Clay raised his eyebrows and waited.
Borger clasped his hands in front of his protruding stomach. “So, I’ve been picking through the rest of the satellite video. I’m not sure if you know this, but the attack was big enough that most commercial aircraft in the area were immediately grounded, even as far away as Venezuela.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Yep. Everything. Down. Kaput.” Borger then began to grin. It was a look John Clay had come to know well.
“You found something.”
“All aircraft were grounded,” he repeated. “All commercial aircraft.”
Clay raised an eyebrow. “But not…”
“But not military aircraft.”
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning…,” Borger replied, “military flights were not grounded. Or should I say… the only military flight.” He began typing again in a new window, which brought up a second map. The second map was fixed on Georgetown. Borger pointed to one frame, then to the other. “This one is the international airport in Guyana. Note the timestamp on both screens.”
“They’re both the same.”
“Exactly. Same time, in two places. The first picture is the Bowditch after it was struck. The second, the Georgetown airport.”
Borger zoomed closer in on the airport and sped up the video. Both feeds accelerated, still in sync. After almost a minute, he froze them both. “That’s it. Right there.”
Clay studied the image. An airplane could be seen taxiing onto one of the airport’s runways.
“What is that?”
Borger zoomed in closer and waited a moment for the image to sharpen again at the new resolution. The turboprop engines were clear, jutting out beneath the craft’s high wing. Borger zoomed in still further.
“It’s a Y-12,” Clay said, under his breath.
Borger nodded. “Correct. Chinese made, utility design, and able to carry upwards of twenty passengers.”
“Was it there the whole time?”
“No. It flew in three days before the attack. At night.”
Clay frowned. Of course it was at night. Nightfall seemed to be the preferred time for everything the Chinese were up to in Guyana.
Borger rolled the video again and they both watched as the plane paused briefly then accelerated down the runway and lifted into the air. As it climbed, the aircraft banked and headed due west.
Clay straightened behind Borger and folded his arms.
“Care to guess where it’s headed?”
There was only one country to the west that was within the plane’s range. And it was another country with whom the U.S. had a strained relationship. “Venezuela.”
“Correct again.” Borger continued typing on his keyboard and skipped to another location. “But not just any airport in Venezuela. It flew directly to El Libertador Air Force Base in Maracay and landed three hours and thirty-seven minutes later. Upon landing, a single person exited the plane and boarded another.” He scrolled the map and stopped on another aircraft. One that was much bigger.
This time, Clay recognized the plane without having to enlarge the picture again. Both its design and enormous size were unmistakable. It was a Xian Y-20. One of the largest aircraft in the Chinese Air Force.
“I’m guessing that’s a transport.”
“It sure is,” nodded Clay. “But it’s still in development. That one is a prototype they revealed a couple years ago.”
“A prototype?”
“Yes.”
Clay’s frown was deepening. The El Libertador base in Venezuela was infamous for the coup attempt in 1992 when General Visconti seized control of the base and launched an aerial attack on the capitol city. But it wasn’t the reputation that concerned Clay. It was the fact that the Chinese planes had landed at a military base and not a commercial airport. It meant the Venezuelan government was partially involved, or at the very least, aware of the activities of the Chinese. Having the Xian Y-20 there most likely meant the Venezuelan government already knew more than they would ever admit.
“Did it fly straight back?” Clay asked.
“It did. It refueled once in Hawaii before continuing on to Beijing.” Borger peered at Clay. “But why would they send a prototype all the way to South America? That’s risky.”
“The Y-20 has the longest range of any of their transport planes. Sending an armed aircraft would have attracted far more attention. But they still needed something secure that could fly back almost nonstop.”
“For one person? That’s one hell of an expensive trip.”
“Which means it was either a very important person,” he looked at Borger, still seated in front of him, “or the person was carrying something important.”
“Or both.”
Clay nodded. “Or both.”
Together, the two continued staring at the frozen screen where a tiny figure could be seen crossing the tarmac to the larger plane.
Clay’s phone suddenly rang, snapping them out of it. He looked at it and answered, putting the call on speakerphone. “Where are you, Steve?”
“Outside, near Santos. Where are you?”
“We’re in Borger’s office.”
“Good. I hope you’re helping him clean it.”
Clay grinned while Borger pretended to look offended.
“You two alone?”
“Yes.”
On the other end, Caesare looked out at the ocean from a shaded spot beneath a large Brazilian rosewood tree. The beach was less than two blocks away and he stood scanning the area as he spoke, looking for anyone paying too much attention to him.
By the time Langford had ended their call, Caesare had already reached the first floor of the hotel and was off the property entirely inside of three minutes. It wouldn’t be long before someone discovered the bodies of Blanco and Sosa, and Caesare had no intention of being nearby.
“So what did I miss?”
Clay glanced again at the monitors on Borger’s desk. “It looks like Wil may have found something.”
“Your voice doesn’t exactly sound exuberant.”
“I’ll try harder next time.”
“I bet. I’m going to guess there’s bad news coming.”
“Maybe. It seems someone got clearance and flew out of Georgetown just after the Bowditch was hit. On a Chinese turbo-prop to Venezuela, and from there a transport straight back to Beijing.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I wish we were.” Clay leaned in, peering closer at the screen. “Just one person. Carrying some kind of a case.”
Caesare sighed. “That’s not good.”
“Now who’s not exuberant?”
“I say we blame Borger.”
Wil Borger’s eyes opened wide with surprise, and then narrowed.
“We were actually getting ready to blame you.”
In spite of the jokes, they all knew how serious it was. If Borger was right, then it looked like something had been taken off that ship before it departed. Something important enough to fly directly to Beijing, the political epicenter of China. Clay already had a guess as to what the man was carrying.
“Any idea who the person was, Wil?”
“Not yet. But I’ll find out.”
From under the tree, Caesare nodded, absently watching an attractive woman cross the street. “Well, I’m afraid my news isn’t much better. There’s something I didn’t mention on the phone with Langford.”
Without moving his head, Clay exchanged a curious look with Borger. “What’s that?”
“I got a little more out of Blanco before he took his long ride into the sunset. He told me about Otero, and that he knows about the monkey. But it seems he knows more than that. Blanco managed to spit out what Otero was asking him about. He said Acarai. The name of the mountain.”
Clay sighed. “Crap.”