CHAPTER 14

LI PENG, SHANG WEI—a captain in NATO military classification—in the People's Liberation Army of China, wasn't certain whether to be thankful or not. His team was tasked with recovering a falling satellite that was supposed to crash within fifty miles of their location in Heilongjiang just south of the Russian Jewish Autonomous region. The bad news was the scientists who did the math were wrong and Peng was just learning of it. The good news was that glory and military honor could still be his. His recovery team was to continue their mission.

More bad news. The latest calculations put landfall in Russia. To make a success of this mission, all he had to do was find a way to sneak his unit into another country, one which had already seen conflict along its 2,738-mile shared border.

He had confidence in his team, even greater confidence in himself, but his job had become exponentially more difficult. The Russians would certainly send a recovery team, as might one of the military splinter groups known to be in the area. Perhaps most challenging of all, the Americans would do their best to retrieve or destroy the device. He would if he were in their place. That couldn't be allowed. He hoped his superiors would not give up the cause because of the unexpected change. Given the chance he would honor them with success.

On the plus side, he was in one of the most remote, least-populated areas in the country. Peng stood on the banks of the Amur River, one of the largest waterways in Asia. It flowed 1,755 miles from Mongolia and along the border between his country and Russia. He stood on Chinese soil and looked into what was once the Soviet Union, a fellow Communist country. Now it was something they called a federal semi-presidential republic, whatever that meant. From here, with a little wind at his back, he might be able to hit the country with a stone.

He glanced southwest. Three of his men stood on the same bank as he, fishing poles in hand, pretending to fish the Chinese side of the Amur. Pretending was too strong a word. His soldiers, dressed like Chinese businessmen on vacation, pulled in several fish they kept in pails farther up shore.

Peng held a fishing pole, but his line had yet to hit water. His mind was on a place a few hundred miles north. When he asked how the satellite could fall so far from course, he was told it was not part of his mission to know. He accepted that. Perhaps a small error in space converted to a much larger error on earth. Of course, what did he know? He was military, Chinese Special Forces, Hong Kong Special Ops Company, Macau Quick Reaction Platoon, otherwise known as the "Five-Minute Response Unit." They had been on this mission more than five minutes.

Wei Dong called from the camp of tents fifty meters from the river's bank. He said nothing, just shouted to get Peng's attention. Peng set the fishing pole on his shoulder and walked back to camp. He doubted they were being observed. The Russian economy was so bad they thinned their border protection until it was little more than a joke. Still, he had earned his rank by hard work, diligence, and more than a little paranoia.

He entered camp and stepped into a tent. Wei Dong, a Si Ji Shi Guan—sergeant first class—held a satellite phone to Peng, then stepped to the side of the tent, showing deference and a readiness to help in any fashion his team leader demanded.

"Peng." The team leader pushed a camping chair aside, choosing to stand as he spoke. He listened for several moments and then said, "Ting dong le." In truth, he didn't understand as much as he would like.

Peng set the satellite phone on a card table. "Get the others. We're leaving."

"May I ask where we are going, Captain?"

"North, Sergeant. We are going north, but not directly."

Thirty minutes later, the team had loaded a BAW Zhanqi SUV and started for Fuyuan about twenty minutes in a straight flight, but they weren't flying. They were winding their way over uncertain roads.

Fuyuan was small but still several times larger than the scores of other villages in the area. This was remote China, far from the megacities holding millions of citizens. Here Peng was far from belching industrial stacks, gridlocked traffic, and wealth. Here, there was mostly poverty and subsistence living. Here the people were as tough as the unmerciful winters. Peng knew, he grew up not far from here.

The People's Liberation Army was his way out. Military service was compulsory but seldom enforced because of the large number of volunteers. Peng was one such volunteer. At the age of eighteen he enlisted, becoming one of three million people making up the world's largest military service. He showed skill, interest, and enthusiasm and was soon selected for officer training.

He had been part of the Macau Quick Reaction Platoon for four years and team leader for the last two. His work took him into several Baltic states, former members of the USSR, Africa, and the Middle East. He relished every mission and each ended with success, placing him in good standing with his superiors. Rumor had it a successful conclusion to the satellite recovery would deliver a promotion and better quarters. Peng was ambitious and Army life suited him. He had no plans for life away from the military.

Runoff from residual snow made the roads muddy and slippery. Wei Dong worked the steering wheel as if the thing were trying to escape the cab. One of the men in the back made a lewd joke about Dong's ability to handle things. Peng let the laughter continue. His mind was elsewhere. They passed several villages, none of which could harbor more than a few hundred people—people who worked farms under the guidance of their collective.

There were three hundred million farmers in the country, toiling in difficult conditions to raise rice, sorghum, wheat, potatoes, and scores of other crops. At one time, the government owned all farms, but in the late seventies, before Peng was born, they began to release property and control back to the farmers. One such farm served as Peng's home for the first eighteen years of his life. He was certain his familiarity with the area was one reason his team received the mission. Still, being back made him uneasy.

The SUV was large but five men made it feel cramped. Peng would be glad to be out of the vehicle. Dong found a stretch of hardpack road that soon gave way to pavement. The smoother ride was welcome.

In the distance, lights from Fuyuan still burned, even though the sun had been up for over an hour. Winter was gone, but at this latitude the sun still hung a little lower than it did in late summer.

"Stay to the south of the city." Peng pointed out the windscreen. "There is our ride."

Dong leaned over the steering wheel. "The helicopter?"

"What else do you see in the sky?" Hsu Li was Peng's second in command. A young lieutenant and the only other officer on the team.

"Nothing we can ride on, sir."

Peng watched the slow-moving aircraft as it banked over the small city, making a full circle. Even in a moving car and still five kilometers away, Peng could hear the thumping of the helicopter's rotors.

As they drew closer to the selected landing area—an empty field ten kilometers southeast of the city—life inflicted another irony on Peng: the aircraft was an Mi-17V7. Russian made.