"Let's go over it one more time," Driver said.
"The hangar is located here," Le said, pointing to the map. Bogner watched while Driver circled the location of the largest hangar and traced his way to the runways.
"Wish me luck," Driver said.
"I have sufficient gear for both of you," Le said. "Danjia equipment and supplies are readily available for the right price. The barter is often a trip for the seller to the Anxi atolls."
Driver measured the distance from the cell block to the hangar housing the Su-39 and frowned. "How the hell do I get from there to there? I may need a diversion of some kind."
Le looked at the two men. "It is too risky to attempt more than one touchdown."
"And if I don't make it back to that hangar before Driver flies that thing out of there?"
Le shook his head. "Then you're on your own, Captain."
Bogner leaned back in his chair and Driver hunched forward. "Okay," he said, "let's talk about that Su-39."
"Your task, Colonel Driver, is somewhat more daunting," Le said. "However, there is one thing in your favor. The Russian pilot, Borisov, I am told, is being quartered in that hangar in accommodations just above the ready room, which is here at the south end of the hangar. My source tells me that the schedule calls for the Russian to meet his Chinese pilot there to go over the training plan for the flight before proceeding to that part of the hangar housing the Su-39. At this point there appear to be two possible scenarios. Either you find a way to intercept and replace the traineeor you replace Borisov. That part, as you Americans like to say, is up to you."
"What do you think the odds are of you being able to fly that crate out of there?" Bogner asked.
"I think I've got better odds with a scenario where I get a chance to look at the controls of that thing before I have to start hitting switches. There may be a few bells and whistles on that crate I'm not familiar with."
Le waited a moment, then stood up. "Any further questions?" he asked.
"Yeah," Driver said. His voice was brittle. "You keep referring to 'your source.' How do we know we can trust him?"
Le smiled. "All fathers trust their sons, Captain."
"But I thought you were a priest."
"Let me paraphrase another old Chinese saying, Colonel Driver: 'Appearances can be and often are deceiving.' You see, I am not really a priest. As your friend Bogner already knows, the cassock is merely a convenient disguise. Under the circumstances, it serves me well."
Bogner looked at his watch. "We better get going."
Le walked across the room and opened a cabinet to reveal an odd assortment of weapons. "The selection is hardly extensive," Le apologized, "but they are all quite serviceable. Unfortunately, we must take what we can get.''
Driver let out a whistle. "An M-16 with a grenade launcher, two M-4 SMGs, and an old Bullpup." He looked at Bogner, then at Le. "Take the nine-millimeter Spectre. If we need more than fifty rounds, we're both chin deep in a rice paddy."
Le handed them the clips, closed the cabinet, folded the charts, and turned off the light. "When we see the Komiskos return to patrol, we must be ready."
Gurin Posmanovich was being cautious. He checked in both directions and waited until the train had cleared the metro station before picking up the telephone and dialing the number. After three rings there was an answer.
"Da," the voice said. It was dry and unfriendly.
"This is Gurin."
"One moment," the voice said, switching to English.
A second voice was silky smooth and feminine. "How nice of you to call, Gurin."
Gurin Posmanovich was suddenly uncomfortable with his arrangement, and he was tempted to hang upbut the thought of Savina was too much. "They have located Schubatis," he blurted.
"Who has located him?"
"The Americans. Ambassador Wilson received a communiqué early this morning. Schubatis is being detained at the Danjia compound. The Americans are planning to abduct him."
"When?"
"I don't know."
"How do you know this?" the voice pressed.
"I decoded the message myself before I gave it to Ambassador Wilson."
There was a pause before the voice thanked him. "You have done well, Gurin. We are pleased. I feel certain Savina will adequately express our gratitude."
Gurin Posmanovich was disappointed when he heard the metallic click on the other end of the line. He wanted to ask where and when the woman would call him. Finally, he hung up the receiver, stepped from the phone booth, and, as usual, felt pangs of regret over his actions. But he also knew that by the time he reached the street level and stepped out into the bustle of traffic on Zhdanov Street, the feeling of remorse would pass.
He buttoned his collar against the cold rain and headed back to the library. He knew it would be wise to hurry. The Ambassador would not expect him to be gone long. Besides, he wanted to be there when Savina called.
Tang Ro Ji stood in the middle of the tiny one-room hut, struggling to overcome the pain. Time had become his enemy. He had lost a great deal of blood and could feel himself growing weaker. "Over there," he ordered. He gestured with the Barkai automatic to put more authority in his command.
Thus far, the only one who had summoned up enough courage to talk to him was the old man. The woman and the three children, despite their anxiety, had remained stolid throughout. When they were finally clustered together, Tang ordered the oldest of the children, a boy Tang would have guessed to be no more than twelve or thirteen, to tie up the others. Then he turned to the boy's father.
"Now, old man, you're going to take me to Hai.kou."
"But I have only a horse and a cart," the man said. There was no defiance in his voice.
At last the woman spoke. "There is a bus," she hesitated, "that picks up the workers from the commune in Mianyang and takes them to Haikou for shopping."
"Mianyang is but five kilometers," the old man said. "And for your arm, there is a doctor in Mianyang."
Tang thought for a moment. "I will need something to wear," he said, "clothing that will not draw attention. Find me some."
The woman instructed the boy to gather up some of his father's clothing.
Tang struggled out of his wet clothes and into dry ones. When he removed his shirt he saw the shattered bone protruding just below the elbow. He wrapped a rag around it to stem the flow of blood.
"Now, old woman, just in case you are entertaining thoughts about telling someone what happened here tonight, think twice. As a precaution I am taking your son with mea kind of insurance policy." Then he looked at the old man. "All you and the boy have to do is get me safely to Mianyang and that bus. If you do, you may live to tell about it. The boy is a different story; he stays with me right up to the time that I get on that plane in Haikou."
Tang prodded the old man across the room as the boy began to sob and ran back to embrace his mother.
Tang Ro Ji grabbed the boy, spun him around, and shoved him toward the door. Then he turned to the woman again. "Remember what I said, old woman."
Bogner crouched in the tall splay grass and waited for the thumping sound of the third of the three Komisko Russian-built helicopters to fade into the night. He checked his watch; it had taken the flight less than twenty minutes to refuel. While he waited, he methodically checked the contents of his aux belt. Le Win Fo had supplied each of them with a combat knife, two four-ounce cartridges of A7a plastic explosive, two spare fifty-round 9mm ammo clips for the SMGs, a pair of wire cutters, a flashlight, and a twelve-foot coil of .22-gauge stainless-steel wire. For a would-be priest, Hua's nephew exhibited all the savvy of a well-indoctrinated terrorist.