The Team had only one way to reach the rear of the building without putting themselves in danger. They’d have to split up. Adler, Novak, and Slade took the left side, while Diaz and James took the other. Hanging close to the building, they edged their way toward the back. The only sound they heard was a distant siren from a Shore Patrol jeep, trying to find the location where a weapon had been fired.
Before he reached the corner of the building, Adler whispered into his mike. “DJ. Are we clear?”
“Wait one.” Holding his .45 with both hands, and elbows bent, James took a deep breath, then leaned slightly forward. “Clear!” he laughed out loud, as he stepped around the corner.
“What the…?!” Adler shouted, as he rushed around to the back.
Grant was rubbing the top of his head, as he stood over Gao, who was unconscious, and whose face was a bloody mess.
As they holstered their weapons, they all walked toward Grant, laughing, part from relief, and part from what they were looking at.
“Are you okay?” Adler asked, pointing to the blood on Grant’s head.
“Yeah,” Grant responded, looking at his hand. “I’m pretty sure it’s not mine.” He bent down and picked up the Norinco. “Hang on to this, Mike,” he said handing the weapon to Novak. Then, he backed away from Gao, as he wiped his hand on his pants, trying to rid it of blood.
“So, did you find him, or did he find you?” Adler asked.
“I’d say he found me. Gentlemen, you’re looking at Shen Gao.”
Adler’s eyebrows shot up. “Who the hell’s Shen Gao?! I thought he was Kwan?! I’m confused!”
“So are we!” Slade responded for everyone.
“Kwan’s dead,” Grant answered. “This guy said Kwan was in the house that blew up… that he blew up.” None of the Team could believe or understand what had happened, what Grant was trying to tell them. “I’ll explain later. Frank, go flag down the Shore Patrol.”
Diaz ran to the front of the Quonset hut, then stood by the feeder road, waving both arms overhead at the oncoming vehicle.
Grant looked down at the unconscious Gao. “We’ll turn this bastard over to them until I can find out from Scott what we’re supposed to do with him. Although my guess is CIA will want to talk to him personally.” Grant walked around to the side of the building, picked up his .45, then slid it back into the holster.
Gao was beginning to come around. Slade and James each grabbed an arm, jerked him up, then held on.
A sound of a vehicle’s engine, coming from the front of the Quonset hut, went quiet. Diaz and two Shore Patrol petty officers hustled to the back of the building.
Grant showed the men his ID, then gave them a short version of what had happened, before saying, “Sorry I can’t explain further, but I just need you to secure him until I can talk with Washington.”
One of the petty officers said, “Okay, sir. We’ll hold him in lockup. You understand we’ll have to talk with our OIC.”
“Understand,” Grant responded, watching the two men handcuff Gao. “Give me a phone number for the brig.” Grant stashed the number in his brain. “If your OIC wants to talk to us, we’ll be by the Gulfstream.” Grant looked at his watch. “I’m hoping we can get out of here in an hour.”
“All right, sir.”
As the Shore Patrol started leading Gao away, Grant put an arm out, stopping the petty officers. Then he got close to Gao’s bloody face, and said, “You know, you were a pretty good actor. Too bad all that talent is only gonna get you a date with the electric chair.”
Waiting until Gao was loaded in the jeep, Adler turned to Grant and asked, “Seriously?! The electric chair?!”
“Yeah, well, it’ll give him something to think about, won’t it? C’mon. Let’s head back to the plane.” Grant looked around. “Hey! Where’s Doc?”
Adler responded, “Kwan, I mean Gao, bashed him in the noggin.”
Grant stopped short. “Is he okay?!”
“Gonna have a bitchin’ headache, but he should be. Matt’s keeping an eye on him.”
Grant was concerned. “Do you think he’s got a concussion?”
“Don’t know. We’ll have to keep him awake for a few hours.”
“Maybe we need to have him checked out at the dispensary.”
“Tried that. He didn’t want to go.” He jabbed Grant in the arm. “You should know about concussions!”
“They made me what I am today,” Grant laughed.
Grant ducked his head as he went into the Gulfstream. Stalley was sitting near a window, gingerly rubbing his forehead.
“Doc! How you feeling?”
Stalley adjusted himself in the seat, looking up at Grant through squinted eyes. “Been better, sir.” He noticed blood on Grant’s head, and pointed. “What happened? Are you all right?”
Grant sat opposite the young corpsman. “Don’t worry. It isn’t mine.” Leaning slightly forward, he said quietly, “Listen, Doc. I know what you’re probably thinking. Take it from me… this kinda shit’s happened to all of us at one time or other. So don’t you go crazy guilty on me, all right?”
“Yes, sir. Understood.”
Grant leaned back and finally grinned. “Besides, we caught the sonofabitch. Last time I saw him, he was looking a helluva lot worse than you!”
“Glad to hear that, sir.”
Grant stood. “I know you probably want to slam those eyes shut. We both know you can’t.” He patted Stalley’s shoulder. “We’ll take care of you, Doc, just like you took care of me.”
“Thanks, sir.”
Grant left the plane and headed again to Operations. First stop was the ‘head’ to wash blood from his hair and hands. Then, he called State.
Mullins answered the special phone line with obvious surprise. “Grant! What’s wrong?!”
“Too long of a story, my friend, but you need to contact CIA. Kwan’s dead.”
“Holy, Jesus!” Mullins responded, as he slouched in his chair. “What…?”
“They whole time we were in Shanghai, we were dealing with an impostor, Scott. Somebody named ‘Shen Gao.’ He’s the one who killed Kwan. The Agency’s got some serious problems with their codes and transmissions, at least in China.”
A myriad of thoughts ran through Mullins’ mind concerning possible security breaches. “I can see why this story’s gonna take awhile!”
“I asked the Shore Patrol to lock him up until you get me authorization to transport. Listen, Scott, I’m pretty certain this guy’s a Chinese national. I don’t know if that’s gonna add to the problem, but my opinion is he needs to be brought to Langley for some serious questioning. He was on the mission by himself, but indicated he reported to ‘others.’ Who the hell they are is a whole other ballgame.
“That’s all I’ve got for now. No! Wait! Somebody needs to check on the guard at the Consulate.”
“Are you thinking he may not be legit!”
“Can’t say for sure. I just think it’s better to be safe.”
“I’ll contact my director first; will leave it up to him to talk with the President. Stay on the line!”
Grant paced back and forth in front of the desk, in a room that was now very familiar to him. As he waited, the events of the past few days rolled around in his brain. The mission was a success, everyone was safe, but it wasn’t without a shitload of problems and questions. “Welcome back to covert,” he said quietly to himself.
“Grant!”
“Yeah, Scott.”
“Looks like you’re to transport. As you’d expect, the Agency’s looking forward to meeting that guy.”
“Any word back from the White House?”
“No. Not yet.”
“Okay,” Grant responded, rubbing the back of his neck. “Guess CIA authorization will do. You might remind them we’re bringing three others.”