The Russian nodded only once before he slipped back into unconsciousness, wincing in pain, and groaning.
Bogner checked his watch. He was running out of time. As long as the refueling teams milled around the returning Komiskos it was too risky to try to negotiate the final one hundred yards or so to the hangar. He sagged back against the side of the refueling shed and tried to see into the darkness.
"Where… where am I?" Schubatis mumbled. He was trying to sit up.
Bogner bent over him. He kept his voice low. "My name is Bogner. I'm an American. We're trying to get you out of here…"
For the first time the Russian seemed to grasp what he was being told. He closed his eyes, then opened them and stared back at the man hovering over him. "Where am I?" he repeated.
"You're still in the compoundless than a hundred yards from the Danjia hangar. There are two of us. With any luck at all, we're going to get you and your plane out of here."
As Bogner spoke, he glanced out at the refueling crew milling around the Komisko. The fuel hoses had been disconnected and the pilot of the squat Russian helicopter was again pouring the power to the twin Glushenkov engines. The helicopter took off, hovered momentarily, then disappeared in a cloak of swirling rain and darkness.
Bogner could still hear the thumping sound of the Komisko's twin rotors when he turned back to Schubatis again.
The Russian had lost consciousness.
For Harry Driver, Arege Borisov's unexpected size was a convenience. The two men were about the same size, and the Russian's height and bulk enabled Driver to don his flight suit with ease. He rummaged through his closet, found dry clothes, and pulled on his flight gear. Then he stepped into the small latrine area and emptied the contents of Borisov's electric shaver into the palms of his hands. He rubbed the contents over his face to darken his otherwise sparse beard, and buttoned his flight collar high around his neck to conceal as much of his face as possible.
Driver had fallen into the habit of repeatedly checking his watch. He looked at it again and wondered if he dared risk a quick glance at the charts in the flight center. Le had told them that the flight center contained a small weatherbriefing area, a few surface maps, and upperair charts faxed in by the weather-reporting stations in Guangzhou, formerly Canton, and the WMO weather-forecasting center in Vientiane in Laos.
Listening to the rain pounding on the corrugated roof of Borisov's quarters, Driver wasn't as concerned about getting the Su-39 off the ground as he was about what to expect en route. The winds over Tonkin were tricky, and Driver was eager to avoid flying a craft he was unfamiliar with through a series of heavy thunder cellsespecially over open water. Ditching over open water was a risk he couldn't afford to take. His survival depended on making it to landfriendly land. The Hanoi government provided that sanctuary.
If the Su-39 had been fueled for a conventional training flight, he knew he would be likely to have enough fuel to get him across the Gulf of Tonkin to Haiphong. It was that "if" that haunted him.
The plan was simple: When he was over Haiphong harbor he would bring the Su-39 around and head it back toward the gulf. Then he would eject.
From the latrine, Driver went back into Borisov's room to get rid of the body. He had no way of knowing how the Russian prepared for the flight, and if he deviated, it might arouse suspicion. He opened the window, felt the rain swirl in, and looked down. No more than fifteen feet beneath him was the tin roof of a makeshift storage shed. He pulled Borisov's body to the window, hefted it over the ledge, shoved, and heard the body land. Unless someone looked out the window, his body would not be discovered until long after he had taken off with the Covert.
At that point, Harry Driver paused. He was well aware of the fact that he was about to pass the point of no turning back. He was about to turn his back on his career, his country, and everything he had known. And, if Bogner had succeeded in getting Schubatis out of his cell and eventually made it as far as the hangarall, in Driver's estimation, long shotsBogner had to be contended with as well.
Shu Li was awakened by the incessant ringing of the telephone, punctuated by a loud peal of thunder. She shuddered, forced her eyes open, and realized the hour. She groped in the darkness for the phone, found it, and tried to clear her head.
Thinking it would be the hotel operator, she muttered a barely audible "What is it?"
Zhun Be's voice surprised her. "I must talk to you," he said.
She looked at the clock. "Come on, Zhun, can't it wait?"
"It is urgent."
"Very well, room seven fourteen. But give me a few minutes to get presentable. Okay?"
"I'll be up in five minutes."
Shu Li hung up the phone, got out of bed, put on a robe, and went into the bathroom to straighten her hair. Still half asleep, she wondered what could be so urgent that Zhun Be would risk coming to the Haikou. Normally he was far too cautious to risk revealing his contacts. Before she had time to think it through, she heard his knock.
When she opened the door, she saw that his clothes were soaked and his face was flushed. "Where are the Canadians?" he blurted.
Shu Li knew they had returned to Zebo with Le Win Fo, but she hesitated. "I don't know," she lied.
"They did not return to the hotel tonight," Zhun Be said. "I called their rooms, there is no answer. They must be warned."
Shu Li sat down on the edge of her bed. "Warned about what?" She knew Zhun was upset; he was disheveled, and he hadn't even commented on the fact that she was wearing only a robe. That wasn't the Zhun Be she knew.
"You have not heard the news?"
Shu Li shook her head. "What news? What are you talking about?"
"Han Ki Po has been assassinated, and the killer has escaped."
Shu Li was stunned. "Assassinated?"
"They are looking for a man named Tang Ro Ji. Patrols are everywhere. The police have been instructed to round up all foreigners. They have already taken the Russian Provnosky into custodyand they are looking for the two Canadians from Jade."
Shu Li knew the name Tang Ro Ji. She had never met him, but she had heard Ti Minn talk about the man. Ti Minn had called him a beast.
Shu Li hesitated before she admitted, "I know where the Canadians are." She was banking on the fact that Zhun Be wasn't playing both ends against the middle and trying to help the Haikou police. The Haikou police were known to be loyal to Quan.
To her surprise, Zhun Be did not ask where. He simply repeated, "They must be warned."
Shu Li stood up. "You are right. They are in Zebo."
"Zebo… the orphanage of Father Hua?" Suddenly Zhun's face broke into a small smile. "Of course," he said, "the orphanage. Then it is true: Hua is a contact. I have heard the rumors for years… and you, you are one of them."
Shu Li walked slowly to her dresser, opened the drawer, and brought out a small revolver. She turned and leveled it at Zhun. "I don't always trust you, Zhun. This could all be a trick. So now you have the opportunity to prove just which side you're on."
"I would not have come here"
"You are coming with me to Zebo," she said as she grabbed some clothes from the dresser and stepped behind a small dressing screen.
"The police have set up roadblocks," Zhun protested. "They are checking everything coming into and going out of the city. We won't be allowed to leave."
"I know a back way," Shu Li said, "over the hill road through the old commune."
"That road will be treacherous; it has been raining for hours. I know that road, it is full of washouts."
Shu Li stepped out from behind the screen. She was wearing a dark turtleneck sweater, black slacks, and boots. Over her arm she carried a rain cape. "Do you know this man they call Tang Ro Ji?"