Commander Davidson and his men had had a dull watch, never seeing anyone, but they did spot the patrol boat about a mile offshore around 2100. According to the combined data on the satellite and their laptop, it was due to go out again at 0100 until 0500. This was a good moment to set up the satellite dish and send the report back to Colonel Hart.
Olaf and Catfish walked down to the water with Rusty and his men as soon as they had changed into their wet suits. They carried big palm fronds to cover up the footprints in the sand, and they shook hands on the dark soundless beach. It was still raining slightly as they moved into the water, carrying the attack boards, breathing through the Draegers, and there was still no sound as they glided into deeper water heading out to the ASDV that awaited them, issuing its friendly little sonar bleep every 30 seconds.
Admiral Zhang was thoughtful. He and Admiral Zu were looking at the daily report from Commander Li. It was mostly routine, mentioning any critical information they had been able to glean from the prisoners, and data on the general running of a temporary military facility. Costs, requirements, arrivals, and departures.
However, at the bottom of the report, which came in on the fax at 0900, there was a final paragraph which ought not, really, to have exercised anyone unduly. It stated, “One of the Navy guards at the dormitory has gone missing. He did not report for duty at 0200, and his bed had not been slept in. At first light we conducted a thorough search, and unhappily discovered his boots, socks, trousers, cap and rifle on the beach. However, there was no sign of him, and we have therefore concluded he went for a swim, late at night because of the heat, and either drowned, or deserted. We have alerted police at Shangchuan Dao to watch for a body along the western shore of the island, since that is where the tide would undoubtedly carry him.”
Admiral Zu had read the entire report carefully, especially making notes regarding costs and requirements. Only as an afterthought did he remark, “They lost a guard last night. Apparently drowned or deserted. Found his clothes on the beach.”
Admiral Zhang held out his hand. “May I see?”
“Of course, last paragraph.”
“Hmmm. That’s rather worrying. Because the man could have been an American agent, working against us. Somehow getting information on the prisoners back to the CIA.”
“Ah, Yushu…you are seeing too many Americans.”
“Am I?”
“Well, a few days ago you did decide to rebuild an entire jail at Chongqing, just in case the U.S. elected to storm the island of Xiachuan and release their men.”
“Yes, I did,” said the C-in-C. “And I have proceeded on that basis. The Americans will stop at nothing…we both know that, to our cost.”
“I realize that, Yushu. But I have tried to reason it all out on the basis of military probability. Ask yourself, how many people do you think it would take to overpower our forces? And how on earth would they get here? And how would they ever know the crew of Seawolf was even on the island in the first place?
“And you could add, and how would they get everyone away? They’d need a major warship, and the water is too shallow, and anyway we’d know it was trying to come inshore hours and hours before it got here. In my opinion you are staring at a military impossibility. And Yushu, as always, you are staring very hard.”
“It’s my job to stare very hard, Jicai. That’s my mission on behalf of the Chinese people. And this drowned naval guard, I don’t much like it…allow me to look at that last paragraph once more, please…”
Zu Jicai handed over the fax once more, and again the C-in-C read it through, pacing the floor, a deep frown on his wide, stern face.
“First of all, I would like you to get a full report on the drowned man; his home, his family, his background, his length of service…just to see if there is one tiny shred of evidence that he could have had contact with Americans.”
“Very well. I think most of the guards are attached to the Southern Fleet, which means his complete record will be here at Zhanjiang. If that is so, we will have it in fifteen minutes.”
Admiral Zu summoned an assistant, gave him the fax and instructed, “Call Xiachuan and get the name of the man mentioned in the last paragraph, then pull up his record.”
The two admirals sipped some more tea and waited. Twelve minutes later the missing guard’s record came in. Admiral Zu scanned it, mentioning information as he read. “Well, he’s twenty-eight, married, with a young son. They live in Guangzhou…next of kin listed as his wife…parents live in your hometown of Xiamen. He was born and brought up there…served at sea in destroyers…so far as I can see, never been out of Chinese waters.”
“How about his wife?”
“Same. Comes from Xiamen. Not much education. Moved to Guangzhou when he received his last posting. No applications filed for any future career changes…he wouldn’t be a classic CIA spy candidate,” he added, an edge of wryness in his voice.
Admiral Zhang smiled for the first time. “No. I agree there. However, something is worrying me. That report lists his clothes on the beach in some detail, right down to his socks. But it makes no mention of his military jacket or uniform shirt…”
“So?”
“Who goes for a swim in their shirt and jacket, having taken off their boots, socks, trousers and cap?”
“Well, he may not have been wearing his jacket.”
“True. And if that’s the case, it will be in his room.”
“And if it’s not, what might you then assume?”
“Nothing, really. Except that he could have been shot or stabbed, covered in blood, and the murderer dumped some of his clothes on the beach and then got rid of the body and the incriminating evidence of the bloodstained clothes.”
“Sir, not even Lee Chang,” Admiral Zu said, referring to the famous Chinese film detective, “was as imaginative as you.”
Admiral Zhang laughed. “I am only half playing the devil’s advocate,” he said. “But I really do wonder why a man goes for a late-night swim wearing his uniform jacket.”
“Perhaps he wished to commit suicide, Yushu. And kept it on to help weigh him down.”
“If he had wished to end his life, surely he would have tried to swim with all of his clothes on. Why take off his boots and trousers?”
“Well, yes. I suppose so. But these are all just assumptions.”
“I understand that, Jicai. But let’s get a call in to Commander Li…and have the man’s room searched…see if his jacket’s in there and maybe his shirt, too. Perhaps he just took those things off and walked out into the hot night down to the beach.”
“Certainly, I will do it, sir. But I still cannot believe he was a CIA agent, nor that there is a homicidal maniac lurking in the jungle of Xiachuan Dao, killing armed, trained Chinese soldiers.”
“Unless the Americans have already landed, Jicai.”
“Landed!”
“Well, stranger things have happened. And of course I know there is little chance of these things being true. But they could be, and we must run our checks on that basis. Not on what is likely to happen. But what could happen.”
A further 15 minutes went by before Lee returned with a fax that read, “Room search completed. No uniform jacket. No uniform shirt.”
“Then he died with his shirt and jacket on,” said Admiral Zhang. “Either in the water, or at the hands of a murderer. Perhaps from a foreign power?”
“Of course, he could have been murdered by one of his colleagues, sir.”