“Yes, sir,” Weng said. “I understand sir—” He was interrupted by the same minister.
“—And removing that uncertainty from the equation, there is also no evidence that this Phantom was at the Railway Bureau building. How do you know the device wasn’t placed by an insider? Or placed by some other means? Perhaps launched from the roof of another building nearby? Did you check other buildings for any such evidence?”
“Not personally, sir.”
“How do you know it wasn’t dropped by a helicopter or weather balloon? Or some other means more plausible than an invisible man? Have you ruled out the possibility that an insider may have doctored the surveillance footage before you had a chance to view it? We know for a fact that the incendiary is from the Taiwan Army. This is a certainty. I believe we should also follow this certainty and investigate the possibility of a preemptive strike on our nation by Taiwan.”
“As you wish, sir,” Weng said.
The microphone slid two seats to the right, to the Propaganda Chief, Tianjin Ticai.
“My colleague here has been very generous. Not only do you lack the necessary evidence to support your theory, but what do you expect the President to say to the world as to the nature of the origin of this fire? If this is the only explanation that the MSS can provide, then it seems the entire investigation has been a waste of time, effort and resources. You would do well to consider the President’s time — which you may also be wasting. Not to mention the time of the esteemed members of the Standing Committee.” He addressed Weng’s superior officer, Goan. “You’re staking everything on an invisible man?! How do you account for allowing a subordinate to present something so unsubstantiated as this?”
Goan humbly replied, “I apologize to the chief, to all the committee members and to the President.” He gave a stern look to Weng. An obvious cue, and Weng stepped forward.
“If I have wasted the President’s time, and the time of this committee, I apologize. I regret being unable to present the evidence you require.”
Goan rose and nodded to the committee before leaving in humiliation. Weng followed. Bowing to the others with respect. He couldn’t imagine the presentation going any worse. Weng could see his demotion back to the Red Army before his eyes, and an imminent transfer to the Siberia of China, a post in Yakeshi along the Ituri River, where winter temperatures drop as low as sixty-two degrees below zero. Hitting him even harder was the thought of disappointing his wife.
The attendant led him to the door and a voice halted him. The voice of the Chinese President. “Excuse me, gentlemen…” Goan shot Weng a quick look of disapproval. Expecting the worst. They both politely turned to the president.
“Sir?” Goan asked.
“I respect the opinions of all Standing Committee members. It is with their sound counsel and aid that I am able to do what is best for the people of China. Professionally and logically, their opinions are correct. Personally, however, I am not required to hold the same beliefs. I believe there are no coincidences, and that when the impossible is removed from an equation, the lone solution is often the correct solution. The officer presents a very compelling case. Although at present, he lacks the necessary evidence. He and your department have the full support of his President and his country — to continue the investigation with the overseas operation he recommended to the committee. We expect to see you again very soon with the concrete evidence the committee demands, and evidence that I am sure you will find.”
Weng was overcome with elation, but hid his glee to shroud the appearance of gloating. Even the scowl on Goan’s face faded.
“Thank you, Mr. President,” Weng replied.
“My gratitude, Mr. President. Thank you,” his superior noted. They both nodded to members of the Standing Committee and got the hell out of the chamber.
CHAPTER TWELVE
WAR GAMES
“Sheridan is moving,” Airman Baldo said to McCreary, who leaned over to watch the monitor. The video feed was from a disguised surveillance camera the “electricians” placed on the transformer box — overlooking Hal’s house and driveway. Hal’s metallic gray GMC Canyon Denali truck pulled out of the driveway.
“He loaded some kind of gear in the back,” Baldo said. “I couldn’t see what it was. The camera was obscured.”
“Pull up MISTY and follow him.”
“Roger that.”
McCreary picked up a phone. “You may want to come down here, sir. Sheridan is on the move.” He paused, listening to the commands from Trest on the other end. “Roger. I’ll find out.” He hung up the phone, turning to Baldo. “Find out if Sheridan made a request for a personal day, and the reason he gave for it.”
“Yes, sir,” Baldo replied. Accessing the base’s payroll and scheduling website. He navigated to Hal’s department. “This shows it’s a personal day. PTO. No reason given.”
“Alright. Where’s MISTY?”
“Tracking. Should be up in a few seconds.”
Trest entered the hangar, stepping up into the box, making himself comfortable. Putting his coffee on the desk.
“MISTY is up. Following Sheridan’s truck.” Baldo zoomed in on the truck from the wide field-of-view of the spy satellite. The image was better quality than 4k — providing Baldo with the ability to continue zooming while retaining sharp focus. “It looks like he’s leaving the base.”
“Scramble our Force Recon boys.” Trest said to McCreary. “Tail Sheridan. Eyes on target only.”
“Roger that, sir.” McCreary relayed the orders through his headset. Trest and Baldo watched Hal’s truck pull into the driveway of another home on the base.
“Where is he?” Trest asked.
“Pulling up the map overlay, sir.” Baldo typed at the computer and street names and numbers appeared on the satellite image. A man exited the house, carrying a large duffel bag. He threw it in the back of Hal’s truck.
“Who the hell is that?” Trest asked.
“Zooming in, sir.” The image enlarged, but as it was a view from directly above, it showed only the top of the man’s head.
“Bring up the IR.”
“Yes, sir.” An infrared view appeared on another screen — showing glowing representations of the two men, and an even brighter area from the truck’s engine. Baldo right-clicked on a graphic overlay of the address and the homeowner’s name appeared… “Staff Sergeant Eric Yarborough, sir. Sheridan’s co-worker.”
“Should I call off the dogs, sir?” McCreary asked.
“Negative.”
Sheridan’s truck headed to the west gate of Holloman and McCreary relayed his location to the Force Recon operators following him. Sheridan’s truck turned suddenly. Staying on the base.
“What??” Baldo asked. “They’re on Arkansas Road. It looks like they’re headed toward the missile range.”
McCreary relayed the info to the team. “Northbound on Arkansas Road.”