Vital Force (6 page)

“What do you want from me?” Jake asked.

There was silence, so Jake started to walk away.

“Wait.”

A hand grasped his arm, and Jake removed it, twisted the man's arm around, and jammed the guy's face into the metal fence. With Jake's free hand, he clasped his fingers around the left side of his face and placed his thumb behind the guy's left ear, applying pressure. Most people could last only a few seconds without feeling like their brains would pop out of their ears. This Agency guy made it a full thirty seconds. Impressive.

“All right,” he forced out through his teeth. “Inside right pocket.”

Jake slid his left hand from his grasp and inside the guy's front pocket, retrieving a passport. He still had a hold of the guy with a right arm twist, but now he needed his light, and that would take two hands.

He took two steps back and let go of the arm. Jake could hear the man rotating his right arm back into place as he pulled the light from his pocket and shone it on the passport, cupped inside his jacket. It was a standard U.S. diplomatic passport. Definitely Agency. He turned off the light and slapped the passport against the guy's chest.

“Okay, Mr. Brian Armstrong...what do you want from me?”

“I need you,” he said. “I heard what you did in Odessa years ago.”

Jake hadn't thought about Odessa for a long time. So much had gone right, but so much had also gone tragically wrong there. Then it all clicked. The face had looked familiar. And now the name.

“Any relation to Quinn Armstrong?”

The man hesitated. “Quinn was my brother.”

Damn. “I'm sorry.”

“He died for his country.”

Still, Jake might have been able to save the man's life. They had worked together in Odessa, and Quinn had been killed by his own boss, a rogue Agency station chief.

“I'm sorry,” Jake repeated.

“I read the report,” Armstrong said. “You had no idea my little brother would be killed. And you did bring down the guy who shot him.”

Bring down was not really true. Jake had found out about the corrupt officer and was present when he ate his own gun.

Changing the subject, Jake said, “So why me?”

“Easy. You were with the Agency. I can trust you. And....”

“And nobody knows me in China.”

“Right.”

“What do you need?” Jake asked.

“Meet me tomorrow morning at ten in the center of Tiananmen Square.”

He didn't hear the sound first, but Jake did see the flash. He grabbed Armstrong by the coat and pulled him to the ground. Now the clinking of metal against metal followed each flash as bullets glanced off the gate and ricocheted into the night.

Instinctively, Jake went for his gun, which wasn't there.

They ran. Then they split up and ran some more. Finding himself in unfamiliar city streets, Jake finally found a cab and told the driver to take him to the China Theatre on the western edge of Beijing near the zoo.

As the cab drove off, Jake checked behind them. Nothing. Maybe the shooter had followed Armstrong.

When the cab reached the China Theatre, Jake paid the cab driver and then located the bus stop across the street. He spent the next hour transferring from bus to bus on his way back to his hotel.

Jake spent the rest of the night holed up in his hotel trying to figure out how he had gotten himself into another mess like this. Trouble seemed to follow him around, as if someone had placed a GPS tracking device at the base of his skull.

●

The Agency officer, Brian Armstrong, had said to meet him at ten the next morning in the center of Tiananmen Square. Jake was now, ten minutes past the hour, standing against a far edge watching the most likely entrance to the expansive square, the side directly across the street from the Gate of Heavenly Peace with the ten-foot photo of Chairman Mao looming down on visitors. At this hour, the large tour groups moved about the stone surface like schools of fish. Food vendors with little carts hoped to attract the early lunch crowd, while others wandered about trying to hawk packs of postcards under the watchful eyes of barely-pubescent underfed soldiers in green uniforms. Jake guessed the place was a zoo in July, but the tourist season in China's February was limited.

Glancing up at posts strategically located about the square, Jake noticed cameras swiveling about on top of each. Then a small truck moved slowly about the large stone surface, with cameras also working overtime. There would be no repeat of 1989, Jake thought. He imagined the blood from that massacre still settled among the mortar.

