China Crisis

China Crisis

Don Pendleton

Stony Man® AMERICA'S ULTRA-COVERT INTELLIGENCE AGENCY

Contents

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

EPILOGUE

PROLOGUE

Second Department, Intelligence, Beijing, China.

“We are nothing if not versatile,” Director Su Han said. “Industrial espionage is something we have excelled at for many years. At this juncture it can serve us well. Rapid advancement can be ours simply by jumping a generation as it were. The Americans have devoted years and millions of dollars developing the current technology. Now we can reap the benefits.”

“I fully appreciate the concept,” Dr. Lin Cheung said quietly. “My only concern is that this kind of illicit dealing will only increase American hostility toward us if they discover what we are doing.”

“The Americans would like nothing better than to see China remain a backward nation where weapons are concerned. It suits them if we were to remain singularly weak and unable to fully defend ourselves. It keeps us in our place, which would be behind both the Americans and the Russians. That imbalance sits well with the American military. They would breathe easier if we stayed in the background. It would allow their expansion in this part of the world.” The Director leaned forward. “Our voice must be heard. Through military strength we cannot be ignored. If we fall behind, then we have no one to blame but ourselves. This must not be allowed. I will not allow it.”

Director Han waited for his words to take effect. He looked around the table, seeing the approving nods coming from the uniformed military presence. His words were what they had been hoping to hear. He turned his attention to Lin Cheung. He sat quietly considering the director’s statement. Han allowed himself a slight smile. As always, Cheung considered every facet of any proposal before he took it on board. It wasn’t that he was a weakling. Cheung possessed a fertile mind, brimming with originality, but always tempered by caution, and though he might never vocalize it, Han appreciated Cheung’s input. He was almost Han’s conscience.

“Cheung? You are quiet,” Han said, gently prodding the man with his words.

Cheung, slim and reserved in contrast to his superior, turned his full attention to Han.

“We will need to work very carefully. Be certain that whoever we deal with can supply what we need without exposure. Once the Americans become suspicious, they will increase security on all projects and suppliers that we might find all avenues closed against us. If we are shut out before we have all we need then the whole project will falter.”

“Exactly why I have entered into a partnership with an organization that will handle that part of the deal for us,” Han said. “They will gain the major technology for us. And we will pay them for it, leaving us clear to simply handle the hardware and adapt it for our own use.”

“Who are these people?” an air force colonel asked.

“They call themselves Shadow,” Han said, smiling indulgently. “I find these people amusing with their little code names. But in the instance of this group they are extremely proficient. I have had excellent reports from previous users of their services.”

“Have you met them?”

Han nodded. “I have had successful meetings with the man who heads Shadow. He calls himself Townsend. His background is the U.S. military. Many of his people are also ex-military.”

The Chinese army representative, a heavyset man in his sixties, registered alarm.

“You make deals with the Americans? The nation we are competing against?”

“Who better to understand the intrigues of the military-industrial complex? Townsend has contacts, people in place, the means and the motive to provide what we need.”

“Motive?”

Even Cheung understood the response to this.

“Money. The driving force behind the American psyche. It is what keeps the U.S. living and breathing. It is their god.”

“Nicely put, Cheung,” Director Han said. “Shadow operates like any American company, providing a service we pay for. They are not going to risk damaging their own reputation by trying to cheat us. There is a whole world out there willing to hand over large amounts of money for their expertise.”

“Is this entirely wise?” another dissenting voice questioned.

“Do you think I would contemplate such a venture without extreme investigation?” Han asked. “I understand your reservations, but be assured that the security constraints I have raised to shield us will defy any and all attempts at penetration.”

Cheung said nothing this time. He had past experience of so-called impenetrable security protocols. He did not trust them. As secrets were often betrayed, so were loyalties and promises. People were simply people in the end. Whatever nationality, whatever regime, there were always those who harbored weaknesses that could be exploited. Bought and paid for by any number of means or combination of means. Monetary, sexual, politically motivated, or through misguided reasons. It was extremely difficult to maintain total security, and the Chinese were no different than anyone else. He was well aware that the reigning Chinese regime had many enemies, both out of and within the country. The hard-line, Marxist style of government was held in contempt by many of its own people. That the government came down hard on any form of dissention only added fuel to the flames of resistance and simply pushed those dissenters deeper underground where they continued to work on their own manifestos. Director Han had to be aware of such counters to the Chinese administration, and in light of that he had to accept that the covert acquisition of American technology was open to exposure by those who sought to get their hands on anything that might cause embarrassment to the Beijing masters. Whatever he felt on the matter, Lin Cheung kept it to himself.

A short time later, when the meeting had been concluded, Han beckoned Cheung to stay behind. When they were alone he gestured for Cheung to take a seat next to his at the table.

