The China Dogs (42 page)

Xue Shi is following the action in New York. In Central Park, off the Great Lawn, down by Eighty-Fifth Street where the edge of the reservoir rolls toward the Guggenheim, a pack of wild dogs overturns a horse-drawn carriage. The driver is lying on his side in shock as several large mongrels set on him. His passengers, a dark-haired man and red-haired woman, are kicking out at two brown rottweilers. Other walkers are running for their lives. No one is helping.

Zhang draws comfort from that.

Fear is a wonderful ally.

Florida's dog problems and the emergency measures imposed there have clearly struck terror into the hearts of all the Americans.

He sits up in his seat and turns to Xue Shi. “Tomorrow, Xian flies out to meet the American. He will buy time for himself and claim Molton is close to accepting our demands. Demands that are now ridiculously low. If he is clever, he may even persuade the American to agree to them and then ring the party chiefs with news of his triumph. Either way, I want to be ready to bring our weak leader's period of power to a humiliating end. Let him inform the council of his great diplomacy and what it has achieved. Give him that hour of false satisfaction. Then deploy the poison dogs. Let them loose and have them undermine him. Have them rip the spirit out of the Americans and destroy his credibility once and for all. Then we will take control and make more fruitful demands of Molton and his administration.”

 

PART FIVE

“If you win, you need not have to explain . . .

If you lose, you should not be there to explain!”

ADOLF HITLER

 

156

The White House, Washington DC

T
he flight from Miami to the capital gives Ghost an opportunity to think. To live with the notion that the dog attacks were orchestrated by some militant, maverick Chinese terrorists. Maybe it went back to the Syrian crisis and the stand both China and Russia had taken against U.S. intervention to stop Assad. Perhaps it was more obscure than that. One thing he knew for certain, spying incidents happened every day and got covered up. It was more than possible that this one escalated until it was just too big and dirty to sweep under a diplomatic carpet.

By the time Ghost and Sandra Teale are shown through to a meeting room, the dog attacks in New York, Chicago, and Los Angeles have escalated.

The TV news is playing on a screen and they can see that four more New Yorkers have been killed and nine injured in Wall Street. Five have been killed and seven injured at Universal Studios in L.A., and in Chicago six people have been killed and eleven injured at Union Station.

The total across the three cities is now sixty-five dead and eighty more being treated for wounds and shock.

Their viewing is interrupted when a tall black man and two white men, walk in. A pace or two behind them is a pencil-thin woman Ghost recognizes. Gwen Harries. “Brandon Jackson, NIA director.” He sticks out his hand. “And this is Chris Parry, from Langley, and Marlon Gonzalez, director of the White House's Office of Science.”

“I'm Lieutenant Walton, and this is veterinary pathologist Sandra Teale.”

There's a merry-go-round of handshakes until Jackson says, “And I understand you and Agent Harries know each other.”

“We do.” To her great surprise, Ghost makes a point of warmly embracing her. “Good to see you again Gwen. Though I do have a feeling that you've been holding back vital information that might have helped the Miami police.”

“Only under my instructions,” says Jackson, noting the sarcasm. “Please sit down.” He ushers them to a table behind the soft sofa area where they'd been watching the TV. “The President told me your story about the shelter, the microchips, and the Chinese couple, but I'd like us all to hear it from the two of you.”

Sandra Teale slips over a file containing copies of her research. “I only did one set of copies. I'm sorry.”

“No problem.” Jackson reroutes the technical data to Gon­zalez.

“Basically,” the vet continues, “the dogs were fitted with microchips. They look like the standard kind that can act as a tracer and when scanned will reveal owner and dog details. But these were more advanced.” She produces a packet of unused chips from the folder in front of her and passes them over. “They have drug reservoirs that release chemicals to make the dogs aggressive and anxious.” She looks toward Gonzalez. “I can be more technical if you wish?”

“Later,” says the white-haired advisor with a smile. “Let's keep this simple for the moment.”

“Well,” continues Teale, “this type of chip was found in all the dogs that killed people in Florida. That is, all the ones I've managed to examine or trace reports on. And it seems the same chip supplier has been used in most shelters throughout the state and elsewhere in the country.” She looks across to Ghost.

He picks up the story. “I talked to the major animal shelter in the region and they got their supplies through a Chinese guy called Li Chen who worked with them.” He notices Jackson and Harries exchange glances. “Does that name mean anything to you?”

