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

“The sub on the left is shorter,” Ryan noted. “By at least …”

“Twelve feet,” Talbot said. “We believe this indicates the addition of their new propulsion system, similar to our gearless pump jets. To the consternation of his admirals, President Zhao even called the new device by name— Hai shi shen lou —Mirage.”

Ryan nodded to Commander Carter. “The man the Healy plucked from the ice used this same term.”

“He did, Mr. President.”

“Any chance the Chinese know we have Commander Wan?” Ryan asked.

Carter shook his head. “Very slim. Captain Rapoza was closer. His Dolphin picked up the commander a good twenty minutes before the Xue Long ’s chopper overflew the scene. Rapoza sent the bird back out again to recon, so for all the Chinese know, we are trying to figure out what happened as much as they are.”

“This guy, Wan, mentioned a professor as well,” van Damm said. “The missing Professor Liu?”

“Just so,” Burgess said. “He’s one of their top propulsion engineers. It’s not a great leap forward to think that Liu is on the DISSUB. Whoever it was sounds like he had a heart attack or some other debilitating injury. Commander Wan is much more taciturn now that he’s warmed up.”

“Nice work by Captain Rapoza, by the way,” Ryan said. “Engaging him while he was still hypothermic.” He leaned back in his chair. “In any case, if Liu is on board and badly injured, there may not be any way to make repairs to the 880 .”

“Heck of a lucky stroke,” Arnie said. “The rest of the submariners are fortunate that the Healy picked up their guy since their rescue party is looking in the wrong place.”

Burgess, Talbot, and Ryan looked at one another, and then at van Damm.

“What?” the chief of staff said, in the crosshairs.

“Arnie,” Ryan said. “Those subs are coming to make sure we don’t get our hands on it, even if they have to destroy it—”

Van Damm cut him off. “I guess this rules out your Fairbanks trip. A ballistic missile sub off the coast of Alaska … that’s the last place you need to be.”

“The icebreaker Xue Long will be on station with the Healy in …” Ryan looked up at Carter.

“Six hours, sir,” Carter said.

“There you go,” Ryan said. “And their Yuan submarine three times faster than that. A few hours and this is all going to be over, one way or another.” Ryan turned to the SecDef. “Bob, I don’t want to escalate this any more than we need to, but with the Xue Long ’s chopper harassing Healy , let’s get a couple of F-35s from Eielson to let Captain Rapoza know he’s not alone on the ice.”

43

“That, my friend,” Ding Chavez said, “is one of the worst plans in the known history of plans.”

White vapor blossomed around his face as he spoke, the sight of which made this kid from East L.A. tug the wool hat down over his ears.

He closed his eyes, inhaling the pungent odor of fir trees and a hint of woodsmoke. Gone was the cloying odor of cigarette smoke, gasoline, and garbage that went hand in glove with urban China. The breeze blowing off the pristine lake nestled between tree-covered mountains was clear and clean and cold enough to hurt his face. He could have been someplace in Colorado or Montana.

The sun was low, about to dip behind the frosted mountains to the west, giving the area a pink evening alpenglow to accent the cobalt-blue water. All of them had zipped up their coats and put on hats as soon as they’d gotten out of the van.

Behind a pair of binoculars, Yao tried again with his pitch. “I’m just saying it’s the only—”

“Bad idea,” Chavez said. “We’ll think of something else.”

Adara Sherman lowered her own binoculars a hair and narrowed an eye at Yao. A tear, brought on by the chilly wind, ran down a rosy cheek. “For what it’s worth, I agree with Ding.”

“Okay …”

More than a dozen tour boats bobbed against their moorings on a long wooden float that ran parallel to the shore. Three piers, continuations of the boardwalks that ran from the hotel parking lot, led to the boats. Three of the boats, including the one that issued tickets identical to the stubs Yao had gotten from the Kazakh, were just returning from a day on the water. Tourist season was still weeks away, but each had a handful of tourists and their local crews.

They were focused on a boat called the Xiantao , which Yao translated as Eternal Peach . Chavez estimated it to be a fifty-five-footer. It had an enclosed cabin with large windows for when the weather was bad, and a long aft viewing deck for when it was clear.

“Interesting name.” Ryan tipped his binoculars at the tour boat.

“Typical for China,” Yao said. “The Jade Emperor’s wife, Queen Mother of the West, looks after the Xiantao—the Peaches of Immortality. Eating them is said to give the gods their long lives.”

“I could use a peach,” Adara mumbled to herself.

“I could use a coffee,” Ryan said.

Chavez stamped his feet to get the circulation going and snugged down the wool watch cap. Not that there was much call for it in Southern Cali, but his aunt had always told him, “Feet cold—put on a hat.” Right now he needed a bigger hat.

There was still snow at the higher elevations. Ice had gone off the lake only in the past couple weeks and tourists were just beginning to migrate from skiing—Xinjiang-style, with a single guide pole—to boat tours in search of the famed Kanas Lake Monster—thought by most to be a giant, landlocked Siberian salmon called a hucho taimen . The Chinese government designated Kanas a Five A park, top of the line. A considerable amount of advertising dollars went toward making people aware of this hidden gem that had much more in common with the Russian taiga than it did with China.

Binoculars and cameras were expected here, making at least the logistics of surveillance straightforward. The problem was, they had no idea what any member of the Wuming might look like. The only photo of Medina Tohti was so old and grainy they could have easily been looking at surveillance footage of Zoe Saldana in a headscarf.

Adara spoke into her fists as she played the binoculars slowly back and forth across the lake. “Let’s talk this through, then,” she said. “We think these people work on Eternal Peach , but they could be on any of the other boats as well … We don’t know what they look like, or how many there are …”

Yao chuckled, blowing out more vapor. “Hence my aforementioned plan.”

Adara ignored him. “I say we watch Eternal Peach and see who looks like a terrorist.”

“Freedom fighter,” Yao said.

“Right,” Ryan said. “So, the Wuming whack some XPCC troops and spring the Uyghurs and Kazakhs to keep them out of the camps. One of them who works on Eternal Peach is a kindhearted fellow and gives one of the poor refugees his coat—forgetting to take the stubs out of the pocket …”

They’d been over this before, but it never hurt to hash out the details a few times.

“It really does make sense,” Ryan continued. “The concessions would make a great cover. From what I’ve seen, there are as many Uyghur working here as there are Han Chinese. It’s like the surveillance state hasn’t quite made it out here yet.”

Adara kept the binos to her eyes, but gave a slight sideways nod toward the light pole on her right and the nearest pier. “Oh, Big Brother still has his eye on everyone,” she said. “Make no mistake about that.”

Lisanne turned a slow 360, taking in the scenery. “Maybe a kind of a Potemkin village when you consider the atrocities going on in other parts of Xinjiang, but it’s still beautiful. It’s like terrorism hasn’t made it here.”