Act of War (27 page)

“If I got up right now,” said Tang, “and began to walk down into that valley, what would you do? Shoot me?”

“No,” Fordyce replied. “Tuck would.”

Looking up from his rifle, Tucker smiled.

“And then I’d shoot you again,” said Johnson. “Just to make sure.”

“Bullshit. I don’t think any of you would shoot me.”

Johnson shouldered his rifle. “Let’s find out. Start walking.”

“Nobody’s walking and nobody’s shooting,” Fordyce ordered. “At 2100, just as planned, we ruck up and retreat back over that ridgeline. We work our way down the other side, meet up with our ride, and head back to the coast.”

Tang looked over at Jin-Sang. “What about him?”

“We’re going to feed him one last time before we go, give him some pain meds, and then gag him and tie him up. I’ve got a signal mirror in my kit. We’ll tape it to him. By the time there’s enough sun in the valley, we’ll be long gone.”

“They’ll torture every last piece of information out of him.”

“Which is why you’re going to ask him some questions about the terrain
northwest of here and if there are any rail lines. Make them think that’s the direction we’re going.”

“You don’t think they’ll double their coastal patrols and put everything they have in the air?” Tang asked. “They’ll look northwest, all right, but they’ll look in every other direction, too. Talk about kicking the hornets’ nest.”

“What are we supposed to do?” Johnson asked. “We know this kid. We know his whole life story. Now you want to kill him?”

“No, I don’t want to kill him,” Tang asserted. “We can bring him with us.”

“You
are
fucking crazy.”

“Why? If we can get him to the rally point and into the truck, Hyun Su can get him into South Korea. There are special organizations there that will take him in.”

Fordyce shook his head. “One minute you want to sneak into a DPRK labor camp, the next you want to carry a kid with a tib/fib over a mountain.”

“Wrong. I want
you
to carry him over the mountain,” said Tang. “I still plan on talking to his sister.”

“Tuck should have shot you last night when he had the chance,” said Johnson.

“Enough,” ordered Fordyce. Looking at Tang, he said, “Billy, we’re not taking this kid and you’re not going to talk to his sister. I can’t be clearer than that. Start packing up your shit. That’s an order.”

“You can’t leave him here,” said Tang.

“Watch me.”

“Jimi, they’ll torture him and they may even decide to make an example out of him for sneaking out of the camp. They could execute him.”

“He should have thought about that before he snuck out.”

“Look at him,” Tang insisted. “He’s a fucking kid and he’s starving. What would you do?”

“It’s not my fight,” Fordyce replied.

“Not your fight? You’re a Navy SEAL, for Christ’s sake. You’re a good man. All three of you are. I
know
that. I also know that we’re different than the North Koreans. Life means something to us. Freedom means
something to us. We can save this boy. We
have
to save him. And as far as his sister is concerned, if she has even one piece of intel that can help protect our country, I’m willing to do what it takes to get it.”

Fordyce began to interrupt, but Tang motioned to be allowed to finish. Fordyce allowed him to speak.

“I have enough red herrings, fake backstories, and outright deceptions planned that
if
I got captured, and that’s a big
if,
I could keep the North Koreans chasing their tails for months. By the time they untangled everything and figured out that I was American and not South Korean, you’d all be long gone,” said Tang. “I wouldn’t compromise this operation.”

“Not at first,” replied Fordyce. “But they’d torture you, too, and eventually, you’d tell them everything.”

“Of course. No one can hold out forever.”

Lieutenant Jimi Fordyce looked long and hard at both of his SEALs, but he didn’t need to ask Johnson or Tucker what they thought. They were his brothers. He could read their minds.

Looking back at Tang he said, “I’d better not regret this. Okay, let’s map out how we’re going to make it happen.”

B
EIJING
, C
HINA

C
olonel Shi studied the report on his screen. He was not happy with what Cheng had discovered in Nashville.

