He nodded. “Alright. Alright. Please.”
It took them a full five minutes to get the Chinese man upright and clothed. He looked groggy. Probably from whatever was getting pumped into his bloodstream. They conversed for over an hour. About little things at first. A lot of questions about the Chinese man’s family.
Chase marveled about the ease with which they talked. If this man was really a Chinese spy, he would know what to do and what to expect when being questioned. But the Doctor had found the single weak point in his defenses and exploited it masterfully. His emotional reaction to his daughter cut through everything else.
When the Doctor finally got to the questions about Jinshan and China’s part in the Beltway attacks, he became very cooperative. The CIA men furiously typed notes and sent information in real time to the SILVERSMITH team at Langley.
When the interview was done, the Doctor made a hand gesture as if he was ready for the check at a restaurant. That was the signal to take the aircraft back to Joint Base Andrews.
The CIA team had been hopeful that they would find evidence of a connection between the Chinese and the Iranian attacks. Even so, none of them could believe what they had just heard.
Within two hours of landing, Chase and Susan were once again in the office of the director of the CIA.
The director said, “Let’s hear it, folks. What did you find?”
Susan gave him the important points, providing details when asked. After speaking for about ten minutes, she finished with, “Sir, to summarize, it appears that Cheng Jinshan has been micromanaging this all himself. We believe that he has someone in the People’s Liberation Army Navy — probably the South Sea Fleet Commander — working with him. That’s the only way he could have pulled this off. Jinshan has his own intelligence network — a team of spies that he has been grooming and working with for decades. Many of them, including Lena Chou, have apparently infiltrated US government agencies and institutions.”
“Do you have more names?”
“A few, sir, yes. The counterespionage teams at the CIA and FBI are both on it.”
“Good.”
“Sir, on the issue of providing evidence to American and Chinese leadership — a lot of this won’t be provable. It won’t be the smoking gun that we need to prove it to the Chinese president.”
“Why not?” the director asked.
“If the Chinese don’t accept that Lena Chou was a spy, we wouldn’t expect this guy to be any better leverage. Jinshan likely operated his network of spies in such a way that almost no one in the Chinese government had access to their names.”
The director stood up and paced around his office. “I see. What next? Folks, we need something clean cut.”
Susan replied, “We’re working on that, sir. Our best lead is that the Chinese spy seemed to think that there might be some Chinese military movement in Latin America — he called it pre-positioning. The interrogations are continuing. And we’re following up on all the leads that we’ve developed so far. We have started to look into this Vice Admiral Song — he’s the South Sea Fleet Commander of the PLA Navy. So far it looks like he’s the senior military conspirator aiding Jinshan. This guy was stationed in the same locations as Cheng Jinshan on several occasions of the past few decades. Our contacts in Guangzhou are telling us that they have been seen together several times this year. This lead shows promise.”
The intercom on the table came on with the secretary’s voice saying, “Director, General Schwartz is here to see you.”
“Send him in, please.”
The Army three-star general marched in. He had close-cropped grey hair and wore his Army service uniform.
Chase glanced over the uniform. One thing he appreciated about the military was that you could learn a lot about someone just by looking at their chest candy. The RANGER tab, the Master Parachutist Badge with two Combat Jump Devices, the United States Special Operations Command Badge, a Silver Star, a Bronze Star with four oak leaf clusters, Afghanistan Campaign Medal and Iraq Campaign Medal — both with multiple campaign stars. This man was the real deal.
“Good evening, team.”
“Thank you, Susan,” the director said, “that will be all.”
Chase and Susan both got up to leave.
The director said, “Chase, please stay seated.”
Susan and Chase looked at each other, and then Chase sat back down. Susan departed the room.
When it was just the three of them, the director said, “The general needs to provide you with a new set of orders.”
“Yes, sir.”
The general looked at Chase. “Let me ask you a question, son. Do you know why we named this Operation SILVERSMITH?”
“I must confess that I don’t, sir.”
“There was a famous silversmith in our nation’s history. That man rode through the night on horseback, warning of an impending invasion by soldiers cloaked in red.”
“Paul Revere.”
“The one and only. You see the symbolism there, don’t you? Don’t ever say that a West Point grad can’t be a poet.”
Chase smiled politely.
“You’re our Paul Revere, son. The analogy isn’t perfect. We don’t yet know if we’re about to be attacked by the largest standing army in history. Paul Revere was warning of an impending attack. Your role will be to warn certain elements of the American military and set them into motion.”
The director chimed in, “Chase, we’re going to need you to act as a messenger for a select group of military and intelligence assets. Ones that we need to get moving now, in case we need them later.”
The general lowered his voice. “Your actions will allow Operation SILVERSMITH to fulfill its two main objectives. One, to confirm the threat we are facing. And two, to move some of our chess pieces on the board in a way that will counter that threat.”
Chase said, “Understood. What do I need to do?”
The general handed him a file. “Some light reading. We’ll go through it quick. You’ve got a plane to catch.”
7
The two grey MH-60S Seahawk helicopters flew in a loose trail formation, two hundred feet over the water. Chase was in the first aircraft. He wore green digital fatigues, a large black cloth Trident sewn onto his left breast, above the US NAVY lettering. MANNING was on the right breast, a Velcro American flag on his right shoulder, and a small dark suitcase handcuffed to his right wrist.
Upon landing, the aircrewman shuffled him to someone wearing the white shirt and headgear of the air transfer officer. Everyone on the carrier deck had a distinct color that was associated with their role on the flight deck. The man in white motioned for Chase to follow him under the spinning rotors and into the superstructure of the enormous new aircraft carrier.
Moments later he stood at the door of the captain’s cabin. His father sat on the couch. Another man, who he assumed to be the captain of the USS Ford, sat in the dark brown leather chair next to him. A small coffee table was in the center of the room, on top of a rug with the ship’s crest.
“Chase, this is Captain Chuck Stewart.”
They shook hands. The door was closed, and Chase unlocked the handcuff and opened the briefcase. He handed a single envelope, marked with the purple TOP SECRET/SCI stamp, to his father. There were several pages in the orders, and his father looked up at Chase a few times while he read.