“It might,” answers Jackson. “Please go on.”

Ghost takes that as a yes. “Turns out Li Chen distributed chips across the country, and I believe even dogs. One hound that was traced back to him was responsible for the death of a young woman named Astrid Gerber, and her mother Heidi.” Now he looks directly at Parry. “But then I guess you do know about all this because I suspect you've had a tap on my phone since the first day sweet-innocent Gwen here turned up—and I guess she only disappeared from the scene once she was certain that the recording devices in my office and the trace software on my computer systems had gone undiscovered. Right?”

Jackson looks toward his colleague. “You can talk within reason, Chris.”

The head of the Special Activities Division sits forward. “To a degree you are right, Lieutenant. Li Chen is a Chinese deep cover agent, a sleeper. We lost track of him several years ago. We didn't know he was connected to this case, he interested us for several other reasons which I won't go into here, but yes, we are very interested in him, and Agent Harries now has an active mandate to find him and his wife.”

“Those are not their real names,” Harries adds. “But they are among the ones they've used since they came into the country about half a decade ago.”

Ghost is confused. “I couldn't find any records on either of them.”

“We pulled them,” answers Parry. “Expunged them from the system.”

“Why?”

“Lots of reasons,” explains the SAD chief. “They've been moving around for the past few years, living in New York but coming to Florida very frequently. They have several homes in the state and multiple identities and businesses. Li Chen has often stayed for periods in Miami, while Mingyu has done the same on the East Coast. We found that unless we followed them exceptionally closely it proved impossible to work out whether the couple were together or apart. When we lost track of them about two months ago we killed their records in the hope that it might flush them out and force them into re-registering on official sites. So much easier to look at new regs.”

“But it didn't?”

“No,” conceded Jackson. “Until you came across their activity, we hadn't even connected them to all the current troubles.”

Ghost's interest spiked. “All the current troubles?”

Jackson sensed the cop was going to probe too far. “Lieutenant, given Dr. Teale's presence, I suggest we brief you more fully in private.”

Ghost nods.

Jackson's mind goes back to the attacks he saw in Bristol, where out-of-town dogs came in from the countryside and decimated the population. “Doctor, just so I'm clear on things, could those microchip things also contain some kind of remote guidance system that forces the dogs to go in a particular direction?”

“Not at all.” Sandra Teale has to hold back a laugh. “Why do you ask?”

“Well, mainly because it seems that once they've been activated, the dogs congregate and seem en masse to attack human settlements. How can that be?”

“They're hunters,” explains the vet. “Deep down these animals are descended from wolves and instinctively they'll hunt in packs wherever they can smell food—or flesh, to be more precise.”

The director glances at his watch. “Thanks. A simple but horrifyingly easy to understand explanation.” He looks to Ghost. “Lieutenant, I suggest you go with Chris and Gwen and they'll answer the rest of the many questions you seem to have.” He gets to his feet. “Doctor, perhaps you could give Dr. Gonzalez more background. I'm afraid I have to go to a crisis meeting with the President and the Joint Chiefs.”

157

Beijing

S
itting opposite each other in the grand presidential office, both Xian and Chunlin are aware how momentous their short meeting is.

It may be the last time they see each other.

In a few hours' time the president will leave for the APEC summit and his critical appointment with Molton. The end game will have begun.

The minister looks frail and tired. He has expended all his energy on gathering intelligence about Zhang and Xue Shi. “The general is preparing to activate more dogs in the major American cities. Next on his list are Seattle, Philadelphia, and Detroit. The strikes are planned just as you meet the President.”

“I have lost all influence with him.” Xian looks despondent. “The only consolation is that the more fear he creates, the more people wish his downfall.”

“You found support in the Politburo?”

“Enough. Eighteen of the twenty-five we could bank on.”

“I am sure I can name the seven who would stand against us.”

“I am sure you can as well,” Xian manages a smile. “Four are key to the Central Military Commission.”

“Of which you are head.” Chunlin realizes his leader is having doubts. If he acquiesces to Zhang and steps aside, he will be allowed to leave office and live the rest of his years with his family. But if he makes a move against the general and fails, then they will all be killed. “The Military Commission will learn shortly of the incident in the DMZ. When they do, it will reflect badly on Zhang. Weiwei was his appointment. There may even be international fallout to the incident.”

