Four meters down in a tiny, unused inlet, the SDV should be safe enough, Cole figured; and if it wasn’t, it was fitted with anti-tamper explosive devices which would detonate if somebody approached too closely. The US Navy was keen that — if the SDV had to be sacrificed — its technology wouldn’t find its way into enemy hands.
The explosive device was rigged to go off in three days anyway; Cole’s extraction plan didn’t call for the SDV to be used, but it was nice to know it was there just in case. In three days’ time though, that option would cease to exist.
Glad to get their limbs working again after the six hour underwater infiltration, the Force One operators kicked their way through the silt, heading back out to the Yongding New River and their early-morning rendezvous by the bridge.
Yuan Ziyang was sweating again, even more than before.
He’d timed his journey to perfection, arriving by the bridge by four o’clock exactly as demanded. Despite his earlier interruption, he’d made good time from Beijing and — not wishing to merely sit waiting on the bridge — he’d had to drive around some side roads a few times, taking his truck on a winding route between the S308 and the S40 Jingjintang Expressway to waste some time.
But now it was four o’clock, still no sign of the sun in the sky except for the very faintest haze right at the bottom of the horizon, and he was exactly where he was supposed to be.
So where were the six people he was supposed to be picking up?
He shuddered as he considered the options. What if they’d been captured? Would they have talked, told the authorities about him? Was he about to be ambushed by his own country’s military and law enforcement units?
Of course, they might just be late; but what was he supposed to do about that? Just drive up and down the bridge, backwards and forwards, until somebody reported him?
He wiped the sweat from his eyes, remembering what he’d been told by his American handler, wondering why the man’s words had not come back to him before, realizing he must be more tired than he’d thought.
Cross the bridge heading north, the man had said, check for cameras and vehicles, if the coast is clear turn the truck round and head back south to cross the bridge again. If there is no contact, leave the area for ten minutes and then try again. If there is still no contact, head on home.
Okay, Yuan told himself, just do this thing twice and you can go home. If the team doesn’t show, just go right on home.
A large part of him decided that perhaps he would be a lot happier if the team didn’t show. But would he still get his money?
Damn!
Yuan cursed himself for not checking with his handler. He should have insisted on payment whether the six people made it here or not; now his contact might refuse to pay him if the pick-up wasn’t fulfilled as planned.
Yuan drove across the semi-lit bridge, checking for the team; but there was absolutely nothing. He continued on to the other side, checking for cameras and other vehicles as instructed. Seeing none, he turned his truck around and headed back for the bridge, his emotions mixed; he wanted the money, but could do without the stress.
But, he decided, in his line of work you could often have stress without the money, but rarely — if ever — the money without stress.
He headed back out on to the Yongding bridge, slowing down, headlights on full, straining his eyes to see something; anything.
The banging on his truck door sent instant adrenal shockwaves through his system, almost causing his heart to give up entirely; he turned and looked out of his window, shocked to see the blackened face of a commando staring back at him, nodding his head, gesturing for him to continue.
He continued to watch through his wing mirror in amazement as the man then dropped to the roadside again, slipping in past the rear of the truck as it rolled by him, pulling himself on board.
It was then that Yuan realized that the other five people were probably already in the back of his truck, having climbed in without him even realizing.
Whoever they were, Yuan decided as he once more wiped the sweat from his soaking brow, they were good; and as he accelerated away from the bridge, towards the turn-off for the S30 highway which would take them north to Beijing, this gave him some small, but very welcome, measure of reassurance.
Cole smiled at the other members of his team as they stretched out in the back of the accelerating truck.
They had all stripped out of their wetsuits already, back at the bridge. They had packed them away along with their rebreathers and fins, and then dumped the weighted bags into the deepest part of the Yongding.
They were in full combat gear now, checking their weapons and equipment.
‘How was your boat trip?’ he asked them quietly, once everybody was finally settled. ‘Comfortable?’
‘Shit,’ Chad Davis whispered in his Virginian drawl as he cracked his enormous neck and shoulders, ‘Id’ve been more comfortable in a fucking mouse’s ass-crack.’ He snorted. ‘A mouse that’s getting dragged around the house by a fucking cat. If I never do that again, it’ll be too soon.’
Cole smiled; it was typical of Davis to mouth off about the conditions, it was his sense of humor, the way he dealt with the stress of operations. And he knew that the big commando could easily put up with a hell of a lot worse.
Jake Navarone, experienced in SDV infiltrations, nevertheless nodded in understanding. ‘There were a couple of times it could have been a bit smoother,’ he said. ‘What happened?’
The four blind passengers listened as Cole told them about their journey, everyone glad they’d avoided the fishing net, and then laughing quietly when he told them about the half-naked teenage divers.
‘Brave sons of bitches,’ Barrington said. ‘If the authorities caught them doin’ that kinda shit round here, they’d likely be pretty sorry about it.’
‘You’re right about that,’ Cole said, amazed by how unruffled the woman seemed by the journey. This was his first operation with Julie Barrington, and he could already see that he’d made a good choice. But you didn’t get to head up a unit of the Special Activities Division’s SOG by being a shrinking violet; she was obviously at the top of her game.
‘Hey, Country,’ Sal Grayson said to Chad Davis, using the Delta operator’s nickname, ‘we’re gonna be in this rig for a little while, how about a song?’
Cole knew that Davis and Grayson had worked together before, even before they’d been asked to join Force One. A key task of the Air Force’s Pararescueman was supporting covert ops by Delta and other high-risk units. Grayson had deployed with a Delta team two years before and had ended up performing a battlefield tracheotomy to Davis’s partner while under heavy fire. He’d saved the man, gained the Purple Heart, and the eternal gratitude of Chad Davis.
Cole also knew that Davis — a country boy through and through — was a pretty good singer, and often crooned old country ballads before an operation to help alleviate the stress everyone would typically be feeling.
‘Good idea,’ agreed Cole. ‘Let’s hear something.’ He knew he didn’t have to tell the man to keep the volume down; that was a given.
Davis smiled broadly. ‘I should start charging you sons of bitches,’ he said, ‘you know that?’
‘Don’t give us that crap, Country,’ Barrington responded. ‘We all know you’re gagging to get started.’
Davis eyed her mischievously. ‘So what if I am?’
‘Well, if you are, you best get started before we arrive in Beijing, that’s what,’ she said with a smile.