There were not even remains that could be easily spotted, let alone identified.
General Tam Li was given an update about the spill and its aftermath. He thanked the fire captain.
Then he called the prime minister to inform him of the tragic crash.
FORTY-SEVEN
The prime minister was in a pleasantly detached mood as his plane neared Xichang. He had been reading for pleasure, not for work, which was unusual. But it had been an intense few days, and a search for the historical Wong Fei Hung was a welcome distraction. Tales of the nineteenthcentury Chinese hero had been a favorite of Le’s when he was a boy. The son of one of the Ten Tigers of Canton, Wong Fei Hung was a healer, a philosopher, a martial arts master, and a defender of justice. He was also the subject of over one hundred feature films and four times as many novels, which had obscured his real-life accomplishments. Le Kwan Po found the real man even more fascinating than the fictional one, living quietly as a peddler of herbal medicines while battling tirelessly for the rights of his fellow citizens. Married seven times — the last, to a teenage girl — Wong Fei Hung was obviously a man of considerable strength and stamina.
Anita was sitting beside her father, and Paul Hood was sitting across the aisle. They were chatting amiably in English. Le Kwan Po was happy and surprised to see his daughter so relaxed. She had asked that Mr. Hood be seated across from her rather than in the section of the airplane reserved for dignitaries. That caused some indignant glances and awkward remarks from the European representatives, but Le ignored them. It was the privilege of a high-ranking official to be provocative. Besides, none of them had ever gone for a walk with his daughter.
Le had been tempted to ask what they were speaking about when the phone in his armrest beeped.
It was General Tam Li calling from Zhuhai. Chou Shin had been killed during an unannounced visit to the Zhuhai Air Base.
“I do not know why he was here,” the general said. “We are trying to ascertain whether there were explosives on board.”
Le Kwan Po’s first thought was that Chou Shin may have been planning another unworthy act, such as a direct attack on Tam Li. It would have been a blow to the general’s power base by hitting his eastern command hub.
It also would have been treason, Le thought. Chou Shin was many things, but he was not a traitor. The defense of China was as important to Communists as it was to the more progressive elements of government. Even so, there would have been no reason for the Guoanbu director to go there personally. Unless it was to gain access to a place where others could not go. Tam Li’s office, for one.
“I had been preparing to leave for the launch, Mr. Prime Minister, but I want to be here for the investigation,” Tam Li went on.
“I understand,” Le replied. “Let me know what you discover.”
“At once,” the general assured him.
“And General?”
“Sir?”
“Has Taiwan begun its traditional coastal exercises?”
“They have,” Tam Li replied.
“Then tell your bureau of information to inform the Defense Ministry that a government jet has crashed on the runway, nothing more,” Le said. “Until your white team finds the director’s remains and has confirmed his death, I do not want that information released.”
“Yes, sir. May I ask why?”
“Taipei may see the death of our military intelligence chief as an invitation to expand their mischief,” the prime minister replied.
“Of course.”
“I will speak with you after the launch.”
Le Kwan Po hung up. He turned to his left. Paul Hood was wearing a perplexed look. Anita regarded her father with open concern. Obviously, that was what had caused Hood’s expression.
“What has happened?” Anita asked.
“Chou Shin has been killed in an explosion,” he told her.
“One of his own design? An accident?”
“I do not know,” Le said.
“Are you going to tell the gentleman?” she asked, indicating Hood with her eyes. She obviously did not want to say his name, which he would pick from the unfamiliar dialogue.
“American satellites will surely have seen the explosion,” her father said. “I will have to tell him something.” He could see that Anita wanted to suggest something. “Do you have any thoughts?”
“Tell him the truth,” she said.
“Why?”
“He is an intelligence officer,” she said. “He might be able to give us insight into the actions of another intelligence officer.”
Le managed a small smile. “That is true. But that is not the insight we might need at this time.”
“What do you mean?”
“Chou Shin and Tam Li were bitter rivals,” the prime minister said. “It is the insight of a thwarted military officer we might need.”
“I believe our guest may know someone like that as well,” Anita said.
Le had to think for a moment. “The man whose company built the satellite?” he asked, once again avoiding any names.
Anita nodded.
“All right,” her father said. “Let’s have a chat with Mr. Hood. As quietly as possible, so the others do not hear.
Anita turned to Hood and said that her father wished to speak with him. Le took a moment to gather his thoughts.
He needed to find out why Chou Shin had gone to the base when he should have been flying to Xichang. It was unlikely that anyone at the Guoanbu knew. Chou Shin was a man who guarded his own activities as jealously as he kept secrets of state. Perhaps the intelligence director had contacted someone before leaving or while en route. The prime minister would have his assistant look into that.
Of more immediate concern, Le did not know whether Tam Li had simply decided to carry their feud to a new level. That was certainly a possibility. It was also the one that concerned him the most. Because if it were true, there was no telling where — or how — it might stop.
FORTY-EIGHT
Hood was not surprised by what Anita told him. He would not miss Chou Shin. The man was a hard-line ideologue who kept China anchored to its backward, isolationist past. Whose agents had helped to endanger his Op-Center field team in Botswana when they tracked a kidnapped priest.
But assassination, if that’s what had happened, was not a policy that Paul Hood endorsed. It was the last and ultimately least effective resort of desperate megalomaniacs. If they did not have the support to accomplish what they wanted through legitimate means, murder was a short-term solution.
“Do you need help with something?” Hood asked the prime minister through his daughter.
“I am concerned about Tam Li,” Le Kwan Po replied. “Your own friend the general might have some thoughts. Perhaps you have your own sources.”
Ordinarily, Hood would be suspicious of a Chinese leader who asked for help from American intelligence. Though the presidential envoy did not entirely trust the man, he believed in him. Le Kwan Po had been caught between two strong polar forces. One of them had just been eliminated. He was clearly looking to restabilize himself and perhaps his nation.
“I will call him when we land,” Hood promised. He did not want to contact him while they were in flight. Rodgers was probably with the marines. The pilots might be able to track his call using the sophisticated electronics of the aircraft. He did not want to give them that opportunity. “In the interim there is someone else who might have some insights,” he said.
Hood called Liz Gordon. The Op-Center psychologist had just gotten home and was feeding her cat.