At number eight, Le found what he was looking for. The occupant was a homely little man, both surprisingly short and surprisingly thin. It occurred to Le that the man Yew referred to as the "Occidental" was approximately the same size as the man who had imprisoned him.
The cell door was constructed of crude steel framing with heavy steel wire mesh more than a quarter of an inch thick. The eight-by-eight cell contained a straw cot that lay on the stone floor. In the far corner of the tiny enclosure was a small hole in the floor that served as a toilet. The cell reeked of urine and excrement. Le Win Fo checked the cell on each side of number eight and across the narrow corridor; none was occupied.
He stood at the door several minutes before Schubatis looked up and stared back at him without speaking.
"I am Father Le Win Fo," he said. "Are you the one they call Schubatis?"
The man hesitated, his eyes searching Le Win Fo's face.
"I have visited the confined for many years," Le said in English. "Do you speak English?"
Schubatis nodded. "I am Russian," he admitted. "I am being detained against my will…"
Le Win Fo leaned against the wire mesh. "Of course you are. I have never met anyone in here who did not say the same thing."
"I am not an anarchist," Schubatis protested.
"Then why are you here?" Win Fo asked.
The Russian clutched the wire mesh. He was wearing only a pair of coarse-fabric green shorts and he was barefoot. There was a dirty cast on his leg and a bandage on his right arm. He was pale and his hands were softnot the hands of a worker. "Theythey abducted me," Schubatis blurted.
Le Win Fo could hear the desperation in the man's voice. "Abducted?" he repeated. Even though he knew Schubatis was telling him the truth, he recognized that the Russian would quickly distrust him if he did not show some degree of skepticism. The role he was playing was both time-consuming and risky, but it was a scenario that had to be played out if he was going to be able to gain the Russian's trust. "Abducted from where?"
Schubatis's voice was little more than a whisper. "I am Dr. Milo Schubatis. I was in America to attend a symposium as a guest of the United States government when I was abducted"
"America?" Le Win Fo said. He made certain Schubatis could detect the air of mistrust in his question.
"What I am telling you is true," Schubatis insisted. "My government will be outraged when they learn of this."
Le Win Fo moved closer to the wire mesh. "They already are," he lied. "That is why I am here."
"They know where I am?"
Le nodded.
"You will speak to Colonel Quan? You will explain the magnitude of his actions?"
Le Win Fo smiled. "I'm afraid it's not going to be that easy. Colonel Quan knows full well the ramifications of his actions. If you're going to get out of here, you're going to have to cooperate."
Schubatis hesitated. "How…"
Le Win Fo shook his head. "I ask only that you trust me. We have ways of getting you out of here, but they are risky and it's going to take your cooperation." Le Win Fo's eyes darted up and down the stone corridor again. He could see the guard. The man was still slumped against the wall near the door. As Le Win Fo started to back away, he heard the desperation in the Russian's voice.
"But when…?"
"Soonvery soon. Talk to no one. Just be ready."
Le Win Fo opened his Bible and pretended to read as he walked slowly back toward the guard. As he did, the young soldier straightened to confront him. There was no grace in the volunteer's movements. Instead he held out his hand. "Cigarette," he demanded. Le Win Fo breathed a sigh of relief and then realized it was very likely the only word of English the soldier knew.
When Serafim Kusava and Andrei Provnosky entered the small Aponton Wor curio shop on Beinji Di, the old man behind the counter glanced up only briefly before returning to his conversation with a customer.
The two men passed through the beaded curtain at the rear of the store, climbed the flight of stairs, and opened the door. Zhun Be was already there, and he was smiling. He motioned toward a rice-paper envelope on the table.
Kusava picked up the envelope, extracted a sheaf of papers, and frowned. "It is written in Chinese," he said, throwing the documents back on the table.
"And so it is." Zhun Be laughed. He picked up the papers and shoveled them back into the oversize envelope. "I hope I have made my point, gentlemen. But just in case the subtlety escapes you, you are Russian. I am Chinese. This is not Beijing or Shanghai. Unlike those cities, no more than perhaps a handful of the people on this island speak English, and even fewer speak Russian. Do not count on the refugees from Malaysia or Indonesia eitherthey will be of no help to you."
"What is your point, Comrade?" Provnosky demanded.
"My point," Zhun Be emphasized, "is that I will tolerate no more threats concerning my cooperation. There, in that envelope, is the information you seekbut it is of no use to you unless you can read and understand Chinese. And, quite frankly, I am the only one who can interpret it for you."
Provnosky opened the envelope a second time and spread the documents on the table. "We pay you for information, Comrade, information that we can use. My threats were made out of frustration. Do not attach too much significance to them. Now that you have the information, we must cooperate."
Zhun Be sat down at the table. "This," he said, pointing to the papers, "will confirm your suspicions."
Kusava, sweating and irritable, face still slightly swollen, was impatient. "And what do these supposedly valuable documents tell us?"
"First," Zhun Be began, "they confirm that the Su-39 aircraft is hangared at Danjia. Since its arrival, it has been flown on three separate occasions. All were test flights conducted by a Russian called Air Major Arege Borisov. I am told he is instructing three of Colonel Quan's finest pilots to master the aircraft."
"Have you seen this aircraft?" Kusava demanded.
Zhun Be shook his head. "I am told it is maintained under the tightest security."
"My comrade has a point," Provnosky interrupted. "We have papers, but we do not have proof. These papers tell us nothing."
"But they do," Zhun insisted. "These logs contain the comments of Major Borisov relating to retrofit of both North Vietnamese and Korean armament systems comparable to those used by the Americans and French."
"Explain," Provnosky said.
"I am told these would be vastly superior to the twenty-five-nautical-mile-range radarguided AA-9s the aircraft carried on its earlier flights."
Neither of the Russians appeared to be knowledgeable about such matters, and Zhun Be felt relieved. It would alleviate questions. "These documents," he continued, "also confirm that with the Danjia modifications, overall ordinance-carrying capability will be increased to eight thousand kilograms."
"And you are certain it is Borisov that is supervising these modifications?" Provnosky asked.
"I am told he is in touch daily with certain officials in Russia."
"Do you know their names?" Kusava asked.
Zhun Be shook his head and leaned back in his chair.
"What about the Canadians?" Provnosky pressed.
"I have been instructed to inform them that a representative of Colonel Quan will meet with them here in Haikou as soon as arrangements can be made."
Kusava leaned forward. His thick hand closed over Zhun's. "What is Quan's interest?"
"It is only preliminary," Zhun replied. "He reviewed the Canadians' inventory. It is quite extensive."
"We must know of any agreements," Provnosky stressed. "My government does not trust Han Ki Po."
''It is Colonel Quan they should fear," Zhun Be reminded them. "He is a dangerous man."