an otherworldly glow, and as they rose higher into the mountains, the valley shone once more in the flicker of lightning.
It was an unforgettable sight, a painting from ancient China coming alive before his eyes,
As Smith turned back and settled into his seat, window down, rifle at the ready, he thought of his parents back home, wished they could've come along with him on this mission. They might realize once and for all that giving up his position as a Ghost to become a small-town sheriff would be like playing in the major leagues and then deciding to coach weekend softball games.
Maybe one day, when he slowed down, but not now. Not when his blood coursed like a million volts through his veins.
While Diaz coaxed the SUV through torrents of rain and mud, Mitchell sat beside her, about to check his HUD to home in on Fang's current location.
However, his downlink channel screen crackled to life with an image of General Keating in the command center. 'Mitchell, great work out there, son. Now it's time to come home. But we have a problem. Either your infiltration at the coast went south and you were spotted or that power outage has really spooked them.'
The image on screen shifted from Keating to a three-dimensional, rotating graphic of a Chinese patrol boat with accompanying identification label and detailed specs: Type 62C Shanghai-II-class gun patrol boat. Length: 38.78 meters. Top speed: 28.5 knots. Crew: 36. Armament: two twin-barrel 37 mm antiaircraft artillery (AAA) guns and two twin-barrel 25 mm AAA guns.
The general continued: 'Two of these Shanghai-class patrol boats are en route to Xiamen Harbor. Most of the newer gunboats of the East Sea Fleet are up in Ningde, but apparently, the older 62Cs were being transferred to other seaports, which accounts for this pair.'
'Sir, you trying to make me feel better by saying they're older boats? Their guns are big, and I bet they work just fine.'
'You're right. But hang in there, son. We're working some angles from our end.'
'Sir, I've got four wounded. Getting back to the sub will be hard enough without those patrol boats breathing down our necks. I need them gone.'
'I hear you, Mitchell. Just stand by.'
Fang Zhi rumbled down the winding mountain road, spinning out in the mud as he cut curves too sharply. He had no choice but to keep the headlights on and squint through the heavy rain pelting his windshield. His thoughts continued to leap out ahead of the truck, to his destination — his future.
When they discovered all the bodies, and the investigations began in the morning, it wouldn't take long before they located him, questioned him, tortured him into saying what they wanted. Someone would have to take the fall for this. The rage filled his gut and finally erupted from his mouth.
He screamed at the droning wipers. He screamed at the Spring Tigers for failing him.
Yes, it was their fault. There had been a huge breach in security, and if they had placed more faith in him, given him responsibilities at the strategic level, he might have discovered it. One of his guards had called to say that he'd heard the attackers speaking English with American accents.
Fang beat his fist on the steering wheel. How many of his lives could the Americans ruin? And where was he going, except away? He couldn't stay in China. He would never return to Taiwan.
Maybe he could get to the Philippines. He knew two men who could help him do that. They smuggled out women for the sex trade. He could pay them for help. That was it. He would go back to the base, gather all of his belongings, and be gone before daylight. His life would come full circle. He would return to the place where all his trouble had begun.
As he rounded the next corner, the road grew considerably wider, the forest drifting back another twenty meters from the embankment. Suddenly, a single headlight came out of nowhere and raced toward him. He narrowed his gaze and reached over for his pistol, sitting beside the QBZ-95 assault rifle on his seat.
General Joshua Keating had just finished sharing the good news with the President of the United States. Targets terminated. Ghost Team exfiltrating. Keating had carefully omitted the news of the Chinese patrol boats. No need to worry the president just yet. Keating ended the video call and was about to reach for his bottle of water when Dr. Gorbatova stepped over to his desk.
'General, our mole has just arrived at his office, but I'm afraid there's been some misunderstanding. He was under the impression he was flying out now. We instructed him that he had one more task to complete, but he is very nervous.'
'Poor boy. Maybe if he was out there with my Ghosts, he'd have something to be nervous about.'
'General, I'm unsure if we can count on him. I don't think he trusts us anymore.'
'I don't want excuses, Doctor. I've got wounded men out there. You've got two dead. You tell your boy lives are depending upon him.'
Captain Zuo Junping had rushed past the building's perimeter guards, telling them there was trouble in Xiamen and that they should prepare for more arrivals.
He had used his key to enter Deputy Director Wang Ya's office. Now he sat at the director's desk in the dim LED light of Wang's computer screen. He needed to send off the proper e-mails, then he would make the calls. The DIA had charged him with ensuring that the military response was focused inland, and so Zuo, acting as the deputy director, would send those requests up through the CMC. Moreover, there were two patrol boats headed toward Xiamen Harbor, and Zuo had been ordered to send them ten miles north to investigate smuggling activity at the Gaoji Seawall.
Zuo had given away or sold off everything he owned. Back at his apartment were a blanket, a pillow, and two packed suitcases.
After his fellow agent Lo Kuo-hui had left with the good news that the DIA had honored their deal with him, Zuo had finally believed that the agency would help him, too. But this last-minute mission left him sweaty and breathless.
He hit the Return key, reached for the phone.
The door swung open, the lights switched on, and in rushed the deputy director himself, bald pate gleaming, eyes narrowed behind thick glasses. Behind him came two security guards, their rifles trained on Zuo, whose hand went for the pistol holstered at his waist.
'Hands on the desk,' barked Wang, as the guards moved in closer.
Zuo raised his palms and gently returned them to the keyboard.
'I am deeply hurt,' Wang continued. 'I know you used my phone to call Geneva. Who are you working for? The Ministry of Public Security or State Security?'
Zuo swallowed, tried to speak, but the words wouldn't come at first. At least Wang didn't know he was spying for the Americans. He assumed he'd been betrayed, a breakdown in
Wang shook his head in disappointment. 'I haven't slept in two days. I was thinking about meeting you at the academy, about how you've become my son. I have grown sick. Is this what a son does to his father?'
Zuo averted his gaze. 'No.'
'Then what shall I do with you?'