“A quiet word, my friend. This undertaking has the problem of being an unqualified success for us, or a rather messy failure. You agree?”

Cheung inclined his head. “All matters we involve ourselves in have their plus and minus sides.”

Han smiled.

“Lin Cheung, the master of understatement. I sensed during the meeting a faint air of disapproval. Does my intuition serve me well?”

“Only from the point that I can see that gaining this technology could take us forward, but with grave repercussions if something goes wrong. The Americans would orchestrate great political profit if they exposed our intent. Even more if they had names and faces to go with that exposure.”

“Then we will have to be certain nothing does happen to put us in the spotlight.”

“Easy to say, but difficult to put into practice.”

Han leaned back in his seat. “Yes. I will not deny that. But we must take the chance. We need this technology. China needs to maintain its place alongside America and Russia. Too much is at stake to allow us to slide into a weak third place. If we are not careful, North Korea will overtake us and that is something Beijing will not tolerate. Can you imagine how Pyongyang would crow if they gained superiority over us?” Han shook his head. “We must regain the lost ground, Cheung. If this is the only way, then we pursue it with all our might.”

“You have my support as always,” Cheung assured the director.

“I never doubted it. As soon as you have concluded your business here I want you to return to Guang Lor. I have the authority to give SD-1 anything you need. Work your people day and night on the prototypes. I am already in discussion with Shadow to start supplying us with hardware as soon as they obtain it. Have your technology sections ready to commence work once we receive consignments. And be ready to initiate a test launch as quickly as possible so that we can show we are capable of giving them what they want.”

Six months later

D OCTOR L IN C HEUNG HEARD the knock on his office door. He continued pouring the pale tea from pot to cup before he raised his head and spoke.

“Come,” he said.

The door opened and Major Kang stepped into the office, closing the door behind him. Kang was young, ambitious and had an elevated sense of his own importance. He strode across to Cheung’s desk and stood rigid while Cheung turned, cup in hand, and sat down.

“Tell me, Kang, do you sleep at attention?” he asked casually.

Kang’s expression failed to register any emotion. Sighing inwardly, Cheung tried to imagine what it had to be like to go through life without a shred of humor in his body. He was unable to grasp the concept, except to realize that Kang had to be a miserable individual. Being dedicated to the State was a laudable ambition but allowing it to turn the individual into a humorless drone was going too far. When he looked at Kang he felt sorry for the man. He understood Kang’s problem. The boy had been indoctrinated almost from birth, taught nothing but ideological dogma to the total exclusion of everything else.

Cheung sipped his tea, placed the cup on the desk and turned his attention on Kang.

“Your call suggested a problem. Tell me about it.”

“The C26-V missile being tested has been lost, Doctor.”

“Major Kang, would you define the word lost for me.”

“Our tracking station was monitoring the performance of the missile.”

“I’m aware of that. But you said lost.”

“The test firing was going well until a short time ago. All functions were working as expected until the missile stopped responding to instructions.”

A small shred of unease raised its head. Cheung leaned forward to pick up one of the telephones on his desk.

“Put me through to Kwok. Immediately.” He lowered the receiver and glanced at Kang. “Go on.”

“Contact was lost just after the missile was tracked moving in the direction of the border with Afghanistan. Self-destruct failed to initiate. The last thing registered was the C26 almost at the border.”

A voice was speaking through the receiver. Cheung put to his ear and heard the measured tones of Yen Kwok, the launch controller.

“…have lost all contact with the missile.”

“Give me your best guess,” Cheung said.

Kwok’s sigh was answer enough.

“I’m certain we lost it close to the border. With its remaining fuel I’d say it traveled at least twenty, maybe thirty miles before it came down.”

“Yen, what else? ”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I have known you too long, Yen. There’s something else you haven’t mentioned.”

The pause was long, heavy with dread, and when Kwok spoke it was as bad as Cheung had expected.

“I just had a talk with Sung. Because of the demand we had from Director Han the missile had to be readied so fast. Sung had no time to…”

“Just tell me.”

“The stabilizing and control circuit board we were duplicating wasn’t ready in time. Sung panicked.”

“Let me guess. He used one of the American boards we acquired. A stolen piece of technology that probably has Made in the U.S.A. stamped across it.”

“Yes. One of the shipment we purchased from Shadow.”

“Foolish.”

“Sung is beside himself.”

“I mean Han. Always pushing. Demanding so much but denying us the time to develop things correctly.” Cheung thought for moment. “Yen, keep things calm out there. See what you can do about locating where the missile went down. If we can find it quickly enough, perhaps we can retrieve it before it falls into the wrong hands.”

“And if we can’t?”

“We’ll worry about that if it happens.”

Cheung put the phone down and gathered his thoughts. He suddenly remembered that Kang was still with him.

