Shadow Catcher by James R. Hannibal Page A

would surely ask what had happened to his uniform. The punishment for being so easily fooled would be severe. He kept a spare uniform in his locker. He could change quickly. Hong Mo would not get far.
    Several minutes later, Chen stood in the cell with the commandant, unconsciously running a hand along the back of his new shirt, as if he might still find the telltale slop stuck to its fabric. The prison’s small contingent of guards searched the hallways and the yard for any sign of the lost prisoner.
    The older man, a colonel, eyed the smeared brown goo on the floor. “Tell me again how it happened,” he prompted.
    â€œI . . . I do not know,” stammered Chen. “He made no sound when I brought his morning meal. I thought he might be dead, so I entered the cell to investigate. I found it empty, just as it is now.”
    â€œI see.” The commandant nodded. He gave a final look around the cell and then walked out into the hallway. Chen followed close behind.
    â€œSir, you must call the Fujian Provincial Command. The prisoner may already be in the forest. We need more manpower for a search of this magnitude.”
    The colonel stopped short and slowly turned to face the young guard. “I must do nothing of the kind,” he said. “I will not bear the embarrassment of losing such a weakened ghost of a man. This is an internal prison matter, and we will keep it that way. Is that clear?”
    The commandant’s response left Chen mystified. Surely a man of his station understood the political ramifications if Hong Mo
escaped the country? Chen became angry. This fat, lazy has-been would sacrifice the honor of the whole country to save his own? He squared his shoulders. “But Colonel,” he began.
    The commandant held up a finger, stopping Chen before he could continue. “Is that
clear
, Chen?” he asked again.
    This time Chen heard distinct malice behind the question. His shoulders sagged, and he bowed. “Yes, sir.”
    The commandant lowered his hand. “Good,” he said. “This is for everyone’s protection, you know. If the American’s escape becomes a public affair, someone
will have to be held accountable.
Someone
will have to take the blame . . . and the punishment.” He paused and looked Chen up and down. “By the way, Guard Chen, I must compliment you on the pristine state of your uniform, particularly so late in the day. Although your shoes could use some polish.”
    Chen looked down. There were splashes of brown muck across the top of his shoes, some of it already crusted and dry. Both men had just inspected the empty cell, but the colonel only had a slight smear of gravy on the sole of one boot. Chen bowed again, more fervently this time. “My men are very resourceful, most respected Commandant. We will find Hong Mo on our own.”

CHAPTER 17
    S ergeant Will McBride sat alone in a small, darkened room. His only light came from the faint glow of the two LCD monitors at his workstation. On one of the screens, a series of black-and-white images flipped by at the precise rate of one per second, but they showed nothing of consequence, just dense forest and the occasional road. On the other, a tiny picture of an RQ-4B Global Hawk inched along the Chinese coast heading southeast, toward the Taiwan Strait.
    The Global Hawk’s two-man crew controlled the aircraft from a ground station in California while McBride monitored the mission from an intelligence center in Maryland. The young, freckled sergeant stretched and adjusted his headset. He could hear the idle conversation between the pilot and the sensor operator, which meant they had their radio set on VOX. The discussion centered on the potential for good surfing weather during the upcoming weekend.
    How nice for them.
    McBride keyed his microphone. “Pegasus, this is Intel. Request update.”
    â€œYou can see everything we can, Intel,” replied