Xian dismisses the thought with a wave of his hand. “He will launder the blame. No doubt he and Xue Shi already have it in hand.”

Chunlin grows angry. He remembers his leader when the man was full of fight and fury, guile and resolve. “I need your decision, Mr. President. I need you to tell me clearly and with no doubt in your mind or heart that you wish me to implement my plan.”

Xian hesitates.

His mind is still on the safety of his family. His thoughts on safeguarding them and living to watch his son grow up and marry.

“Zhang must
not
rule,” says Chunlin forcefully. “If you will not sanction a move against him, then I will make one anyway.” He stands and pushes back his chair.

“Wait!”

The minister stops and his hands settle on the top of the chair.

“You must not stand alone. I will leave shortly for the meeting with Molton. When I do, I will call and send my wife and child to Guangdong. There are people there who will protect them and get them out of the country if necessary.” He walks from behind his desk and stands in front of his old friend. “I thank you for your loyalty to me and to our country. I pray history remembers us as both righteous and victorious.”

158

The White House, Washington DC

G
host is surprised to find himself alone with Chris Parry in a small but stylishly furnished briefing room. “Where is the elusive Agent Harries?” he asks as they settle on green corduroy sofas.

“She sends her apologies,” says Parry. “She has a very active caseload. As I believe you do, so I'll cut to the chase.”

“Please do.”

“The information you have given us is really useful. If substantiated, it may lead us to a way of—how shall I say this—‘disarming' these dogs and saving a lot of lives.”

“I'm glad to help in any way I can.”

“We know. And we're grateful for you coming at short notice, especially given your personal circumstances.”

The allusion to Zoe makes Ghost feel sad. “Your boss said you needed to brief me more fully, in private.”

“I do.” Parry sits forward, tries to create a closer bond with the cop. “Neither you nor Sandra Teale can speak to anyone about the evidence that you gave us. Not now. Not tomorrow. Not ever. Do you understand?”

“No. I don't. In fact, every day there is more and more about this bloody mess that I
don't
understand. And as far as I can remember, buddy, you don't have the power to quite so easily interfere with my freedom of speech, so if you want compliance and help, you better quit the strong-arm shit and brief me responsibly.”

“I'm not in a position to do that.”

“Then we're done here.” Ghost gets to his feet and towers over Parry. “Now, if you've got nothing else to say, I need to get back to Miami to see someone who really matters to me.”

159

The White House, Washington DC

T
he crisis meeting is held in the Situation Room. The President and the Joint Chiefs of Staff are there in person. The leaders of the Army, Navy, Air Force, Marine Corps, and National Guard Bureau, and other senior commanders watch and listen on a video link to the Pentagon. On another feed from CIA HQ at Langley is the operational task force led by Bill Everett and the heads of the Counter Intelligence Center and Office of Terrorism ­Analyses.

Vice President Cornwell is on a feed from a presidential plane heading to Camp Dwyer in Afghanistan.

Around the table with Molton are his senior executive advisors and Attorney General Jan Saunders.

NIA director Don Jackson is on his feet by a digital summary board that shows maps, death figures, and totals for injured people. “The attacks of the last twelve hours have been swiftly countered by police and National Guard units. Our response has been good and we have been alerted to more incidents. The President is preparing to fly to Hawaii to attend a meeting there with President Xian of China, and it is likely that this will happen amidst more canine assaults, probably in more of our major cities. We have deployed units in Dallas, Houston, Seattle, Philadelphia, Phoenix, Detroit, and of course we've redoubled cover in the cities hit today.” He looks toward Molton.

The President picks up. “Don doesn't want to say it, and neither do I. But I think we're a day away from declaring a nationwide State of Emergency.”

Groans break across the room.

“Listen up.” Molton falls back on his old political language for controlling unrest. “We still have diplomatic channels open, diplomatic options, and our intelligence services are making up ground—rapidly. Right, Don?”

“Yes, Mr. President. In a moment we'll split into a smaller group and I'll brief the Security Council members more fully on the progress made in the last hour.”

The door to the Situation Room opens and Jordan Taylor, the executive secretary, enters. “I'm sorry for the interruption. Mr. President. I have the Prime Minister of Canada on a phone for you in the breakout room. He says it's urgent and cannot wait.”

“Excuse me.” Molton gets to his feet and follows his assistant into a side office.