Ghost Recon

SIX

Five years after the ambush on Basilan Island, Fang Zhi stood on a street corner, smoking a cigarette and reading his newspaper in the late-afternoon glare. Yellow taxis lined the curb, and across the street, near the Toyota dealership, Fang's man, Yeh Chun-chang, sat parked in his gray sedan, waiting for a cell phone call from Fang.

In less than thirty minutes, a man would die.

And not just any man.

This individual represented the primary obstacle between Fang and his future life. It was not the man's fault. He was simply a victim of his own skills.

With car horns resounding in the street and the wind of a passing bus buffeting him as it roared by, Fang tried to calm himself. Nothing could go wrong. He had spent too many hours planning it all, waiting, watching, determining exactly what he must do.

Nearby, a small group of middle-aged Americans obviously on vacation were marveling over the cans of Coca-Cola they had just bought, cans imprinted with Chinese characters. Fang wanted to strangle the smiles from their faces.

Their country provided the model of arrogance, wealth, and self-indulgent lifestyle that had poisoned Taiwan's government. Officials routinely exploited their citizens to benefit themselves and gain American support. In doing so, they had created a culture of haves and have-nots, just like in America.

The Republic of China (ROC) Army in Taiwan, taking its cue from the government, behaved the same way. They would march Taiwanese troops into the fire if it would please the United States.

The more Fang thought about it, the shallower his breath became.

He scowled at the tourists as they walked by, then his gaze shifted to a man standing on the corner.

Fang did a double take. It was Sze Ma! Old Sergeant Sze Ma from Fang's last mission as an army officer. He was dressed in civilian clothes but still wore a crew cut, suggesting he might still be in the army. Fang tucked his newspaper under his arm, ditched his cigarette, and approached the man.

Sze Ma, who was simply waiting for the light to change, glanced up. His lip twitched as he recognized Fang. Probably out of habit or reflex, he blurted out, "Captain."

Fang's voice came coldly. "Sergeant. What are you doing here?"

"I came to look at a car across the street."

"How have you been?"

Sze Ma frowned. "Captain, years have passed, but I will never forget that night. That terrible night. And now, seeing you here again… I don't know what to say."

Fang bared his teeth, slapped a hand on Sze Ma's shoulder, shocking the man, and said, "Do you think I deserved what happened to me?"

"It doesn't matter what I think."

"I want to know."

"I'm sorry, Captain."

Fang grabbed Sze Ma's arm and tightened his grip. "Are you married now? Do you have a family?"

"Yes, one little girl."

"And does she know that she would not exist were it not for me and what I did to save your life?"

"You beat me with your sword. You refused to let me fight. I have not changed my mind about such things."

"You would be dead. And for what? To please the Americans?"

"Let me go. Because if you don't—"

"What will you do to me that they haven't already done? Strip me of my rank, my duty, everything I worked so hard for? Years spent in Fengshan at the academy? All for nothing!"

"Captain, I'm sorry. I need to go."

"So do I," said Fang. "So do I."

With that, he released the man, who hurriedly crossed the street before the light changed.

Sze Ma reached the opposite corner and stole a worried look at Fang, then he started toward the car dealership.

With a start, Fang was struck by what he was supposed to be doing. His gaze probed the street. He checked his watch and cursed.

Even as he reached for his cell phone, it began to ring: Yeh Chun-chang was calling.

"I saw him," said Yeh. "He crossed the street just like you said he would. He was wearing the jacket. I saw you talking with that other man. I could have done the job, but you told me not to go until you called."

"I'll call you back."

Fang broke into a sprint, reached the corner, turned left, then raced down the sidewalk, past rows of buildings, looking for a man wearing a white athletic jacket with red sleeves. The jacket bore the 2008 Olympic Games logo, along with a dragon wrapping around its side.

The jacket belonged to Kao Ku-ching, the man who was supposed to die, the man who was now gone.

Fang reached the corner, shot looks both ways up the alleys, then glanced forward to an old apartment building where Kao lived in a modest one-bedroom on the third floor.

Through an open window Fang saw a television flick on, and he knew Kao had made it home safely. Fang called Yeh and said, "We'll need to wait until tomorrow."

"I will need to be paid for today."

Fang sighed in disgust and said, "Yes. Same time tomorrow."

"Very well. You should pay attention because this can become very expensive for you."

"I will. And you will receive your final payment only after the job is done. Remember that."

That night, Fang lay in bed, staring at the ceiling of his ramshackle apartment.

He was a soldier who had been born to fight. He would continue to fight, no matter what they said. When they had removed him from the army, they had thought he had no spirit, that he had no will to fight.

He tensed over the thought, then relaxed, turned his head toward his nightstand upon which his sword cane leaned, its tiger patterns coming alive in the darkness.

