Dancing with the Dragon

Chapter 12

Scott slowly taxied the Learjet to Signature Flight Support and shut down the engines when a fuel truck approached. While Master Chief Slocum and his men reconnoitered the area around the Lear and the FBO, Scott monitored the fueling for the trip to California. Jackie went inside to check the weather and file an instrument flight plan to MCAS Miramar.

Fifteen minutes later, a pristine air force C-32A transport smoothly touched down at Denver International and taxied to Signature Flight Support.

After the big Boeing came to an imperceptible stop on the parking apron, ackie casually checked her wristwatch. "Exactly thirteen hundred."

"Yep, they're almost as good as we are."

"No one's that talented."

With the engines winding down, Hartwell Prost met Jackie and Scott at the forward entrance to the spacious VIP plane. He escorted them to a conference area, where the trio could converse in private. Once they were comfortably seated, Hartwell loosened his tie, then opened his briefcase and placed a briefing booklet on one of the foldout tables.

"We have a lot to cover. You may want to take notes."

They reached for the government pens and writing pads conveniently placed by their seats.

Prost cleared his throat. "We have reason to believe that Beijing may, and I emphasize may, be connected to the rash of strange accidents. Let me lay this out for you, then I'll answer questions and we'll discuss our options, okay?"

Scott and Jackie nodded.

Prost explained in detail about the voyage itineraries and movements of the various Chinese-flagged cargo ships and the related aircraft disasters, including the Chinese airliner full of dissidents and political activists. He continued the briefing with the latest information concerning the secret laboratory near the TRW Capistrano Test Site.

Hartwell concluded the summary with a report about eight engineers and scientists who had been the nucleus of the laser experiments at the laboratory.

"What was the focus of their work?" Scott asked.

"From what we understand, they were refining a prototype high-energy laser-based weapon system."

"Like the laser in the Team ABL 747s?"

"Yes, but they weren't concentrating their efforts on a system to destroy missiles in the initial stage of flight. The primary role of their system is to destroy aircraft and spacecraft. CIA analysts believe the weapon system could be deployed in cargo planes, railroad cars, truck trailers, cargo ships, possibly submarines, or adapted for use as a satellite killer."

Uncertain about a point in the FBI report, Prost reached for a briefing note. "According to Jim Ebersole, they believe the scientists and engineers were recruited by the same person, a Chinese national."

"Do you know his name?" Jackie asked.

Hartwell consulted his point paper and the photograph of the recruiter. "Let's see, his name is Zheng Yen-Tsung, and he is the—"

"That's our man," Jackie suddenly declared as Hartwell handed them the picture. "Sorry to interrupt."

"No problem."

"What do we know about him?" Scott asked before he and Jackie studied the photograph of the man.

"Zheng is a self-proclaimed aide to a former Chinese prime minister who now chairs the National People's Congress. Zheng reports directly to General Wang Zedong, the deputy chief of staff of intelligence for the People's Liberation Army. As China's chief military spymaster Wang oversees all of the espionage efforts in the United States and around the world. He is very powerful and extremely ruthless."

Hartwell paused to reclaim the photograph of Zheng. "General Wang is the man who in the mid-nineties threatened to incinerate Los Angeles with nuclear weapons if the United States supported Taiwan. Through the People's Liberation Army, Wang again threatened L. A. with a nuclear strike in February of 2000."

"If I recall correctly," Scott said, "wasn't General Wang the puppet master at Tiananmen Square?"

"He certainly was. As a matter of fact, he personally directed the crackdown on the demonstrators — killing hundreds of supporters and injuring more than ten thousand students and workers."

Jackie remembered the horrible scenes. "Politically, Tiananmen ranks right up there with Pearl Harbor, Hiroshima and the World Trade Center."

"No kidding." Scott thought about a photograph that had been widely circulated inside the walls of the CIA. "Didn't the former SecDef host and toast him at the Pentagon in early 2000?"

"Yes, I'm afraid that's true."

Sensing the embarrassment Hartwell felt, no one commented.

"Zheng and his associates have ties to the 'Four Seas' Triad gang, and he has been implicated in espionage at Los Alamos, Oak Ridge, Sandia, Lawrence Livermore, and two or three other national U.S. laboratories."

He reached for a copy of a recent article in Xinhua News Service. "Zheng is mentioned twice in this piece about how China's national defense technology and weaponry have closed with the United States in a very short period of time." He handed the article to Jackie.

