Shadow Catcher (15 page)

CHAPTER 29

“W
hat do we know, gentlemen?” asked Walker, reclining in his big leather desk chair.

Nick nodded to McBride, who manned a laptop sitting on the edge of the colonel's desk. A picture of a young man seated in front of an American flag opened on the smart glass wall. “This is our objective, David Novak,” Nick began. “According to the Book of Honor, Novak perished on New Year's Day 1988.” The picture shrank into the corner, replaced by an old map of the Taiwan Strait. “He was flying a low-level reconnaissance mission here, over Fujian Province in China, as part of a Taiwan-based CIA operation called Distant Sage.”

“The record says that Novak was shot down by a surface-to-air missile,” added Drake. “It also says that photographs, taken at the same time by an ultra-high-altitude SR-71 Blackbird, showed no evidence of a parachute. However, it's possible that the Blackbird photos did not catch the parachute or that Novak somehow survived the crash.”

Walker sat forward in his chair and regarded the photo of Novak with a contemplative scowl. “But if he
was
killed,” he said presently, “then it would mean that the Chinese are spoofing us. They might be trying to lure us into a political trap, an artificial version of the Hainan incident, when their fighter collided with our P-3, forcing an aircraft full of classified equipment to land at Lingshui. That accident netted the Chinese plenty of political and intelligence capital. It's just their style to contrive a way to make it happen again.”

“We considered that,” said Nick. “But then there's this.” The Distant Sage report appeared on the wall. A highlighted section of text expanded and filled the digital space. “The voice in the intercept used the phrase ‘Red Dragon.' According to this, it's an authentication code, to be used if a pilot was forced to call for help over an open frequency. That way, the Agency could be sure the radio call wasn't a Chinese trick. The thing is: if an authentication code is ever used, it has to be scrapped.” Nick leaned forward and placed his fingertips on Walker's desk. “No Distant Sage operative ever had to use Red Dragon. Technically, it's still a valid code.”

“Yes, but if Novak survived the crash,” argued Walker, “the Chinese could have tortured the phrase out of him and then killed him.”

Nick straightened up and opened his hands. “You're right. It's a risk. But no matter how you look at it, there's a chance that an American agent is still alive in southern China, and he's calling for help. We can't begin to imagine what Novak has been through for his country. We have to attempt a rescue.”

“Let's say I let you go after him,” said Walker. “How do you know where to start?”

Drake stepped in front of the wall. Behind him, a satellite map of Fujian Province opened up. “McBride's intercept was only the first of many. Molly's intelligence team dug into the Global Hawk data for the last two days. Novak is repeating his call every hour.” Several lines appeared on the map, running from different points along the Fujian coast. They all intersected in a small area, deep in the rain forest. “Using directional data from the Global Hawk intercepts, we've been able to narrow the source down to an area of less than five hundred square meters.”

“That's still too big for the kind of snatch-and-grab that we're talking about,” said Walker.

“Joe helped us with that one,” said Nick, gesturing toward the CIA man, who leaned against the back wall. “In fact, his discovery is what makes this rescue possible.”

“I got lucky,” said Tarpin. He offered a modest smile, but he clearly relished his moment in the limelight. He strolled to the center of the room. “While I was gathering the digital files for Nick, I found a reference to a Distant Sage safe house in China called the Palace. I also found a set of coordinates. You'll never guess where they fell.”

A red dot appeared on the map near the center of the area formed by the radio intercepts.

Nick tapped the red dot with his finger. “The audio intercepts and the intelligence both indicate that Novak is waiting for us right here. But the Chinese could intercept those radio calls too. That means we're in a race, and we're way behind. If we're going to rescue this man, we've got to launch a mission tonight.”

The colonel gazed down at his desk and slowly rubbed his hands together. After a few moments he looked up, his fingers steepled, his eyes drifting across the faces of his team. “All right, gentlemen,” he said finally. “It's time for Mr. Novak to come home.”