With all of the activity, it was possible for the Agency man to slip in without Jake's knowledge. And, considering he had only seen the man for a brief moment prior to the bullets flying and their departure in different directions, Jake wasn't a hundred percent sure if he could pick him out in the large mass of humanity. The only advantage he had was the fact that most of the American tourists were in groups, and Armstrong was a six foot, blond Anglo among a sea of shorter Asians.

Finally, Jake saw the man step out of a bus at the Tiananmen Gate and hurry across the large expanse to where the center could be located. There was no actual center or obvious center. When Armstrong got to a point in the square, he looked straight ahead for a moment before slowly swiveling his head and eyes in each direction. He couldn't have been more obvious.

Jake shook his head and started toward the man. He had wanted to wait for a while to see if Armstrong had been followed. He had to think that nearly every employee of the U.S. government working out of the embassy had at least one shadow. Yet, in this situation, Jake felt it best to simply move forward and see what the man had on his mind.

Something wasn't right, Jake could tell. But he stepped forward and pulled out a large map of Beijing just before he reached Armstrong.

“Do you know where in the hell I can find someone with brains?” Jake asked the man, pointing to a place on his map.

“You're a funny bastard, you know that?” Armstrong pointed to a place on the map. “Over my left shoulder, about fifty yards back, you'll see a man with a camera. That's Number One Son. One of three tails I get every day. That's why I need you.” He smiled and pointed toward the Forbidden City.

“So then why did you bring me here to be photographed?” Jake said, marking another point on the map with his finger. “There are more cameras in this square than all of Hollywood.”

“Because they wouldn't expect a contact here for that very reason. Listen, we can't do this for long. I need your help. Go to Murphy's on Qianmen at noon. It's an Irish pub. You'll meet a big guy there with red hair. Name is Steve Anderson.” Now he turned and pointed toward the Gate of Heavenly Peace, just one tourist helping another.

“Gee, how likely is it I'll find a red-headed expat at an Irish pub?” Jake said softly, nodding his head and pointing off to nowhere.

“Noon,” Armstrong repeated.

Jake started to walk off.

“The map was a nice touch,” the Agency man said.

Jake smiled. “Well, somebody has to do the thinking around here,” he said over his shoulder.

Walking slowly away, Jake wondered if he'd end up on some intelligence briefing. He continued over to the Gate of Heavenly Peace and looked it over for a moment, spending time to make sure Armstrong had cleared the square, and that his friend had gone with him. Then Jake took a long route back to his hotel, making damn sure he wasn't followed.

All of this scrutiny had him wondering again what was going on. What did they have planned for him?

After laying around his room for a short while, he started off toward the Irish pub. It would take him at least forty-five minutes to go the six blocks from his hotel to the pub, making sure he was not followed.

For a Thursday lunch time, the pub was fairly quiet. Jake guessed they did a better business at night, especially on the weekends. He took a seat at the end of the bar with a wide view of the entire place, and ordered a Guinness. Two minutes later, a huge man roamed through the front door and took a seat in a booth at the far end of the main room. Even with the relative darkness of the bar, Jake guessed this guy could light the booth with his orange head.

When Jake was sure the guy was alone, he picked up his beer and walked over to the large guy with the neon locks.

“Steve?” Jake asked.

The guy nodded his head for Jake to sit down.

Jake took a seat. “Let's see some I.D.”

The large man looked confused.

“It was a simple request,” Jake assured him.

“I've heard you're an obstinate bastard,” the man said.

“Before we start calling each other names, let's make sure we know the real ones.”

The man shook his thick red head and then produced a blue U.S. passport. Jake took a quick look and handed it back. “Now the wallet.”

“What?”

Jake shrugged. “So, you're Steve Anderson. That doesn't tell me shit.”

Reluctantly, the man pulled out his wallet and handed it across the table. Jake scanned the contents and handed it back.

“Satisfied?” Anderson asked.

