‘Yes sir,’ he confirmed, changing lanes. ‘No problem.’
‘Good choice,’ Cole told the man, continuing to guide him as they turned south into the Xitianyangcun district, just outside the South 6th Ring Road and the interior of Beijing proper.
Cole knew the driver would be confused, receiving orders which conflicted with those given to him by his CIA handlers, but his discomfort was of less interest to Cole than was getting into the Chinese capital safely and without being detected.
Cole had therefore arranged for another form of onward transport, and one which the CIA would know nothing about; for however good their own security was, leaks still happened, and Cole couldn’t take the chance of their mission being compromised.
Eventually, Cole gave the final direction, and the truck rolled to a gentle stop, the driver giving the all-clear.
The street was empty.
In an instant, Cole and his team were out of the back, into an abandoned junkyard; and then the other five members snaked quickly away through wrecked cars and broken washing machines.
Cole himself ran to the front, calling to the driver through the open window. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘Now get out of here.’
He banged the side of the truck, and the driver did as he was told, maneuvering the vehicle back out of the junkyard towards the maze of residential streets beyond that would take him back to the S303 and the safety of his normal life.
The relief in his eyes was obvious.
And then Cole was running, heading after his team through the wrecked and twisted metal of the junkyard.
He emerged into a clearing a few moments later, watching as Grayson and Collins were already getting into their next mode of transportation, Navarone shaking hands with the driver, his old friend Liu Yingchau.
Davis and Barrington were apprehensively waiting their turn to get in, and Cole could understand why — their next journey was going to be enjoyed hidden within the filth and muck of a Beijing municipal garbage truck.
‘You’ve gotta be shitting me,’ Davis said as Cole approached. ‘Come back SDV, all is forgiven.’
Barrington laughed quietly. ‘Maybe next time I’ll make the travel arrangements?’ she suggested.
Cole just shrugged, and gestured for them to get inside.
They understood the reasons just fine, and he knew he didn’t have to explain it to them; there was no way in hell that any security force, no matter how zealous they were, would ever check inside the back of a garbage truck.
And as the smell from the rear of the vehicle hit Cole, he could well understand why.
He watched Davis and Barrington climb in, covering themselves with the filth and garbage, miniature breathing masks firmly in place; then saw Liu climb into the driver’s cab, Navarone now by his side; and then, trying to ignore the fetid stench and the horrific feel of the slimy rubbish, he followed them in.
8
Clark Mason was on his way home from the White House, Bruce Vinson’s arrogant words still infuriating him. He knew he should just forget about it, but he couldn’t.
As the armored limousine, driven and guarded by members of his Secret Service security detail, whisked him along Massachusetts Avenue Northwest, he thought back to his meeting with Vinson earlier that afternoon.
It was clear that the man was hiding something, and it was equally clear that he thought that Mason — despite his enormous wealth, power and influence — was no threat to him or his organization.
Well, Mason thought angrily, the sonofabitch is dead wrong about that.
He was going to take Vinson’s organization apart piece by piece, and then destroy him and his pet commando Mark Cole.
Mason had been sitting in on the latest NSC meeting back at the White House, upset but not entirely surprised when a briefing had been given by none other than Richard Stark and Norma Valente, the Paradigm Group’s best people on China, just as Vinson had said. What was even more distressing was that they were very good, and he’d been given nothing to complain about.
The upshot of the entire meeting was that the American government still had no real clue about what to do with General Wu and the People’s Republic of China. There was the usual mix of hawks and doves arguing about the action the United States should be taking, and the meeting had soon degenerated into a shouting match between the two factions.
Mason had noted with interest that President Abrams was reticent on the subject of military action, a course that she was normally only too willing to follow. This, to Mason, was tantamount to proof that an operation must already be underway. Of what sort, he had no idea; but something was happening, of that he could be sure.
Mason wondered whether to confront Abrams about it; after all, as the VP he had a right to know. As did the rest of the members of the NSC, the House of Congress, and three hundred and twenty million American citizens.
But he still had no real proof, and knew he better leave it until he could present his allegations as a fait accompli. He had his people in US Special Operations Command and JSOC looking into things for him now; if any official personnel or vehicles were being used outside of training or ongoing operations, he would soon know about it.
And so he was going to go back to his villa at One Observatory Circle and drown his sorrows with a bottle or two of Puligny Montrachet. His wife was out across country speaking at a charity event — save the poor, or some crap like that; he didn’t remember, and certainly didn’t care — and he was looking forward to having the place to himself.
His phone buzzed, and he picked it up, pleased to see Sarah Lansing’s name on the screen.
Lansing was his latest mistress, twenty-two years old and with the face and body of a supermodel, her ebony skin unbelievably smooth, almost flawless. She might even be a supermodel for all Mason knew; he was sure he must have asked her what she did for a living, and she would have told him, but he supposed he hadn’t really been interested in the answer.
‘Are you going to be all alone tonight?’ she asked sweetly.
‘Perhaps not,’ Mason answered. He’d planned on being alone, but on second thoughts, why not have some company? His Secret Service detail was discreet enough, and the Vice Presidential home had nowhere near the security or the public attention that the White House did. He supposed he’d better take advantage of it before he changed address. ‘Would you care to come over?’
‘I’d love to,’ Lansing said. ‘And I’ll bring something… special.’
‘What is it?’ Mason asked, enjoying the teasing.
‘Oh, you’ll just have to wait and see. But trust me, you’re going to love it.’
Knowing Lansing like her did, he was sure she wouldn’t disappoint him, and he already started to feel himself getting excited at the mere thought of her and what she would do to him.
‘I’ll send someone over to get you right away,’ he said breathlessly.
He put the phone down, more eager to get home than ever.
Despite the pocket air mask, the stench from the garbage was intense.
But it had served its purpose; the truck had been stopped twice on the way in, and neither time had the back been searched. One look at it, one whiff of it, was enough to convince the security forces not to venture any further.
And now the truck was rolling to a stop again, and the beep that came through to Cole’s mobile device told him that they’d made it; and it was time to go.