CHAPTER 30

W
ulóng ran his flat-bottomed skiff in among the trees on the eastern shore of the Port Tobacco River, less than fifty meters south of the target's home. The skiff's shallow draft allowed him to run it right up to the shore, so that the water only came up to the shins of his waders as he dragged it under the cover of some low-hanging branches.

He pulled two small aluminum cases out of the boat and then removed the waders before heading farther into the trees. Wulóng smiled to himself. Opulence had a price. The American could not have chosen a more accessible dwelling. The water allowed Wulóng stealthy access and a quick route of escape. The tall windows at the front and rear gave him a better view of the interior than he could have possibly hoped for. Best of all, a thick grove of trees surrounded the house on all sides except for the shore, covering his approach from almost every angle. His smile broadened. It would also mute the screaming.

Finding a well-concealed vantage point, Wulóng set his cases down and popped the latches. The cell phone jammer alone took up one entire case. The powerful transmitter would block calls coming in and out of an area with a two-hundred-meter diameter, enough to cover this house as well as those on either side. The other case contained everything else that he needed: wire cutters, a suppressed pistol, a few other simple tools. The best jobs were the simplest, nothing complex like creating an accident or a heart attack.

Wulóng checked his watch and then dialed his cell phone. After one ring, the line clicked. There was a short pause, presumably as Hei Ying activated the voice distortion device.

“Go ahead.”

“I am in position,” Wulóng reported. “When can I expect the target? I would not want to begin too early.”

“Of course. His routine usually brings him home a little after dark. If I were you, I would start around sunset. Things are progressing nicely for me as well, events that may enable us to achieve an even greater victory. Contact me when it is done, and I will pass your success on to General Zheng.”

A light turned on in the house as Wulóng hung up the phone. He lifted his binoculars. He could see the woman moving into the central room, carrying the child. They were alone.

Excellent.

* * *

“While we wait for the colonel to call the big boys, you can show us what you've done with our other project,” said Nick, herding Drake and McBride into his office. Tarpin had taken his leave and headed back to Langley, and Nick had given Quinn back to Molly for more intelligence potato peeling.

McBride obediently sat down at the computer and opened a grainy picture of Nick's Chinese suspect. The photo was taken from above at an awkward angle. He appeared to be unaware of the camera. “Meet Feng Wei, aka Wulóng,” he said. “I blew this up from a traffic cam near the Chinese Embassy. I tried to clean it up, but there's only so much you can do.”

“Is he still at the embassy?” asked Drake.

“As far as I can tell, but that's no guarantee. There are gaps in our camera coverage.” McBride swiveled around in his chair, forcing the two pilots to back up. “However, I
did
find something in that other search you asked for,” he said quietly.

Nick leaned forward. “Anything interesting?”

McBride just grinned at the officers, enjoying their anticipation.

“Spill it, Sergeant. We're short on time,” said Nick impatiently.

“Fine, fine,” muttered McBride, swiveling back around. But he still did not open any new files. “You know, once you learn something, you can no longer enjoy the exquisite agony of
yearning
to know.”

“Will!” said both Nick and Drake simultaneously.

The analyst threw both hands up in the air and then brought one finger dramatically down to the keyboard. With a single click, he opened a new photograph. Wulóng loitered next to a light post on a nondescript street corner, talking to a Caucasian man.

“This picture is from late March of 2003, ten years ago, during the time frame that you asked me to search. You'll never guess where it was taken.”

“Kuwait,” said Nick quietly.

“How did you know?”

“Lucky guess.”

McBride nodded. “You're absolutely right. Wulóng just happened to be in Kuwait right after Major Merigold dropped the B-2 into the drink. This picture was taken just before Colonel Walker's team made the first salvage attempt.”

Nick looked over at Drake. “Still think my theory about a mole is crazy?”

Amanda Navistrova strode into the office. “Hey, I was thinking maybe this time I could go with you and—” She stopped short when she saw the computer screen. Nick detected something in her eyes. Recognition? Fear? She recovered too quickly. Her expression shifted into a surprised smile. “Will!” she exclaimed. “I
thought
I heard Colonel Walker mention your name.”

