Black Star

CHAPTER 26 — ARMISTICE

Something was different.

As she walked down the underground passageway to the cabinet room, Charlotte Soong tried to put her finger on it. What was it? Something had changed.

With her was General Wu, carrying a stack of briefs. She carried only the umbrella, hooked as usual over her right arm.

Not until they reached the big double door, held open by a staff officer, did it come to her. “Do you hear it, General?”

He looked perplexed. “Hear what, Madame President?”

“The silence. Taipei is quiet. No explosions, no bombs, no sirens.”

She smiled at the realization. Not since noon had any missiles or bombs rained down on Taiwan. Nor, for that matter, had any weapons been launched against the mainland of China.

The stillness lay over Taipei like a soft blanket.

The ministers rose in unison as she entered the chamber. In a spontaneous gesture, they broke into applause. All except Franklin Huang, who wore his standard sullen expression of disapproval.

“Thank you, gentlemen.” She took her place at the head of the massive teak conference table. She hung the umbrella in its usual place over the arm of her chair. “Please be seated.”

The ministers already knew, at least in principle, about the armistice. In the briefs that General Wu placed before her on the table were the transcripts of the discussions with the President of the United States, who had brokered the agreement. These she intended to read to the ministers, then she would explain how the President had extracted the necessary concessions from Beijing.

Looking at the faces around the table, Charlotte knew that not all would be pleased with her handling of the armistice. Least of all, the Premier, Franklin Huang. But Huang would not approve of anything she did.

“As most of you know, the terms of the armistice were verbally agreed to by the President of the PRC and myself. A formal treaty will be signed by our emissaries in two days time in Hong Kong.” She nodded to Ma Wang, the Foreign Minister. “That, Minister Ma, will be your task.”

“That is a violation of the constitution,” declared Franklin Huang. “Any such treaty must be approved by the legislative Yuan. And if anyone is be a signatory to the armistice, it should be me, the Premier and head of the Yuan.”

“I have consulted our supreme court justices,” said Charlotte. “They assure me that in the case of war, no such approval is required. And it is entirely the President’s prerogative who is designated as my emissary. In this instance, I have my own reasons for assigning Foreign Minister Ma.”

“May I ask what those reasons might be?” Huang demanded.

“No.” She didn’t bother looking up from the brief. “You’ll learn in due time.”

Huang looked as if he were about to choke.

She ignored him and went on. “This cabinet should know that a very special operation — and certain special heroics — were required to create the conditions for the armistice.”

“Are you referring to Operation Raven Swoop, Madame President?” asked Ma Wang. “The effort to remove the invisible fighter aircraft that was plaguing us?”

“I am. Unfortunately, much of the story must remain secret. But I can tell you this much. The PLA’s ability to use their secret weapon was neutralized by our special operations forces — with, uh, some outside help.”

At this, several ministers nodded. They were guessing, she assumed, about the United States’ role in Operation Raven Swoop.

“These are the basic terms of the armistice.” She picked up the top sheet from the stack. “All units of the PLA and of the Taiwanese Self Defense Forces will cease hostile actions. No military aircraft will be flown over the other country’s land mass, including the island group of Qemoy and Matsu. All naval vessels, submarines included, will withdraw from the other country’s territorial waters.

“In a mostly carefully worded statement, the People’s Republic of China acknowledges the right of Taiwan to govern itself. For our part, we will forego any public declarations of independence from the PRC.

“You mean a return to the status quo?” asked Feng Wei-shan, the Minister of Finance. “You have renounced President Li’s declaration of independence?”

Charlotte nodded. “That was the President of the United States’s stipulation. The PRC, for its part, is to publicly declare that Taiwan will not be forced to join the communist republic of mainland China. The door will remain open for Taiwan at a future date, and only after a democratic vote, to become a province of the People’s Republic of China. It will be our choice and not theirs.”

She watched the reaction around the table. As she expected, the hard-liners like Feng and Lo were not pleased. None, however, wanted a continuation of the debilitating war with the PRC. Each minister knew in his heart that Taiwan would not survive a protracted war with China.

Charlotte was pleased with the outcome. She had achieved the best of all possibilities. Taiwan would continue to prosper as a free country without the threat of a military take-over by China. She knew that if she did nothing else in her tenure as President, she would be remembered for this accomplishment.

“Perhaps you could elaborate on some of the circumstances of this armistice,” Minister Feng said. “Has China acknowledged starting the war by murdering President Li?”

Charlotte and General Wu exchanged a silent glance. “No,” she said. “In fact, the President of the PRC denies any connection with the shoot down of President Li’s jet.”