Ren Ho had personally approved each of the Somalis for the operation. He should have been able to anticipate that Wazir Ibrahim would be a problem. Cheng had done the right thing by eliminating him. Ibrahim was a disaster waiting to happen. On the other hand, Mirsab, the engineering student who had been paired with him, was a different problem.

One of the greatest difficulties of dealing with educated people was that they made educated guesses. It had been assumed that the engineering students would ask questions, and Ho, posing as their handler, “Henry Lee,” had been instructed what to tell them.

The devices they would be assembling had been smuggled into the United States in pieces. In their training, they had been given a wiring diagram, several innocuous components, and a battery. There was no way that they could figure out what they were being asked to build. When the students did ask what it was, Ho delivered his prepared response.

Because of all the secrecy, the students naturally assumed they were participating in something illegal. They each came from a very poor family and the money being sent home was more than they would earn in a lifetime. That alone should have cut off any questions, but the Second Department had wanted the engineers to be told what to think, rather than trying to figure things out on their own.

What Ho had conveyed was that they were creating a “temporary Internet” that would act like a network of nationwide cell towers. With it, a series of incursions into corporate computer systems would be conducted and never be traced. The fact that the targets were corporations, the item to be stolen was data, and that the network was untraceable had satisfied all of the students. All, it appeared, except for one.

When it came time to practice launching the attack, Ho provided dummy containers for the devices and stressed the importance that they all launch at the same time. If they didn’t, he warned that the network would not be fully functional, and their plan would collapse. That’s why the students had been issued partners. The Somali men were there not only as an extra set of hands to help transport and assemble the equipment, but also to handle any problems that might arise en route to or during the launch.

Once their task was complete they would all rendezvous with Ho in Boise, receive their final payments, and be provided with routes to return home.

It was a solid, plausible explanation, but somehow their Nashville student, Mirsab, had discovered the real purpose of the devices. What Shi put down to an educated guess may have been just that, or it may have just been wildly lucky. Either way, the colonel wanted to know how Mirsab had arrived at his conclusion and, more important, if he had shared it with anyone. It was bad enough he had shared it with Wazir Ibrahim, but if he had been foolish enough to reveal it to the other engineering students or, heaven forbid, someone outside the operation, drastic measures would need to be taken.

Based on the seriousness of Cheng’s report, Shi had some difficult decisions to make.

As he pored over maps of the United States, as well as the most recent weather reports, he transmitted a message to the PLA’s hacking unit in Shanghai with instructions. They were already standing by and he wanted to make sure they had the latest information, as well as his precise instructions. It was important that every participant be on the same page.

The biggest question plaguing Shi was,
Was Nashville salvageable?
What they were planning had never been done before. Like the mythical Snow
Dragon itself, the attack was designed to stretch from tip to tail across the United States. The efforts of each cell were designed to overlap, and they had run contingency scenarios to account for losing up to half of the cells, but no one knew for sure how successful the attack would be if even one of the cells was taken offline. If the dragon was incomplete, would its fire still burn as hot?

There was, of course, no way to know for sure. They were in the realm of the hypothetical. Formulas, diagrams, charts, and assumptions were of no use now. Their time had passed. Shi had made a command decision and Tai Cheng had been given his orders. At this point, all Colonel Jiang Shi could do was wait. It was all in Cheng’s hands now.

N
ASHVILLE
, T
ENNESSEE

C
heng sat outside and watched. He had no idea who Mirsab was fraternizing with in his apartment. The engineering student had been instructed to keep to himself and mind his own business. It was apparent, though, that he had ignored those orders. It made Cheng wonder what other orders Mirsab had chosen to ignore. Cheng had no choice but to sit and wait until Mirsab’s guests had departed.

When the procession of four men filed out an hour later, Cheng stayed where he was until they had driven away. Then, he got out of his vehicle and entered the building.

The hallway smelled heavily of mildew and the carpeting was stained. He approached Mirsab’s door and knocked.

Thinking one of his guests must have left something behind, the man opened his door with a smile while saying something in Arabic. Then he saw Cheng.

“May I help you?” he asked, switching to English.

