McCormick absorbed the withering summary without a word. Finally, he responded, “You're right. I'm fighting for a lot of reasons, and some of them have nothing to do with Taiwan. But I — we — are making a big difference to the people in Taiwan and all over the world. I meant what I said in the manuscript. And I've been around long enough to know the difference between fighting for something and fighting for nothing.”
Volodya considered McCormick's answer. “You're honest, sergeant, I'll grant you that.”
“And why are you here, Sergeant Ivanov?”
“Me? Don't tell anyone, but I'm a Russian officer in the tradition of Andrei Bolkonsky. Yes, I am here under contract with Douglas's company, but I have little use for money. Believe it or not, I'm after nothing but honor. Honor means keeping faith with people who do something for you. Douglas got me out of going to Ukrainian prison, so I owed it to him to come to this war when he needed experienced people. Jed saved my life on the bridge, so I dragged him down the river.”
Amusement crept into Volodya's voice. “And living for honor has proven far more exciting than staying in Volgograd would have been.”
McCormick added, “Or Indiana, for that matter.”
The two drove on in silence until they reached their objective.
A sleepy voice answered the phone in Chinese. An automatic translator on Fei's computer spat out a simultaneous English translation: “This is Captain Fong.”
“Hello, Captain, this is Sergeant Clay McCormick.”
A full two seconds passed without any response. Then, in accented English: “How did you get this number?”
“Come now, Captain, let's not waste each other's time discussing trivialities. Why don't you go ahead and ask me why I'm calling?”
“Alright, why are you calling?”
“I think you knew I wasn't going to just sit back and let the PLA put Corporal Gurung through a mock trial and execution.”
Fong grunted amusement. “No, but I didn't expect you'd react by making prank phone calls. Is that what Cortez has got you doing when you're not killing defenseless pilots?”
“Not quite. Actually, I'm on a little sabbatical until I get Gurung out of prison.”
“Well, why don't you come break him out? I'll make sure I'm here to say hello when you arrive.”
A dry laugh. “Actually, I was thinking you'd do me the courtesy of freeing him yourself.”
“And why would I want to free a terrorist?”
“Professional courtesy, of course. A favor from one soldier to another.”
McCormick paused, then added, “Oh, and because I have your wife and sons and if Gurung isn't on a plane to Switzerland in three hours I'm going to kill your family.”
A chill fell over the conversation. “If you so much as bruise them—”
A female voice came on the line, interrupting Captain Fong. The woman said haltingly in Chinese, “Wu?”
Fong's voice cracked. “Kim! Are you alright?”
“Yes, yes, we are all fine. The American says all he wants is his friend to go free.”
“Where are you, Kim?”
“I–I don't know. We were blindfolded and loaded into a car, and I'm not sure where he took us.”
There was a rustling and McCormick got back on the line. “Well, she might not know where she is, but I can tell you she knows where she'd rather be. And you can get her back there. I'm a man of my word, Captain Fong. I have never deliberately harmed a civilian unless it was absolutely necessary. But I'll do whatever it takes to free my fellow Knight.”
Fong swore, then asked, barely containing his rage, “What do you want me to do?”
“There's a Swissair flight leaving Beijing for Geneva in three hours. Gurung had better be on it. Once the plane is out of Chinese airspace, I'll drop your wife and kids off where they can get in touch with you. Very simple, Captain.”
“How do you expect me to convince my superiors to release Gurung?”
“Tell them I threatened to reveal an explosive state secret. You know them better than I do. Tell them I found a video of a senior Chinese general playing genital tag with a five year old boy. I don't care. Just don't tell them I kidnapped your family. They sure as hell won't release Gurung just to save them. Only self-preservation will get them to let my friend go.”
“I understand.” A pause. “I am certain that they will demand as a condition that you may not announce to the world that Gurung has been freed. If you make that announcement, I will personally ensure that your family in the U.S. is killed. Are we clear on that point?”
McCormick's voice hardened. “Yes, Captain. You had better get to work. And one more thing: make sure he has his kukri when you put him on the plane.”
McCormick hung up.
“Jesus, Dietrich, when you said this wouldn't be good PR, you weren't kidding.” I made the comment as the rest of the Lafayette Initiative manned various laptops at our base, monitoring video feeds from various parts of Beijing Capital International Airport. Fei's hackers had needed little time to give us total control over the airport's thousands of high-definition video cameras.
Dietrich answered, “The plan is designed to work, not to be pretty.”
McCormick and Volodya had parked their van on a random sidestreet in the residential outskirts of Quanzhou. They waited there with the Fong family while we performed our part of the operation.
An hour before the scheduled departure of the Swissair flight, Taleb spotted Captain Fong and another tall, strong-looking Chinese man get out of an unmarked car. Both were in civilian attire, and Fong opened the back door of the car to allow a short, compact Asiatic man out of the backseat. Taleb said, “I think I have found Gurung, Mr. Cortez.”
Instantly, everyone with a laptop had switched over to the camera feed from the drop-off parking lot. “Can we confirm that it's Gurung?” Douglas asked the question. Fei pulled up the file photo. Gurung had a scar on his right cheek, the remnant of a long-forgotten knife fight. Sure enough the man being escorted by Captain Fong had the same scar.
“Looks like it's him,” Douglas said. He keyed the radio microphone and informed McCormick.
“Does he have his kukri in a scabbard?” McCormick asked.
Douglas glanced at the video of the three men walking through the terminal. Gurung was wearing a dress shirt, blazer, and khaki pants, but the kukri scabbard was visible mid-stride. “Yes, he's got the kukri.”
“Do you have a good view of him right now?”
Douglas glanced at the screen. “Yes, he's about to go through security.”
Over the radio, we heard McCormick dialing a phone number. On the video screen, Captain Fong stopped to answer his phone.
“Yes, Sergeant McCormick?”
“I'm watching you, Captain Fong. Have Corporal Gurung take out his kukri.”
Fong looked around, trying to spot McCormick or anyone else in the terminal acting suspiciously. The terminal was largely deserted thanks to the Chinese wartime restrictions on international travel. The few people milling about were largely focused on their smartphones. Fong clearly wondered if one of them was sending a video feed to Clay. “Why do you want Corporal Gurung to take out his kukri in full view of the public?”