"Zheng and other operatives in his gang have been given credit for purloining sensitive data on a variety of state-of-the-art weapons systems and atomic secrets related to our modern nuclear weapons."

Hartwell waited for her to share it with Scott before he went on. "They don't even try to camouflage their stealing and bribery. In fact, Zheng is applauded for his highly successful record of recruiting foreign engineers and scientists to assist the People's Liberation Army."

"Anything else on Zheng?" Jackie asked.

"Just the usual narcotics trafficking, prostitution, gun smuggling, extortion, money laundering, and contract murders."

"An all-around prince of a guy," Scott said.

"Oh, yes, a real peach."

Jackie handed the copy of the news article to Prost. "How did they — the FBI — find out about the secret laboratory and the scientists and engineers?"

"From an informant."

"One of the traitors?"

"Let me explain. They were initially contacted by Dr. Filo Neubauer, a prominent physicist who was a close friend of Dr. Lavon Douville and his wife."

"Didn't Douville die in an accident?" Scott asked.

"Yes. Dr. Douville, also a highly regarded physicist, had a deadly accident at his home in New Orleans. It seems as if someone used a hacksaw with a fine-tooth blade to cut most of the way through a balcony railing that Dr. Douville regularly leaned against."

"Any suspects?".

"One obvious one. The Douvilles' Chinese gardener of five months, a Mr. Chu-ko 'Benny' Kuang, who hasn't been seen since Dr. Douville's unfortunate plunge into his fountain."

"Were they, Neubauer and Douville, involved in the lab?" Scott asked.

"Douville was a key player, but Neubauer had turned down three offers from Zheng in the past two years."

"Smart decision."

"Neubauer suspected the lab was located somewhere in the vicinity of the TRW test site. He also knew some of the members on the research team, but he was out of the loop until Douville's wife contacted him."

Jackie started to ask a question.

"Let's finish first," Prost suggested. "Then I'll take questions and explain our options, if you agree with my thinking."

"Fair enough," she said evenly.

"Mrs. Douville, who was celebrating their anniversary and her husband's retirement the night he died, became suspicious when a homicide detective discovered that the balcony railing had been sabotaged in two places. When the detectives questioned her, Mrs. Douville told them everything she knew, including what little she knew about her husband's secretive work."

Prost paused. "She also told them about Dr. Douville's new three-million-dollar motor yacht. Douville's previous craft was a well-worn forty-two foot houseboat."

"Yeah, keep it low key," Scott said.

"Neubauer, who feared for his life after Mrs. Douville located him, immediately contacted the FBI, and the investigation has been interesting, to say the least."

"I'll bet," Jackie said.

"Dr. Dixon Owens, one of the eight recruits, was found dead in Mount Rainier National Park. A casual observer might have concluded that Owens crushed his skull when he fell off his mountain bike while negotiating a steep trail."

Jackie caught Hartwell's eye. "Was he wearing a helmet?"

"No. Also, he was overweight and out of shape, not exactly the type to be riding a mountain bike."

Prost poked a finger at one of his notes. "The local coroner explained that it would have been impossible for Owens to ride a bike after the onset of rigor mortis."

"That makes sense," Scott said.

Hartwell glanced out the window as a Bombardier Challenger 604 corporate jet taxied past the air force transport. "Not long after Dr. Owens's demise, Dr. Clyde Aycock, another member of the secret dream team, accepted a complimentary dinner at one of San Francisco's finest Chinese restaurants. Afterward he got into his car and promptly had a massive heart attack."

Prost's eyes narrowed. "As in the Owens case, the coroner found a problem with the cause of death."

"The heart attack was induced," Jackie surmised.

"That's right. The needle mark behind Aycock's ear and the lab reports were a dead giveaway."

Prost cupped his chin in his hand. "In addition, three other members of the dream team have recently died under suspicious circumstances."

Hartwell sighed. "While vacationing in Hawaii, Dr. Hugh Fitzpatrick fell from his sixth-floor lanai and did a belly flop on Waikiki Beach, inches from a sunning honeymoon couple."

"Any sign of foul play?" Jackie asked.

"Perhaps, if you consider the fact that he had 'consumed' a fifth of bourbon by early afternoon. After getting him falling-down drunk, someone tossed him off the lanai."