McBride stood up and offered his hand, but Amanda brushed it aside and gave him a hug.

“Hey, were you over at Spookville this morning?” asked Drake.

Amanda released McBride and nodded. “Scott has me branching out from engine work into SATCOM nets for the Wraith. We're using one of Langley's frequency sets. I had to do some coordination. Why?”

“Just curious. One of their analysts mentioned seeing you in the cafeteria,” answered Drake, choosing his words carefully.

“One of their analysts, huh?” Amanda put her arms around Drake and pressed her body up against his. She looked up into his eyes, sniffed, and then pushed him away. “Terri Belfacci,” she said, spitting out the words.

“Whoa, how did you know that?”

“Her perfume. She marks men like a cat marks its territory.”

“I needed Terri to help us with an investigation,” interjected Nick, coming to Drake's rescue. He pointed to the picture on the computer screen and narrowed his eyes just a touch. “We're looking into that individual. Do you happen to recognize him?”

“He's a Chinese assassin,” offered Drake.

“Then he's definitely not part of my crowd,” said Amanda. “I'm used to nerds and mechanics. The only violence they show is when they break their calculator or smack an engine with a wrench.” Her smile returned. “And speaking of nerds. Scott and I have something to show you. Come with me.”

CHAPTER 31

W
e need to get cracking on our mission plan,” said Nick as the group stepped onto the elevator. “We don't have time for games.” He didn't like surprises, and Amanda had refused to tell him why she'd interrupted his meeting with McBride or why she was taking them up to Romeo Seven's hangar.

“Don't worry,” replied Amanda, ignoring his tone. “Scott thinks you'll want to take a look at this before you plan the rescue, and Colonel Walker agrees.”

The group fell silent for a moment. Then Nick turned to McBride. “I need you to keep digging into that picture from ten years ago. Find out who . . .”

“This way, boys,” said Amanda, cutting him off as the elevator came to a stop. She ushered them out into the dimly lit hangar. The M-2 Wraith filled up half of the massive structure. With its contoured form and curved beak, the great black aircraft looked like a sleeping dragon, guarding its treasure in a darkened cave.

“I hate to break it to you,” said Drake, “but we've already seen this one.”

“No. I don't think you have,” replied Walker, emerging from the shadow beneath the Wraith's wing, followed closely by Quinn and Molly. The colonel pulled a remote control from his pocket and pointed toward the fenced hole in the floor, the shaft for the vehicle elevator from Scott's lab.

The dark pit lit up with yellow light. A loud buzzer sounded, and red lights flashed. Then the huge chains that lifted the elevator clattered to life, turning on their spindles. A smooth black shape emerged from below, like an otherworldly creature, breathing in cadence with the rotation of the red lights. Finally, the lift jerked to a stop, and the hangar fell silent again.

“This is better than Christmas,” Drake exclaimed, breaking the reverent atmosphere.

Scott stepped out from behind the new aircraft. “And here I am without my reindeer.”

“You finished the infiltration craft,” said Nick in astonishment.

The group walked over to the lift, and Nick began to circle the little jet. The composite aircraft sat low on tricycle landing gear, so low that the apex of its frame barely came to the top of Nick's head. The whole thing was only slightly larger than a Humvee.

Nick lightly ran his fingers along the smooth black surface. Much like the Wraith, this craft seemed to be one uniform piece. There were no discernible wings. Instead, the fuselage thinned progressively from the center outward, terminating in a razor's edge. From above, it resembled a diamond, except that the forward point had been lengthened to form a nose, and the rear point had been cut off, replaced with a sawtoothed exhaust. Its profile sloped quickly up and then tapered gradually away like a teardrop. “I thought she wasn't going to be ready for another month,” said Nick.

Scott shrugged. “If engineers didn't pad their estimates, how would we appear to work miracles?”

“Would someone mind catching me up on what's going on?” asked Quinn.

