Fallen Angel (24 page)

CHAPTER 28

PENG DIDN'T KNOW WHETHER
to be thankful for the lack of deep forest or apprehensive. Five Chinese men in mottled blue-white-green-gray camouflage military field dress scooting along animal paths and open fields in half-sized off-road vehicles made of metal tubes couldn't be more noticeable. The only thing working to their benefit was the lack of population. This area of east Siberia was mountainous with little ground flat enough for good farming. Not to mention the harsh winters that would cause any sane family to leave for a place easier to scrape out a miserable living. Those who stayed, he surmised, were those who had no choice or were unwilling to give away their land. There were many similar areas in China.

The land was marked with hundreds of tributaries starting to swell in the mid-spring melt off. Most still had sandy, stony shores that the buggies handled easily. The animal paths were created by centuries of migrating moose, deer, wolf, and other creatures that called the larch forests, lower grassland, and barren slopes home.

The fact the sun made good progress toward its zenith made driving easier, but it also made it easier to be seen from ground, air, and satellite. He pushed the worries from his mind. Worry wouldn't change anything. All he could do was carry out his mission with as much care and speed as possible. With luck, he would return home a hero. If unlucky, he wouldn't return at all.

A small mirror on the driver's side of the vehicle allowed him to catch a glimpse of the team behind him. The two buggies followed at a distance. Grouping was unwise. If something happened to him—such as driving off a cliff—his team would see it and avoid committing the same mistake.

Peng's buggy came equipped with an onboard compass and GPS unit. He glanced at the latter.
Just a few more minutes.

The motor in the rear, which operated the propulsion fan in flight and the transmission on the ground, seemed too loud. Low vis was preferred, but being low visibility in this situation was impossible. Even when in the expanses of larch forest, they could still be heard. After all, there were three motors chugging away. In the open, they could be seen and heard. A poor way to carry out a mission. Peng had no idea why the fallen satellite was so important, but it was significant enough for his government to break treaties, international law, and risk the best Spec Ops team in the People's Liberation Army.

He moved along another animal path, down the steep side of a hill, in and out a coppice of larch trees, and into a small spread of open grassland. Ahead was another hill. He accelerated to gain momentum to help him up the slope. The engine could drive the buggy close to one hundred kilometers an hour on open, solid ground, but on this terrain he had not been able to make half that. By necessity, the engine had to be small. Nonetheless, its power impressed Peng.

As he climbed the hill he steered around trees and brush, something that required slowing, and slowing meant the engine had to work harder to push him up the hill. It did its job. Peng crested the hill and braked to a stop.

Snow clung in the shadowed areas created by rock outcroppings. Trees lined the slopes of hills to the east and west, hills creating a valley down through which a shallow stream meandered. No houses. No shacks. No sign of humanity anywhere.

He switched off the engine and exited, his QBZ-95 carbine in hand. He dropped to a knee as the rest of his team arrived, each stopping a short distance from their team leader, again avoiding grouping their assets. The men poured from the vehicles, taking positions along the ridge and seeking what cover they could.

With the engines stilled, Peng strained to listen for any sound that might indicate they were not alone. He heard only wind and birds.

Peng turned his attention to the gulch floor. A broken streak, like a dotted line, of churned and broken earth ran just north of the stream, ending in a small, comet-shaped crater a hundred or so meters from the base of the hill where he and his men had taken position. Peng didn't need to be a scientist to know what happened: The satellite came in at a shallow angle and skipped along the ground, losing momentum with each bounce until it came to rest in the soft, wet ground at the base of the hill. Along the path he could see bits of metal, part of a solar array, a chunk of what looked like it might have been an antenna at one time, and other items Peng couldn't even guess about. It was the large, battered piece of junk in the crater that kept Peng's attention. The heart of his mission was just meters away.

"Gao, reading?" Peng looked to his left where Gao Zhi lay on the damp earth. The man slipped off his backpack and produced a small, handheld Geiger counter.

"Background radiation only."

Peng looked to his right. "Wei, report our status."

"Yes, Captain." Wei Dong sent a coded text, impossible to trace. "Situation reported. Acknowledgment received."

"Understood." Peng studied the shallow valley. He listened again but still heard only birds. It was time to get this done and leave the area. "Wei, Gao, Zhao, I want a three-point perimeter."

Zhao, the ranking member of the three, answered for them. "Yes, Captain."

"Hsu, you're with me."

"Yes, sir."

Peng pushed to his feet and moved slowly down the slope, his men on either side of him. A glance to Gao showed he was taking constant readings on the Geiger counter.

When they reached the satellite, Peng was finally convinced they were the only ones in the area. He relaxed.

PRESIDENT HUFFINGTON WAS UNFLAPPABLE,
most of the time, but sitting in the Situation Room watching the real-time satellite feed of a military team other than his own reach Angel-12 first undid him. He pushed his chair back, paced, and used language his wife would spend weeks scolding him for. At the moment, that was the least of his concerns. The Chinese beat them.

"I don't believe it. They beat us."

