“What question?”
“How we can tell if they were decoys meant to show us they could sink us if they want.”
“And how would we tell?”
Kiang turned the doorknob, surprised when the door opened easily. The lights were on, but in the cargo hold where the lights remained on twenty-four hours a day, it was not unusual. Scattered across the tables were diagrams and schematics. Kiang closed the door behind him and quickly sorted through the papers. His heart soared over the gold mine in front of him. This was too easy.
He jumped back, glancing around the room, looking for a security camera or some sort of recording device. A chill went through him. Had he allowed the thrill of doing this to override caution? Kiang took a deep breath. It was a bare office room that fit the idea of a mobile office in a mobile building. No obvious cameras, motion detectors, or other security devices.
Satisfied, he lifted the edge of a huge sheet of paper, looking for the title in the top right-hand corner. The word “Confidential” was printed in the familiar block. Some security officer had taken the time to stamp the same classification in bright red across the printed word. Kiang flattened the sheet, read the title. This was the fuel-flow diagram for the F-22A. Kiang lifted his camera and took two photographs. He took a photograph of the left side of the sheet and then a second of the right side. He wanted to ensure he photographed every bit of information he had. The Ministry of State Security could figure out how to meld the two photographs.
A burst of loud laughter caused Kiang to move away from the table. He eased over to the window and parted the blinds slightly. A group of merchant marines walked along the deck of the cargo hold, heading toward the aft section of the ship. They must have come down the same way he did. He quietly eased the blinds down and returned to the table.
He folded the sheet halfway over and shoved it to the side.
Beneath it was a paper listing the maintenance work schedule for the week. It was a personal effect of one of the officers or senior noncoms. He lifted the paper. It had today’s date on it. He folded it and stuck it in his pocket. Personal papers such as this went missing all the time. Whoever it belonged to would assume it had gone missing during the confusion of General Quarters.
He took a couple of more photographs, and then looked at his watch. How long before someone came? Kiang glanced at the door. Anytime, one of the Air Force personnel could open the door. What would he say? “Hi! Got lost during GQ and decided this looked like a good place to stay until it was over.” He shook his head. Since he was Asian, that would make it harder for them to believe the lie.
The other course was unthinkable to him. He didn’t think he could kill anyone to protect his espionage. This was the first time he had given thought to what he might have to do to save his own life and the lives of his parents. He never thought of the killing of Jack Sward as his responsibility. It was the colonel who arranged the death.
Kiang moved away from the pile of classified schematics to the desk in the back. On the seat of the chair lay a folder stamped “Top Secret.” Someone was going to be in a lot of trouble when GQ was secured and they discovered they forgot to lock it away. Kiang moved around the desk, looking for the safe where the document should have been stored, but couldn’t see it. Must be in another office space. He lifted the folder. Maybe the safe had already been locked by the time the person who had possession of this top-secret document tried to store it, and the person thought it would be safe here. Couldn’t very well be tramping around topside with a top-secret-stamped folder tucked under your arm.
He laid it on top of the desk and opened it. He scanned the documents, realizing quickly that it detailed the F-22A’s weapons systems avionics. He flipped through the pages quickly. The bottom of the last page read “Page 22 of 22 pages.” He started snapping pictures. Ten minutes later he had all twenty-two pages committed to digital imagery.
Kiang took a deep breath and went to the door. There was so much here he would like to photograph or take, but the longer he stayed the more likely he would be discovered. He put his ear to the door, straining to hear any noise outside. He slowly lifted the edge of the nearby blinds. Satisfied no one was around, he opened the door and stepped onto the narrow walkway. A minute later, he was on the cargo hold deck walking quickly toward the hatch leading up.
His heart pounded with excitement over his success and with the thrill of fear of being caught. Kiang was beginning to understand how much this forced espionage was beginning to excite him. It was a game. A game between him and Zeichner, a game between him and the unsuspecting crew who surrounded him, and a game between him and the colonel. Espionage eventually became a game of intellect. He shivered over the idea of the colonel winning the game. Maybe it was a game of brawn and fear over intellect and bravado.
Maybe the colonel knew instinctively that Kiang would stay and do what was expected regardless of what happened to his parents. He could understand why the thrill of espionage could become addictive. In that moment, Kiang hated himself for what he was doing.
He stopped at the hatch and shook his head. His eyes misted up. No way he would do this forever. He told himself he loved America. It was blackmail that made him do what he just did.
The hatch opened.
“Pardon us,” an Air Force officer said as he stepped through the hatch.
Kiang recognized the officer as Captain Nolan. He knew more about the officers than they could ever guess. He knew that Major Johnson, the female detachment commander, and the lone Afro-American, Franklin, had taken the first formation off earlier in the afternoon. He had seen the number-two officer, Major “Tight End” Crawford, crawl into the F-22A that led the second formation into the air.
“Hey, how long do you think we’ll be down here before Chief Willard calls?” a young first lieutenant asked as he stepped through the hatch.
“Who knows what lurks in the shadows of the mind of a chief master sergeant?” the third officer through the hatch said, turning to Kiang and nodding. “Excuse us.”
Kiang nodded back.
“Well, I for one am glad they let us come back. Too much coffee and I understand the Navy frowns on people who pee on their decks.”
“Zimmerman, you are getting too much like a sailor out here. Air Force officers never pee. We void water.”
Kiang stepped through the hatch and turned. Instead of pulling it shut, he stood inside watching the Air Force pilots. Two of the officers went into the Ready Room on the lower floor, but the one they called Zimmerman scooted up the steps to the second floor. Zimmerman touched the doorknob to the room Kiang had just left. Kiang breathed deep, waiting to see the man enter, when another officer called Zimmerman and motioned him to the Ready Room with the rest.
Kiang pulled the hatch shut and secured it.
As he climbed the stairs, confusion climbed with him as he tried to sort out what he should do. Maybe it was time to turn the tables on the colonel. Talk with American intelligence and see if they could help rescue his parents while he became a double agent. If being an agent was additive, being a double agent must be orgasmic. But then again, he would sleep better at night without worrying which intelligence agency was about to burst into his bedroom.
Seconds later on the far side of the cargo hold, Sergeant Norton rose from the squatting position and stepped out of the far shadows of the starboard bulkhead. She watched the metal rod swing down inside as Kiang secured the hatch on the other side. Norton watched the officers enter the Ready Room. Then, she turned and braced her left foot on the bulkhead. Norton leaned forward and retied her sneaker, revealing a small tattoo of a bird on her right ankle. Finished, she straightened and looked down at her feet for a moment, then up at the second floor of the Air Force offices, before dashing across the deck toward the mobile office. Quickly and quietly, she ran up the metal stairs and entered the office where Kiang had been. Moments later, she emerged and dashed down the stairs.