37
Village of Lijiang, China
November 2, 10:00 a.m. CST
Charlie Han’s rage was a living thing. A beast that gripped him by the throat and shook him.
Cursing, he finished his pressing business in the bushes, zipped his pants, and returned to the car. His breath hung in the air. His back ached from hours of surveillance. Earlier he’d nodded off and dreamed he was back in the boys’ dormitory on the icy Tibetan Plateau. He’d woken in a cold sweat.
He slid behind the steering wheel and sipped his now-cold tea. Everything was cold. The air. The overcast day. The car smelled of half-eaten takeaway food, cigarettes, and sweat. Yellow leaves from the ginkgo trees had pasted the windshield. As if to mock him, the lights from Mèng’s house glowed serenely in the distance, promising warmth and companionship.
Except the companionship was a fabrication. After the dream, Han had called the house. It was his tenth attempt. Someone always answered. Sometimes it was Li-Mei. Other times, one of the children. With each call, Charlie quickly hung up. But on the last call, when the boy answered, Han had stayed on the line, asking questions. After ten minutes or so, the boy’s coherence broke down. He repeated himself. Then he contradicted himself. Finally, he hung up on Han.
Charlie had grinned darkly to himself.
It wasn’t the boy. It was the AI. Mèng’s AI.
The family was on board Red Dragon . They’d slipped into hiding while fifty men looked on.
But the only way Charlie could verify it was by breaking into the house. It was a risk his boss refused to approve. No amount of reasoning or pleading would change his mind.
Your ambition is a snake around your neck, his boss had said on their last phone call. You should be operating for the glory of China. Not for yourself.
Charlie rolled down the window and spat. Coward. They were all cowards. Only Charlie had the balls to do what needed to be done. And Dai, who was in the Philippines, awaiting word from Han.
It would be easy to break in. He could do so quickly and silently. Yet he hesitated.
Mèng would have arranged for cameras to be everywhere. And on the small chance that Han was wrong ... well, he might as well put a bullet in his own brain and save the CCP the trouble.
Charlie sat and smoked until his rage banked like embers, fatigue winning out. Even a dragon needed sleep.
He jerked awake when a figure appeared at the passenger window. Zhang Mùchén. The door opened, and Zhang climbed in and settled into the seat, rubbing his hands against the cold. He stank worse than Charlie’s car.
“You’re supposed to be watching the house,” Charlie said to his backup.
“You look like shit,” Zhang said to Charlie.
Charlie ignored that. Zhang was a triple agent. A spy pretending to have been recruited by the Americans while still spying for the Chinese. Triple agents had their uses, but Charlie despised this man. Spies could be honorable. Triple spies were suspect—in the game for only the money and susceptible to corruption.
“Bèn dàn,” Charlie muttered. Idiot.
Zhang shrugged off Charlie’s mild insult and opened a bag of Lay’s Roasted Garlic Oyster chips. “A little while ago, I let the American, McGrath, know you’re watching the house.”
Charlie nodded.
All Charlie could do from this pathetic village two thousand miles from Red Dragon was apply a little pressure on his enemy. It was satisfying to know that while the American CIA officer thought he controlled Zhang, in truth, Charlie did. If Charlie was right and the Mèng family was on board Red Dragon , then as soon as their security chief, this McGrath, heard from Zhang, he would go running to Mèng. He probably already had. With luck, Han’s presence near the family home would alarm Mèng and force him to move quickly to get his family off the boat.
Too quickly. Haste bred mistakes.
Dai and other MSS agents were on standby in Manila, watching through the eyes of their drones for any action.
Charlie put the thought aside for the moment. Probably Mèng was too cautious, with the navy hugging their horizon. But at the very least, it would give him a dose of unpleasantness.
Zhang, his mouth full of chips, offered the bag to Charlie. Charlie sneered.
Zhang shrugged again, unoffended, and pulled another chip from the bag.
“You hear the latest about the US Navy?” he asked.
Charlie’s fatigue slipped from him as if he’d plunged unexpectedly into an icy pool. “Tell me.”
“They’ve got ships heading west from Guam,” he said. “Our minister of national defense made a public announcement. He said that if the ships continue on their apparent path, they will violate our security and sovereignty. They risk serious consequences.”
Charlie couldn’t care less what the minister said. He said the same thing every time someone in the US Navy sneezed.
What he did care about was why, in these specific hours, the US Navy was showing an interest in the Philippines.
It could be a coincidence.
Or it could be more ominous. The Americans were clever.
Charlie started the car.
“Get out,” he said to Zhang.
Zhang gaped at him. “What? Why?”
“You’re going to stay here and watch the house. I have urgent matters elsewhere.”
“My car is two miles away.”
“Out,” Charlie said.
He barely waited for Zhang to exit the car before he pulled away. He was already on the phone.
He had to move fast.