“That’s a lie, of course,” said Feng. “We are certain that the Airbus was shot down by China’s secret stealth jet.”

“Yes, Minister, we have convincing evidence to that effect. What the President of the PRC means is, he didn’t issue the order. In fact, if he is to be believed, he was as surprised as we were when it happened.”

Feng scoffed at this. “That is ridiculous. You don’t believe him, of course.”

“In fact, I do.”

Around the long table she saw only open mouths, astonished stares.

Feng asked the question on all their minds. “Who, then?”

Charlotte nodded to General Wu, who was standing at a projector across the room. He flicked the switch, and an image flashed onto the wall-length white screen.

It was blurry, taken through a high-powered telephoto lens, but the faces were recognizable. Two men stood on the terrace of a country lodge.

Around the table, a collective sucking-in of breath took place.

“The man in the foreground, for those of you aren’t familiar with him, is General Tsin Shouyi, chief of staff of the PLA. The other some of you know.”

They did. A murmur swept over the room.

“His name is Robert Liu, and he is the senior aide to the Premier of Taiwan.”

By now all the eyes in the cabinet room were trained on Franklin Huang.

Huang slapped his hand down on the table. “Preposterous,” he said in a derisive voice. “Just another pitiful attempt by our temporary President to discredit me. I have no idea how or when that photo was taken, or for what reason. If Robert Liu is guilty of collaborating, then we will deal with him.”

“We have already dealt with him. And he is cooperating fully. He readily admits that he was acting as your emissary in his meeting with General Tsin. That photo was taken exactly two days before President Li’s flight to Kuala Lumpur, which was the subject of their meeting.” She turned her gaze directly on Franklin Huang. “Is that not true, Premier?”

“Nonsense! If Robert Liu is a spy, which has not been proven, he would try to implicate whoever he could, especially a senior statesman. His word means nothing. You have no proof.”

Charlotte nodded again to General Wu, who pushed the play button on a digital recorder. The distinctive, high-pitched voice of Franklin Huang crackled over the two speakers on the wall.

“… plane will depart Kuala Lumpur at 2:30 this afternoon. The route of flight will be via the commercial airway, along the Vietnamese coast, then over the South China Sea.”

“The type of aircraft?” asked another voice, speaking in a heavy Mandarin dialect.

“An Airbus A-300. His radio designation will be ‘Dynasty One.’ There is a problem, General. Li has requested that the United States Navy provide fighter escort for his aircraft.

After a moment’s silence, “That is not a problem. The problem is the woman… ”

“Soong.”

“Yes, Soong… if she does not relinquish the office to you.”

“She will relinquish the office.. If she refuses, she will be removed. The silly woman has no interest or ability to be—”

At this Huang leaped to his feet. “Stop this charade!” He pointed a finger at Charlotte Soong. “This woman has produced a falsified recording in order to discredit me. It’s absurd.”

“Is it? Then why did you inform President Li only an hour before his departure that you would not accompany him on the flight.”

“Because I… I was ill.”

“And during your illness you made the call to General Tsin, which we have just heard. It was recorded by the monitoring device implanted in your satellite telephone that we recovered only yesterday.”

“You are such a fool,” said Huang. “Do you really think that the chief of staff of the PLA would carry out such a plan without the knowledge of his own superiors in Beijing?”

“I’m glad you mentioned that, Franklin,” said Charlotte. “It may interest you to know that we transmitted a copy of this tape to the President of the PRC.” She held up a printed message. “This came from one of our operatives in Beijing this afternoon. General Tsin was removed from his quarters this afternoon by armed troops. He has vanished, and we have an unverified report that he has already been tried and executed.”

A silence fell over the room. Huang’s chest was heaving. He stared at Charlotte Soong as if he were seeing her for the first time.

“You conniving bitch! We should have killed you with the same bullets that removed your husband.”

Charlotte Soong felt a jolt like an electric shock passing through her. “My husband? It was you who…”

“Kenneth Soong was a pathetic weakling. An insignificant politician who would have dragged the country into the sewer.”

Charlotte felt as if she were awakening from a drugged sleep. It was Huang. He was the one who killed Kenneth.

Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion. Huang was yelling incoherently. “You and your useless husband — you have ruined this country…”

She was dimly aware that he had a gun, though she hadn’t noticed where it came from. Beneath his jacket? Or was it in his briefcase? He seemed to have come unhinged. He was waving the pistol, looking for a target. Each of the ministers was diving for cover beneath the table.

“Traitors!” Huang yelled. “Every one of you! I’ll kill all of you!”

General Wu was unarmed. He was edging his way toward the raving man when Huang noticed him. He aimed the pistol and shot Wu through the forehead.

