"We have you by satellite, Sam," Lambert says in my ear. "Just watch the patrolling guards. Otherwise you're good to go."
Temporary wire fences surround the base. Two gates allow entrance, one on the north side and the larger main access on the south. It appears that only two guards stand duty at the main gate at all times, but only one mans the north one. I elect not to use either. Instead I crawl through what foliage there is on the north side of the encampment, about sixty feet east of the gate, and use my wire cutters. There's no moon tonight and it's cloudy so the darkness provides me with a fair amount of cover. I'll still have to be careful, though. There are no trees or other thick vegetation to hide behind if I need to. The base itself is illuminated by a number of floodlights set up at strategic locations.
One of the barracks is right in front of me. I quietly move behind it and can hear snoring through the walls. Everyone's asleep, or at least they should be. From observing the site before I crawled in, I determined that four single-man patrols cover quadrants, moving back and forth within each man's specific section. I imagine they'll be spelled after three or four hours.
I make my way around the barracks, darting from shadow to shadow. I'd like to shoot out the damned floodlights but that certainly would be an attention grabber. When I crouch behind what appears to be the mess hall I see a lengthy stretch of brightly lit turf to the submarine pens. Unfortunately that's where I need to go to learn what I can about Operation Barracuda. How the hell am I going to get from here to there?
"Guard approaching from the east," Lambert says.
There's my answer--walking toward me in the form of one of the soldiers patrolling his quadrant. He's lost in his thoughts, not paying much attention to his surroundings, and probably figures there's no way in hell he's going to encounter any trouble in the middle of an army base. I wait until he's nearly upon me and then I spring forward, clasp my hand around his mouth, and butt him on the back of the head with my Five-seveN. The soldier falls limp in my arms. I drag him into the shadow behind the mess, remove his jacket and helmet, and try them on for size. A little tight but they'll do. I take his assault rifle--a QBZ-95--then I stand, get into character, and slowly walk into the light. I'm now a patrolling Chinese soldier.
As inconspicuously as possible, I slowly and surely make my way to the command post and submarine pens. It's out of my guy's quadrant but I don't think anyone's going to notice. I just don't want to run into the guy who issupposed to be patrolling this quadrant or there might be some fireworks.
The entrance to the first pen is open. I stand to the side and carefully peer in. Sure enough, there's a submarine sitting in the water. Work lights illuminate the pen and I see a couple of soldiers on the platform at the side of the sub, sitting at a table and playing cards. They, too, probably figure no one's going to bother them this late at night.
As I study the submarine I realize it's not a class I recognize. I remember reading a Pentagon report that was distributed to Third Echelon operatives regarding a new class of sub the U.S. military believed China was building. Known at the Pentagon as a Yuan-class sub, it is speculated to be a new type of attack boat that's diesel-powered and built from indigenous Chinese hardware and Russian weapons. I quickly snap some shots of it with my OPSAT and move on to the next pen. There's a little more activity inside this one so I'm unable to get a good look. I do, however, note that a sub is indeed in the pen and might be a nuclear-powered Xia-class.
The third pen is empty. No submarine at all. Yet there are several soldiers moving things around on the platforms on the sides of the slip, cleaning up after a launch operation or preparing for the arrival of a boat.
Then I recognize a guy in civilian clothes standing over a control board some forty feet away. It's Oskar Herzog, now without the white in his hair and beard that made him look older. He's talking with a man in a sharp-looking uniform whose back is to me. From this angle it's difficult to discern his rank.
I carefully slide inside the pen and crouch behind three oil drums so I can get a better look. Finally, the man turns away from the control board and I'm able to snap a shot. It's General Tun himself.
He and Herzog walk away from the control board and head in my direction. I hug the floor as they move past the drums and step outside. I quickly make sure no one is following them or watching, and then I slip out the door and tail them. They head straight for the command post, a small temporary building not far away from the pen.
After they go inside, I move around to the back of the small structure, where there's a window at shoulder height. I reach into my backpack and find what I call my "corner periscope," a device that's really a lot like a dentist's tool--it's a thin piece of metal with a small round mirror at the end. The metal is bendable so I can adapt it to just about any kind of space. It's best for looking around corners when you don't want to be noticed but in this case I use it to look inside the window.
Well, well. A bunch of late-nighters. I've got all of them in one tidy package. General Tun, Oskar Herzog, and Andrei Zdrok stand over a worktable studying maps. Eddie Wu sits on a stool in the corner looking as if he's about to nod off. And lying on a couch, barely awake, is Yvan Putnik.
I'm extremely tempted to lock and load and end it here and now. I press my implant and ask for Lambert.
"I'm here, Sam. What is it?"
I type in a text message: I HAVE ZDROK, HERZOG, PUTNIK, TUN, AND E WU TOGETHER IN CONVENIENT TARGET LOCATION. SHOULD I?
After a moment, Lambert says, "Do you know what they're planning to do with the nuke and the MRUUV?"
I respond: NOT YET.
Lambert says, "Then you'd better wait. Please proceed with the primary directive. Then get the hell out. We'll leave that other thing for the U.S. military. It's not your job, Sam."
Oh, man. Putnik is the one I really want. It's my deepest desire to make the guy suffer for what he did to Katia. As I curse Lambert's orders, I put the corner periscope in my trouser pocket and activate the T.A.K. on my Five-seveN. I aim it at the window and listen in on the conversation. Since the general can't speak Russian and the Shop guys can't speak Mandarin, they've opted for very bad English.TUN: . . . they tell me submarine Maodo reach American west coast seven day.HERZOG: Are you sure about that, General? Only seven days?TUN: Maois fast submarine we have. Xia-class.ZDROK: I was impressed with how it looked today when it left the pen.TUN: It beautiful boat. New diesel-powered sub very nice, too. United Nations not know about.
They do now,I think.
ZDROK: So, General, I believe this finishes our business together. You have the warhead my comrade General Prokofiev supplied to you, you have all the pieces of Operation Barracuda and they appear to be working, and now Mr. Herzog and I would like to leave you with your plans. That final payment . . . ?TUN: It is done. Here receipt for wire transfer into Swiss bank account.ZDROK: Oskar, take a look, is this in order?HERZOG: Appears to be. The figures are correct.TUN: You not see Barracuda work, Mr. Zdrok?ZDROK: Uh, no, General, I got here after your sub left.TUN: Please. Allow me show. Come see before you go.ZDROK: ( big sigh) All right. Yvan, wake up. The general wants to demonstrate his new toy. Eddie, you coming?WU: ( grumbles, unintelligible)