Tom Clancy's Net Force 6-10 (171 page)

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Authors: Tom Clancy

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Colonel Kent spoke up. “Don’t you think grabbing Shing and Leigh will alert Wu?”

Hadden nodded. “Of course, but it couldn’t be helped.”

“Frighten a man holding a loaded gun and he also might pull the trigger,” Kent said.

“That thought had crossed our minds,” Hadden said. He looked at Kent. “How’s your Chinese, Abe?”

“Worse than my Portuguese, sir, and that’s pretty bad.”

“Brush up, Colonel. How soon can you be ready?”

“To get my team in the air? Forty-eight hours.”

“Which means you need half that, minus another thirty percent. The clock is ticking, Colonel.”

“Yes, sir.”

Outside, on the way back to their car, Jay said, “You’re serious? You are going to fly to China and kidnap a Chinese general?”

“That’s the idea.”

“But—why doesn’t the Army just use the spooks who got Shing? Or put a bug in the Chinese authorities’ ear?”

“Because Shing was easy. He had no security, and no reason to think he needed it. But you can bet that Wu knows we have his man, and that we know something, so a couple of CIA ops aren’t going to just waltz in and point guns at Wu and get him to come along with them.”

Commander Thorn added, “And remember, we don’t want the Chinese to know about this if we can help it. Our friendship with them is both new and iffy.”

“But why us? Why Net Force?”

Kent shrugged. “We’re qualified. I have the right people to do the job, and I’m already in the chain of command regarding this mess. The fewer people who know about it, the better. Bring in somebody else, that’s just more tongues that might accidentally wag someday.”

“Can you . . . ?” Jay stopped.

“Get him? Probably. Thirty years ago, I built a deck for my aunt. Took me four days, morning to evening. I had to use a power saw and sander, square, level, posthole digger, measuring tape, and a lot of nails and screws, not to mention a bucket of sweat. About forty hours of solid work. The deck lasted for twenty years, then started to rot, so, then I went back to take it down for her.” He paused.

“It took me less than two hours and a pickax to turn the deck into a pile of scrap lumber.”

Jay looked puzzled. “Which, uh, means what?”

“It’s a lot easier to tear something down than it is to construct it. We can get to Wu. But it’s a whole bunch less work to shoot him than capture him in one useful piece.”

“You have to take him alive?” Jay said.

“If it comes to a choice of killing him or letting him get away, better dead than fled. Whatever he’s up to, if Wu joins his ancestors pushing up daisies, he won’t be causing us any more problems.”

“But if he’s not alone in this . . .” Thorn said.

“Which is why we would rather take him alive,” Kent said. “To be sure.”

Jay shook his head. “What a mess.”

“Welcome to the military, son,” Kent said. “Situation normal—all fouled up.”

Net Force HQ, Military Warehouse

Kent was going over his checklist, being methodical, but not dragging his feet. He had a lot of things to get done and not much time to do them.

His virgil bleeped. He answered it without looking at the caller ID.

“Kent.”

“Abe. John Howard.”

“General. What can I do you for?”

“I, uh, heard about your mission. I’m sending over a little something I thought you might find useful. Ought to be there any minute.”

“I appreciate that, John. I can use all the help I can get.”

“Break a leg, Abe. Preferably not your own.”

He discommed, and Kent did the same. He looked up to see a man in Net Force blues striding between the stacks of ammo boxes three meters high on either side of the row.

“Julio?”

“Colonel.”

“You have something for me from John Howard?”

“Yes, sir. That would be me, sir. If you want to reactivate me from reserve status, I have a leave of absence from General Howard to tag along.”

Kent grinned. “Consider yourself reinstated to active duty, Captain.”

“Yes, sir. Where shall I start?”

Kent handed him the list. “Here. Finish this, there’s plenty more to do. Welcome back, son.”

“Glad to be here, sir. Being a consultant was getting a little slow.”

“I hope you haven’t lost too many steps.”

“Me, too. But when it comes to shooting, I can still beat you, sir.”

“Now and then, son. Only now and then.”

Kent grinned again and hurried off to make sure his team was on schedule.

Comrade General Wu’s Office Military Base Annex

Locke made a number of phone calls. These conversations were very nearly the same, save for the names of the casino managers:

“Honorable Chan?”

“Yes?”

“This is Colonel Han, in charge of the local antiterrorist unit of the People’s Army. I have been instructed by Comrade General Wu, who, as I am sure you know, is honored to command the division of the People’s Army that protects Macao, to call you.”

“Wu, yes.”

“We have received intelligence, Honorable Chan, that indicates a terrorist plot to attack certain casinos.”

“What? When? How?”

“Unfortunately, sir, the specifics have yet to be determined. However, General Wu desires that a general warning be given to those who might be involved. Our information indicates that the terrorists, who are members of a secret and well-armed cabal, could launch an attack within weeks, perhaps even days.”

“We will increase our security immediately!”