The general spun around and toppled over two chairs as he crashed to the floor.

The loud report of the pistol crystallized Charlotte’s thoughts. She knew what she had to do.

Charlotte lifted the umbrella from around the arm of the chair. Years ago, Kenneth had gotten it for her. He insisted that she carry it, even though he refused to have such a thing himself. All these years she had hauled it around out of respect for Kenneth’s memory. She had never actually used it, even in practice. She often wondered if she could bring herself to do it.

With her right thumb she slid the safety off. She aimed the shaft of the umbrella — a nine millimeter gun barrel — and fired. The sharp crack of the shot and the recoil of the umbrella-barrel shocked her.

Franklin Huang stared at her in disbelief. He looked down at the red-stained hole in the front of his shirt.

He lifted the pistol.

She fired again. The bullet hit him in the chest.

The pistol slipped from his hand. Clutching his chest, he toppled backwards into the chair behind him.

Charlotte lay the umbrella on the table.

One by one the heads of the cabinet ministers were reappearing from beneath the long conference table. They peered around the room, taking in the carnage.

General Wu lay on the floor, killed instantly by Huang’s bullet. Huang was slumped over the arm rest of his chair, his sightless eyes staring at the ceiling.

A strange sense of calm settled over Charlotte. Kenneth would be proud, she thought. Using the umbrella had not been difficult at all. Killing Franklin Huang had come to her as naturally as launching the war against China.

Raymond Lutz stared as the technicians slid the shroud off the buff-colored airframe. The overhead halogen lights flooded the hangar in a harsh yellow light.

Incredible, he thought. Even though he had been the principal source of the technology that went into its development, he had never actually seen the Chinese product.

Lutz couldn’t help but be impressed. The Chinese had faithfully reproduced the geometry of the diamond-shaped airframe, even the intricate vaning that guided inlet air to the engines in the front and obscured the exhaust signature in the aft section. Except for the color and the slightly different landing gear design, it could be the same Black Star he had worked on here at Groom Lake these past eight years.

They had brought the captured Chinese jet here to Hangar 502 in the north complex. Only a handful of senior engineers and technicians had been invited to watch as they unwrapped it. Now they stood in a silent cluster, no one speaking, studying the object that had somehow, incomprehensibly, been copied from their design, built in secret half a world away. Now the technology had come full circle and found its way back to Groom Lake.

Unbelievable. The engineers were staring at the foreign object, their mouths half open, shaking their heads and muttering expressions of wonder under their breath. Each seemed captivated by this manifestation of his handiwork.

Each except Lutz.

He was no longer staring at the captured stealth jet. His eyes were fixed on the small group of men across the hangar floor. He recognized the director of the Calypso Blue Project, a man named Ratchford, with whom Lutz had only a nodding acquaintance. Ratchford was talking to a taller man in khaki slacks and an open collared sport shirt. He had a brown mustache and a straight, military bearing. There was something familiar about him.

The man seemed to sense Lutz watching him. He peered across the hangar floor, scanning the group clustered around the Black Star. Then his eyes fixed on Lutz. For a long moment the two men locked gazes.

In a single blinding flash of clarity, Lutz understood. It all came together in his mind like a complicated mosaic. He knew how the Chinese Black Star had been captured. And he knew who had done it.

Maxwell.

Lutz felt the rage sweep over him like a sheet of lava. That damned Maxwell. Of course. Maxwell had been in the South China Sea aboard a carrier. It would have been he, of all people, who would have ferreted out the secret of the Chinese stealth jet.

It was always Maxwell. At every crucial juncture in Lutz’s life, there was Maxwell, showing up like the spoiler from hell.

Maxwell was saying something to the Director, his eyes still on Lutz. Then he started walking toward Lutz.

Lutz didn’t wait. He didn’t want to talk to Maxwell. A hatred more intense than anything he had ever felt had taken hold of him. Trembling with rage, he turned his back and walked briskly toward the exit, back toward his lab.

It was already past four in the afternoon, and most of the lab technicians had gone home. As Lutz rounded the corner of the long hallway that led to his office, he saw someone coming out. The man’s back was still to him as he turned a key in the door. Lutz recognized the man’s shape, the shapeless dark wrinkle-free trousers and white shirt.

The FBI agent. What the hell was his name?

It came to him. Swinford.

Swinford has a key to the lab.

Lutz ducked back around the corner, his pulse racing. What was Swinford looking for? Had they figured out that Feingold wasn’t the leak? Time was running out. Lutz could sense his world collapsing around him. It was time to conclude this chapter in his life, leave Groom Lake, collect his money and exit the United States.

