Shadow Catcher by James R. Hannibal Page B

the pilot, annoyed at the interruption. “Nothing to report.”
    â€œCopy,” answered McBride. “Just trying to stay awake.”
    With Seventh Fleet’s Task Force 77 steaming toward Pearl for reconstitution, the Global Hawks had been flying extra sorties, keeping an eye on Chinese military operations across the strait. But the Chinese weren’t doing much, and staying alert through long hours of staring at featureless pictures had become a real challenge.
    McBride settled back in his chair and glanced over at the endless parade of forest. The Global Hawk’s synthetic aperture radar could scan through multiple layers of clouds and still create incredibly fine digital images. For McBride, the result was this slide show of black-and-white trees. He sighed. They were unbelievably detailed trees, but they were still trees.
    Just as McBride’s eyelids began to fall, the forest cleared. The trees broke before a large fenced complex where low rectangular buildings stood at the center of a large open yard. McBride blinked hard and tried to focus. Through the slow progression of images, he could see the yard filling with troops.
    â€œPegasus, this is Intel. Please hold scan on these grids,” said McBride.
    â€œUh, yeah, Intel, we were just looking at that. Looks like a little exercise or something.”
    McBride turned to his other monitor and opened his mission briefing. “Possibly,” he said, scanning the document, “but we don’t show any current exercises in our intelligence for this sector.”
    â€œTypical Intel,” said the pilot, his voice distant and tinny. “If it’s not on their calendar, it must not be happening.”
    McBride closed his eyes and bit his tongue. “Be advised that you’re on VOX. I can still hear you.”
    â€œOh, right. Sorry.” There was a digital click on the line, and the stifled laughter in the background abruptly went silent. “Okay, Intel,” the pilot continued, “What is this compound?”
    â€œStand by, Pegasus.” McBride ran a program to correlate the exact coordinates of the imagery with recent intelligence files. Three documents popped open on his screen. The second one had a small photo in the top-right corner that matched the buildings in the imagery.
    â€œPegasus, you are looking at Detention Center Twenty-six of the Fujian Ministry of Justice. Our intelligence says that this facility is hardly used, just a small troop of guards with no current prisoners.”
    The pilot yawned. “Yep, it’s an exercise. They must be trying to keep the guards sharp. Look, we’ve got a lot of ground to cover. If we hold the scan here much longer, we’ll have to reprogram the bird to compensate. We need to move on. Now.”
    McBride stared hard at the advancing imagery. Several of the men in the pictures now appeared to have weapons drawn. Others were leaving the yard and fanning out into the forest. This looked like more than an exercise. “Hold here for another two minutes, Pegasus. I want my supervisor to have a look.” He picked up the hard-line receiver and began to dial the duty officer, but before he finished the compound disappeared and thick forest again filled the screen.
    â€œNegative, Intel,” said the pilot. “It’s just an exercise. We’re moving on.”
    McBride hesitated, his finger hovering over the telephone keypad. Finally, he placed the receiver back in its cradle. “Copy that, Pegasus. Moving on.”

CHAPTER 18
    G eneral Zheng tapped the map lying on the defense minister’s desk. “Thus, if we attack now,” he said, “while the US Seventh Fleet is out of position, we can overwhelm Taiwan in one strike.” He took a conclusive step back and smiled. “Once we occupy the island, the Americans will do nothing. Their politicians will not allow it.”
    Zheng had spent the morning in the minister’s austere