Keeping well clear of the swinging cables and flying TEUs, Gao followed the man’s instructions and located PBCU-112128-1 and PBCU-112128-2 in the stacks. He located the barcode on each container and checked them with the scanner he kept secured to a lanyard at his waist. He then coordinated between the operator of the second gantry crane and the stevedores working aft of Orion’s exhaust stack and bridge house to guide the chalky blue TEUs into place. The entire process—from the time Gao first pressed the talk key on his radio with his surviving finger to the moment the locking cams on the lashing hardware were turned at each corner of the two containers, locking them together, seven layers from the bottom deck, ten rows aft of the raised white bridge castle and eleven across from the starboard rail—took just under six minutes.
His task complete, Gao began to move his arm again. He spoke into the radio, directing the crane operators and stevedores as they continued to fill Orion, none the wiser to his deal with the red-eyed man. The chief of the ants smiled, nine hundred yuan richer, and thought about the pigs he could now purchase for his mother-in-law. He liked his mother-in-law. She was a good and gentle woman, well deserving of some new pigs.
? ? ?
Hands clasped behind the small of his back, General Xu Jinlong of the Central Security Bureau leaned in to peer through the tripod-mounted camera over the rooftops of the Chunhe residential district and industrial buildings situated along the Port of Dalian. A soldier at the core, Xu was thick across the shoulders, with the big hands and muscular forearms of a man who spent more time in the field than the office. Two other men flanked him, one close and relaxed, ready to take orders or give counsel. The other, a youthful man wearing a pair of black sunglasses, had positioned himself back a few steps. His hands were folded in front of him, his head slightly bowed, as he waited to be bidden forward.
All three men stood in the shade of a small copse of walnut trees on a gravel apron off Zhongnan Road, just north of Haizhiyun Park and Laohutan Scenic Area. Many varieties of protected birds and plant life were abundant in these woods, so passersby paid little attention to the powerful eight-hundred-millimeter telephoto lens that protruded like a cannon from the front of the digital camera. The camera itself was superfluous; it was only there to give the lens credibility. The last thing the general wanted was a digital record of any of his activities. He had not come to capture the beauty of Laohutan’s numerous waterfalls or magnificent root carvings. His interest at the moment lay northward, down the hill toward the sea and the intense activity along the Dalian docks.
Charged with protecting the highest political leaders in China, the duties of the Central Security Bureau were akin to those of the U.S. Secret Service. Operatives in the CSB, however, put much more emphasis on the word secret, particularly those operatives under the command of General Xu.
Xu stood motionless, eye to the camera, studying the scene with rapt concentration. The dark suit the fifty-six-year-old man customarily wore allowed him to blend in among the hordes of similarly dressed businessmen and government officials around his offices in central Beijing. But Beijing was four hundred sixty kilometers away and a suit would have drawn unwanted attention as he stood on the side of the roadway on the coast of the Yellow Sea. He dressed instead in light khaki slacks and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up against the unseasonably hot and muggy September. A beige photographer’s vest of lightweight nylon hid the Taurus semiautomatic pistol tucked inside the waist of the khakis. The men with him were similarly dressed. But the young CSB operative named Tan wore dark glasses to cover a severely bloodshot eye. All three men were tall and fit, as those tasked with the protection of other men needed to be.
Both the general and his protégé, a man named Long Yun, had come up through the officers’ corps of the People’s Liberation Army, Long following Xu by a decade. Another ten years younger than Long, Tan began his professional life in the People’s Armed Police. He’d shown great promise until the blood vessels around the pupil of his right eye began to burst every time he sneezed. Rigorous testing revealed his vision was still fine, but Xu found the thing hideous and looked for assignments that would keep the man out of his line of sight. It was the general who had suggested Tan wear dark glasses, even on cloudy days or indoors. It would not do to have the general secretary or some other party dignitary thinking one of the men who protected him was half blind or, worse yet, half drunk.
Xu used a handkerchief to wipe the sweat from a high forehead. He spoke without looking up from the camera. “Comrade Tan, do you trust this cripple dockworker of yours?”
Tan’s shoes crunched in the gravel as he took a half-step forward. “I do, General,” he said. “I have conducted three transactions in all, one week apart. In the first two, I chose a container at random, each from a lot heading to the United States. Over this three-week span, Gao Tian has mentioned our arrangement to no one, not even his wife.”
“Astounding,” Xu said, and gasped, mockingly, though he doubted that Tan had caught the inflection. What man in his right mind would confide a sudden windfall of money to his wife, of all people?
General Xu stood up from the tripod, arching his back, feeling it pop and snap. In retrospect, it was a mistake to use someone from his own staff for the negotiations, but he would never admit it out loud. The matter of the container ship Orion had been conceived and decided prior to his arrangement with the man known as Coronet. Other operations would be far more tidy—and less likely to connect to Xu or his organization.
“The gods gave men mouths,” the general said. “And in my experience, men have a difficult time knowing when to keep those mouths shut. This endeavor must be handled with the utmost discretion and secrecy. We cannot afford for your man to speak of this . . . ever.” He looked at Tan. “Do you understand?”
“Of course,” the younger man said, but Xu doubted this was true.
“You must kill him,” the general clarified.
Tan blanched at the order, proving Xu’s suspicions correct.
“Of course,” the young man said again.
“Today,” Xu added. It was tedious how everything had to be spelled out for this one.
Tan braced to attention and gave a curt nod. “Of . . . course,” he said again, stammering, as if any more appropriate words had flown from his brain.
The general sighed, exhausted by the conversation. He tipped his head toward the tripod. “Retrieve the lens and gear,” he said. “But be certain you are careful as you put it away. The people’s money should not be wasted by shoddy handling of equipment.”
Before Tan had a chance to repeat himself yet again, Xu turned to Long Yun and gave a knowing glance toward the car.