dr. Thayer a vehicle and some of your men to get them out of China?”
“That’s the plan.”
“No way. We don’t know how many men Feng or Li Kuonyi will bring. We need everyone. Besides, your people won’t get back in time. We’ll have to keep Chiavelli and Dr. Thayer with us until we actually walk into the mountains. Then we’ll stash them somewhere safe and pick them up again when we leave.” Asgar thought a moment. “Okay, makes sense. Besides, we’ll be able to use Chiavelli and perhaps Dr. Thayer. Can you shoot, sir?”