“Sir, Comrade General Wu directs me to tell you that such a measure might be unwise. The terrorists are particularly violent and likely suicidal, and they will have weapons far superior to casino security officers or even those of the local police. Resistance by your security personnel could result in a bloodbath. None of us want to see dead tourists piled on the floor; that would be bad for international relations, and bad for business. Rather, in the event of such an attack—which we, of course, hope to thwart—your wisest course of action would be to call the Army. We have special antiterrorist teams standing by for instant deployment, stationed in hiding near the casinos. I have here the phone number, which is manned around the clock.”

“I see.”

Locke knew at this point the casino manager to whom he was speaking would perhaps be raising an eyebrow in skepticism. Anybody could call him on the telephone and make such a claim—terrorists might attack, and if they do, don’t resist them—and how stupid would you feel if you did that and it was some kind of trick?

One did not get to run a multimillion-dollar endeavor by being slow of wit.

So Locke set the hook: “Please feel free to call Comrade General Wu’s office if you have any further questions about this matter, sir. The general would, of course, be more than happy to speak personally with a man of your standing. I have here his private number. . . .”

Nearly all of the casino managers made that call, which was indeed to a private number established for Wu, and any telephone checks would show it thus. The general hastened to assure the casino managers that yes, Colonel Han of the antiterrorist squad was acting under his direction. The situation was being addressed.

Later, Locke went to the casinos in his official uniform, and spoke in person to the managers. Word, of course, quickly filtered back to the police, but that had been the
first
call he had made—to tell the local authorities the same thing he’d told the casino managers. So if some forgetful security guard called the police? Well, they would know that this was a military operation and to stay away. The Army always ranked above the police force; no one questioned such things.

Locke was just a bit worried. Since he was certain that Leigh was in somebody’s custody, there was a chance that the man might reveal something of the plan. True, Leigh did not know all of it. He did not know how, neither did he know when it would happen, since the date had been moved up, so even if he spilled what he knew to a questioner, they would be late to the party. Still, it was vexsome, since he had told Wu that Leigh knew nothing of their scheme. It was better that way—no need to add to Wu’s worries. Nor to have him angry at Locke for letting Leigh know anything.

Of course, Wu himself had babbled the entire plan to his spy and mistress, and while she could be trusted to go along, hoping for a big payoff, if something went crooked, Locke didn’t trust her as far as he could spit. That she would give them up to save herself was a given.

Well. One had to play the cards one was given.

Ah, but here was an unexpected trump card, one that demonstrated where the beauty of having the local military commander in on the plan came forth. Mere hours after Locke visited this worry about Leigh again, his fake antiterrorist line had rung. The call was from a local senior police official. They had received a communication from the Chinese computer authority, and as a result, had arrested a British national here in Macao. Questioning had revealed nothing of use so far, but it might be possible that this man, a foreigner; was involved in the terrorist plot, yes?

Locke had almost laughed aloud. Yes, he had told the policeman, it was possible. The Army would like to question this prisoner. They would send men to collect him and transport him back to the base for interrogation. It was not a request.

The police were only too happy to comply.

Locke pulled in a couple members of his personal team, already outfitted as soldiers, wrote transfer papers on Wu’s official stationery, and sent them to collect Leigh. How perfect was that?

The police were going to turn the only man who could blow the whistle on Locke’s operation over to him!

Leigh, unfortunately, would have an accident shortly after he came into Locke’s custody. He was a loose end Locke had planned to wrap up anyway, and this just made it easier.

That done, there was nothing else to stop them, nothing.

Washington, D.C.

Jay removed his rig, stripped the casters and sensor gear and mesh off, and just let it drop on the carpet. Later, he’d shove the sweaty mesh into the ultrasonic cleaner, and use dry-clean wipes on the bits that he couldn’t immerse in the ultrasound’s liquid, but for now, he just wanted to go and take a shower himself.

It hadn’t been pretty, but it was, at last, done.

No matter how good a scenario you could spin, running down the rascals that Shing had caused to infest the military and CyberNation computers was dull, grinding work. Like pulling crab grass up by the roots, or scrubbing a dirty floor, or maybe chipping barnacles off a ship’s hull. Each bit had to be done manually, and once removed, the place where it had been had to be sanded, smoothed, wiped, repainted—remade so that the chunk removed didn’t leave a gap or hole or whatever.

It was scut work, and not Jay’s thing, but it had to be done, it had to be done
right,
and it was his project.

But, finally, it was finished. As far as Jay could tell, all traces of the tampering done by Shing and his allies were no more.

His virgil beeped in its computer dock. Seurat.

“Good evening,” Seurat said when Jay accepted the connection.

“Hey.”

“How goes it?”

Jay managed a tired grin. “We got the guy, we got his modus, and I just finished cleaning it out. The military system—and yours—are as clean as new pennies. At least as far as this hack is concerned.”

“
Très bon,
Gridley! Excellent!”

“Just part of the job, Mr. Seurat.”

“But you must call me Charles,
mon ami
.”

“I must?”

“Oui.”

The man sounded way too happy, even though Jay had done him a good turn.

“Do you like Paris, my friend?”

“Sure.”

“Then you must come and visit. To a wedding.”

“Somebody getting married?”

“Yes. Me. I have met a wonderful woman—an American, no less. She is perfect, the most beautiful and intelligent and funny woman in the world.”

“Save one,” Jay said.