Today, Dongcheng was the largest upper-class area of Beijing, housing some of Hebei Province’s wealthiest aristocracy.
Yet as Qin stood in the main living room of the spacious apartment, he was struck by how simply Wei had lived. The light walls, floor to ceiling bookcases, and checkered carpeting were nice and appropriately decorative but of a somewhat simpler taste. Of all the people Qin had investigated from within the Ministry of State Security, Wei was without a doubt the least extravagant.
Xinzhen, the most senior of the Politburo’s Standing Committee, had tasked him with uncovering and understanding Wei’s final actions which led to a surprise revolt against the most powerful men in all of China. At least that was how Xinzhen had described it to Qin, which meant it was most certainly not accurate.
Xinzhen’s reluctance to reveal too much was itself a clue. Never before had Qin been asked to work within such a vacuum of information. He was told to find information that no one had, and to do it with virtually no information to begin with. The great Xinzhen was holding back. And judging from past experience, the more a person held back information, the deeper the scandal went.
Qin moved to the windows of the apartment, where he pulled out his cell phone and calmly dialed.
On the second ring, the call was answered by a young man barely into his twenties with jet-black hair and eyes to match. One of the best computer hackers in all of Eastern China.
Known only as “M0ngol,” his gaunt pale face remained illuminated in the bright and eerie glow of his computer monitor.
China had grown at an astonishing pace for over four centuries, in what many would term “reckless abandon.” And the young man on the other end of Qin’s call was the very personification of that recklessness, now in a new and frightening digital world.
M0ngol was one of the hundreds of sophisticated hackers employed by China’s infamous intelligence ministry, hired in response to the devastating level of spying initiated by the United States’ National Security Agency.
Countries all over the world were first stunned to learn of the NSA’s actions when finally exposed, then immediately driven to thwart what they deemed an invasion of national sovereignty. Both friends and foes rushed to establish their own counter-agencies, and not surprisingly, the one country with the resources needed to go head to head with the United States… was China.
The most populous country in the world had a plethora of exceptionally gifted computer hackers at their disposal, already motivated by curiosity and greed. The only motivator that China’s Ministry of State Security needed to add… was anger.
The world of espionage had changed. Wars were now increasingly being fought on a digital battlefield of electrons. Individual hacking of emails and bank accounts were considered quaint next to nationally funded attacks on other countries. Attacks that were barely imaginable just a few years ago with capabilities that too few were even able to grasp.
War had been reborn, and with it, a new modern soldier. One that did not require physical training or battlefield fortitude. The new soldiers were young men and women, barely out of their teens, having lived and breathed computers almost since birth. Instead of rifles, they used keyboards.
M0ngol was one of China’s new soldiers. One of the best, and just like the NSA, China’s spying took place both internationally and domestically.
“What do you see?” Qin asked.
His dark eyes flickered back and forth between two of the screens before him. The algorithms used by China’s banking systems were still too crude to notice the patterns that M0ngol now saw. “It’s been going on for a long time. Withdrawals and transfers over the last year. Different amounts and different times to appear random. All withdrawn into cash.”
“No deposits?”
“Nothing outside of his salary.”
Qin crossed the carpet and approached the apartment’s kitchen. It was well-kept with nothing left out on the counters. He continued to the bedroom where things were just as neat.
M0ngol switched his focus to a different screen where one of his programs was plotting locations against Wei’s banking activities. Those dots suggested yet another pattern.
“Credit usage shows much heavier activity accompanying southern destinations, toward Baoding and Shijiazhuang. Several repeated trips.”
Qin nodded on the other end and sat down on the edge of the large bed, scanning the room. “What kind of purchases?”
“Flights, hotels, and meals. Little else. A mistress?”
“Perhaps.” It was possible, Qin thought. Most men that age had mistresses. But Wei was different. He was not a man of excess, and his career history showed a genuine distaste for politics and extravagance. Quite rare for a man of his rank.
Qin glanced at two large pictures positioned atop the dark sandalwood dresser. One of Wei’s wife and the other of his daughter.
“There’s something else,” M0ngol said. “There was a maintenance service on his car a few months ago. The miles for this vehicle number significantly increased over the last year.” He paused and checked another screen. “But his phone records show something entirely different.”
“Explain.”
“They show his phone was offline repeatedly, frequently on a weekend. But never during his trips to Baoding and Shijiazhuang.”
“A problem with his phone?”
There was a long pause while more data was checked. “I don’t think so. The pattern is too predictable.”
Predictable, Qin thought to himself, staring at the two pictures. Predictable wasn’t the word he had in mind. Everything about Wei’s last months were beginning to feel like something else. His records, his communications, and now his apartment… and the two distinct photos on a dresser. No, the word that kept coming to Qin’s mind was intentional.
He knew that Xinzhen and the rest of the Politburo had tasked Wei with a secret mission. Something highly classified and outside of official communication channels. It was also clear that it had gone very wrong.
32
The lonely, well-maintained road between Ji’an and Wuhan, China, was surrounded by sprawling farmland in every direction. Dotted by thousands of clusters of dark green metasequoia trees, the landscape passed by silently, silhouetted in a thick gray haze beneath a bright full moon.
Traffic was sporadic at best, which caused Jin Tang to nearly veer off the road when John Clay suddenly burst upright in the passenger seat next to him.
Clay looked through the front window before searching the interior of the car.
“Jesus!” Tang said. “That must have been one horrible dream.”
Clay ignored the remark and finally found his satellite phone still in his left pocket. He pulled it out and quickly turned it on.
He hadn’t been sleeping.
Several minutes later and seven thousand miles away, Wil Borger stopped on the white granite steps of a wide stairway and pulled out his ringing phone. His chest heaving, he answered it, grateful for the interruption.
“Clay?”
“Wil, where are you?”
“In a stairwell. On my way to Langford’s office.”
Clay raised a curious eyebrow. “You’re taking the stairs?”
“I think Caesare’s been feeding me subliminal messages about my lack of exercise.”
“I believe it,” Clay joked. His expression quickly became serious again. “Wil, I need you to listen very carefully.”
“Clay?” Barked Langford.
“I’m here, Admiral.”