After the warning, Gordon began to blow snow. It shot out of the side of the blower in a geyser of white — pelting the backs of the unperturbed agents some distance away. A second agent took up position behind Gordon on his right opposite the senior agent to Gordon’s left. They liked symmetry, Gordon had noticed. A third man walked directly in front, his head on a swivel.
The 180-degree turn at the end of the driveway was a little unwieldy. More agents stood around two Broncos parked on the street. Some had long rifles and scopes. Down the street just inside the police barricades, two vans blocked access to Gordon’s small stretch of Spring River Drive. One was filled with members of the local SWAT Team. The other had satellite antennae raised above it. His entourage had to switch positions around him.
Gordon saw his neighbor two houses down out with his own snowblower. Two agents shadowed the man within easy pistol range. Gordon gave the guy a big wave, which was returned with a broad grin matching Gordon’s.
‘Sorry!’ Gordon shouted to the agent standing guard at the side door. He was removing his sunglasses to wipe the slush from his face. He made sure he powered the baby down before he made his next turn and headed back down the drive. ‘Beautiful day, isn’t it?’ he shouted over the noise to the man in the right rear position. The man said nothing. The small earphone’s wire trailed down into the agent’s jacket.
When Gordon had finished both the drive and the sidewalk, he shut the engine off just outside the garage and took a deep breath of the refreshing air. It was foul with gasoline fumes from the snowblower, but it was cool and dry. Gordon didn’t want to go inside right away. He waited while the body heat he’d generated from the exertion dissipated. His wrists were sore from the vibrations of the handle. ‘It’s a pretty day,’ he said to the senior agent. ‘Maybe I should go knock on doors and try to pocket a few extra bucks clearing driveways.’ The man’s smile reminded Gordon of the Mona Lisa.
The man looked over his shoulder at the street just past the barricades. Moments later, a car that Gordon recognized as belonging to one of his neighbors appeared. The senior agent seemed distracted by something being said to him over the radio. All the agents now faced the approaching menace — a Volvo station wagon filled with groceries. When it turned into its driveway and a woman got out with her two small children, the men eased.
‘Are you going to work the Inauguration?’ Gordon asked.
‘Yes, sir.’
He turned again and looked around. Gordon could see nothing. What was it? he wondered. ‘Yellow dog. Range two hundred meters. No tags’
Elaine stepped out onto the porch. The unexpected appearance of another member of the ‘secure package’ sent several agents scurrying for new positions across the front lawn.
‘Gordon!’ she yelled. ‘It’s time to come in and get dressed!’
‘Just a mi-i-inute!’ he replied. She tapped her wristwatch with both brows raised, then disappeared back inside the house. Gordon turned to the agent and frowned. ‘I’ve gotta go to this… reception thing being given by Capital Hill spouses.’
The agent nodded, then turned to look down the street. A man in his pajamas and robe was just exiting his house with a white garbage bag. Range: one fifty.
Chin couldn’t decide whether to remain in his seat by the open flap at the rear of the truck, or to wade up into the sea of men to sit under the canvas away from the brutal cold.
The truck hit a huge pothole or slid into a rut every few meters. It threw everyone into the men seated around them. The column crawled along at a few miles per hour. They could have marched faster given all the starts and stops, but Chin was not about to turn down the ride.
The next time the truck’s brakes squealed, they came to a complete stop. Chin climbed over the rear gate. The dirt road through the mountains was frozen solid. He walked around to the front of the truck and ordered the private out of the passenger seat. His experiment with riding with his troops was over. The men hadn’t said a word to Chin, or Chin to them. The cabin was nice and warm, unlike the back.
They started moving again. Chin peered out the frosty, fog-smeared windshield. The road ahead curved to the left as it hugged the ridge line. It was jammed full of canvas-covered trucks under a thick and overcast sky.
He didn’t know where they were. He was only a junior lieutenant. Such information was reserved for officers of much higher rank than him. Officers with maps and binoculars who rode in jeeps. Chin didn’t even know where they were going or what awaited them. Like the millions of others on the move that day, he just went in the direction in which he was pointed. There were no questions asked, and none expected.
Nate Clark shut his eyes and rubbed his forehead. The phone was jammed hard against his ear. He was sunk deep into his chair. UNRUSFOR now occupied the entire former military headquarters of the Russian Far East Army Command. General Dekker — Chief of Staff of the Army — was on the secure line to the Pentagon.
‘Ed,’ Nate said, ‘the entire Shenyang Army Group is heading north. Five armored divisions, twenty-three infantry divisions — 350,000 men. And the Beijing Army Group is clearly staging. That’s another four armored and twenty-five infantry divisions — 375,000 more troops — as a follow-on.’
‘A potential follow-on, Nate,’ Ed Dekker corrected. But there was no vigor in his voice. He made the point solely as a matter of form.
‘It’s not just the satellite photos, Ed,’ Nate said — trying a new tack. ‘Or the electronic intercepts, or the human intell, or the warnings through diplomatic contacts. There’s… something — all my unit commanders say they can feel it in their gut. It’s in the air, in the woods, in the shadows at night. It’s been there for days, Ed — for weeks.’
‘What the hell are you talking about?’ Dekker replied testily.
‘The Chinese — they’re coming across. They’ve been infiltrating in force since days ago…’
‘Where’s your proof at that, Nate?’
‘My proof is those fifteen Chinese bodies that German patrol stacked up two days ago!’
‘Fifteen soldiers, Nate!’ Dekker shot back. ‘That’s not coming across “in force.’”
‘For Go-od’s sake, Ed! Don’t tell me you are gonna give me the same…!’
‘Okay!’ Dekker snapped — stopping Nate cold. Nate knew he wasn’t just crossing the line with a superior. He was trampling it. ‘I took it up, and they weren’t persuaded. Maybe if they’d taken a prisoner who talked.’
‘The Chinese soldiers were all sappers,’ Nate said dejectedly. ‘They killed themselves right after the firefight got started.’ Dekker said nothing. He knew all the details. ‘How high did you take it?’
‘All the way to Himself,’ Dekker replied — meaning President Marshall.
Nate pressed down on his sore eyes with his fingertips. ‘Ed, they could be all over the place. They could be ringing every firebase we got. There’s so much Goddamn real estate out here — most of it covered in forest… I’ve been patrolling as much as I dare, but I’m terrified, Ed — absolutely terrified — at what those patrols might find. That’s how that German airborne company found those Chinese sappers — on a long-range patrol. And those Chinese were carrying twenty kilos of C4 apiece. That wasn’t a recon unit, Ed. They were gonna blow some things up.’