One of the men knelt down at his head while two more began working on his leg wound. The others, Adam saw, had taken up positions in the woods, their guns up in defense of him.
What the hell was going on?
In Mandarin the man at his head said, “Yao?”
How did they know his name? He shook his head. “Wu.” No.
“Your country sent us.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Believe whatever you want. We are putting you on a stretcher and taking you over the river into China.”
And Adam Yao just let them do it. He was in no position to argue.
Edward Riley stood on the fifth-floor rooftop of the apartment building across from Mae Fah Luang — Chiang Rai International Airport in Chiang Rai, Thailand. With his binoculars in hand, he looked over the entire length of the tarmac, his eyes wide to take in the scant electric lighting; his binoculars were all but useless in the evening darkness.
Where are they? They were supposed to be here hours ago.
Once he was clear of immediate danger in Mexico, Riley had contacted Óscar Roblas and told him he was still in play. He exaggerated his abilities and influence, and he asked Roblas what he needed to do to prove he was still an asset to the operation.
Riley had been almost surprised when Roblas answered him, giving him the specifications of the froth flotation tanks, relaying the size and weight of the equipment, and filling him in on the special logistical problems involved in moving the huge industrial devices into North Korea.
Now Riley was here, in Thailand, and he had moved mountains to accomplish the one thing the North Koreans and Roblas had not been able to do for themselves. In the past five days Riley had played every last card in his deck. He’d used contacts, made deals, traded on old friendships, and called in every last favor he’d ever been owed by anyone. With this intangible currency he’d made it out of Mexico, over to Asia, and he’d negotiated with Russian cargo companies and Thai businessmen.
If he could pull this off he could show both Roblas and Pyongyang that he was worth the risk and an asset to their lucrative enterprise. Though compromised to the Americans, wanted as an accessory after the fact to the damnable thing that happened in Mexico City, he still could come through with the goods, and they would keep him under their wing.
He’d arranged for a pair of Russian Antonov cargo aircraft to land at the airport here, and once they arrived, he’d only have to contact Roblas, who was trying to secure the delivery of a new set of froth tanks that were on the water from Brazil. If the planes showed up as arranged, Riley could fly the bloody equipment into North Korea and bypass the Americans and their blockade.
But so far, the fucking Russians hadn’t shown.
He’d work the phones, he’d make sure the tanks were on the ship and on the way, and he’d make sure the payment from the North Koreans made it to the seller.
But if the Russians in their cargo planes didn’t make it to Thailand, then this deal was dead in the dirt.
He tried the binoculars again. Nothing. “Where are those bloody planes?”
He lowered his binoculars and turned to head back to the stairs.
He stopped suddenly when he saw a man standing there in the low light, forty feet away.
“Who are you?”
“Someone who’s come a long way for this.”
Riley did not recognize the man, though he could tell he was American. Riley didn’t have a gun, but the other man showed no hint of a weapon, either. “FBI?”
The man shook his head.
“Who, then?”
“My name is Jack.”
Meant nothing to Riley.
“A friend of Chavez.”
Oh.
“A friend of Veronika’s.”
What?
Riley thought about running for the stairwell, but this man looked prepared to stop him. He could just put down his head and charge forward, throw punches, and hope for the best, but Riley wasn’t any kind of fighter.
“What is it you want?”
“I’m taking you back to the United States.”
“All by yourself you are? Or did you bring your friends? The friends from Cuernavaca.”
The man called Jack said, “I have a lot of friends, but to tell you the truth, I think I’ll do it all alone.”
Riley nodded almost to himself, seemed to think it over dispassionately, and then he charged.
Not toward the man by the stairs. But in the other direction.
Toward the building’s edge.
There was another apartment building next door, but that structure was separated by an alleyway fifteen feet wide. The neighboring rooftop was one story lower, and Riley thought he could make it. He charged on, picking up as much speed as possible, knowing his one avenue of escape was a massive leap between two buildings some seventy-five feet in the air.
Jack Ryan, Jr., thought he might be able to stop the man before he threw himself over the side of the five-story building. He could shout something and run for him, either catch up or hope the man hesitated near the edge. But Ryan just stood there, watching, while the Englishman leapt. The man kicked his legs and flailed his arms; then he disappeared over the side of the apartment building. Ryan did not hear him land on the other rooftop. Instead he heard a long, shrieking scream that grew more distant.
He heard no impact, but immediately his earpiece came alive.
“Ryan! I saw someone fall! You okay?” It was Chavez.
“I’m fine. Did you see him hit?”
“Facedown in the middle of the alley.”
Jack said, “No better than he deserves.”
“Yeah.”
Clark’s voice came over the net now. “Works for me. Let’s pack it up. If we leave now, we’ll be back in time for Sam’s funeral at Arlington.”
Ryan nodded to himself on the rooftop, and then he headed for the stairs.
EPILOGUE
Adam could have flown on another plane, but the CIA wanted him out of China as soon as possible, and the next U.S. government aircraft to depart Beijing was the big white 747 known as Air Force One.
President Ryan delayed his departure two days to make this happen, and it had been an interesting time, indeed. The coup in North Korea took less than twenty hours, beginning with Hwang’s speech to the North Korean people and ending with the reports on Korean state television that the Dae Wonsu had taken ill and was going to spend some time recovering in the mountains of his birthplace.
The kid had been born in a hospital in Pyongyang, so it was anybody’s bet where he was, but Jack Ryan didn’t think it was anywhere good.
It wasn’t bloodless: Choi’s bodyguards put up a fight, but they were up against the Chosun Inmingun, and it was a matter of hours, not days, before the tide turned and the power shifted in North Korea.
The Chinese made it happen, all would say, and while the Chinese had great influence over the North Korean military and certainly controlled the media access that had allowed Hwang to reveal the scope of Choi’s corruption to his own people, few would ever know America’s role in uncovering the Chongju mine scandal or the effect a single American agent had in the affair. The rumor would come out that the Chinese had someone at the mine, and this would be helped along by an Australian geologist, who, back with her family in Melbourne, allowed that her intermediate knowledge of Mandarin played a small role in saving the Korean Peninsula from a madman.
Dr. Powers was just glad to be home. She’d keep quiet about the American agent, her ride in a remote-controlled aircraft, and her arrival at a U.S. air base.
The CIA moved Adam Yao onto Air Force One out of sight of the press and even traveling administration personnel. Almost no one on board knew that a man on a stretcher had been carried onto the aircraft after the curtains were closed. The only personnel aware were the CIA officers and medical staff who brought him from the embassy, along with two Secret Service agents who checked everyone extra carefully these days, even Adam Yao, though he was flat on his back with a bandage around his leg.