The Rising Sea (NUMA Files 15)

“This is definitely worse.”

“It’ll be fine,” she said. “Besides, prison can’t be any worse than sleeping in a van.”

“If only that were true,” Paul said. “Still, we’re overdue for an upswing in fortune, that’s for sure.”

They stepped inside and came to a checkpoint that was manned twenty-four hours a day. Several guards came up and began rummaging through their equipment. “Credentials,” one guard said.

Mel produced her network ID and began to explain, “These two are part of my new production crew. They’re . . .”

The lead guard ignored her, staring intently at Paul and Gamay. After a second of indecision, he shouted something in Chinese and waved his crew forward. The Americans were soon surrounded.

“We’re here to see General Zhang,” Paul said. “We’re here to surrender. We have something he needs to see.”

Melanie repeated the phase in Chinese.

The leader shook his head and picked up a phone. The other guards drew their guns. One of them tried to force Paul to his knees.

“Allow them to enter.”

The voice came from the shadows. All eyes turned in that direction and the frenetic activity ceased.

From the depths of the lobby, a short, stocky figure emerged. He wore a full military uniform in the pea green color of the People’s Liberation Army. His chest was bedecked with medals and his hat—his cover—was pulled down tightly, shading his eyes.

The security crew snapped to attention.

“Search them thoroughly and see them to my office,” the new arrival said.

“General,” the lead guard said, “these two are wanted criminals. They are listed on the sheet as priority one apprehensions: Enemies of the State.”

The General stared laser beams at the security agent. “I gave you an order.”

“Yes, General.”

Paul and Gamay watched the events unfold with a running translation from Mel. It was easy enough to see they’d found General Zhang.

“I guess Rudi has a friend here after all.”

Searched thoroughly and relieved of all their equipment, they were taken into the building and separated from Mel. Paul and Gamay were led up to a seventh-floor office. They were left inside on their own.

“Now what?” Paul said.

“We wait,” Gamay said. “Let’s hope General Zhang is willing to listen.”

Paul certainly hoped so. He turned and gazed out a large picture window, with its view over the building’s shell and out onto the plaza. The gray morning had arrived.

“Those windows don’t open,” General Zhang said. “So if you’re thinking of escaping . . .”

He came through the door with the laptop under his arm. Paul turned his way. Gamay stood respectfully.

“We wouldn’t have surrendered, if that was the plan,” Paul said. “Are you General Zhang?”

“I am,” the General replied. “And the two of you are Paul and Gamay Trout, members of NUMA and American citizens. Some would say you’re also spies. Certainly you’re both here illegally. And, I must inform you, that is a crime punishable by death.”

Paul doubted there would be any firing squad, but years in a Chinese gulag were not out of the question. “We’re hoping all of that can be avoided,” Paul said. “We’re not here as spies but as messengers. That’s why Rudi contacted you. He’s trusting you to hear what we have to say.”

“‘Trusting me’?” the General said. He laughed lightly, removed his cap and placed it on the desk. “Only if he’s a fool.”

“But you do know him,” Gamay said, standing up, “don’t you?”