Years spent apologizing to his forefathers had amounted to nothing. Now he railed against even them, deemed them as victims of the American poison, and only he, Fang Zhi, could set the family on a new and more honorable course.

The next afternoon, Fang stood once more on the same street corner, smoking his cigarette and reading his newspaper. A front had moved in, and in a few moments the black clouds would finally empty themselves. The weather provided a perfect excuse for Fang to wear his rain jacket and hood, which would, of course, help conceal his identity.

Across the street was the gray sedan.

Any moment now, Kao would reach the corner and enter the crosswalk as he had every weekday for the past month.

Without exception.

Fang shifted his weight from one leg to the other, backhanded the sweat from his brow, and breathed in the warm, humid air. He shivered in anticipation.

Then he took a last drag of cigarette, ditched it in the road, and glanced across the intersection as it began to rain.

Kao was right there, only today he was not wearing the Olympic jacket, just a blue sweatshirt.

Fang had told Yeh Chun-chang back in the sedan to take care of the job as soon as he saw Kao, but Yeh was looking for that Olympic jacket!

Where was Fang's cell phone? He fumbled in his pocket, dialed the number.

Across the way, Yeh lifted his phone to his ear.

"Yeh, it is me," Fang cried. "He's in a blue sweatshirt! "Go now."

At the intersection, Kao was holding a backpack over his head and waiting for the light to change. The rain grew heavier.

Yeh revved the sedan's engine.

Fang remembered the many hours he had spent with Kao. They had actually become friends. He had even consoled Fang when the final scores had been revealed.

Fang's heart began to race.

And for a few seconds, Fang thought of running to the corner and calling it all off. But he couldn't. He might have doubts, but he'd already made the decision and was beyond the point of return.

The light turned green.

Kao, along with a half dozen other pedestrians, rushed into the crosswalk, a few wrestling with their umbrellas.

A terrific thunderclap echoed off the buildings.

Yeh, still parked at the corner, held back until the last possible second, then he roared into the street, coming directly at the pedestrians, who swung their heads.

Fang flinched as screams rose from the street.

And then, strangely enough, the whole event unfolded before his eyes as though in slow motion.

Two women dove out of the sedan's path.

One man was struck in the leg and went spinning to the asphalt, his umbrella carried off by the wind.

Yeh rolled the wheel and screeched toward Kao, who looked up and had no time to move.

Another young man, about Kao's age, who was now within a meter of the car, reached out to grab and save Kao, but the sedan came between them.

It was almost too much to watch, but Fang couldn't help himself. His gaze was riveted, and, with a horrid fascination, he stood there as Yeh struck Kao head-on before the other man could reach him.

The sedan's front bumper slammed into Kao's legs and hips, sending him knifing over the hood and up, onto the windshield, which shattered as he rolled over it, across the roof, then went tumbling down onto the street, limbs flopping, head lolling and scraping across the pavement.

The other man had been sideswiped by the sedan, and he now lay in the street, as Yeh screeched off into the rain.

Other pedestrians who'd been gathering at the corner began running into the street, crying for help.

Fang stared in shock a moment longer, seeing that Kao was not moving, his arms and legs twisted at improbable angles.

Suddenly, a powerful chill ripped through him, and he shivered and realized he needed to get out of there, couldn't be identified at the scene.

He ran off, but then remembered that running would draw too much attention, so he slowed to a brisk walk as his cell phone began to ring.

Yeh was calling about his payment.

Two weeks later, Fang Zhi received the phone call he was waiting for. He took a cab down to the National Sports Training Center in Tsoying, where Tsao Chin-hui, Fang's coach, had his office.

Tsao, who had won several Olympic medals himself, greeted Fang with a broad grin. "I'm sure you know why you're here."

"I feel terrible and excited at the same time."

"I understand. Kao was a fine young man and an excellent marksman."

"I have been busy with other things," said Fang. "And I haven't followed what's been happening. Have they caught the driver of that car?"

"No, they found the vehicle. I heard that the driver might have fled to China."

"A tragedy. He was probably a drunk driver like they said."

"Probably." Tsao's gaze narrowed. "Kao had many friends, no enemies."

"That is true. The police asked me many questions."

"Kao beat you by only a few points to make the team. Of course they would suspect you, but I told them you were a great sportsman and the last person who might do something like this."

"Thank you."

"Well, then, you will take Kao's place. I am sorry it had to be this way for you, but welcome to the team."

"I am honored."

Fang left the office and hailed another cab. On the way back to his apartment, as the driver navigated through the congested streets, it finally struck Fang.

He was going to Beijing. He would compete in the Olympic Games as a marksman.

Yes, the competition would be thrilling. But more so was the notion that after the games, he would not return home.

He would finally turn his back on the country that had abandoned him.

Fang Zhi would defect to China, and the chance to do that was worth even more than being an Olympic athlete.

It was worth Kao's life.