A moment later, he sent the same four-digit code, calling her back to the ranch. She answered with the code for copy that, jumped in the shower and was out the door.
Jennifer’s car pulled up to the hitching post in front of the bunkhouse. Hal was there waiting for her. She glanced around for the others and noticed Hal was unarmed. She rolled her window down.
“Our Chinese friends found the box,” Hal said. It didn’t register with her. “The ground control station — the metal shipping crate from the barn. It’s not far from here.”
“That’s great! Did you call the police?”
He shook his head. “It’s not that easy.”
“They’re calling Henry’s death a suicide!” Jennifer said. “And Doctor Elm’s a botched robbery!”
“I know.”
“They’re still hunting us!” She said. “We have to stop them!”
“We’re going to,” Hal said, nodding up to the bunkhouse loft — inviting her.
“Do you trust them?” She asked.
“I do. They need us and we can’t end it without them.”
Jennifer climbed out of her car, following Hal into the bunkhouse and up to the loft.
The MSS agents had restored the bunkhouse to its former spycraft haven. All the equipment was back in place — the time-lapse camera pointed at the runway, surveillance feeds ran to one laptop, and live imagery from the Chinese spy satellite fed into the other. There was a new addition to the room — a large map on the wall of Eastern Manhattan, covering a five-block radius from 41st St. to 46th St. and Second Ave. to the East River. Next to it on the wall was a blueprint of the United Nations Headquarters in New York City.
Weng greeted Hal and Jenny, offering them seats in front of the map on the wall. Charlie and Matt worked at the laptops. “The leaders of our two nations have been in back-channel discussions for over a month — regarding the bombing of the Fuzhou Railway Bureau Building. We know this was a deliberate action by the Cloudcroft operation. An act of war. We have provided your leaders with ample time to publicly acknowledge this, and they have refused. So, this Tuesday when President Weilen addresses the General Assembly of the United Nations, he is going to announce this act of war to the world.”
Weng paused, looking at Jennifer. “This is what your colleague, the doctor, was referring to. I believe they will send ghost assassins to make sure President Weilen never makes it to the podium.”
Jennifer is stunned. She looks at Hal in disbelief.
“I have alerted President Weilen of the danger. Postponing the trip is impossible. Your leaders would perceive it as a sign of weakness. I have informed my President that this rogue operation does not reflect the will of the people. But as your President is aware of it, he is not free from accountability.”
“It’s a no-win!” Jennifer exclaimed. “If they get to — fulfill their goal, it’s an act of war. If not, your President proclaims an act of war.”
“They’re going to make it look like it’s not the U.S.,” Hal said, referring to Cloudcroft’s attempt at preventing the Chinese President from speaking. “They can’t. I’m sure they’ve thought through the scenarios.”
“If they’re stopped before they reach your President, will he be flexible,” Jenny asked Weng. “Will he show leniency?”
“I have discussed this with him. He is agreeable to it, provided your government denounces the corrupt organization and holds them accountable. Your government would also have to issue a public apology and provide reparations for the Fuzhou bombing.”
“So, why do you need me?” Jennifer asked Hal.
“We’ll need you for communications,” Hal said. “We’ve changed the frequency on my GPS tracker, so you’ll be able to see me here on the monitor from the Chinese satellite feed. You’ll be able to direct me through the building once I’m inside. Matt will be on the mission with us and Charlie will be remotely guiding the satellite and setting up the comms here for you.”
“I have arranged a private jet at the Alamogordo Airport to fly us to New York tomorrow,” Weng said. “We only have the remainder of today to brief.”
“Just tell me what to do,” Jenny said.
“Good,” Weng said. “A van will pick us up at LaGuardia Airport. From there we’ll drive to Manhattan and pick up equipment at the Chinese Consulate…”
“Dragonfly is away,” Force Recon Sergeant Ronald Hughes said over the microphone of a lightweight headset. Hughes clutched a military-grade tablet device, remotely operating a black USAF Regis heavy-lift quadcopter drone. Its cargo — a large black Storm case.
The drone elevated a couple hundred feet, disappearing into the Manhattan night sky. Hughes guided it via the on-board camera, its display and controls on-screen of his tablet. The drone passed over Tudor City Place and the Isaiah Wall. Flying in a bee-line toward the United Nations Headquarters, basking in the glow of a dozen spotlights. The lights of Long Island flickered on the horizon like glimmering jewels, beyond the shimmering jet-black East River.
The drone hovered unseen, hundreds of feet above the UN headquarters. Slowly descending to a soft landing on the roof of the South Annex building of the UN campus. Other buildings connected the South Annex to the main structure of the UN campus — the General Assembly Building.
“Touchdown,” Hughes reported over his headset. “Returning to base camp.” Hughes slid the tablet inside his coat and removed the headset, marching toward the stairwell door on the hotel roof.
“We’ve got about four hours until go-time,” McCreary said, removing his headset and tossing it on the console. He and Baldo were the only ones in the box. “You can rack out until Trest and Douglas arrive.”
“Yes, sir.”
Baldo stepped out into a crisp and cool New Mexico night filled with stars. Not a cloud in the sky. He snapped open a cot leaning against the box and lay down, looking into the infinite beyond. Closing his eyes.
Sunrise broke over the Atlantic, creeping its way across South Hampton, Queens and Brooklyn. Sergeant Hughes squinted into the sunlight, approaching a limousine town car in front of the hotel. The driver bound around to open the door for him. “I got it,” Hughes said in a stern voice. The driver nodded and returned behind the wheel.
Hughes looked sharp in a dark suit and tie. He had a concealed earpiece in one ear and a tiny microphone tucked inside his shirt collar. Remaining in constant contact with the box nearly two-thousand miles away. He opened the back door for his Force Recon spotter, Lance Corporal Merrick. Merrick also wore a suit and tie. A lanyard looped around his neck with an official UN delegate badge. Merrick got in the limo, sliding to the far side. Hughes paused for a few seconds before stepping into the car and sat near the door, leaving a wide gap between he and Merrick.
“Oscar Mike,” Hughes said quietly, dipping his jaw to his collar. Letting those in the box know they were on the move.
An acknowledgement sounded from the familiar voice of Beacon, “Once inside the lobby, Ghost Two has the point. Remember, he can’t open doors, so give plenty of time to let him in behind you. I’ll guide you to the South Annex from his helmet cam and tracker.”
“Roger,” Hughes said, eyeing the street ahead as the driver turned toward the sprawling UN campus.
The main gates of the UN opened to a long line of limousines and taxis. Sergeant Hughes’s town car was leading the pack. Merrick and Hughes showed the gate guard their badges and he waived them in to the circular driveway of the Secretariat Building — a thirty-nine story office building of shimmering glass. It was the tallest building on the UN campus.