from the jet and climbed into the passenger seat.
“What is the status of the search?” he said to the driver without preamble.
“The troops are in position at the border as you ordered. The fighter jets ordered to watch overhead have reported nothing as yet. Sensor-equipped planes are due within thirty minutes,” the driver, a captain in the Chinese army, said as he put the jeep in gear and drove away from the jet.
“Take me to the border,” Jimn said.
“Right away, sir,” the captain said as he shifted through the gears.
Twenty miles from the Chinese border with Kazakhstan, Taft switched off the motorcycle’s headlight at the sound of a helicopter passing overhead. Pulling to the side of the road, he waited until the sound of the rotor blades faded in the distance. He was just about to pull back onto the road when a pair of jets roared close overhead.
“When it rains it pours,” Taft muttered as the jets flew past.
Checking his map by the light of the moon, he measured the distance to the dry creek bed where he would turn off the road. Less than two miles. Slamming the motorcycle in gear he twisted the throttle and pulled back onto the road.
“In light of what has happened, there’s no way I would feel comfortable continuing the dig,” Leeds said to Biao outside the police station where the men had just been released.
“I understand how you feel,” Biao said quietly.
“I have radioed the Xining site. They will ship my luggage. I’m leaving immediately for Hong Kong, where I’ll catch a flight home,” Leeds said quickly as he stood by the cab that would take him to the airport.
“I apologize for the trouble.” Biao said. “I only hope your university will not completely pull out of this project.
Leeds shrugged-he could care less.
Jimn shouted orders into his handheld radio as the jeep bumped along the border. Brush and trees grew thickly on the Russian side, obscuring the view. Chain-link fencing, erected by China in years past, ran from the border crossing outside Yining one mile to the north and south. With the current tension between China and the former Soviet Union, the checkpoint crossing was closed up. The road was covered with concrete barricades. On the Chinese side of the border the land was open. The brush and trees were burned off every odd-numbered year to stem the rising tide of smuggling.
“Chang, do you read me?” Jimn said into the radio.
After a pause of almost a minute, Yibo answered. “This is Yibo.”
“Watch the fence line closely from the air. I will start driving south.”
“Very good, sir,” Yibo said. He ordered his pilot to began sweeping back and forth high above the fence.
On orders from their commanding officer, the Chinese troops that had been assembled formed a human wall and began to walk from the fence line east through the burned-out wasteland. They carefully searched the ground for tracks. High overhead, the jets could see little as they passed at two hundred miles an hour. The sensor-equipped planes were still miles away. They would arrive moments too late to help.
Taft stopped the motorcycle and hastily covered it with brush. He walked a short distance away into the woods. Using a pair of infrared binoculars he stared silently at the line of troops to the south of the fence line. His planned crossing point was thick with Chinese troops. Hoisting Choi over his shoulder like a sack of cement, Taft crept close to the border. He would have to alter his plan.
Keying his tiny portable radio unit he gave the signal.
“Three beeps on 750 megahertz, General,” the air force radar operator shouted from the cockpit of the C-130.
“Give me an update,” Benson said to the radar operator.
“Two cargo jets, one hundred miles out. Two fighters are still loitering above the scene. The helicopter is upwind, near the fenced portion of the crossing. It seems to be patrolling the fence line.”
“What’s on the radio?” Benson
“What is the status of the search?” he said to the driver without preamble.
“The troops are in position at the border as you ordered. The fighter jets ordered to watch overhead have reported nothing as yet. Sensor-equipped planes are due within thirty minutes,” the driver, a captain in the Chinese army, said as he put the jeep in gear and drove away from the jet.
“Take me to the border,” Jimn said.
“Right away, sir,” the captain said as he shifted through the gears.
Twenty miles from the Chinese border with Kazakhstan, Taft switched off the motorcycle’s headlight at the sound of a helicopter passing overhead. Pulling to the side of the road, he waited until the sound of the rotor blades faded in the distance. He was just about to pull back onto the road when a pair of jets roared close overhead.
“When it rains it pours,” Taft muttered as the jets flew past.
Checking his map by the light of the moon, he measured the distance to the dry creek bed where he would turn off the road. Less than two miles. Slamming the motorcycle in gear he twisted the throttle and pulled back onto the road.
“In light of what has happened, there’s no way I would feel comfortable continuing the dig,” Leeds said to Biao outside the police station where the men had just been released.
“I understand how you feel,” Biao said quietly.
“I have radioed the Xining site. They will ship my luggage. I’m leaving immediately for Hong Kong, where I’ll catch a flight home,” Leeds said quickly as he stood by the cab that would take him to the airport.
“I apologize for the trouble.” Biao said. “I only hope your university will not completely pull out of this project.
Leeds shrugged-he could care less.
Jimn shouted orders into his handheld radio as the jeep bumped along the border. Brush and trees grew thickly on the Russian side, obscuring the view. Chain-link fencing, erected by China in years past, ran from the border crossing outside Yining one mile to the north and south. With the current tension between China and the former Soviet Union, the checkpoint crossing was closed up. The road was covered with concrete barricades. On the Chinese side of the border the land was open. The brush and trees were burned off every odd-numbered year to stem the rising tide of smuggling.
“Chang, do you read me?” Jimn said into the radio.
After a pause of almost a minute, Yibo answered. “This is Yibo.”
“Watch the fence line closely from the air. I will start driving south.”
“Very good, sir,” Yibo said. He ordered his pilot to began sweeping back and forth high above the fence.
On orders from their commanding officer, the Chinese troops that had been assembled formed a human wall and began to walk from the fence line east through the burned-out wasteland. They carefully searched the ground for tracks. High overhead, the jets could see little as they passed at two hundred miles an hour. The sensor-equipped planes were still miles away. They would arrive moments too late to help.
Taft stopped the motorcycle and hastily covered it with brush. He walked a short distance away into the woods. Using a pair of infrared binoculars he stared silently at the line of troops to the south of the fence line. His planned crossing point was thick with Chinese troops. Hoisting Choi over his shoulder like a sack of cement, Taft crept close to the border. He would have to alter his plan.
Keying his tiny portable radio unit he gave the signal.
“Three beeps on 750 megahertz, General,” the air force radar operator shouted from the cockpit of the C-130.
“Give me an update,” Benson said to the radar operator.
“Two cargo jets, one hundred miles out. Two fighters are still loitering above the scene. The helicopter is upwind, near the fenced portion of the crossing. It seems to be patrolling the fence line.”
“What’s on the radio?” Benson
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