Don Pendleton - Stealth Sweep

“She’s waiting in the office,” Wu Cassandra said without any preamble, not pausing in her work.

“Thank you, Miss Wu,” he said, walking past and opening the door, which gave a musical chime.

Across the office, a tall woman in a tan outfit looked up in surprise at the noise, then jumped to her feet and gave a salute. “Good evening, sir!” she cried out.

There was a canvas duffel bag on the floor near her chair, along with a nylon travel bag locked with a red security seal. Shen-wa recognized it as a weapons kit. “At ease, Zhang,” he said, closing the door.

“Yes, sir,” Lieutenant Zhang Meiron replied uneasily, but stayed erect. It had been a long flight from Taiwan, and she was more than a little tired. However, she was also grimly determined not to show any weakness before the dreaded old man.

A veteran of numerous wars, the major had helped create the Red Star, and had personally terminated over a hundred enemy spies during his long career. It was rumored that he had even helped design the August 1st Building, the headquarters for the entire Chinese military. The only reason Major Shen-wa held so a low rank, instead of being in charge of the CMC, was that he was a maverick, a loner who hated politics, and disliked obeying the rules, being much more interested in getting results.

Just like me, Zhang thought proudly.

Six feet tall, and built like a professional weight lifter, Zhang found that nothing in the world easily accommodated her. Beds were too short, doorways too low, shirts too tight, and romance was mostly a matter of finding somebody drunk at a bar, and leaving quietly in the morning before finding out his name. Only the military had accepted her with open arms, in spite of its many reservations to a woman serving in combat.

Automatically cycling closed, the armored door to the office shut with a muffled boom.

“Why are you out of uniform and dressed like a civilian?” Shen-wa demanded.

“Sir, I…I was told to remain inconspicuous in my travel here,” she replied.

“Logical and reasonable,” he agreed, starting across the office.

Resembling a research library, the metal walls of the domed room were lined with bookcases stuffed with bound technical manuals. There were no personal effects anywhere in sight. No sports trophies, family pictures, knickknacks or executive toys. It was neat and impersonal, a place of work, nothing more.

The single humanizing aspect was a small black lacquered cabinet set under a large flag of China. The cabinet was made in the style of the Hung Dynasty of the fourth Century BCE, and whatever had been its original purpose, it was now well stocked with liquor bottles, glasses, an automatic ice dispenser and a tobacco humidor.

“So, how much do you know about this project?” Shen-wa asked, going to the liquor cabinet.

“Nothing, sir.”

“Then why did you agree to the assignment?” he asked pointedly, making a stiff drink of whiskey, then taking a seat behind a large redwood desk. Covered with piles of reports, and computer monitors, the desk was set kitty-corner to the rest of the room, so that his back was protected by the plain steel walls.

Zhang paused uncertainly. “Because I wish to work with you, sir,” she replied honestly. “You’re a living legend!”

“No matter what the project is?”

“My faith in you is absolute!”

“How touching,” Shen-wa whispered, almost smiling. “Make yourself a drink, Lieutenant. Relax.”

“Not while on duty, sir.”

Taking a sip from his glass, Shen-wa said nothing.

Suddenly, Zhang realized that she was being tested, not merely interviewed, and wondered what would happen if she failed.

“You’re smarter than you look,” Shen-wa said, turning on a monitor. “Very good. I suspected as much. You hide your intelligence to catch an opponent by surprise.”

“It is a man’s world,” Zhang stated, keeping the emotion from her voice. “A woman is either smart or pretty. Nature made my choice for me.”

Clearly, that confused him. “But you are both,” he said hesitantly.

She scowled, but said nothing. Did he really mean that?

“Ah. I see that we disagree.” He smiled, typing briefly on the keyboard. “Good! I like that. Now sit down. I prefer to talk at eye level.”

She wavered, wondering if this was another test.

“That was a direct order, Lieutenant.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir,” she replied, sitting down and stretching her long legs. She was in traveling clothes of a loose tan jacket, white blouse, pleated tan skirt and flats. High heels made her long legs look good, but the additional height only served to alienate her more from the rest of scurrying humanity.

Briefly, Shen-wa glanced at her legs in frank appreciation, then went back to the monitor.

Pleased with his controlled reactions, Zhang warily studied the officer behind the desk. Major Shen-wa Fen was old, but clearly in excellent health, his face and hands braided with muscle. Her guess was that he was a student of kung fu, probably Southern style, from the appearance of his fingers. The bent pinkie was a dead giveaway to those who knew what to look for. Old, but fast and accurate. That would make him a very deadly opponent, indeed. It would seem that the major also liked to attack with surprise. She liked that and felt a growing warmth in her stomach. She liked that a lot.

In spite of the outside environment, Shen-wa had a deep tan, and his thick black hair had natural wings of silver at the temples. There was no other word for it but dashing.

Then she saw his eyes looking directly at her face in mild disapproval, and felt a chill. Oh yes, she knew that look well enough. She had seen it a thousand times before in combat zones across the world. It was the face of a killer, as cold and merciless as an open grave. Briefly, Zhang wondered what he would be like in bed.

Thinking along similar lines himself, Shen-wa grinned as a report scrolled on the monitor about a drone attack on the Tokyo computer complex that controlled the coastal defense guns for Japan.

“Sir?” Zhang asked.

“One moment,” he replied curtly. Ah, the backup computers in Osaka had also been destroyed, along with a busful of technicians racing to effect emergency repairs. More food for the demons of hell, he thought. There could never be enough dead Japanese, but it was merely the beginning. France would be next, then Russia again, followed by the United States.

“Ahem, sir?”

He looked up with a broad smile. “Yes?”

“When did Colonel Weng die?” Zhang asked, crossing her legs at the ankles.

“How could you possibly know that he…” Shen-wa scowled. Was she testing him now?

“Weng is—was—the head of security for the Three Gorges Dam,” Zhang stated with a neutral expression. “If you need another, then he must have failed in some gross manner involving your private project, and now you require a replacement. Why else would you summon me?”

Templing his fingers, he openly smiled. “Publicly, he fell out of a Z-8 transport.”

“And actually…?”

“I slit his throat and threw him out alive. The man acted foolishly, and may have alerted enemy forces to my plans long before I was ready to openly act against them.”

“Is the project compromised?” she asked, leaning back in the chair. Her jacket spread wide, exposing a holstered 9 mm Norinco pistol and spare ammunition clips.

“Not at the moment. But for want of a nail…” He made a vague gesture.

She dismissed that with a wave of her hand. “I know the allusion, sir. Will my first duty be disposing of the body?”

“Already taken care of by Sergeant Ming. You will meet him later at the general staff meeting tonight. However, at the moment I need you to take over all matters involving security for Project Keyhome.”