Prost looked at the police report. "His wife had lunch with him about thirty minutes before he died and he was completely sober. After they finished lunch, she went shopping and he went to their room to write some postcards and take a nap."

Prost fell silent. "I almost forgot. Fitzpatrick never drank bourbon, couldn't stand the stuff."

"Any signs of a struggle?" Scott asked.

"None. Another unfortunate traveler, Dr. Victoria Mills-Morrison, apparently fell from her veranda suite on a steamboat cruise somewhere north of Vicksburg."

Jackie's glance fell on her neatly written notes. "I assume that's where her body washed ashore?"

"That would be correct."

Prost turned another page. "A CIA operative in Russia noted the death of another team member, Dr. Vasiliy Kalenkov, in the newspaper Nezavisimaya Gazeta. According to the paper, Kalenkov was the victim of a hit-and-run accident."

Hartwell placed his lengthy notes on the foldout table. "Suffice it to say, we have a pattern of premature deaths associated with the secret Chinese lab — which appears to be connected to the mysterious crashes. And there are other strange deaths tied to having possible knowledge of the cause of the accidents."

"Don't forget Cliff Earlywine and the attacks on us," Jackie said, and looked at Prost. "All of this in a matter of weeks."

Hartwell gave her a slight nod. "Besides the deaths and attacks, we're still missing two of the team members: Dr. Guy Nash and Dr. Richard Cheung, a Chinese-American who is the big kahuna in the conspiracy."

Dalton leaned back and closed his eyes. "Now that the Chinese scientists have pumped the team for every scintilla of weapons technology they possess, it's time to close shop, pay off the brain trust, then eliminate them."

"You're close."

"Why would the Chicoms pay?" Scott asked. "Once they have the gouge, why wouldn't they call an off-site meeting, kill the entire team, and dispose of them?"

Jackie had a quick answer. "If the word got out, it would put a damper on further recruiting. The money was to entice more engineers and scientists, but the recent incidents drew too much attention. Someone decided to eliminate the laser team and anyone who was getting too close to the truth about the secret project."

"That's possible," Hartwell said. "According to the FBI, about fifteen or sixteen months ago the Chinese scientists and engineers had the pertinent knowledge and a full-scale operational weapon. They moved part of the laser project to a research, development, and production complex in the heart of China."

Hartwell grabbed Jim Ebersole's meticulously handwritten summary of the secret operation. "Approximately two months ago, the remaining Chinese engineers began the process of closing the lab in California and moving the last of the Chinese team members to their homeland."

"Do you suppose Cheung and Nash went with them?" Scott asked.

"We don't know anything about Nash. The FBI is convinced the Chinese forced Richard Cheung to go to the laser-weapons fabrication complex."

"Do you know where it's located?"

"Mianyang," Prost confided with a hint of satisfaction. "The CIA is convinced that the laser complex is an integral part of the Mianyang facility — they have firsthand knowledge from a reliable informant."

A small frown entered Scott's expression. "How can they be sure Dr. Cheung is there?"

"They can't — the informant has disappeared."

Prost reached for a glass of water. "However, Cheung's wife contacted the FBI. She told them her husband mailed some coordinates to her before he disappeared, no written word, just the latitude and longitude. That's Mianyang, so we have to assume he's there — perhaps under house arrest."

"Nice play," Scott said.

"The CIA believes China may have as many as eighteen to twenty laser weapons deployed on cargo ships. I think Cheung is being held in Mianyang to work out any bugs in the system while the weapons are being evaluated."

"Isn't Mianyang near Chengdu, in western China?" Scott asked.

"Yes. It's about seventy-five to eighty miles north-northeast of Chengdu. The buildings in the production facilities are strung along narrow valleys and blend in with the local terrain features and agricultural patterns. They did a great job of camouflaging the place."

"What about a covert operation to rescue Cheung and interrogate him?" Jackie quietly asked.

"That's being discussed, and that's all I can say at this time."

Prost anxiously checked his watch. "Earlier, I mentioned options. The president has made it very clear that he considers these suspicious crashes to be a threat to national security. He wants answers and he isn't a patient man, as you well know."

Hartwell lowered his eyes and took a few seconds to form his words. "We're going to pursue the drone operation first. If we aren't successful in uncovering the truth about this phenomenon — whatever it is — then I have another suggestion. Actually, it's the president's idea."

"Would you care to share it with us?" Jackie asked.

Prost looked at Sullivan without meeting her eyes. "I really don't want to get into it until we've completed the drone operation." She suppressed a response.

