“Esteemed Comrades, I direct your attention to the copy of Commander Zemin’s message transmitted three hours ago, to Admiral Chou’s North Sea Fleet Headquarters, Qingdao,” Shi said in a lecturing voice. “His submarine has been shadowing this pirate, Fat, in his fancy junk, between the North Korean ship Sugun, and Matsu Shan. Fat has apparently concluded his business and has returned to the island.”
Shi pressed a clicker. Behind him and facing his listeners, a large plasma video monitor came to life with a map of the area around Taiwan and Matsu Shan. Four bright red dots labeled T-One, T-Two, T-Three, and T-Four appeared at different locations on the map.
“Target-One represents the present position of Commander Zemin’s submarine, ten nautical miles east of Matsu Shan. Target-Two is the Sugun.” Her dot was two hand’s-lengths north of Matsu Shan. “Target-Three is Fat’s junk, the White Dragon, in her anchorage. Target-Four”—and here Shi paused for effect—“is what may be a U.S. Navy 688I-class submarine.” He turned and pointed to a red dot just south of Matsu Shan and in a direct line with Fat’s anchorage.
Shi’s audience greeted the light show with respectful silence. The admiral cleared his throat again and said, “I emphasize that it may be a U.S. 688I. Commander Zemin tried to make a positive identification but could not. For our purposes, assume it is a 688I.”
Another throat-clearer, an elderly PLAN senior general, spoke around a cigarette stuck between dry lips. “And what is the significance of an American submarine operating off Taiwan? After all, they spy on us whenever they feel like it.”
“True, Comrade General,” said Shi, “but this time we have an unusual set of circumstances — Wu Chow Fat anchoring off Chi-lung harbor twice in two days — unheard of. A North Korean ship, the Sugun, with a helicopter on board, is spotted on the high seas south of Wen-chou. This helicopter takes off from the Sugun for a visit to Matsu Shan. The Sugun then lies to off Wen-chou for two days.”
“Yes?…”
“North Korean cargo ships never carry helicopters. Our spies in Nam’po reported the Sugun’s sailing and also the extremely tight security surrounding her departure. They reported that no drugs were loaded, only bags of cement and that someone of high rank may have taken passage.”
A hand rose. It belonged to General Liu Huaquing of the PLAN air force. “The North Koreans use helicopters to ferry crews between ships engaged in seismographic exploration and their Yangdok oil drilling platform in Korea Bay. Perhaps this is a case of such—”
“I assure you that is not the case, Comrade General,” said Shi.
“And what of the White Dragon? What is her business in Chi-lung?” another general asked.
“Fat never ventures into Chi-lung to unload cargoes of drugs. Instead, he always transfers to lighters offshore, out of reach of Taiwanese authorities. But when he anchored off Chi-lung he wasn’t delivering drugs. Like the Sugun, the White Dragon embarked a passenger for Matsu Shan.”
General Liu grumbled as he pointed to the plasma screen. “So what does this mean?”
“I think the Americans are investigating why Wu Chow Fat would be meeting with someone important from the new government in North Korea. Perhaps with Marshal Jin himself.”
A murmur of disbelief arose from the conferees. It threatened to drown out Shi until he ordered silence and got it.
“As for the passenger Fat picked up in Chi-lung,” he continued, “our people there think he is an influential Japanese with ties to the yakuza and North Korean drug trade.”
Voices rose again as Shi’s audience argued among themselves about the possible implications of what Shi had described.
“Comrades, I have ordered Commander Zemin to determine what the American sub is doing off Matsu Shan. It would not surprise me that they would try to put an armed force on the island to discover who is there with Fat. Surely it has something to do with the American — North Korean standoff and is so worrisome to the Americans that they are willing to risk a criminal violation of sovereign Chinese territory to find out what it is. We all know that the United States never hesitates to cross borders or disregard treaties when it comes to ensuring its national security.”
The admiral’s audience voiced agreement.
“Always it is the Americans that are the cause of our troubles,” General Liu said acidly.
“No,” said Shi. “This time it is the North Koreans.”
16
Inside their perimeter at the foot of the bluff, Scott and the SEALs set up shop behind the toolshed. Caserta wore special vision goggles designed for viewing the video monitor and controls he’d use to fly the micro air vehicle, which he’d removed from its padded case. Next he erected a small launching pylon, then prepped the bug for flight.
Meanwhile, Jefferson inched around the perimeter, checking to make sure that the team was ready to take down any of Fat’s men should they stumble into the SEAL hornet’s nest. Scott ran a final comms check, hissing into his throat mike to confirm he was linked to everyone. They all responded in the same fashion. Ready, Scott touched Caserta on the arm and pointed “up.”
Scott heard a low hiss that sounded like a release of gas from a bottle of soda. Caserta toggled the stubby stick on his laptop-sized flight control pack, and the little black bug, its wings a blur, lifted straight up off the pylon, dipped, and vanished skyward with remarkable speed.
Like Caserta, Scott wore goggles to view the control pack’s monitor, and he saw exactly what the bug was seeing. There was a blur of yellowish-green color as the little robot zipped to and fro high over head, orienting itself via its miniature inertial guidance system. Then the image stabilized into an aerial view of the villa. Seen through the bug’s NV camera, it looked like it was midday in bright sunlight. Shadows were sharp and black, and the details were astonishingly clear.
“Let’s see the helo pad,” Scott said.
Caserta finessed the stick and the fly rose high above the bluff, until it was looking straight down on an empty expanse of tarmac.
“Shit,” Scott said. “Bird’s gone. What’s IR say?”
Caserta switched the bug’s sensors to infrared and took a sample. The heat trace outline of a vanished helicopter appeared on the screen.
“Says liftoff was about four hours ago.”
Scott told Jefferson and got a “Shit!”
Caserta brought the fly down from its 100-foot altitude, until it was hovering over the veranda and he and Scott were seeing into the dining room, from the perspective of a six-foot-tall man.
Suddenly the image went black. A heartbeat later it cleared, and Scott realized that a person had walked in front of the camera. An elderly woman servant, Chinese from her looks, stepped away from the camera and bent to clear dishes from the dining room table.
Under Caserta’s control, the bug moved slowly through a pair of open double doors into the main living area. A man appeared, dressed in black and armed with an AK-47. Another armed man came into view. The two conferred, then moved out of camera range.
Caserta made a 360, saw that no one else was present in the room, and moved on. The MAV peeked down a deserted hallway with doors on either side and zipped through an open door into a bedroom. Inside was another man clad in black, asleep in a double bed, an AK-47 at his side. Caserta backed the MAV out. More rooms, more armed men, women, too, lounging, watching TV, drinking, eating. Down a flight of stairs to see kitchen help scouring woks, loading a dishwasher.