Without looking back, he took off.
Slade and Diaz patrolled the area forward of the truck. James and Stalley were at the rear. Kwan sat alone in the cab.
With his arms folded across his chest and his head down, Grant impatiently walked back and forth behind the truck.
Adler leaned against the vehicle. He rested the barrel of the Uzi against his shoulder. “I’m waiting,” he said as Grant walked in front of him.
Grant was already deep in thought. “Huh? What’d you say?”
“I’m waiting to hear this idea of yours.”
“Wait one, Joe.” Grant turned and hurried to the cab. Adler leaned his head, watching Grant talking with Kwan. Within a couple of minutes, Grant returned. He brushed a hand over the top of his head, as he started to talk to Adler. “I told… ”
The sound of Novak’s voice interrupted him. “Zero-Niner, Seven-Three. Have you in sight.”
“Roger,” Grant replied, finally spotting Novak running toward them. “Everybody in the truck!” Grant hurried to the cab. “Ken, Frank, in the back!” Turning to see Novak within ten feet of the truck, he told Kwan, “Fire it up!”
As soon as Novak disappeared inside the bed of the truck, Grant slapped the edge of the door. “Go!” He ran to the back and climbed in.
“That damn engine can wake up the dead,” Adler grumbled, as he pulled down the canvas flap.
It was nearly five miles as the crow flies to their destination. But Grant and Kwan agreed back roads would be the best route to follow.
Chapter 11
Colonel Tao Chiu stood in the dark alley behind Bridge House. His fingers constantly fidgeted with the buckle on a brown leather cross-shoulder strap. With every passing minute he was becoming more agitated.
He removed his cap and rubbed his sleeve across the brim before placing it back on his head. Walking a few paces, he then turned and watched the men moving in and out of shadows. They were searching the area, looking for any sign of the guards who were supposed to patrol here.
Chiu had been assigned to the Shanghai garrison specifically to investigate Peng Zhu’s disappearance and the capture of the Americans. Lieutenant Meng Ji was in charge of questioning the prisoners at Bridge House.
During Ji’s last message, he reported that so far he’d been unsuccessful in his attempts to get information from the Americans. That message was received hours ago, more than enough time for Ji to have reported back.
Then, after unsuccessful attempts to contact Bridge House, Chiu decided to check on Ji himself.
Standing outside the building, Chiu grew more worried. Guards had still not been located. He turned to his second in command, Major Wei Faan, and pointed, “Have three men wait inside.”
Faan followed the order, sending three enlisted men immediately into the building. It didn’t even register with them that the door was unlocked instead of locked for security.
The two officers were about to enter, when a soldier ran from the far end of the alley, stopping behind them. He braced at attention. “We have found the bodies of our two comrades!”
“How did they die?” Faan inquired.
The soldier was surprised by the question. “I don’t know, Comrade.”
Faan stepped closer to the man. “Did you see blood?”
“I did not, Comrade!”
Faan looked at Chiu, waiting for instructions.
“Have everyone take up positions around the entire building,” Chiu finally ordered. The soldier saluted and rushed off.
As the two officers went inside, an offensive odor immediately hit their senses. Chiu looked toward the basement, and then upstairs. Knowing Ji was using one of the rooms on the first floor for his interrogations, Chiu ordered, “Upstairs first!”
The three enlisted men ran along the hallway on the upper floor, quickly checking rooms. One of the men stopped outside the last room, shouting, “Comrades!”
Chiu and Faan walked into the room, shocked at what they saw. Two dead officers. The room was torn apart, even the field radio was destroyed.
“Downstairs! Check for the Americans!” Chiu shouted as he spun around toward the hallway. “The three of you search the cells!” He and Faan ran behind the soldiers, with Faan turning on a flashlight.
When they reached the basement, they saw each enlisted man standing in front of a cell, with the doors wide open. Chiu tilted his head, indicating for Faan to check the first cell.
When Faan came out, he reported, “At least one American was in here. He wrote a message. There are smeared letters on the floor spelling ‘USN.’”
Chiu’s brow wrinkled. “He ‘wrote’ a message? How did he write this message?”
“With… with fecal matter, Comrade.”
Chiu was silent for a moment. “And the other cell?”
Faan walked into the second cell, then came out, reporting he found the same message, done in the same manner.
Seeing the third enlisted man pointing inside the last cell, the officers at first were puzzled as they walked toward the room.
Chiu followed Faan into the cell, both men standing close to the body. Shallow outer edges of pooled blood had started to dry, and they tried not to step in any of it.
Expecting to see an American, Chiu was surprised the man was Chinese. He looked at the front of the dead man’s jacket. It was unbuttoned, but both sides were drawn loosely together, leaving the abdomen partly exposed. Chiu’s eyes focused on a wound, just off-center of the stomach. He leaned closer.
“He was stabbed,” he commented, mostly to himself. He finally looked at the man’s ashen face. “Who is he?” he asked Faan.
Faan shook his head. “I don’t know, Comrade.”
“Check for identification!”
Faan squatted close to the body. He warily patted down the front of the man’s bloodied jacket, trying to avoid touching the exposed cold flesh. Then he checked the side pockets of the pants. “Nothing, Comrade.”
Chiu glared at his second in command. “Turn him over.” Faan motioned for the enlisted man to turn the body. The backs of the jacket and pants were still saturated with blood.
“Nothing is here, Colonel,” Faan reported as he stood, wiggling his fingers, feeling the stickiness of blood on his hands.
Chiu then asked, suspiciously, “Did Lieutenant Ji mention having another prisoner?”
“There was never any mention of anyone other than the two Americans being held here,” Faan replied.
Chiu left the cell. He proceeded down the hallway with his head down and hands clasped behind his back. There was no obvious explanation for what had taken place here, no reason why the Americans were gone, and no reason why an unidentified Chinese man was lying dead in a cell. And he didn’t die like the others but was stabbed. This only added to the puzzle.
Arrests had already been made at the shipyard and in Shanghai where Zhu was last seen. Beijing wanted answers: Who helped Zhu? What documents were taken from the Huludao Shipyard? The only certainty was the Americans now had Peng Zhu. And now he, Chiu, must report to Beijing that the American prisoners were missing.
He stood at the bottom of the stairs, motioning for Faan. “See if any other evidence or anything unusual was found outside or near adjoining buildings.”
“Yes, Comrade!” Faan signaled the three men, who hurried up the stairs with Faan close behind.
Chiu watched the men until they disappeared out the door. His one foot was on the bottom step, when he stopped. A cold chill ran up his spine. Did Americans do this? Had they found a way to infiltrate China? Chiu nodded to himself as a preposterous thought crossed his mind. Maybe it wasn’t so preposterous. The CIA! The CIA had been listening. He reasoned there had to be more to it because Chinese transmissions were stopped almost immediately after the Americans were captured. Then how did they know about Bridge House? Maybe the transmissions weren’t stopped soon enough. Then, another more serious thought struck him. Was it possible? Was there a CIA operative here in Shanghai? Chiu had nothing concrete to present to the officials in Beijing. But might they be interested in his theory?