The man was wearing a typical military-style suit known as a zhifu, worn by men and women, similar to the outfits worn by Mao. In the dark it was hard to tell whether it was a black or blue color. The jacket was made in a single piece of cloth which symbolized China's unity and peace.
Grant was within an arm’s length of Kwan when he stopped, then tried to identify features he’d memorized. He holstered his weapon, and extended a hand. “I’m Grant Stevens.”
Kwan looked over Grant’s shoulder seeing several other men as he reached for Grant’s hand. “I think we should go,” he said softly. He started to walk away.
“Hold it!” Grant said in a loud whisper, as he grabbed Kwan’s arm. “Tell me about our men.”
“They were still being held in Bridge House as of this morning.”
Grant’s eyes narrowed. “This morning? That’s the last time you observed the building?”
“Yes. I’ve been preparing for your arrival,” he replied with annoyance in his voice.
Grant exhaled through tight lips before he asked, “What about a diagram of the interior? Do you have anything that’ll help us?”
“That building’s been closed, off limits since after the war. There were very unpleasant memories associated with it. It was an apartment building, but I don’t know what the Japanese did to the inside, if anything. We heard they devised cells of some type.”
“One more question,” Grant said. “Is the boat ready?”
“Yes.” Kwan went silent.
Grant just stared at him, then turning slightly, he pressed the PTT, bringing in the rest of the Team. “Let’s move.”
Kwan led the men through the field quietly and quickly, constantly swiveling his head. He wasn’t sure why things changed. He always worked alone — up until tonight.
They’d been walking for nearly fifteen minutes along rows of soybeans that were due for harvesting in October. Every man stayed on alert, stayed quiet, stayed focused. Every weapon was ready.
Kwan held up a hand, bringing everyone to a halt. He pointed ahead toward the dark shape of a vehicle parked about fifty yards directly ahead. He motioned everyone forward.
As they approached the vehicle, parked on a wide dirt path, they could finally see it was similar to a small, old dump truck. The main difference between this vehicle and other trucks was the engine was completely exposed. Most of the men were not surprised. They’d seen it before in Vietnam.
A canvas cover with grommets had been stretched over the top of the bed. Frayed rope held it down every three feet on both sides along the top row of horizontal slats. Inside the bed, stacked along the length of each side, were rows of open weave jute storage bags containing dried corn. The middle of the bed was empty.
The men took up positions, standing with their backs against the truck. Kwan stood next to the driver’s door. He turned to Grant. “You can all fit in the back, but it will be cramped. The drive will take longer than usual because I’m planning to use smaller roads into the city. You may not be too comfortable.”
Grant lifted his rucksack. “Don’t worry about us. You just get us where we need to go.” He headed toward the rear of the truck with the Team following. He looked around then motioned for them to climb in. Sliding his rucksack onto the bed, he climbed in and sat on the wooden floorboards.
Kwan came around and reached overhead for a dangling rope. Just before he pulled the flap down, he said, “There’s some water for you in that barrel.”
“Appreciate it,” Grant replied.
Kwan tied off the rope, then returned to the cab. Within a minute, the engine started, sputtering and backfiring, disturbing the quiet around them.
Grant gritted his teeth, as he looked at the men. They were all shaking their heads.
James covered his ears and whispered, “So much for stealth!”
Chapter 8
A heavy downpour beat against the canvas hanging over Team Alpha Tango. Water fell through rips and holes, dripping on heads and gear. Then, just as suddenly as it started, the rain stopped. It was the monsoon season for this region of China. Rain could start and stop at any given time.
Driving without headlights, Kwan drove slowly along a road parallel to N. Szechuen Road. Slowing down even more, he made a left turn into a dark alley, that only allowed five feet on each side of the vehicle. He drove in far enough to keep the vehicle hidden between two buildings.
Leaving the engine running, he got out and hurried to the back of the truck. Pulling the canvas flap to the side, he looked up at Grant and whispered, “The building for your surveillance is to the right of this one.” He indicated with a thumb over his shoulder. “Bridge House is on the opposite corner at your one o’clock. It’s a seven-story building.”
Grant jumped out of the truck, and slung his rucksack over his shoulder. The rest of the Team gathered their gear, then one by one got out of the truck, honing in on the conversation.
Kwan continued, “Once you’re inside, take the stairs directly in front of you, then at the third floor landing, go to the front. The room will be the fourth one down.”
“What about roof access,” Grant asked.
Kwan nodded. “Take those same stairs to the fourth floor. There’s a ladder at the back that leads to the roof. But I’d advise against surveillance from there because of the heavy downpours. They can sneak up on you.”
Grant readjusted the strap of his rucksack on his shoulder. “Where will you be?”
“I can’t stay here. First, I have to report in. Then I’ll have to begin making my regular deliveries in a few hours.”
Kwan started securing the flap, when Grant grabbed his arm. “What the fuck are you talking about? Make deliveries?!”
Kwan stepped closer. “You’ve got to understand. It’s part of my cover. If I don’t show up on schedule… ”
“Jesus Christ,” Grant mumbled under his breath.
Adler stepped between the two, locking his eyes on Kwan. “How the hell are we supposed to contact you?”
“You won’t be making the rescue until tomorrow night. I’ll be here then.”
“What makes you think tomorrow night?” Grant asked with eyes narrowed. “We’ve still got plenty of time before daylight.”
“I… I must have misunderstood.”
It was Adler’s turn to be pissed. “You’re goddamn right you misunderstood! And what the hell happens to us if you’re not here as planned? What if the op goes ‘south’?”
Grant pulled Adler aside. “Tell me you’ve got a radio.” Kwan nodded. “Do you have it with you?”
“I can’t take the chance if I’m stopped.”
Grant just stared at him. “What the hell…?!” He turned to James. “DJ. Write down a frequency and give it to him.” He looked again at Kwan. “You do know how to set a frequency, don’t you?”
“Of course.” Kwan took the paper James handed him then put it in his jacket pocket.
Grant continued looking at the agent as he motioned with a thumb over his shoulder. “I’ll meet you all inside.” Each man gave Kwan a glaring, questioning look, before leaving.
When Grant was alone with Kwan, he leaned close and pointed a finger at him. “Listen to me. If anything goes wrong because of you, I swear to God, I’ll find you and rip off your goddamn head.”
Kwan backed away slowly. He disappeared around the side of the truck, then climbed into the cab. He was breathing heavy.
Up until now, his assignments had never been difficult… dangerous, of course, but not difficult. He had a lot going in his favor. He was an expert in the culture, the language. The country was the land of his ancestors. He worked alone. He did everything asked of him.