"What's the status on the op?" Dalton prompted.

"Three of the Phantoms are on San Nicolas Island, and the carrier is operating off the southern California coast."

"Are they flying at night?"

"Not yet — only the Hawkeye will be launched at night until we see what happens with the drone."

"What about the Harriers and recon assets?" Jackie asked.

"The Harriers have arrived at Miramar. Our intel spacecraft and recon planes are ready, and we're sitting on go for tomorrow night."

Hartwell had an afterthought. "We're also tracking a number of Chinese ships due to arrive or depart Los Angeles, Long Beach, and Oakland."

Jackie looked through her collection of notes. "Are any of them the ones you mentioned before?"

"No, but we're closely watching two cargo ships that have had some strange itineraries, including one Russian ship, the Kapitan Zhirnovsky, which is crewed entirely by Chinese sailors. The other ship in question is the Chen Ziyang."

"Interesting," Scott said. "Where are the ships?"

"The Kapitan Zhirnovsky is in Los Angeles and the Chen Ziyang is docked in Long Beach."

Scott wrote a note. "When are they scheduled to sail?"

"According to the voyage itineraries, both ships are departing tomorrow — within an hour of each other."

"Do you know their destinations?"

Hartwell nodded and read the itineraries. "Chen Ziyangis going to Papeete and the Kapitan Zhirnovsky is bound for Rarotonga."

Jackie raised an eyebrow. "If my calculations are right, that would place them on a course near the carrier."

"That's why we're watching them very closely. We can't prove that Beijing is getting classified information, but it seems too coincidental that the ships are scheduled to leave the day we plan to conduct flight operations near the carrier."

Scott and Jackie eyed each other.

"Well, duty calls." Hartwell rose, signaling the end of the brief. "Sorry to rush, but I have a full day ahead. I'll see you in Miramar tomorrow afternoon for a complete update before you launch."

"Yes, sir," Scott said, and shook hands.

He and Jackie gathered their notes and retraced their route to the forward exit of the VIP aircraft.

The SEAL squad waited until Jackie and Scott boarded the Lear, then climbed into the jet and secured the door.

Now in the left seat, Jackie started the engines while Scott listened to the ATIS and contacted clearance delivery. They watched Prost's air force transport taxi for takeoff while Scott copied and read back their instrument clearance to Miramar.

After Scott received permission from DEN ground control, Jackie added power to taxi the Learjet from Signature Flight Support to the active runway. As she maneuvered the airplane onto the taxiway, Master Chief Slocum looked out the window and did a double take.

"Stop the plane," Slocum shouted as he sprang toward the door. "Stop the friggin' plane, now!"

Jackie immediately applied the brakes while Scott swung around to face the frowning SEAL leader. Slocum tossed Dalton a compact submachine gun and turned back to the window.

"Skipper, we got us a big-time problem."

"What's up?"

Scott quickly climbed out of the cockpit.

"Lookit." Slocum was aggressively pointing to the window. "See that pearl-colored van over there?"

"Yes."

"The same van was at the other airport, and the side door has been removed from that bugger."

Scott studied the suspicious van for a few seconds. "Yeah, something doesn't look right — it's out of place."

"Oh, shit!" Slocum barked, reaching for the door. "Let's go! Move it! Move out! Go-go-go!"

Following Slocum, the SEAL squad vaulted out of the airplane and sprawled on the taxiway. A Ford Econoline van rapidly accelerated toward the tail of the stopped Learjet.

Scott turned to Jackie. "Get the plane out of here! Go — firewall it!"

"Get out," she shouted. Fueled by a sense of danger, Jackie shoved the throttles forward. "Jump!"

Scott leapt out of the plane and dropped to a prone position on the hot taxiway. The searing jet blast almost lifted Dalton and the SEAL squad off the ground as they scrambled to take their positions.

As the van rapidly gained speed, a man who was braced against the seat by the door opened fire with an automatic weapon. The SEALs and Scott poured a steady stream of fire into the front of the van, shattering the windshield and headlights, and riddling the hood and engine compartment. Dense black smoke poured out of the engine. The van continued to accelerate toward the SEALs and the tail of the taxiing Learjet.

"Move out," Slocum yelled at the top of his lungs.

Scott and one of the SEALs jumped to their feet and ran toward the right side of the taxiway, while Slocum and the other two SEALS ran to the left. They continued to pour fire into the van. The man in the open door went limp, dropped his weapon, and then fell out headfirst.

