Tombstone looked at the kid for a moment, then at Palmer. “What?”
For the first time, Palmer appeared a bit uncertain. “Well, despite the mess you see here, we were able to determine that more than seventy percent of the control and navigation components on this UAV came from the same manufacturer.”
“And?”
“It was MyTronic Corporation — the electronics division of a company you might have heard of: McIntyre Engineering International.”
SIX
Ming sat alone at the conference table, sipping a cup of tea. When the door opened, he spoke without looking up. “Major General Yeh. Please have a seat.”
Only after he heard the creak of a chair did he raise his head. He noted that the Political Commissar was looking around nervously, clearly disturbed to find himself alone with the Party’s representative. Good.
“You sent for me?” Yeh said.
“Yes. We need to discuss the situation here in Hong Kong. Things are not going well.”
“If you’re referring to the American attack on our destroyer, I can assure you that — ”
“No, that is not what I’m talking about. That, or something like it, was to be expected. What I’m talking about is this.” And he held up a piece of paper. “This is a message from Beijing. Our spies in Washington tell us that the survivor of the Lady of Leisure gave the Americans the exact name of the man responsible for attacking the yacht.”
Yeh sat up. “His name?”
“Yes. Captain Wang I of the Coastal Defense Force.”
“The CDF? But… that’s not possible.”
“I agree. For one thing, Major General Chin is much too dim to even conceive of so brazen an act, far less disguise it afterward. For another, we have already learned that Wang I was absent from Hong Kong at the time of the attack, visiting his mother in Pok Lo. So it would appear that someone assumed Wang’s identity in order to commandeer the Lady of Leisure.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know. That’s why I want to talk to you. As Political Commissar, it’s your job to know the moral strength of our fighting men. Do you know of any who might be responsible for this disaster?”
“Of course not. Only the most politically reliable men were selected for service in the Hong Kong garrison.”
Ming waved his hand. “I’m not interested in speeches, only reality. Perhaps I’m speaking to the wrong man. Allow me to test you: If all four of your fellow major generals were still living, which would you consider most likely to have organized the attack on the yacht?”
Yeh’s eyes flicked from side to side as if seeking escape from the man’s narrow face. “If you really think… well, I suppose Hsu Pi would have been the most likely candidate. The PLA Air Force was humiliated by its last major conflict with the United States, in the Spratley Islands. Revenge ran very hot in Hsu.”
“An excellent analysis,” Ming said, “assuming Hsu could have gotten access to a patrol boat and a full complement of sailors. However, it would appear you aren’t aware that when Hsu had a fatal heart attack, the only thing running hot in him was his lust. He was in a Hong Kong brothel. Evidently you can’t buy six beautiful Filipino women at the same time in Beijing.”
Yeh’s mouth sagged open.
“Or what about our other deceased commander, Po Yu Li of the PLA Navy? Officially, he died in the line of duty, shot by a drug smuggler he was attempting to arrest. This is somewhat true; he was shot by a drug smuggler. Of course, at the time, our major general was attempting to raise his standard bribe for allowing the smuggler to pass unmolested.”
Blood crept up in Yeh’s cheeks. “I cannot believe it.”
“Perhaps you’re wondering about our current commanders, eh? The venerable Wei Ao, First Among Equals? It appears he has a passion for collecting antiquities smuggled out of temples during the Cultural Revolution. He has a warehouse full in the New Territories; you really should see it.”
Yeh stared at him. “You know about these crimes?”
“Of course. These ‘crimes,’ as you put it, are why I selected those men for their jobs in the first place.”
“But — ”
“Major General, your outrage does you credit. But remember, this is Hong Kong, city of temptation. I must be practical. In my opinion, it is easier to watch over and control men whose weaknesses are known than those whose vices are secret. Especially when the men in question believe their personal activities are secret.”
Yeh’s face had grown stiffer with every word that reached him. Ming almost smiled. “What about Chin?” the Commissar asked. “You have something against him as well?”
“Only his worthlessness.”
“But if he has no vices to protect,” Yeh said, “then he’s the only one of us who might be responsible for attacking the yacht, true?”
Ming nodded approvingly. “You’re learning. But in this case you’re wrong. Major general or not, Chin has not a shred of martial wisdom or courage. He could never mount a surprise attack against any boat — even an unarmed American yacht.”
Yeh shook his head. “You have a very cynical attitude, Comrade General. Does the State Council know about it?”
“Of course. Their attitude is the same when it comes to leaders in Hong Kong. Later there will be time for ideological reconstruction, but for now, a decadent place must be dealt with on its own terms.” Ming looked at Yeh sidelong. “You’re wondering what my own vices might be?”
“Actually, I was wondering what you thought mine to be.”
“Ah. Your vice, Comrade Major General, is your stubborn belief that people can be redeemed by devotion to high ideals. And that vice, my dear Political Commissar, is exactly why I recommended you for your job.”
Dr. George hurried across the tarmac of the private jet section of Kai Tak airport, his briefcase bumping rhythmically against his thigh. Today he’d gotten stuck in traffic trying to leave downtown Hong Kong. Those damned protestors again, except this time the signs read NO WAR IN HONG KONG and KEEP THE PEACE, AMERICA and, an apparent favorite, HONG KONG IS NOT BAGDHAD. People were marching in the streets, waving their signs and chanting. Armed soldiers in green uniforms had been standing around, looking grave.
But not as grave as George felt. This whole trip had been a waste of time. One corporation after another, and every time the same result. During his last meeting at a huge conglomerate called MIL, several of the Board members had turned and glanced through the windows that faced toward the South China Sea. George knew they were examining the clear blue sky, the handful of puffy white clouds, the limp flags on surrounding skyscrapers, the lack of whitecaps on Victoria Harbor. They were thinking about the television weather reports, which predicted only normal spring squalls on the open sea. In other words, the executives were observing that there was no hint at all a Super Typhoon was imminent. Or even remote.
Naturally they’d been unconvinced, and now it was too late. George’s time was up. Not far away was the converted Gulfstream IV business jet that was the last NOAA aircraft in all the Pacific — and after today it, too, would be heading East. After today, Dr. Alonzo George would be grounded in Guam, in his little office with its earthbound instruments. No more soaring into the stupendous gray world of the typhoon. No more ferreting out its most intimate secrets, including what exactly made it decide to rise out of its saltwater bottle like an evil genie in the first place.