Chapters (39)
- Title Page
- Copyright Page
- Acknowledgements
- Epigraph
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
"You're right. But hang in there, son. We're working some angles from our end."
"Sir, I've got four wounded. Getting back to the sub will be hard enough without those patrol boats breathing down our necks. I need them gone."
"I hear you, Mitchell. Just stand by."
Fang Zhi rumbled down the winding mountain road, spinning out in the mud as he cut curves too sharply. He had no choice but to keep the headlights on and squint through the heavy rain pelting his windshield. His thoughts continued to leap out ahead of the truck, to his destination--his future.
When they discovered all the bodies, and the investigations began in the morning, it wouldn't take long before they located him, questioned him, tortured him into saying what they wanted. Someone would have to take the fall for this. The rage filled his gut and finally erupted from his mouth.
He screamed at the droning wipers. He screamed at the Spring Tigers for failing him.
Yes, it was their fault. There had been a huge breach in security, and if they had placed more faith in him, given him responsibilities at the strategic level, he might have discovered it. One of his guards had called to say that he'd heard the attackers speaking English with American accents.
Fang beat his fist on the steering wheel. How many of his lives could the Americans ruin? And where was he going, except away? He couldn't stay in China. He would never return to Taiwan.
Maybe he could get to the Philippines. He knew two men who could help him do that. They smuggled out women for the sex trade. He could pay them for help. That was it. He would go back to the base, gather all of his belongings, and be gone before daylight. His life would come full circle. He would return to the place where all his trouble had begun.
As he rounded the next corner, the road grew considerably wider, the forest drifting back another twenty meters from the embankment. Suddenly, a single headlight came out of nowhere and raced toward him. He narrowed his gaze and reached over for his pistol, sitting beside the QBZ-95 assault rifle on his seat.
Calm down, he ordered himself. It was probably some old farmer with one busted headlight or some punk on a scooter or motorcycle. He accelerated and kept to the right, but the headlight veered and came straight at him.
UNITED STATES SPECIAL OPERATIONS COMMAND
MACDILL AIR FORCE BASE
TAMPA, FLORIDA
APRIL 2012
General Joshua Keating had just finished sharing the good news with the President of the United States. Targets terminated. Ghost Team exfiltrating. Keating had carefully omitted the news of the Chinese patrol boats. No need to worry the president just yet. Keating ended the video call and was about to reach for his bottle of water when Dr. Gorbatova stepped over to his desk.