First Strike

“I’m afraid so,” said Ardman. “I really can’t afford to organise two flights to the same place. Not with over 400 televisions to pay for suddenly. You’ll leave the spying to your dad, of course.” He raised his eyebrows, as if he didn’t rate the chances of that.

“But we still get to go to the White House reception, right?” Jade wanted to be sure. “All of us?”

“Of course. You can stop off in Wiengwei to refuel, have a quick chat with our friend Mr Chang, and be in Washington in good time for the White House reception. You should have a day or two to spare to see the sights. If it all goes smoothly.”

“Any reason why it shouldn’t?” Chance asked.

Ardman smiled. “None at all.”

“Terrific,” Jade muttered.

3 (#ulink_0875c47e-879b-51c9-8e0e-a77eaecfe8d6)

They changed planes in Hong Kong, where they also picked up tourist visas that Ardman had arranged for China. Given his worry about cost, Jade suspected they might not have been issued through the ‘usual channels’. From Hong Kong they got a direct flight to Weijiang, the main city of Wiengwei province.

Immigration seemed to take an age, but otherwise there were no problems. They only had hand luggage as Ardman had sent their cases direct to Washington on an RAF flight. Jade wondered if that meant there was actually more or less chance of their luggage arriving when and where it was supposed to.

Chance, Rich and Jade eventually emerged into a large open area where there were a few small shops selling food and newspapers. Through the main doors they could see several cars parked at the kerb.

An old woman carrying a basket pushed past Jade. She was surprised and saddened to see that there was a live chicken cramped inside the basket, grey feathers poking out through the weave.

“Lots of signs,” said Rich. “But they’re not much help. They’re all in Chinese.”

“Maybe Dad can read them?” said Jade.

“This way,” Chance decided, and set off across the airport.

“You can read Chinese!” said Jade, impressed.

“No. But I can read English.”

The sign actually said ‘ENGLISH’. It was written in block capitals on a sheet of grey cardboard using a chunky marker pen. It was being held by a small boy of about twelve years old. He had short, dark hair, and enormous front teeth that he was showing off in a broad smile.

As Chance, Jade and Rich approached, the smile got even broader and the boy bobbed up and down with excitement.

“Yoshi!” he exclaimed as they reached him. “Yoshi!” He bowed abruptly and quickly.

Jade bowed back. “Yoshi!” she replied, echoing his greeting.

Rich copied her. “Yoshi!”

The boy’s smile faded. Then it reappeared and he bowed again. “Yoshi!” He straightened up and tapped his chest with his finger. “Yoshi!”

“Your turn, Dad,” said Rich.

“Yeah, don’t be rude,” Jade told him.

Dad dutifully bowed his head. “John Chance,” he said. Then he smiled at Rich and Jade. “Yoshi is his name.”

The boy grabbed Jade’s holdall from her before she could object. In exchange he gave her the cardboard sign. Then he hurried off across the airport.

“Are we being mugged?” Rich wondered, grinning.

“He wants us to follow him,” said Jade.

“Really? You think?”

“Children!” said Chance, sternly. But he was smiling too as they all followed Yoshi to the main exit.

Outside, the temperature was about the same as it had been in London when they left—mild, but not warm. There was a light drizzle that hung like mist in the air. Yoshi was opening the boot of a battered car waiting at the kerb, its engine humming. He dumped Jade’s bag inside and gestured for Rich and Chance to put their bags in the boot too. Then he slammed the boot closed and hurried round to the front of the car.

“He’s never driving,” said Jade as Yoshi opened the right-hand front door of the car and got in.

As she spoke, a man in the other front seat turned to look at them. He was laughing.

“Left-hand drive in Wiengwei,” he said.

Mr Chang was like a larger version of his son Yoshi. His smile was semi-permanent, and his hair was thinning and edged with white. He explained he had not come into the airport to meet them himself because if he stopped the car it took for ever to get it started again. As he drove, threading his way between a mass of bicycles, he spoke over his shoulder to Chance, Jade and Rich who were jammed in the back.

“I have been making inquiries. Discreet inquiries of course. The man who will know the answers to your questions runs a factory in the city. We go there now, and he is expecting us. OK?”

“OK,” Chance agreed. “What have you told him?”

“About you? Nothing. I have allowed him to assume you are French. I will translate, and he won’t know English from French from Greek.”

“How does he get his information?” Jade asked.

“He has contacts in the Chinese military. He gets things for the soldiers. Cigarettes, drink, magazines.”

“Smut,” Jade muttered.

“Newsweek, Hong Kong edition,” Mr Chang corrected her. “Books too. My friend will know whether nuclear missiles were really ever stationed in Wiengwei, and if so where. The declaration the Chinese government made at the disarmament talks was rather vague and may have been a bluff anyway. But there are certainly many military bases in the province.”

“Despite the rebels?” Rich asked.

“Because of the rebels. Some of the bases have been taken over by the rebels.”

In the front passenger seat, Yoshi suddenly spoke up excitedly.

“What did he say?” Jade asked when the boy had finished.

Mr Chang laughed. “He says he has never met westerners before. He says he thinks you are very nice. And he is fascinated by the yellow colour of your hair. He asks if it is dyed.”

“Tell him no,” said Jade.

“And tell him we think he’s very nice too,” Rich added. “Especially my sister.”

Mr Chang didn’t really park the car. He just stopped it in the road and got out.