“Major Kang, assemble a retrieval team. Use the helicopter. If the missile can be located, we have to get our hands on it before anyone else does.”

“Who else would..?”

“Any of those damned dissident groups. We know they’ve been skulking around the district, just waiting for something they can use to embarrass us. Surely you understand that if they got their hands on the missile and found we were utilizing stolen American technology it would be a great propaganda coup for them. It would cause Beijing a great deal of embarrassment having to explain how U.S. circuit boards were fitted in a Chinese missile.”

“Deny everything,” Kang said, his approach simplistic almost to the border of naivete.

“I truly wish it was that simple, Kang, but we live in the real world, not the fantasy one Beijing sometimes favors. As long as that stolen item exists, there is always the possibility of it being traced back to where we obtained it. If the people who sold it to us found themselves compromised, any kind of loyalty toward us would simply vanish. Survival is the strongest emotion within the human animal when it comes down to choice. And do not forget the money trail. With all the electronic movement in the world the slightest chance of connecting buyer to seller…” Cheung paused, aware of Kang’s expression. “Never mind, Kang. I do not suspect that military training covers the world of banking and illegal money laundering. Suffice it to say that our surest way of preventing any repercussions is to recover the circuit board from the missile before anyone else. Do that and we avert complications. That, Major Kang, is your objective.”

Kang nodded.

“Leave it to me, sir.”

He turned and left the office, heels clicking on the hard floor. Cheung sighed. He returned to his pot of tea, pouring himself a fresh cup. There was nothing else he could do at this precise moment. He would have to depend on Kang’s devotion to duty. He had no doubt as to the young officer’s skill in his chosen career. Kang would pursue his mission will fervent zeal. Cheung felt a moment of pity for anyone who got in Kang’s way and did not give the answers the man wanted to hear.

CHAPTER ONE

CIA Field Surveillance Unit

Agent Arnie Trickett was starting to get nervous. It showed in the way he was pacing back and forth in the surveillance truck, constantly peering at the monitors. He was downing paper cups of black coffee as if the stuff was going to go on ration.

“Arnie, sit before you wear a hole through the bottom of the truck,” his partner Jack Schofield said. “It’s going to go down.”

“Yeah? Well we’re going to look like a pair of prize dicks if it doesn’t. We only got the go-ahead because of our input. All the intelligence is ours.”

“And it’s sound.” Schofield swung his seat around. “Arnie, what’s wrong? Why the jitters?”

“This isn’t the first time we’ve tried to catch that bastard Townsend with the goods. Every time he’s slipped through the nets free and clear. We can’t touch the guy without evidence that’s one-hundred-and-one-percent solid. I don’t see that happening. The guy is laughing all the way to the bank, and there’s nothing we can do about it.”

“Patience, my boy, patience. We’ll catch him. Even Townsend has to slip up sooner or later. When he does, it’s payday.”

The third member of the observation team snapped his fingers.

“We got contact,” he said. His name was Zach Jordan. He was younger than both Trickett and Schofield, with only a few years’ field experience. “Looks like Riotta. Yes. Confirmed. Joseph Riotta.”

Trickett leaned over to scan the monitor.

He saw that a dark sedan had parked outside the deserted warehouse where the exchange had been arranged. A man was already out of the vehicle, standing beside the front passenger door, gazing around the abandoned industrial site. Jordan zoomed in with the camera and brought the man’s face into full view. Even in the gloom Trickett was able to recognize Joseph Riotta. He had looked at dozens of images of the man over the past few weeks, along with other members of the group Riotta was in with.

“What’d I tell you,” Schofield said. He leaned forward to open a switch and spoke into his headset mike. “First contact made. Stay alert, people. We should be getting more visitors anytime now. Will advise. Nobody moves until I give the word. Let’s get these people in one spot before we net them.”

There was more to it than that. Getting Townsend’s people and the sellers in one place was nothing on its own. They needed an actual exchange to take place, with goods and money in evidence before a conviction could be guaranteed. Schofield’s years with the Agency had taught him one thing: total, unbreakable evidence was required before any case could progress. They needed more than simple knowledge of a crime. They had to have the whole package, which was why he understood Trickett’s nerves were strung so tight. His partner was a born worrier. He liked every detail nailed down before he could relax. That wasn’t a bad thing in their line of work. It was only that it made life difficult for anyone working with him. Trickett’s insistence on overplanning sometimes bordered on the irritating.

“Hey, this looks like what we’ve been waiting for,” Trickett said, pointing at one of the monitors. It showed a dark-colored SUV cruising along the service road that would bring it to the warehouse where Riotta had parked.

“Be advised,” Schofield said. “Second party has shown up. Be ready.”

He left his mike open to avoid any delay when he gave the order to move in. Now he turned his attention back to the monitors, studying the people under the eye of the CIA cameras.

“They going ahead?” he asked.

