the tall gantry lights and exploded into steam when it touched the hot bulbs. The luxury car twisted around the line of dump trucks and threaded between containers and the pile of gravel, stopping next to the armored car now resting low on its suspension because of its golden cargo. Liu didn’t wait for his chauffeur to open his door.
As a result of a life of near constant work and stress, Liu was thin, almost gaunt, with deep-set eyes ringed perpetually by bruise-dark circles. He appeared older than his thirty-eight years. Not only was his face more matured, worn almost, but he possessed an intensity that seemed to infect those around him and was found in only a few leaders who’d weathered most of life’s storms. He also radiated a decisive energy, an unflagging stamina to keep fighting long after others would have surrendered. He enjoyed a position of wealth and power and worked tirelessly for more.
Greed was not a motivation to Liu Yousheng, and he’d faced down that accusation in countless business magazines. His sole interest was success, the never-ending quest to pit his wits against the global economy and come out on top. Business was more than warfare, he’d once been quoted as saying. Wars were fought between two adversaries while business was a struggle between the individual and everything else. Unlike in war, business alliances lasted only so long as profits were made. Stagger once and the corpse of your company was picked over like carrion before jackals. The other difference he’d pointed out was that all wars eventually came to an end. By definition, commerce, the continuous trade of goods and services, would go on forever.
He stepped from the Mercedes limousine, his face unreadable as he studied the ring of men near the armored car. What remained of the soldier who’d killed himself with his own grenade was an irregular red stain on the concrete floor. Liu hungered for a cigarette but had recently quit. In the wake of nicotine withdrawal he had a nervous tick of blowing on the fingertips of his right hand like a safecracker about to attempt a difficult lock.
At five feet ten inches, he was taller than all the men with the exception of Sergeant Huai and a few of his troops. Yet his slender build and hatchet-thin face made him look smaller, frailer, like a gangly teen around adults. None, however, could match his severity, nor could they avoid the palpable tension coiled within him. As his eyes swept the apologetic faces of the guards, each physically recoiled from the deep-seeing stare, casting their glances anywhere but at their leader. Liu’s eyes finally settled on Captain Chen Tai Fat, who was in overall command of the Sword of South China Special Forces detachment and whose primary responsibility was maintaining security at the warehouse.
Chen was a career officer, competent and professional, but like so many in the People’s Liberation Army, he’d achieved rank as much through nepotism as by ability. His father was a general in the air force, and had Chen’s vision not been less than perfect he’d be flying fighter jets out of Hainan Island. Liu didn’t blame Chen for his birth. He himself had benefited from the accomplishments of his family in a lineage that dated back to Chairman Mao’s famous Long March. What Liu couldn’t forgive was ineptitude.
Standing ramrod straight, Chen waited for what he knew was coming, a dressing down he fully deserved. Thieves had breached his perimeter, and while their attempt to steal anything from the port had been thwarted, he was responsible for the security lapse.
Liu Yousheng blew on his fingers as if they’d been singed. “You said when you phoned my home that the thieves escaped with the aid of missile fire from outside the fence,” he began, and Captain Chen nodded. “And yet you still think they are nothing more than a rabble looking to swipe electronics from a couple of containers?”
Chen blinked, not expecting Liu’s question to come so soft-spoken. “Their weaponry indicates a certain sophistication, sir, but Panama is awash in such weapons-surplus arms from the Contras and Sandanistas on their way to FARC and ELF rebels in Colombia. Rocket-propelled grenades are as common as prostitutes here and cheaper to buy.”
Liu glanced at Sergeant Huai for confirmation. The old soldier dipped his eyes in agreement. Liu continued in a mild tone while menace was building in his expression, “So common thieves have automatic weapons and rocket grenades? Interesting. And how do common thieves know to come into this particular warehouse at this particular time?”
Chen had a ready answer. “Despite our precautions, the Panamanian dock workers all knew that something would be happening in here. Our increased security was a sure tip-off. One of them could have let it slip or could even be working with the thieves.”
“Is there any evidence that we were so betrayed?”
“No, sir.”
“Have you started an investigation?”
“As soon as the thieves made their escape, I had the harbor shut down. All employees are being questioned right now.”
“In your estimation, how much of our activities did these thieves see?”
Chen considered dodging the question but too many soldiers had been in the warehouse and he couldn’t count on them to maintain his ruse if he lied. It was not lost on him that they showed more deference to Sergeant Huai than himself, and because of COSTIND’s dual nature, Liu did hold the rank of colonel in the PLA even if he never wore his uniform. “It is possible they saw a portion of the gold, sir.”
“Close enough to see the seals stamped on it?”
“No, sir. They were on the second-floor storage area. Too far away and the angle was wrong for them to get a good look.”
Liu turned to Huai. “Is this true?”
“I was checking the perimeter fence when the firefight took place but my men agree. The gold was under cover except when one of your assistants pulled the cloth from one bar. The robbers were too far away to see the stamp.”
Turning slightly to regard the two suited men who’d been overseeing the transfer, Liu’s dark eyes silently asked the question of who looked at one of the gold ingots. Both men paled under the scrutiny and many seconds passed before one of the men pushed the other forward. “It was Ping, Mr. Liu.”
“How about it, Ping?” Liu asked affably, the menace suddenly gone from his bearing. “Did you sneak a peek at my gold?”
The young junior executive couldn’t muster enough saliva to respond. He nodded sharply, keeping his head down in supplication.
Liu laughed softly. “Don’t worry about it, Ping. In your position I’d be tempted to want to see it too. One rarely gets the chance to gaze upon forty million dollars.”
Ping looked up, a small smile forming at the corners of his mouth. That was how he saw the discreet signal flash from his boss to the commando sergeant.
Huai pulled his sidearm and fired with the weapon still at the level of his waist. The bullet hit square on Ping’s right kneecap. As he buckled, Huai fired again and the other knee shattered in a cloud of blood and bone chips. The junior executive sprawled awkwardly on the concrete, screaming at the unbelievable agony until his body overwhelmed his brain’s ability to deal with the pain and he lapsed into unconsciousness.
Liu gave the other executive a speculative look, and was satisfied that he’d made his point when a wet stain bloomed at the man’s groin.
“Lest you forget that this is a military operation and I will not tolerate mistakes, let Ping’s punishment be a reminder.” Liu’s voice encompassed all those assembled. “We aren’t in Hong Kong or Shanghai. We are in a country that until a few years ago was America’s puppet. Because the Panamanians have only recently gained their freedom from the United States’ imperialism, they are wary of any outsider, especially us. Panama is a Catholic country whose citizens see communism as an affront to their God. Our investments in Panama’s infrastructure are welcome. We are not.
“I have designed Operation Red Island to keep our actual involvement to a minimum for this very reason. One slip, one whispered rumor about what is happening and the people will take to the streets. It’s something they love to do. Omar Quintero is this country’s most unpopular president since Noriega. Until he can better consolidate his power base it won’t take much to push this country into chaos. Captain Chen?”
Chen stepped forward. “Sir.”
“You see what happened to a man who took an unauthorized look at the gold. I want even worse to happen to the thieves.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Sergeant Huai, what about the American from Paris who turned up at Gary Barber’s river camp? Mercer?”
