Unconventional Warfare

“Able is compromised,” she said without preamble. “They’re going deep black to Charlie Mike but we need to get them a new safe house in a less populated area and arrange resupply.”

“When it rains, it pours,” Kurtzman said.

“What?”

“I got a message from James on the ground in Brazzaville, text based.”

“Why text?”

“He couldn’t get a signal out, so he put a communication in the system for the repeater relay. It’s twelve minutes old. They were compromised on initial insertion. They think their Congolese police counterpart might have set them up.”

Akira Tokaido leaned back in his chair and whistled. “Phoenix under fire, Able on the run—this mission is blown right out of the gate.”

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Beijing, People’s Republic of China

The Beijing Inn was a traditional structure nestled just beyond the more Westernized buildings of the international financial district. The architecture of the inn recalled China’s glorious past. Consisting of two stories under a peaked tile roof, the inn was divided into rooms of various sizes using internal support posts.

In a small room tucked away from the densely populated restaurant area sat Chao Bao, official of the clandestine Central Control of Information Division of the vast Ministry of State Security.

Bao sipped his tea, face inscrutable and emanating an air of timeless patience. While perhaps cliché to Caucasian sensibilities, his inner calm was authentic. At first glance he presented an unassuming figure. He looked younger than his forty-seven years, stood six inches over five feet and was built in a slight manner. His eyes were dark and unreflective, his hair thinning on top.

He could have been a tailor or perhaps an accountant.

On closer inspection a discerning eye would have noticed his build was not slight, but efficiently lean, supple as a leather whip. His knuckles were misshapen to chunks the size of dice by decades of martial-arts training.

He’d earned a reputation as a brutal interrogator of prisoners and as a virtual ghost on special-operations reconnaissance missions deep in enemy-controlled territory.

He was a practiced killer and as such, he was able to recognize that quality in others of his ilk. Even if he hadn’t already been intimately familiar with the personnel file of the man who now joined him in the quiet, shadowed alcove, he would have recognized a kindred spirit.

“Sifu,” Xi-Nan acknowledged.

“Valued friend.” Bao nodded. He gestured toward the empty padded bench across the low table from him in the private booth.

Despite being dressed in civilian clothes rather than a military uniform, General Xi-Nan was obviously a soldier. Tall for an ethnic Chinese at six feet, the commander of the Fifth Army was a fit man with a rigid posture ten years Chao Bao’s junior.

“Forgive my lagging manners,” Xi-Nan said. “But let us come to the point.”

His apology was perfunctory. He wasn’t sorry to drive straight to business without the culturally required period of idle talk. It was, in fact, the way he preferred to execute all his dealings, especially those involving the placid-faced man sitting across from him who seemed content sipping green tea from eggshell-porcelain cups.

Bao absolved him. “I understand your urgency. Please continue.”

“There is a complication with our African venture.”

“Somalia?”

“No, Congo,” Xi-Nan attested.

Bao lifted a single eyebrow and sipped his tea.

“Americans,” Xi-Nan further explained. “CIA or their NSA perhaps. They have compromised the periphery of our operation.”

“Then they must be stopped from gaining further insight.”

“Just so,” Xi-Nan agreed. “However I am afraid to use the Hayabusa on this. It would leave a paper trail.”

Hayabusa was the Mandarin word for “Falcon” and was used as the unofficial designation for the Chengdu Military Region Special Forces Unit.

Established in 1992, the unit specialized in target location and interdiction, airborne insertion, sabotage and rapid offensive strikes.

“A paper trail that could lead back to our personal Hong Kong bank accounts,” Bao finished the general’s thoughts.

“Exactly,” Xi-Nan agreed.

“You have a dossier for me?”

The corrupt general immediately slid a flash drive across the smooth teak table to the spymaster, who promptly pocketed the item.

“That is everything we know about the operations the Americans are calling the Niger Station,” he said.