Yew peered down into the depths of the clear water and saw a series of what appeared to be metal canisters. They seemed to be floating, yet they were clearly connected by cables.
"As I suspected," Shin shouted. "Those, Lieutenant Yew, are percussion mines. The Americans laid them during the war to discourage the Vietnamese from enlarging their operations on these atolls."
Yew studied them and was about to express his disappointment when the spotter in the Fange's turret began gesturing, pointing off of the gunboat's port side. This time it was Shin who turned and scanned the area with his binoculars. To Yew's surprise, the man's craggy face betrayed a small smile. "I think we have located what you are looking for, Lieutenant.''
Suddenly Yew could see it. Two vertical projections, no more than three or four feet above the surfacethe twin black stabilizers of the Covert.
"Bring her around and launch the raft," Shin ordered.
Harry Driver lay in the tall sea grass at the water's edge and watched as the gunboat circled the area near the downed Covert. One thing the survival pack had not contained was a pair of binoculars. He could count five crew members in all. Three of the men were deploying a raft, and he wondered if they were coming ashore.
In the last few hours, Harry Driver had considered his options, playing out several different scenarios against a backdrop of "what if." The first, of course, had been what he would do if Quan's men came to search the island. Now that was a distinct possibility. Another had been how he would present himself if one of the Taiwanese freighters came to pick up refugees. A third had been to approach the children he had heard playing on the island earlier that morning. The last, however, proved not to be an option. A man had rowed ashore from a small fishing boat, called the children, and departed before Driver had worked out his plan. If it happened again, he vowed to be ready.
Driver checked the Makarov, inched forward, making certain the sea grass still concealed him, and watched the men in the raft struggle with a bulky sack of considerable size. They laid it in the bottom of the raft and began rowing toward the wreck of the Covert.
Win Yew was not prepared for what he saw when he looked down at the sunken Covert. The canopy was shattered and peeled back. Feng had instructed him as to what to look for. If the canopy was not missing entirely, then the pilot had not ejected.
In the cockpit, instead of the body of the pilot, Yew saw the Russian, Schubatis. The little man had a rag stuffed in his mouth and there was a curious look of terror on his face. His body was already slightly bloated, and discolored by what had no doubt been hemorrhaging. Even more disturbing was the fact that Schubatis's eyes were missing.
"The fish beat us here," one of the men commented.
While the third man in the raft donned scuba gear, Yew searched the waters around the Covert for the body of the pilot. A small school of yansi fish darted from under the broken left wing and a small lemon shark patroled just a few feet away.
The diver slipped into the water and began circling the craft. The water was so clear Yew believed he could reach out and touch him by merely putting his hand in the water. When he finally surfaced, the diver was shaking his head. "I find no trace of the other one," he reported.
Yew bent down and peered over the edge of the raft. "Could the body have washed ashore?"
The diver gestured, explaining how the tides and undercurrents worked in the basin of the atoll's inlet. "If the tide was strong enough to carry the body in this morning, the ebb tide would be equally strongif the body did not get caught in the coral. The undercurrents in the claw of the inlet are three knots, perhaps strongerin either case, sufficiently strong to take a man's body out to sea."
"Then the chances of finding the body are remote," Yew concluded.
A second diver joined the first and the search continued. It was Shin who finally called them off.
"You have found your Covert, Lieutenant Yew. What do you hope to prove by finding the pilot?"
"I had hoped to learn the identity of the man," Yew said.
"The sea knows the identity of the other man who died herethat is sufficient."
"You are right, Captain," Yew admitted. He turned away and unzipped the body bag. Borisov was attired in his flight suitcomplete to his flight boots and helmet. If the body of the Russian was eventually recovered, Quan was eager for it to appear that he was the one who had been piloting the ship at the time of the crash.
One of the divers pulled the raft into position over the Covert and Yew rolled the body overboard. The earthly remains of Arege Borisov undulated down in an eerie kind of death dance, caught briefly in the ebb and flow of the atoll's unseen currents. When he came to rest on the floor of the lagoon, with the acrylic mask of his flight helmet open, the Russian seemed to be staring up at Yew.
The gravity of the moment was lost on Shin. As soon as their grisly mission had been completed, he began barking out orders. The divers were brought in and the raft retrieved. The helmsman was given a heading of.090 and the Fange picked up speed.
Yew was, perhaps, the only one to reflect on what they had done. Down deep inside of him, in the pit of his stomach, perhaps in what his people called the "essence," he felt ashamed.
Colonel Quan stood at the window of his office waiting for the string of staff cars to roll through the security gate from the Danjia tarmac.
Han Xihui was the second son of Han Ki Po, the titular head of the Fifth Academy, and the man Quan knew he would someday have to overcome if he was to assume Han's place as head of the Academy. Quan was uncertain of his adversary's age, but estimated it to be midsixties.
Han was a portly man with a round, full face void of expression, excessive jowls, and an acknowledged penchant for cruelty. Quan had never seen the 5A general attired in any other fashion than in his full military uniform.
Han stepped from the black Mercedes, flanked by two of his staff officers. The second car disgorged three more members of his staff, all officers, all falling into step behind Han. Some of Han's retinue had been expected, but Quan was surprised at the size of this one in view of the death of the Chairman.
Quan moved behind his desk and waited. He knew Han well enough to know there would be little display of protocol. He expected Han to begin with an accusation.
The General conveyed arrogance as he entered the room. He ignored Quan's greeting and stepped up to the Colonel's desk. "You have located the assassin, Tang Ro Ji?"
"We have been searching since we first learned of this matter."
"You have not located him?" There was accusation in Han's question.
"We continue our search," Quan said flatly.
"I am told this man worked for you."
"I know him in the way that I know many men," Quan said. "No better than many and more than some. He is a man of few moralsat times a convenient man to know."
"And what about you, Colonel?"
Quan stiffened. "Is that an accusation, General? Are you accusing me of being part of a conspiracy?"
Han understood theater. This was theater handed down from dynasty to dynasty, from the intrigues of the Manchu rulers to the Kuomintang to the Chinese Communist Party, even to the Gang of Four. His own officers were dissidents within a dissident faction, many of whom had lived through the so-called rehabilitation of Deng Xiaopingthey had been witness to the ebbs and flows of power within the PRC. To accuse Quan of being the instigator of the assassination of his father and not be able to prove it was the action of a fool. His officers could, and would, switch their allegiance to Quan as easily as they could change their uniforms.