“Henry Lee sent me,” Cheng replied.

The look on Mirsab’s face went from carefree to concerned in a fraction of a second. Slowly, he stepped back and said, “Come in.”

As Cheng entered, he swept the room with his eyes. It was spartanly furnished and what furnishings there were looked as if they had been there for decades.

Mirsab kept a clean home. There were no dishes in the sink or on the
counter in the small, open kitchen. It didn’t smell of garbage or spoiled food. In fact, it smelled much better than the hall.

In terms of personal effects, there weren’t many Cheng could see. There were some Arabic-language magazines on the coffee table, along with a laptop and a Qur’an. A prayer rug had been rolled up and tucked away in the corner of the living room.

“Who were those men?” Cheng asked.

“What men?”

“The men who just left. The ones you thought had come back when you answered your door in Arabic.”

Mirsab cast his eyes toward the floor. “I met them at a mosque. I am part of their prayer group.”

Cheng snapped his fingers to get the engineering student to look him in the eyes. “You are not being paid to go to a mosque and there is only one group you are allowed to belong to. That’s our group. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Sit down,” Cheng said, pointing at the small dining table. When Mirsab was seated, Cheng took the chair across from him and set his briefcase under the table.

“Why has Mr. Lee sent you? Is it time?” the engineering student asked.

“Soon,” Cheng assured him. “In the meantime, I have come to check on you.”

Cheng was highly adept at reading people. It was part of what made him a successful intelligence operative. Already, he could sense several things about Mirsab. Adopting a relaxed posture, and a calm, even tone, he asked, “How have you been?”

“I have been lonely,” the man instantly admitted.

“Lonely?”

“Yes,” Mirsab replied. “I have never been away from my family for this long.”

“Have you made any attempt to contact them?”

He shook his head. “No. It is forbidden.”

So was fraternizing with others, but Cheng put that aside for the moment. “I know it is difficult, but you will see them again soon and they
will be proud of you. The money is already helping them and it will continue to help them as long as you live up to your agreement.”

“Yes, sir. I understand.”

“Good. Now, let’s talk about the men I saw leaving here. How long have you known them?”

“Not long. A couple of weeks,” said Mirsab.

“Why did you go to the mosque?”

“To pray.”

“You can’t pray here?” Cheng asked.

“It’s lonely. I wanted to pray with other people.”

“Are you being paid to pray with other people?”

“No, sir,” the engineer replied.

Cheng feigned a smile. “Mirsab, you need to think of your family. You are being well paid. Is there food in your kitchen?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Does your toilet work? Is there water for you to bathe?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Does your air-conditioning work? Does the roof keep you dry?”

He cast his eyes downward again. “Yes, sir.”

“Look at me, Mirsab,” said Cheng. He waited until the young man looked at him before continuing. “You are free to go out to a park, to go to a movie. You may listen to music. You may watch TV. You may read your Qur’an. You may use your computer as long as you follow the rules. I don’t think we have unduly burdened you, have we?”

“No, sir.”

“In fact, I think we have been quite good to you. Haven’t we?”

“Yes, sir.”

Cheng studied him. “What do these men from the mosque know about you?”

Mirsab shrugged. He was a short man, only about five-foot-five, and pudgy. When he shrugged, skin rolled like a shar-pei. His habit of staring at the floor only added to the likeness of a guilty dog.

“I’m not angry,” said Cheng. “But I need to know. What did you tell them?”

“I told them I was an engineering student.”

Internally, Cheng tensed, but he didn’t outwardly betray his concern. Instead, he maintained an appearance of calm and waited. Another part of being an effective intelligence operative was being comfortable with silence.

“I told them that I was in the process of transferring to Nashville Community College, but not until the next term. I told them I was just taking classes online at the moment.”

It was a decent lie
, thought Cheng.
Plausible.
Mirsab hadn’t shot too high by claiming attendance at a school like Vanderbilt, and the part about taking classes online would explain why he spent so much time in his apartment. But while it was a passable cover story, he should have never placed himself in a position to have to use one.