“That’s why we’ve paid Quintero and Silvera-Arias. It’s up to them to defy any U.S. pressure.”
“They’ll hold up?”
Liu looked at his superior. “As long as the money keeps flowing, they’ll do what we want. By the time we reveal the missiles to the American government, our position here will be unassailable.”
“A well-thought-out plan,” Yu repeated.
Knowing that if it succeeded the general would take all the credit, Liu was certain that if it failed, that failure would rest on his shoulders alone. Such was the way of Chinese politics. But success meant Liu would forever be attached to the general as he continued his rise in Beijing.
“Go tell our Panamanian friends about the change in schedule.” Yu stood. “I’m returning to the city. I have an early flight in the morning.”
Meaning you won’t be anywhere near the action when it comes, Liu thought bitterly. But this was the price he had to pay. A man like General Yu had already proven himself again and again. Now it was Liu’s turn. “Yes, sir.”
“Do you know what time you will detonate Gemini?” Yu asked as he led his subaltern toward the door without any thought to President Quintero or Director Silvera-Arias.
“My explosives experts tell me that when it is overcast, the pressure waves bounce back from the sky and amplify the detonative forces. So it will depend on the weather on the day after tomorrow, General.”
“Very well. I look forward to your call telling me it is done.”
Liu snapped another salute. “It will be my honor.”
The wily old general didn’t return the salute as he wandered over to the sedan he’d commandeered from Hatcherly for this visit. Liu waited until the vehicle’s taillights faded down the long drive, absently blowing on his fingers. Then he went in search of Captain Chen. He found the leader of the commando group just returning from one of the outbuildings.
“Tell Sun to get to work as soon as he gets here,” Liu barked. Yu had set a near-impossible task, made worse because of the situation Liu had intentionally kept from him—the Special Forces, or whoever they were, who’d been interfering at every turn. “Yu’s ordered the timetable pushed up. We have about thirty-six hours.”
The soldier couldn’t hide his shock. “Is that feasible?”
“It damned well better be,” Liu said. “And sometime tomorrow morning I want Maria picked up and disposed of.”
“You mean ...”
“You know damned well what I mean. Kill her.”
Liu could feel the pressure mounting: a lead weight in his gut and a burning ache behind his eyes. That was why he had no compulsion about ordering his lover’s murder. Even an hour ago, the thought had given him pause. No longer. Too much was at stake to care about his conscience or anything else. Same went with using Mr. Sun’s talents. Having Mercer tortured had bothered him on one level, surely not enough to stop him from ordering it, but the feelings were there. That too was gone now. He would use any assets open to him to see Red Island’s successful completion.
Red Island. He’d even picked the code name, as an allusion to what the Soviets had attempted in Cuba. Of course they had wanted their missiles discovered, otherwise they would have camouflaged them rather than leave them in the open for U-2 spy planes to find. The Cuban Missile Crisis had been a game of nuclear brinkmanship: remove yours and we’ll remove ours. What he had in mind was much subtler.
Nuclear blackmail—back off when we take Taiwan or eight American cities get carbonized.
The Radisson Royal Hotel Panama City, Panama
Mercer struggled awake shortly after dawn. He was far from refreshed. His back ached from the night spent on the couch and as soon as he remembered the events from the day before, his soul felt stripped. A shower and coffee from room service did little to revive him. He was standing at the picture window when Harry shuffled from the bedroom. The old man was naked save a pair of baggy boxers and his fake leg.
“Morning,” Mercer said.
“Bah,” Harry snorted, a cigarette already burning between his fingers. He grabbed the coffee cup from Mercer’s hand on his way to the bathroom and slurped noisily without a backward glance.
He emerged ten minutes later and grunted again as he moved to the bedroom. He returned to the main part of the suite only when he was dressed. “Morning, Mercer,” he said pleasantly, his transformation from hungover curmudgeon to moderately robust curmudgeon complete. “If I’m going to steal your coffee, for Christ’s sake put some sugar in it.”
Mercer couldn’t help but laugh no matter how badly he was hurting inside. Harry had that effect on him. “There’s more on the tray.”
Harry lit another cigarette.
“Second of the day already?”
“Third.” Harry drank from his own coffee and even recharged Mercer’s empty cup. “So what’s the plan?”
Mercer raked his fingers through his hair. “I’m giving Maria an hour or so to sleep off whatever excesses she might have indulged last night before going over. Right now I’m going to call General Vanik and tell him that his daughter’s dead.”
Harry looked away. “Guess that would be the right thing to do. I’ll leave you alone.” He grabbed the complimentary newspaper from the room service tray and went back to the bedroom.
Taking Lauren’s cell phone, Mercer punched in the code for her father’s private line. After two rings a gruff but gentle voice answered, “Morning, Angel.”
Vanik must have caller ID, Mercer thought. “Ah, General. This isn’t Lauren. My name is Philip Mercer.”
Ten seconds passed. Mercer could almost feel Vanik thinking through why someone was calling him this early and on his daughter’s phone. He knew to give the general time to put it together.
“She’s dead.” There was no question in his voice. It was almost as if he’d expected it.
“I’m sorry, sir.” Mercer didn’t know what else to say. He had to explain the circumstances if he was going to get help stopping Liu Yousheng, but now wasn’t the time. God, when was?
He heard Vanik whispering a prayer: “... in the name of our Lord, Jesus Christ. Amen.”
“Amen,” Mercer echoed.
“Lauren told me who you are, Dr. Mercer, and what’s been going on,” Vanik spoke tonelessly. “We talked the night before she went with you to the lock. It happened there?”
“Yes, sir. The Chinese were waiting for her and her dive partner. Four frogmen emerged from the water a little over an hour after she and a French Legionnaire went in.”
“I see.” The grief was right under the surface. Mercer could sense it. Yet General Vanik managed to keep it in check. Somehow. “Since Lauren called me, I did some checking on you. You’re the geologist who went into Iraq as part of Operation Prospector to make sure Saddam hadn’t mined his own uranium?”
“That’s correct.” Mercer assumed in the years since the Gulf War that information had been partially declassified, at least to ranking army staffers. “I accompanied a Navy SEAL team.”
“And you’re about to start work at the White House?”
“Yes, sir. As a special science advisor.”
“John Kleinschmidt is a golfing partner.” Kleinschmidt was the president’s national security advisor. “His deputy, Ira Lasko, recommended you for the job?”
“Admiral Lasko and I were involved in a mission a few months ago in Greenland.”
“I’ve seen his report,” Vanik said. “Why’d my daughter die?”
“Sir?” The first blush of emotion in the general’s voice startled Mercer.
“It’s a simple goddamned question. Why did my daughter die?”
“Because the Chinese are about to plant nuclear missiles in Panama. They killed her because she knew part of the story.”