“Depends on what you want from me.”

A Chinese waitress came around and asked them if they would like to order lunch. Anderson ordered a Guinness and said they'd need a few minutes.

“We...”

“Just a minute. Who is we?” Jake looked around the room.

“I represent a group in Washington.”

“The name.”

“The Western Institute.” He barely whispered the words.

“The conservative think tank?”

Jake had guessed for years that there was more to those think tanks, liberal or conservative, than was released in the charter or mission statements.

Anderson ignored his comments. “We need your help.”

“There was something about information about a certain friend of mine. Where she might be at this time.”

“I don't know that,” Anderson said. “You'll have to discuss that with Arm...your other contact.”

This guy was a genius. Probably Mensa quality. But, realistically, Jake didn't expect to get any real information out of him about Toni.

“What do you want? And why me?”

Before he could answer, the waitress brought him his beer. They both ordered the lamb soup and bread and the woman took off.

“You come highly recommended,” he said.

“I guessed that. Otherwise you would have asked to see my I.D. But you had already seen my face in a briefing at the embassy.”

Anderson seemed to blush. “Your record with the Agency is impressive, along with your work in Air Force Intelligence before that. I was particularly inspired by your work in Kurdistan.”

Work that had nearly gotten Jake killed, and had almost allowed a large group of terrorists to produce the most deadly biological weapon ever conceived. Not to mention the loss of two Agency officers in Odessa, including Armstrong's brother.

“You have something like that in mind for me?” Jake asked. “Before you answer, remember I was almost killed, and that we lost some good officers on that mission.”

“I know. And you also caught a rogue officer.”

Jake shook his head. “I'm not about to stick my nose in Agency business. If they've got a problem, which I won't doubt for a minute, they can handle it themselves.”

“Would you let me explain?” he said. “I'm part of the Jake Adams fan club. The Institute is well aware of your work. But China is different. When your old comrade Yuri Pushkina asked you to observe the missile launch, that got us thinking.”

“Great. Glad someone's thinking.” Something switched in Jake's mind, and he shook his head ever so slightly as he said, “You bastards knew we'd shoot down that missile.”

“That had to happen. The fact that you were there was irrelevant.”

Jake leaned across the table. “What about the fact that I almost got my ass killed?”

Anderson hesitated. “I'm sorry about that, but that's why we needed you in China.”

Jake was about to dress him down with regard to his ancestry, when the waitress brought them their soup.

Once the woman left, Jake said, “So I'm here in China. What made you think I'd pop to attention like a good little soldier?”

“Toni is here and she needs your help.”

Jake had been sipping his soup and nearly choked.

“What? She's supposed to be in the Middle East.”

“She was...but now she's needed here.”

“You're fulla shit.”

Anderson took a large spoonful of soup and then wiped his lip with his napkin. “Maybe. But in this case, I'm telling you the truth.”

“Why would she need my help?”

“I've been trying to tell you, China is different. The visa requirements are so restrictive, they can control who comes and goes much more thoroughly than the European countries. Here they know everyone. They don't know you. We got you here on a legitimate tourist visa. You entered from Russia after leaving Austria; not the U.S. You can travel on that visa. You should have enough time.”

“Time for what?”

Anderson hesitated, glancing about the room. “We need you in Manchuria.”

“Would you cut with the cryptic shit and tell me what you need.”

He leaned across the table toward Jake. “The Chinese have built a facility in Manchuria to test lasers. Technology we believe they stole under the last administration's watch.”

“And I take it this isn't for surgery. You're talking about laser weapons. Just like the one we used to shoot down the Russian missile.”

“Right.” He hesitated only long enough to scoop a spoonful of cooling soup down his throat. “We just need you to go up and take a look at their facility.”

“I'm sure you have all the satellite photos you need.” Jake thought about it for a second. Nothing made sense. This guy wasn't telling him everything. “Look. This sounds like a fool's errand.”