China Crisis

“Mr. Townsend, my name is Su Han. I am director of the Second Department, Intelligence, of the PLA, and I would like to commission your organization to procure certain items for me. These items will be held in the strictest security by the U.S. government and will not be easy to get to.”

“Director Han, that is why you have come to me. My organization is dedicated to providing what our clients ask for. I’m sure you have done your checks on Shadow. If you have, then you will have seen we haven’t failed once to fill our obligations.”

“Quite so, Mr. Townsend. I am extremely impressed by your record of successes.”

“All praise is gratefully received.”

“From what I have learned, you have no problem relieving the American government of weaponry, electronics and the like.”

“Why not? Like all governments, the U.S. administration has no hang-ups when it comes to selling its wares if it decides a certain regime suits its purpose. As far as I’m concerned, Director Han, we are in a global bazaar. Supply and demand. It was what America was born for.”

Han reached down to a folder resting on the small table beside his chair. He opened it and offered it to Townsend.

“You may find my needs unusual. They are, however, strictly in accordance with current trends in defensive weaponry. In brief, China has an urgent need to bring herself in line with the present level attained by America and Russia. Our leadership cannot tolerate the advances made by Russia especially. The stalemate is too biased in favor of the U.S. and Russia. We need to redress that balance.”

“And to save time on development you need samples of the latest U.S. hard and software?”

“Exactly, Mr. Townsend. As for example, the circuit board on the first page. If we could have one of those, our technicians would be able to reproduce it and we would have saved two maybe three years of trial and error.”

“Very astute, Director.” Townsend smiled. “Let me work on this list. I need to do some checking. Get my people to assess how we could do this.”

“I take it you are interested in a deal?”

“As they say in my country, you can take that to the bank.”

“Take your time, Mr. Townsend. Anything you need should be available here. We have a communications room so you can confer with your people in the U.S. All lines are secure.”

“I would expect nothing less from you, Director Han.”

Han called out in his native tongue and the man who had met Townsend at the door entered the room.

“Show our guest to the communications center. He is to have complete privacy. No disturbances of any kind.”

The man nodded.

“Director Han, I will try to have some positive answers for you by midday.”

Neither man had broached the subject of money. It seemed to Townsend that it would appear churlish if he brought up payment at this time, and Han was plainly from the old school, where payment remained hidden discreetly out of sight until everything else had been cleared.

The communications center was situated in a room at the rear of the château and contained telephones, computers and a fax machine. Everything was the most up-to-date on the market, and Townsend noted wryly that it was all of Japanese origin. The door closed behind his escort, leaving the American on his own. He sat at the desk and used one of the satellite phones to call his U.S. base. Within a couple of minutes he had Ralph Chomski, his second in command, on the line.

Chomski, ex-Air Force intelligence, had been with Townsend from day one. He was a man who existed for life’s challenges. His contacts were legion, stretching from the military through both civilian contractors and even a number of covert agencies who handled a great deal of what was known as black ops. He hated being defeated by any problem and would do anything to make sure he came out on top. He had a small but influential list of people within government who could be persuaded to help. He would never divulge exactly what he had as leverage, and Townsend didn’t push him on that, content to accept that Chomski could deliver when required. Chomski listened as Townsend sketched in Han’s needs without being too specific.

“I’ll e-mail you the list in a few minutes. I need confirmation we can get what the man requires as soon as possible. Ralph, we could do extremely well on this.”

“Sounds interesting,” Chomski said, and Townsend could sense the rising excitement in his voice at the thought.

“Calm down, Ralph. Don’t wet your pants too soon. Look at the list first.”

As soon as he finished his conversation, Townsend used the computer setup to scan Han’s list and forward it as an attachment to an e-mail he sent to Chomski. He received an acknowledgment within a minute and knew that his second in command would be checking the list and working on ways to obtain the goods.

Townsend returned to find Han, informing him that urgent attention was being given to the list and he would have an answer within a short time. Han nodded, content, and invited Townsend on a tour of the house and grounds.

Two hours later Townsend had a call from Chomski, guaranteeing they could fill the order. Townsend informed Han, confident that if Chomski said yes they were in business.

“Excellent, Mr. Townsend. I hope you will dine with me this evening before you return to the U.S.A.”

“My pleasure, Director. Then I must leave. I have a lot to arrange.”

Townsend was back at his hotel by nine that night. He retired early and by midmorning the following day was settling in his seat on the plane that would take him to the States.

That had been six months ago…

Longhorn Bar, Landry Flats, South Texas Border Country

T. J. H AWKINS CAUGHT a glimpse of Carl Lyons as the Able Team leader paused in the doorway, scanning the bar’s interior. The moment he spotted Hawkins, Lyons made directly for him, coming to a halt at the table.

“You think I don’t have anything better to do than chase all over the damn place? I told you once before, Hawkins, nobody skips on me.”

Hawkins carried on drinking, aware of every eye in the place focused on his table.

“Playing dumb isn’t going to buy you a ticket home.”

This time Hawkins sat upright, leaning against the rear of the booth. He faced Lyons.

“And am I supposed to be worried? What are you going to do, rooster? Crow loud enough so everyone can hear? All I’m doing is having a quiet drink. There’s no law against that. I haven’t broken any rules, so back off, Jenks. I’m not in the fuckin’ Army no more. I don’t have to listen to you.”

“Listen, asshole, we had a deal. It’s time to settle.”

Hawkins shook his head. “Deal’s off. You didn’t come through on your end. Or have you forgotten that?”

Lyons reached out and caught hold of Hawkins’s coat, hauling him upright. He swung the younger man around, slamming him against the wall, then pinned him there with one big hand.

“You could die right here, Hawkins.”

“Then are you going to shoot all these witnesses? I don’t think even you could cover that up, Jenks.”

“Maybe I’ll risk it. Be worth the sight of you with your guts spread over this floor. I don’t like people going back on a deal.”

“Yeah, right. Jenks, you screwed up. You lost the merchandise and now you expect me to bail you out. Open your eyes, pal. It don’t work that way. We both know you’re trying to put the squeeze on because your boss is going to be pissed at you.” Hawkins slapped Lyons’s hands from his chest, then stiff-armed him away, pushing the man across the floor. “Go tell him what happened. Get the hell off my back. It’s not my problem. Now fuck off before I find my gun and put you down.”

Lyons made a show of bluster, but eventually backed away. He jabbed a finger at Hawkins.

“You and me got this to settle. This isn’t over, Hawkins.” He stared around the bar, face taut with anger.

“Jenks, this is finished.”

Lyons backed off a step, refusing to meet Hawkins’s eye. After a moment he spun around, glaring at the rest of the bar’s customers.