Jordan shook his head. “All they seem to be doing is standing around talking.”

Something stirred the back of Schofield’s mind. Both parties were present. There was no logical reason why they should stand around passing the time of day. Unless they were waiting for something else to happen.

But what?

The faint stirring took on an uneasy edge as Schofield allowed his mind to permutate the options, and even as he did, a disturbing thought entered his consciousness.

In was then that he heard the door to the surveillance truck click as the handle was turned. He felt a rush of chill air and he turned to look over his shoulder…. T HE PEOPLE LISTENING to the tape later heard Schofield say, “What are you doing here? I didn’t see your name on the roster for—”

There was a subdued cough of sound, easily identified as the chug of 9 mm bullets exiting the muzzle of a sound suppressor. It was stated in the written report that the weapon had most probably been a 9 mm Uzi on full-auto, expending its entire magazine in seconds. The end result was inevitable. Arnie Trickett, Jack Schofield and Zach Jordan were all killed in those fleeting moments. They weren’t given a chance to draw their own weapons, and from the way Schofield had greeted the assassin, it was obvious he knew and recognized the individual.

What the killer hadn’t realized was that Schofield had left his com line open and everything said in those final moments was relayed back to the field office and caught by the tape machine monitoring the entire operation.

By the time the office contacted the tactical team waiting for Schofield’s go and ordered them to check out the truck, the killer had left the scene, the buyer-seller had been alerted and fled. Nothing was found at the rendezvous point, but at the surveillance truck the tactical team found bloody slaughter.

White House—three days later

“I’ M REACHING THE POINT when I don’t trust my own shadows,” the President said. “Trust. Hal, that word is becoming a joke around here. I get a new version of events depending on who I talk to. The CIA excludes the FBI. The NSA has the lead when it comes to paranoia. None of them wants to cooperate with the others, and they only give me versions they believe I can handle.”

Brognola waited in strained silence. He knew what the President’s final request would be. He wouldn’t have been summoned to the White House if it didn’t need the attention of the Sensitive Operations Group.

The Man sat heavily, the weight of his burden showing for a moment on his face. Then he gathered himself and directed his gaze at the man seated across the desk from him.

“I truly believe you’re the only man in the damn country who wouldn’t betray me,” the President said, studying the big Fed closely. “Tell me I’m right, Hal.”

“No problem, Mr. President. You know how I feel about this office and you especially. I work for you. No one else. The SOG is your security arm. We don’t compromise on our mandate and that goes down the line.”

The President relaxed a little. He reached out and placed a hand on a file.

“Are you up to date on this?”

“I read your memo.”

This time the Man managed a laugh.

“Memo. Well, that cuts it down to size. Then you’ll know the defense community has been losing top-secret electronic hardware. Computer software has gone, too, specifically items developed for current and developing missile applications. Guidance and stabilizing systems. Inflight circuitry boards. God knows what else. From what I’ve been able to gather, the suspicion is the stuff has been stolen to order and sold to the end user—namely the Chinese.

“I have been reliably informed that the Chinese are currently engaged in an all-out program being developed so their military can keep pace with the latest in missile capacity.”

“China? Our emerging Asian trading buddies?” Brognola asked.

“Exactly. Don’t let all that twenty-first-century business expansion fool you, Hal. The Chinese will play the market for what it’s worth. They’ll build our TV sets, washing machines and DVD recorders. Automobiles, too, if we let them. And they’ll undercut prices, sell by the shipload and collect their pay in dollars. Then they will use those dollars to buy military know how by the back door.”

“What’s behind all this?” the big Fed queried.

“Survival. Our defense program has always been ahead of theirs, because we put in the money and the time. No one has the capacity to match the Slingshot satellite system, and once we get the Zero platform fully operational, that will put us even further ahead. The Russians only pushed the knife in deeper when they announced they were going to update their own ballistic missile arsenal again. For home defense, they quoted,” the President stated.

“And there’s no way the Chinese are going to stand by and let that happen.”

“Precisely. China sees itself as number one in their neck of the woods and a major player on the world stage. They aren’t going to lose face and end up the poor kid on the block behind the U.S. and Russia.”

“Full circle,” Brognola said. “Back where we started.”

“If we allow it to happen. The Chinese are aware that starting from scratch means years of development and testing. Buying in technology, to be copied and reproduced, will give their armament community one hell of an advantage. They let us do all the research and development, spend the billions, then buy the goods from their U.S. supplier. All they need then is to analyze the components and start to build their own.”

“Suspicions?” Brognola probed.

“Nothing we can move on officially. It’s believed an organization called Shadow run by a man named Oliver Townsend may be the culprit. The CIA got close to a deal being brokered but the whole thing went to the wall at the eleventh hour, so we’re no closer to the truth at this time,” the President told him.