Scott smiled at the young airman. “This is Shadow Catcher, Major Baron's concept and my design. We took advantage of the Wraith's large bomb bay and built a deployable craft that can accommodate three men. As you can see”—he pointed to the squat landing gear—“Shadow Catcher does not have to return to the bay like a drone. She can land inside enemy territory. And not just on standard runways; she can use unimproved surfaces like dirt roads or grass fields.”

“Sweet, an off-road airplane,” said Drake.

Scott paused to regard him with a disdainful look. “Hilarious. As I was saying, Shadow Catcher can land behind enemy lines to deploy a team. Once the mission is complete, she will return to the Wraith.” He turned his attention back to the group. “Her docking capability is greatly improved over past designs. A formidable array of embedded sensors and powerful autopilot processors allow Shadow Catcher to dock autonomously.”

“I'd still prefer to do it by hand,” said Nick.

“And I'd prefer that you didn't,” replied Scott.

Quinn whistled. “Very nice. So, what've you got under the hood?”

“That's my department,” said Amanda. “Based on our work with the M-2, we reverse-engineered an F-22 engine to be smaller and lighter. We lost some thrust in the process, but that's okay, considering Shadow Catcher's small size and light weight.” Amanda crouched next to the rear of the jet. “Lights, if you please, Scott.”

The hangar lights above the elevator went out, replaced with black lights mounted low on the four corners of the lift. A faint purple glow settled on the group.

“Your teeth are glowing,” Drake whispered to Scott.

“Oh, grow up,” replied the engineer.

Shadow Catcher's surface was no longer a uniform black. Faceted shapes—wide diamonds and flat hexagons—glowed brightly in the new light, spread out across the aircraft's exterior like puzzle pieces waiting to be matched.

“Now you can see the various sensors and access panels set into the aircraft structure,” said Amanda. “We use an extra chemical in their paint that highlights them under a black light.”

Scott pressed a few keys on a laptop sitting on a computer cart. A hiss could be heard from inside the small aircraft, and then two large panels popped open. Thick white vapor drifted out of each hole and rolled along the floor, glowing like spirits under the black lights.

“These are the lower exhaust ports,” said Amanda. “The pilot can reroute most of the engine thrust here when needed.”

“So she has vertical takeoff and landing capability,” said Nick.

“Not quite,” corrected Amanda. “I said we could reroute
most
of the thrust, but some of it is lost in heat against the curvature of the ducts. We haven't cracked that nut entirely. For the moment, Shadow Catcher has a very short takeoff capability. She only requires a small amount of lift in addition to the lower thrust, about fifty knots' worth. In a stiff wind, she could probably hover.”

“What about a gun?” asked Quinn.

Scott threw up his hands. “I can't win.”

“Seriously, kid,” said Walker.

“It's a fair question,” argued Quinn.

Scott returned the lights to normal. “No, she does not have a gun.”

“And for good reason,” added Walker. “Shadow Catcher is designed for infiltration and rescue missions. That's what makes her perfect for this job.” He motioned to Scott, who pressed another sequence of keys on his laptop.

Shadow Catcher hissed again, and a long section dropped out of the structure beneath the right wing. It was covered in gray padding.

“Our team can strap a wounded man to this pneumatic stretcher and then quickly lift him into the ship,” said Walker.

“It's all great, but we haven't tested her,” said Nick. Memories of the Iraq mission fired in his mind. When the White House sent them in, Dream Catcher had only made one test flight. Shadow Catcher hadn't made any at all.

“Shadow Catcher's unique capabilities make her the perfect choice for this mission,” argued Walker. “And you said it yourself, we don't have any more time to waste. I know how you feel about this sort of thing, Baron, but with the Skyhook system out of commission, I don't see any other choice.”

“I like it,” said Drake. “No risky HALO jump, no lengthy border run, and no Skyhook. In and out—stealthy, quick, and clean.”

“I still don't get it. How does Shadow Catcher play into your CONOPS?” asked Quinn, referring to Walker's concept of operations, his plan for recovering Novak.

Nick kept his eyes on Walker as he replied to the young airman. “If I'm reading the colonel right,” he said cautiously, “he wants me to land our newest stealth plane in China.”