"General, our mole has just arrived at his office, but I'm afraid there's been some misunderstanding. He was under the impression he was flying out now. We instructed him that he had one more task to complete, but he is very nervous."

"Poor boy. Maybe if he was out there with my Ghosts, he'd have something to be nervous about."

"General, I'm unsure if we can count on him. I don't think he trusts us anymore."

"I don't want excuses, Doctor. I've got wounded men out there. You've got two dead. You tell your boy lives are depending upon him."

CENTRAL MILITARY COMMISSION (CMC)
MINISTRY OF NATIONAL DEFENSE COMPOUND
BEIJING, CHINA
APRIL 2012

Captain Zuo Junping had rushed past the building's perimeter guards, telling them there was trouble in Xiamen and that they should prepare for more arrivals.

He had used his key to enter Deputy Director Wang Ya's office. Now he sat at the director's desk in the dim LED light of Wang's computer screen. He needed to send off the proper e-mails, then he would make the calls. The DIA had charged him with ensuring that the military response was focused inland, and so Zuo, acting as the deputy director, would send those requests up through the CMC. Moreover, there were two patrol boats headed toward Xiamen Harbor, and Zuo had been ordered to send them ten miles north to investigate smuggling activity at the Gaoji Seawall.

Zuo had given away or sold off everything he owned. Back at his apartment were a blanket, a pillow, and two packed suitcases.

After his fellow agent Lo Kuo-hui had left with the good news that the DIA had honored their deal with him, Zuo had finally believed that the agency would help him, too. But this last-minute mission left him sweaty and breathless.

He hit the Return key, reached for the phone.

The door swung open, the lights switched on, and in rushed the deputy director himself, bald pate gleaming, eyes narrowed behind thick glasses. Behind him came two security guards, their rifles trained on Zuo, whose hand went for the pistol holstered at his waist.

"Hands on the desk," barked Wang, as the guards moved in closer.

Zuo raised his palms and gently returned them to the keyboard.

"I am deeply hurt," Wang continued. "I know you used my phone to call Geneva. Who are you working for? The Ministry of Public Security or State Security?"

Zuo swallowed, tried to speak, but the words wouldn't come at first. At least Wang didn't know he was spying for the Americans. He assumed he'd been betrayed, a breakdown in guanxi, in connections. Wang was involved in something even bigger than the Spring Tiger Group's plan, but Zuo wasn't sure what. There'd been no answer in Geneva, but he had passed on that number to the Americans.