Cameron, Marc - Tom Clancy's Shadow of the Dragon

Chavez and Clark sat in aft-facing leather seats. Caruso sat in the very back on the sofa—Jack Junior’s usual spot. Adara sat beside him. Midas and Jack faced forward across from Chavez and Clark. Lisanne sat in one of the two vacant seats behind them.

“Now that we can speak in the black,” Chavez said, “are you folks hearing any chatter on the rig bombing?”

Adam Yao’s voice was crystal clear over the encrypted satellite link—which Mary Pat Foley assured everyone was secure, even from Langley and Fort Meade.

“I’m thinking it was a wrong place, wrong time type of thing. The Chinese make no bones about the fact that they lay claim to all waters inside their sacred little nine dashes.” Yao’s words dripped with derision. “Blowing up a state-owned oil rig isn’t exactly a great leap forward from ramming Vietnamese or Philippine Navy vessels and drowning a bunch of sailors. These guys have no trouble throwing their substantial weight around to show the world who’s boss in the South China Sea. Our Freedom of Navigation Patrols are pissing Beijing off something fierce. I know that much.”

Dom groaned from his vantage point on the sofa in back, gazing out of one open eye. “Effective way to gather intel if you don’t value human life,” he said. “Blow the hell out of a rig to put some folks in the water, then sit back and see how long it takes for the United States Navy to respond.”

“Or to see if they respond,” Clark said. “It allows the Chinese to see what our rules of engagement are toward civilians.”

“We’re all intel folks,” Adam Yao said, sounding very much like he was gritting his teeth. “And as such, we are responsible for submitting unbiased intelligence to Higher, so the analysts who often have the larger picture can do their jobs.”

“True …” Clark looked around the Gulfstream’s cabin to see if anyone else knew what Yao was getting at.

The CIA officer plowed ahead. “Honestly, guys, I’ve got to tell you, it’s getting awfully damned hard to be objective here. In order to do my job, I try to look at things through a Chinese lens. But that lens is getting pretty damned murky. I’m starting to think there aren’t any lines—” Yao took a deep breath. “Sorry to go off like that. You’ll see what I mean soon enough.”

“Yeah, speaking of that,” Chavez said, pencil stub poised over a small black notebook. “Still no line on this Medina Tohti woman?”

“Not yet,” Yao said. “I have some hooks in the water. There’s a guy I’m meeting with either tonight or tomorrow who may be able to point us in the right direction.”

Clark spoke next. “The last couple of attacks attributed to the Wuming have been in and around Urumqi. She’s hanging her hat with them now, so it stands to reason she’s somewhere around that area.”

“That’s a good guess,” Yao said. “But Urumqi is a city of three and a half million people. They have cameras like New York City has pigeons. I can guarantee you that right now, the place is crawling with People’s Liberation Army Navy intelligence.”

“Hang on.” Caruso opened one eye again at the back of the plane. “It’s PLA-Navy intelligence and not Ministry of State Security?”

“Oddly, yes,” Yao said. “From what I’m hearing, Navy spooks reporting directly to Admiral Zheng are handling this one by themselves. The admiral wants the search kept low-key, but he also wants this woman bad, so they’re leaving no stone unturned.”

“And no idea why they want her?” Adara asked.

“Something to do with the missing professor,” Yao said. “That’s it so far.”

“But too hot for us to go in without a better lock on Medina Tohti’s location,” Chavez said, nodding while he doodled in his notebook.

“It is for now,” Yao said. “With any luck, my guy will give us a concrete place to focus on.”

“Any chance Tohti will go to her daughter’s?” Ryan asked.

“There’s a chance,” Yao said. “The girl’s evidently some kind of gymnastics prodigy. The government had taken her to Beijing for training when Medina’s husband was rounded up and killed. Sounds like Medina just lost it and ran off.”

Adara gave a low whistle. “Makes sense when you think about it, wanting to join a group that’s killing the people who have taken away her husband and her daughter. The poor woman’s gotten the shitty end of the stick from her own government.”

“We do know the daughter is in Kashgar,” Yao said. “Staying with her aunt.”

“The authorities are sure to be up on that address as well,” Ryan said.

“Oh, yeah,” Yao said. “Urumqi is bad, but surveillance in Kashgar is probably worse. Citizens in western China are surveilled more heavily than virtually any other city in the world. Cameras everywhere, facial-recognition software running full-tilt, checkpoints with magnetometers and X-ray screening all over the place. The place is crawling with Bingtuan.”

“Bingtuan?” Chavez asked.

“The Corps. Short for Xinjiang Production and Construction Corps,” Yao said. “Sounds a hell of a lot more benign than it is. The XPCC is a paramilitary government organization charged with protecting the frontier from invasion, but their primary focus is on tamping down any rebellion from the Uyghur population. They have their hands in everything—the farm quotas, education, healthcare, law enforcement—making sure everyone is being Chinese enough.”

“I’ve read about them,” Clark said. “ On one shoulder the rifle, on the other the hoe. ”

“Or one boot on the neck of anyone who doesn’t bend to Han Chinese will,” Yao added. “They have a lock on Kashgar, that’s for sure. Still, a mother’s love and all. There’s a good chance Medina Tohti will surface there at some point.”

“You feel like we can get in?” Chavez asked.

“As tourists,” Yao said. “Some professional eyes in case Medina Tohti does show up—or at least poke around and see what you can find out. I have a couple of assets there, but they lack training.”

“Maybe Lisanne and I,” Clark said. “While the rest of you get ready to head for parts yet unknown.”

Robertson perked up.

Ding nodded in agreement. “If you think she’s ready, Boss.”

“I do,” Clark said. “It’ll be the perfect cover—an old man and his—”

“Nurse,” Midas joked.

Clark gave one of his low and slow chuckles, the kind Chavez thought sounded particularly deadly. “I was going to say an old man and his lady friend.”

Midas raised both hands as if in surrender. “You know I’m only kidding, Mr. C.”

Clark’s eyes narrowed. “Is that right …”

Yao’s voice came across the speaker. “I suppose you and Ms. Robertson could be the ones to go. But I’m thinking Kashgar will be the easier place to provide workable cover legends. Yeah, the XPCC goons are everywhere, but Beijing likes to show off how culturally sensitive China can be. Forget that they’ve rounded up over a million Uyghurs for ‘reeducation.’ They’ve got this whole Potemkin village vibe going in Kashgar, demonstrating to the world how China pulls its ethnic minorities out of the squalor they’ve been living in for centuries and provides them with modern housing and better living. They still welcome tourists there. I’ll blend in wherever this mission takes us, but if the rest of you have to go into Urumqi hunting Tohti and the Wuming, two couples would draw less attention than a bunch of dudes.”

“So,” Clark said. “You’re saying I should take one of the guys with me to Kashgar.”

“I believe that dynamic would draw less attention there than in other parts of China,” Yao said. “I could get you set up with Canadian passports and the necessary travel visas.”