"It's not over yet, Mr. President," Admiral Gaughan said. He sat two chairs down from the head of the table where the president had been sitting a moment before. To the left of the president's spot was Helen Brown. Across the table from her, his head resting in his hands, sat Bacliff.

Huffington rubbed the back of his neck. "How did we get behind? Despite their statements to the contrary, we know the Chinese have been planning this for some time, but we have the better technology."

"It's not how advanced out technology is, Mr. President," Brown said. "The Chinese don't need superior technology—and let's not lie to ourselves, they have great tech—they just need adequate technology. Tracking satellite motion doesn't require the latest tech, just good-enough tech."

Huffington stared at the screen. He had been watching the Chinese team inch their way closer to the downed bird. He pulled out all the stops. The president turned to Brown. "Brownie, I want the Chinese ambassador in the Oval Office as soon as possible. Tell him, I'll be calling his premier in one hour."

"Yes, sir." Brown excused herself and stepped from the room.

Huffington turned to Gaughan. "Where are our men now?"

"They're still a ways out. They're following a convoy of trucks."

"The ones we assume are from the Russian splinter group?"

"Yes, sir. They're staying well back."

"How could they let themselves fall into third position?"

Gaughan cleared his throat. "Well sir, the Russians were already in the area. We assume they got some of their information from moles in the legitimate government of the Russian Federation. That's how these things usually work. And the Chinese . . . well, they were just sneakier and more brazen than we were."

"Maybe they could teach us something. Have you confirmed they exited from a wayward, crippled cargo jet?"

"Confidence is in the 95-percent range. When the pilot of the MD-90 squawked his transponder to the emergency frequency, we picked it up and tracked the plane with radar in Sapporo, Japan. We also had a few intel assets near the Sea of Okhotsk that followed the radio traffic between the Chinese pilot, the Russian escort planes, and Chinese traffic control. Bottom line: The aircraft made it back to Chinese airspace but at very low altitude. It then switched off its transponder. We think it used a false signal. We don't believe it crashed."

"So the whole thing was a ruse?"

"Yes, sir, and a good one."

"But your earlier report said the aircraft was an MD-90 used by a Chinese cargo company. Hardly the kind of thing troops would parachute from, especially using those things Moyer described."

"Yes, sir, the powered parachute. We can only guess, but the MD-90 has a rear emergency exit. It's possible they used that to make their jump."

Huffington looked at the video feed. "Let's get Colonel Mac on the feed. I know he's watching this at Fort Jackson."

"Yes, sir."

A moment later the video image of Colonel MacGregor appeared on one of the screens to the side of the large main screen.

"Mr. President."

"Can you explain your men, Colonel?"

"Sir?"

"I'm starting to feel like the fourth runner-up in a three-man race. Why is the team behind the Russians?"

"I don't have specifics, sir, but I can assure you they're doing everything they can."

"You know what my fear is, don't you?"

Mac grimaced. "My guess is you would have several fears."

"I do, and right now they all center on one thing: Is the team behind because of Moyer? Has news of his daughter hampered his ability to lead the mission?"

Even over the video link, Huffington could see Mac's expression sour. "Sir, such news would knock anyone off their pins. Moyer is reporting in just as he should, and I'm sure he's doing the best possible work given the circumstances."

"So what do we do about the Chinese?"

"Sir, on my first mission I learned one thing that has guided my leadership through the years. A soldier is at his best if he concentrates on what is in front of him. If that changes, the mission changes. We don't know the condition of Angel-12. It might take hours for the Chinese to strip out the electronics and optics. Our men will be on scene long before that."

"Then what? A gun battle?"

"Maybe, sir. That will be Moyer's call. The Chinese getting there first changes things. What they do will determine what we do."

"So we do what?"

"Wait, sir. There is nothing else that can be done, at least not in the field."

"I can think of several things." Huffington returned to his chair. "I don't like any of them."

"Such as."

Huffington hesitated. "That will be all for now, Colonel."

The video link to Colonel Mac was closed.

"Admiral."

"Sir?"

"Is the
Monsoor
still in the area?"

"It is." The admiral stiffened. "They're waiting to help with extraction."

"Move them as close to Russian waters as possible and have them stand by for my orders."

"What orders, sir?"

"If I have to, I will put a Tomahawk cruise missile on the site."

Bacliff's head snapped up. "That might endanger our team and it would put an end to the rescue operation."

"I know, old friend, and I'm sorry, but I can't let that technology fall into the hands of the Chinese or Russians. I'll destroy it and everything around it if I have to."

Bacliff pinched the bridge of his nose. "Don't you mean destroy everyone around it?"

"Yes, I mean that too."

"Sir, firing a cruise missile into Russian territory will be impossible to explain and may create problems taking a decade to undo."

"I'm aware of the ramifications. It's the last thing I want to do."

"You will let our men know first, won't you?" Gaughan asked.

"If possible, yes."

"If possible?"

"You heard me, Admiral. Now make the order and pray we don't have to use it."

Huffington stared at the monitor and watched the Chinese team as they reached Angel-12. "You know," he said to no one in particular, "I sometimes wonder what I ever saw in this job that made me want it."

No one spoke. That was fine with the president.