First, though, he had business to negotiate. He had to see Tom.

Maxwell watched the man walk away, past the security gate at the exit and out of the hangar.

It had to be Lutz. He was sure of it — that hunched, thick-shouldered shape, the way he walked with a shuffling, bear-like gait.

And he was sure that Lutz had recognized him. So why did he whirl like that and leave?

It was strange, but he remembered now that Raymond Lutz had always been strange. Even when they were at Pensacola together, years ago, Lutz carried a giant-sized chip on his shoulder. He could never hide his resentment of the officers like Maxwell who were lucky enough to possess good vision and thus were handed a ticket to fly fighters. Lutz thought he had been cheated.

It didn’t stop there. Later, when he didn’t make the cut for NASA, he became hostile and bitter. Soon after that, Maxwell recalled, he had left the Navy and come to work here at Groom Lake.

On the Black Star.

For a while Maxwell stood there gazing out at the shimmering desert. Something was scratching at the back of his subconscious — some connection he couldn’t quite make.

Maxwell and the Chinese Black Star had stayed together. He rode aboard the CH-53 that hauled the shrouded stealth jet from the Reagan to a waiting C 5 in Taiwan. He managed to sleep for most of the seventeen-hour, non-stop flight to Nevada, which included three in-flight refuelings.

His orders had come directly from the Joint Chiefs: Report to the Director, Groom Lake Test and Research Facility, for extensive debriefing regarding Operation Raven Swoop.

Dreamland hadn’t changed much, he thought. Still barren and brown, grim as the moon. The runway was even longer than when he had been assigned there several years ago. It was now 27,000 feet, nearly twice as long as the space shuttle runway he’d used at Cape Canaveral.

Gazing out the window of Hangar 501, Maxwell could see Bald Mountain and the hills of the Groom Range. To the south was Freedom Ridge, where the UFO zealots used to gather to get glimpses of the facility before the Air Force chased them away.

Dreamland had always attracted strange people, he thought. Both inside and outside the fence. He thought again about Raymond Lutz.

“I’m sorry,” said Tom. “No more deposits. The payments have stopped. Those are my orders.”

“Orders?” Lutz was on his feet, pacing like a tethered animal. He could feel the anger bubbling up inside him. “Orders from whom? You know the terms of our agreement. Five million dollars. It’s supposed to be on deposit in six accounts.”

Tom sat on the edge of the bed. On the table was an ice bucket with an unopened bottle of Moet Chandon. Twelve floors beneath was the main floor of the casino. “It’s time to be realistic, Ray. Five million was a hypothetical amount. That much would have accumulated only if your services continued to be in demand. The situation has changed. As you know, the project has been… ah, interrupted.”

Lutz struggled to control his temper. Interrupted. That was a bullshit way of saying that some sonofabitch had gotten into China and stolen the stealth jet that he risked his life to develop. And Lutz already had a very good idea who the sonofabitch was.

“I don’t care what’s changed. I delivered what you wanted, and now I expect to be compensated. Five million, just as we agreed.”

“You have received half a million, Ray. Five hundred thousand dollars is still a great deal of money. I think it would be in your best interest to be satisfied with that amount. Remember the source of these funds, and then consider… the consequences of a misunderstanding.”

Lutz recognized the not-so-subtle threat. Tom’s lilting voice had taken a nasty edge. Lutz had never met any of his Chinese employers. Just Tom.

Lutz was too furious to reply. He turned and gazed out the window that overlooked the street. The Las Vegas strip was ablaze with glittering light. Feingold’s favorite banality came to him. Did you know Las Vegas burns more kilowatts than the rest of Nevada combined?

He still didn’t give a damn. What he wanted was to get out of Las Vegas. Out of the espionage business and out of the United States, and he needed money to do it. A lot more than five hundred fucking thousand dollars.

He could feel Tom’s eyes on him. As he stood peering down at the blazing lights, he considered his options. He could gather his funds from the half dozen accounts, then go make another life for himself. But it wouldn’t be the life he had dreamed about. Not on half a million.

An ominous silence had fallen over the room. Tom’s normal patter was missing. Lutz could feel that something had changed.

He wondered if it was just his paranoia taking off again. He and Tom had disagreed about money before. It was nothing new, just part of the normal bargaining process. But this was different. Consider the consequences of a misunderstanding.

It wasn’t just paranoia. Tom had threatened him.

Always before he had been afraid of the FBI and the CIA and the Defense Intelligence goons who snooped into his activities at Groom Lake. Now his warning system was sending a different alert. He could sense immediate danger.

Something alerted him — a rustling noise, a miniscule movement of air. He turned from the window.