"Got him," someone yelled above the earsplitting clamor of gunfire.

Scott and the SEALs stopped shooting as the van passed between the opposing fire teams, then they opened up again. The van swerved to the right, then back to the left. Although the windows of the van were blown out and the vehicle was trailing thick black smoke, it was still accelerating.

Horrified to see the van catching the Learjet, Scott took careful aim and squeezed off three rounds at the back of the driver's head.

The van swerved to the left side of the taxiway, abruptly lurched to the right, missed the tail of the jet by inches, then departed the taxiway and flipped over on its left side. Less than two seconds later, the demolished van exploded in a huge, thunderous fireball that shot a hundred feet into the air.

Slocum and Dalton raced toward the burning van. The SEALs quickly checked the immediate area for other threats.

"Lear November Niner-Six-Zero Bravo Lima," the tower controller said, "you can slow down — you can stop now — it's over."

"Sixty Bravo Lima." Jackie's voice was two octaves higher than normal. "What the hell is going on?" she asked, bringing the Learjet to a smooth stop in the middle of the taxiway.

"Perhaps you can tell us, ma'am," the controller said in a flat, stiff voice. "We're rolling the emergency equipment at this time."

Jackie keyed the radio and paused. "Sixty Bravo Lima, request permission to shut down here."

"That would be just fine with us — perfect."

"Bravo Lima."

Slocum ran toward the van while Scott covered him.

"I'll be a sonuvabitch!" Slocum cautiously approached the burning vehicle and noticed some of the spilled contents. "This was a damn four-wheeled Molotov cocktail, big time."

"I noticed." Dalton slowed to a walk when he heard sirens in the distance. "A suicide bomber."

"This friggin' thing is plum full of gas cans." Slocum kicked one of the burning containers out of the way. "This here was your basic rolling bomb — a thousand-pounder with wheels."

Feeling the intense heat from the blazing van, Scott stopped to catch his breath. He turned to the SEAL leader. "From all the black smoke, it looked more like a Scud missile."

A slight smile crossed Slocum's rugged face. "Well, this here Scudmobile ain't gonna be makin' no more trips under its own power."

The other SEALs, one of whom had a minor flesh wound, ran to the burning hulk and surrounded Slocum while he checked the van more closely. A few seconds later, the SEAL leader approached Scott.

"The dead gunner looks to be Chinese," he announced, jerking a thumb in the direction of the van. "The other guy ain't gonna be recognizable."

Dalton nodded as the crash trucks raced toward the burning van. "That's a sure bet."

"I don't know who it is you're messin' with, but you may need more than half a SEAL squad."

"Well, I don't have any complaints," Scott said firmly. "You guys are incredible, no doubt about it."

Scott turned and ran toward Jackie, meeting her halfway to the Learjet.

"What a mess," she said loudly as a crash truck thundered past. "Thank God for the SEALs."

"Yeah, no kidding." Scott watched a crowd gather near the burning van. "Is the plane okay?"

"Not a scratch."

"Good. In case you're wondering, this was the work of Zheng Yen-Tsung and his Chinese thugs."

"The thought had crossed my mind," she said, catching her breath. "Do you think either one of them was Zheng?"

"I don't know, but I do know this: They sat right there and watched us meet with the president's national security adviser."

Jackie observed the crash crew. "If Chief Slocum is right, they were at Centennial earlier."

"And they didn't have the maneuvering room to ram us." Jackie shook her head. "How did they know we were going to be at Centennial, or here, for that matter?"

"I think I know, but we'll discuss it later."

"Yeah, this isn't the time or place."

Scott watched the crash crew quickly douse the raging fire. "We'd better get on the sat phone, or we could find ourselves stranded in the middle of an FBI-FAA power grab."

"Since you've already talked with Mr. Ebersole, why don't you contact the FBI, and I'll call Hartwell — he needs to keep this out of the headlines."

"You got it."

Jackie glanced at the Learjet. "My phone is in the cockpit."

"Here they come." Scott watched the stunned airport security officials approach them. "I'll bet they don't see too many heavily armed SEAL squads around here."

"Well, we've made their day." With her hands on her hips, Jackie cast a look at the security personnel. "It might be a good time to use our FBI credentials."

"Yeah, that thought occurred to me about the time the van exploded."