“The general did not share that information with me, sir.”
“Do you know if Tam Li is still going to the launch tomorrow?”
“It is still on his calendar, sir,” the captain replied.
“What arrangements have been made for his transportation?”
“I do not have that information, sir,” the captain said. “Shall I connect you with the transportation office?”
“No, thank you, Captain,” Chou Shin said. “And it will not be necessary for the general to phone.”
“I will tell him, sir.”
Chou Shin pressed a finger on the bar to disconnect the call. Sometimes the absence of information was enlightening, like the negative space that defined one of his silhouettes.
Tam Li had to be curious why his rival was calling. Yet the general did not want to speak with him. That suggested he was more afraid of answering questions than of learning the reason for the call. The only question he would be afraid to answer would be why he was at the base.
Chou Shin raised his finger. He called his aide.
“I want immediate air transportation to Zhuhai,” the intelligence director said.
“I will arrange it, sir.”
“This is a Code Six internal investigation,” Chou Shin added. “I want two armed officers to accompany me. Have the aircraft wait for a return trip to Xichang. Also, call the transportation office at the base. I want to know what arrangements have been made for General Tam Li’s trip to Xichang.”
“At once.”
“I want hourly updates on the status of that aircraft, even if it is just sitting on the field.”
“Yes, sir.”
Chou Shin hung up. He had a feeling that something was happening at the base, something more than just watching the Taiwanese go through the motions of selfdefense. He wanted to know what Tam Li was doing.
If the general were overseeing standard operations, they would both go to the launch, and nothing would be said. But if the general were planning something — perhaps a retaliation for the Taipei attack — Chou Shin intended to stop him.
The Guoanbu had the power and authority to investigate the use of military resources for any and all actions. That fell under the jurisdiction of what the intelligence community called “exposure”: whenever troops or hardware were moved, the enemy was presumed to be watching. It was the job of the Guoanbu to minimize their acquisition of useful information. Chou Shin would not hesitate to invoke those powers.
Indeed, it would be his pleasure.
FORTY-TWO
Stephen Viens, Op-Center’s liaison with the National Reconnaissance Office, knocked on Bob Herbert’s door. Viens had been an NRO director until he took the fall for a black ops budget of which he had been unaware. Hood immediately hired the surveillance expert. Hood took heat for the appointment, but he did not care. Viens had been a good and loyal friend to the NCMC. He continued to be one of Op-Center’s most valuable assets.
“We’ve got some very strange blips on the Pacific Rim,” Viens said as Herbert ushered him in.
Herbert had been checking the database of everyone who had access to the Chinese rocket during its construction. He was comparing those names to individuals with a history of dissidence or contacts with foreigners. Even scientists with a foreign education were suspect. It was strange to be looking for someone who might actually be an American ally working against Beijing’s interests.
“What kind of activity are you seeing?” Herbert asked.
“It’s too early to say, but it looks a little more aggressive than the mainland military usually gets in situations like this,” Viens said.
He handed Herbert a small stack of satellite photographs. The black-and-white images were labeled and covered the coasts of both Chinas as well as the Strait of Taiwan.
“Routine chin-first strut from Taipei,” Herbert said.
“Right.”
Herbert continued to go through the pictures. He came to a group that had been marked with orange grease pencil. Objects had been circled in all of them.
“PLA assets,” he said. Fighter jets were being moved into launch formation at both the Shanghai Dachang Airbase and Jiangwan Airfield. They were the backbone of the eastern air defense. Jiangwan was home of the most advanced fighters in China. A third air base, Weifang, was also represented. That was the home of the powerful shortrange 5th Attack Division. Photographs also showed PLAN activity. Men were loading additional ordnance onto destroyers and frigates that were part of the East Sea Fleet based in Ningbo. Ships were also being readied in Wusong and Daishan. “It looks like the Chinese are getting ready for a fight,” Herbert said. “These sites are early response positions for an attack on Taiwan.”
“An attack on Taiwan, yes,” Viens agreed. “But they are also ERPs for an attack from Taiwan.”
“The PLA can’t believe that Taipei’s maneuvers are the beginning of an offensive,” Herbert remarked. “Beijing may just be getting ready to drill in response, or immediately after.”
“They rarely do that,” Viens pointed out. “The chance for a mishap with two opposing forces in the field is too great. All you need is someone on either side looking to provoke a fight.”
“Maybe it’s rare, but that is obviously what is happening,” Herbert said. He looked at a few of the Taiwan images. “Taipei has nothing unusual in the pipeline. No extra planes or ships being readied. Obviously they do not expect a Chinese attack.”
“You’re right. So why would Beijing move forces into position?” Viens asked. “Why now?
“Maybe they assume the nightclub explosion may have made everyone in Taipei a little edgy,” Herbert suggested.
“Edgy as in looking to retaliate?”
“It is possible,” Herbert said. “Maybe they think the Taiwanese could ‘accidentally’ fire a shell toward Shanghai during a drill or lose a mine in Chinese shipping lanes or fishing waters.”
“Something that is not aggressive enough to start a war but would allow Taipei to win face.”
“Exactly,” Herbert said. “Or the PLA preparations could have nothing at all to do with the Taiwanese deployment. Beijing may be looking to scramble assets in case the rocket goes haywire. They may need to recover the payload and seal off a section of the sea.”
“Because the satellite has a plutonium power source,” Viens said.
“Yeah.”
“The Taiwanese always go through maneuvers when there’s a Chinese rocket launch or missile test,” Viens said. “The Chinese military action could have nothing to do with the rocket per se.”
“That’s possible,” Herbert agreed.
Both men were silent as Herbert looked through the pictures a second time. He did not see a national effort throughout the mainland. At other naval bases and airstrips visible along the fringes of the photographs it was business as usual. Of course, that could change quickly if hostilities erupted.
“What would happen if the rocket blew up on the launch pad?” Viens asked.
“There would be a bunch of job openings in Beijing,” Herbert replied dryly.
“With the military, I mean,” Viens asked. “Would they be needed to keep order in a power vacuum?”
“The loss of the prime minister and a few ministers and generals would not have that serious an impact,” Herbert said.
“What if Taiwan were responsible for that kind of an explosion?”
“Then the PLA might very well strike back,” Herbert said. He shook his head. “You know, Stephen, the more I look at these, the more I wonder if we are being sucker punched.”
“How do you mean?”