Tom had slid across the bed and was reaching into a leather satchel on the night stand.

In a flash of understanding, Lutz understood.

He bolted across the three feet of space that separated them just as Tom’s hand emerged from the satchel. The muzzle of the .38 caliber revolver was just coming up.

Lutz glimpsed the surprise on Tom’s face. No one could ever believe that someone the size of Raymond Lutz — six-three and a solid 260 pounds — could move with such agility.

His hand caught Tom’s narrow wrist, snapping it back with such force that he heard the crack. Tom shrieked and kicked out at him.

With a backhanded slap, Lutz smashed Tom across the face, cutting short the piercing shriek. Tom reeled back from the blow, toppling to the floor beneath the oncoming rush of Lutz’s weight. The pistol dropped to the carpet.

Lutz clamped his hands on the slender throat.

“Ray… don’t! Please, Ray…”

He cut off the protest, pressing his thumbs into Tom’s larynx. He let all the animal rage spill out of him. A low guttural noise swelled from his chest. He could feel the fragile bones and gristle and capillaries crackling like matchsticks beneath his fingers.

Tom fought back, flailing with frantic but ineffective blows. With Lutz’s full weight atop his victim, it was no contest. His powerful hands clamped down like a vise on Tom’s neck.

For nearly a minute Tom’s hands fluttered in the air like moths, then they relaxed and went limp. Lutz maintained his grip, squeezing hard, the animal growl rising from some dark place within him. Spittle bubbled from his lips.

Finally he released his grasp and rose to his feet. He was breathing in a hoarse rasp. He could feel his heart pounding like a jackhammer, not from exertion but from the excitement.

Everything, of course, had changed. The game — this one, anyway — was over. He couldn’t go back to Groom Lake. He was certain that Swinford and his FBI goons were looking for him. The money he’d been promised by the Chinese — five million dollars — would never be paid. He had just murdered his handler, and he sensed that the Chinese would not forgive him for that.

He was a fugitive.

For a long moment he gazed down into Tom’s contorted face. The unblinking green eyes still stared at him in fear and panic.

Tom. It occurred to him that he knew almost nothing about the agent. Throughout their relationship, Tom had remained an enigma, able to change roles like a chameleon, one moment a spymaster, handler of secrets, operative of a foreign power. In the next moment — the one Lutz remembered now — Tom was something else.

Tom was his lover.

Her professional name was Thomasina Maitland, and it never bothered Lutz that she was a hooker. She was a professional and so was he. The fact that she received money for her service was irrelevant. It was the quality of the service that counted.

Of course, she never charged Lutz. That was supposed to be part of the carefully constructed cover — Lutz and his predilection for hookers. Tom wasn’t the wholesome, girl-next-door that mothers and government agencies favored, but at least it didn’t raise undue flags with the FBI. It made you less a security risk than being homosexual or alcoholic or drug dependent.

It was a good cover, but for Lutz it became more than just a professional cover. He and Tom shared a common danger. And then, after the thrill of the transaction, came the exquisite, high voltage sex. They had something special.

Or so he had believed.

The truth hit him like a hammer blow. It was an act. Nothing more. It was her way of handling him — keeping him from becoming too difficult, too contentious. Tom made him think that maybe, just maybe, she was doing it for love.

The oldest trick of the world’s oldest profession.

He gazed down at the lovely dead face. A wave of rage consumed him, and he delivered a kick to the inert, tanned figure in the short leather skirt. Bitch. He’d been used again.

Maxwell’s debriefing went on for a week.

In an underground, sound-and-emission-proof chamber, he underwent questioning by specialists from all the intelligence communities, some he had never heard of. They wanted to know not just the details of the raid on Chouzhou, but his recollection of flying the Black Star, of the engagement with Col. Zhang, and how he managed a carrier landing with a hookless stealth fighter.

“And what makes you think it was this colonel…”

“Zhang.”

“How did you know he was flying the Black Star you shot down?”

“From my wizzo, Captain Chen. A PLA defector who had worked in the Black Star unit.”

The questioner just nodded.

When the debriefing was complete, Maxwell’s orders and airline tickets were waiting for him. That night he took the facility’s 737 to Las Vegas. The next morning he boarded a Delta jet to Los Angeles, connecting to a China Airlines flight to Taipei.

No one had told him why he was going to Taipei, nor why he wasn’t returning to the Reagan, which he knew was making a port call in Manila.

Not until he walked through the jetway into the Chiang Kai-Shek International Airport in Taipei did he begin to understand. At the arrival gate stood a familiar figure. He wore running shoes, wrinkled chinos, and a beat-up old leather flight jacket. He was gnawing the stub of an unlit cigar.