Zuo had given away or sold off everything he owned. Back at his apartment were a blanket, a pillow, and two packed suitcases.
After his fellow agent Lo Kuo-hui had left with the good news that the DIA had honored their deal with him, Zuo had finally believed that the agency would help him, too. But this last-minute mission left him sweaty and breathless.
He hit the Return key, reached for the phone.
The door swung open, the lights switched on, and in rushed the deputy director himself, bald pate gleaming, eyes narrowed behind thick glasses. Behind him came two security guards, their rifles trained on Zuo, whose hand went for the pistol holstered at his waist.
"Hands on the desk," barked Wang, as the guards moved in closer.
Zuo raised his palms and gently returned them to the keyboard.
"I am deeply hurt," Wang continued. "I know you used my phone to call Geneva. Who are you working for? The Ministry of Public Security or State Security?"
Zuo swallowed, tried to speak, but the words wouldn't come at first. At least Wang didn't know he was spying for the Americans. He assumed he'd been betrayed, a breakdown in guanxi, in connections. Wang was involved in something even bigger than the Spring Tiger Group's plan, but Zuo wasn't sure what. There'd been no answer in Geneva, but he had passed on that number to the Americans.
Wang shook his head in disappointment. "I haven't slept in two days. I was thinking about meeting you at the academy, about how you've become my son. I have grown sick. Is this what a son does to his father?"
Zuo averted his gaze. "No."
"Then what shall I do with you?"
"Please, sir. I am not working for anyone. I was just curious. Stupid."
Wang crossed around the desk. "Stand up!"
Zuo complied.
Wang reached down, removed Zuo's pistol, and handed it to one of the guards. Then he shook his head and abruptly smacked Zuo across the face. "I have no tolerance or forgiveness or mercy for spies."
With his cheek on fire, Zuo lowered his head and flexed his fingers. This was it. Wang would have him die in a robbery or an accident--nothing to arouse further investigation by State Security. There would be no new life back in America. No freedom. All of the spying he had done for the Americans had been for nothing.
Nothing!
Slowly, he raised his head, looked Wang straight in the eye, then he threw himself forward, wrapping his fingers around the director's throat. He drove the man onto the floor and began digging his fingers into warm, flabby flesh, just as the guards seized his arms and wrenched him off.
One guard reared back and punched Zuo in the temple. He rolled back, across the floor, the room spinning.
"Get him out of here," Wang cried. "Back down to my car. Hurry now!"
They hauled Zuo to his feet, dragged him out the door as he struggled to remain conscious.
LEAVING HAKKA CASTLE
XIAMEN, CHINA
APRIL 2012
The vehicle with the single headlight barreled toward Fang, its engine growing louder and issuing a strange and rhythmic whine. He thrust out his hand, firing his pistol until the magazine was empty.
But the thing kept coming.
He reached over, seized his rifle, propped the barrel on the side-view mirror, and unloaded the ten bullets left in the magazine. He let the rifle fall away, just as he cut the wheel to the right, veering sharply off the road.
With a violent jostle that threw him up from the seat, he hit the embankment, and the truck suddenly dropped a meter and began rolling onto its side.
His gaze flicked up to his left, and he couldn't believe what came roaring by.
Chapter Thirty.
USS MONTANA (SSN-823)
SOUTH TAIWAN STRAIT
SOUTH CHINA SEA
APRIL 2012
Captain Gummerson approached the two naval aviators just as Lieutenant Moch shook his fist and muttered, "Yeah."
They were in the control room, and Moch and his copilot, Lieutenant Justin Schumaker, had been a study in sheer determination as they'd piloted the Predator over the twisting mountain road. Once they'd located a swath of ground wide enough to permit the Predator's wingspan of 14.8 meters, they had descended hard and fast through the rainstorm, putting the bird on a direct intercept course with Mitchell's fleeing guard.
Gummerson had listened to the initial request, which had raised a few brows on Montana.
"Predator support, this is Diaz," called one of Mitchell's Ghosts.
"Hey, Alicia. Go ahead."
"Jeff, remember that story you told me? Well, I need you to stop a train."
"Are you kidding me?"
"No. It's up to you, Mr. Naval Aviator."
"Roger that. Sit back and enjoy the show."
Now Gummerson leaned over Moch and said, "I assume you stopped your train--or is it a truck?"
"Oh, yeah, sir. All he saw was our headlight before we ran him off the road." Moch pointed at one of his monitors with thermal images and pairs of reticles superimposed over several data bars. "Check it out. You see the look on his face?"
"Wow. But he did see the bird."
"True. But he won't be around long enough to tell."
Gummerson nodded and glanced over at Lieutenant Commander Sands, who appeared equally impressed.
Moch's copilot began speaking quickly over his radio as flashing red circles appeared along a three-dimensional rendering of the drone's fuselage.
"What now?" groaned Moch.
"Looks like some hydraulic and engine damage, and a small fuel leak from all that gunfire," said Schumaker. "Sensor operators back home confirm."
"Lieutenant, I need you to take her back over the harbor before you ditch. Can you still do that?" asked Gummerson.
"We'll sweet-talk her into one last pass, sir."
"Focus on the gap between Haicang and Gulangyu Island. That zone concerns me the most."
Moch gently shifted the joystick controller. "On our way."
Gummerson faced Sands. "XO, are the SEALs ready?"
"Standing by."
"Excellent. Tell 'em it won't be long."
"Aye, aye, sir."
LEAVING HAKKA CASTLE
XIAMEN, CHINA
APRIL 2012
Satellite imagery relayed to Mitchell's HUD indicated that Fang was out of his ride, but he had not fled. He was trying to use the truck's forward winch to drag the vehicle from the embankment and, perhaps, tip it upright. If he could utilize a few trees and rig the tow line at the proper angle, he could get back on the road.
They were about five minutes away from his position, and Mitchell knew that if they roared up on him, he'd bolt into the woods.
A pang of guilt woke deep in Mitchell's gut. The mission and his people came first, yes, but this was a chance to slam shut one of the most painful doors of his life. Could he justify taking time out for revenge?
Maybe Fang had seen the Predator. Maybe he'd alert the PLA that the attack had come from Americans.