Covert One 4 - The Altman Code by Robert Ludlum Read Free Book Online

Altman Code

Chapter Four.
    Thursday, September 14.
    Shanghai, China.
    The Air China jet from Tokyo flew in over the East China Sea and arced

across the vast delta of the Yangtze River. Through his window, Jon

Smith studied the green land, the dense buildings, and the haze that had

settled like wisps of cotton in the low areas of what was one of Asia’s

most powerful cities.
    His gaze swept from the congested Yangtze River north to Chongming

Island, as he silently grappled with the problem of the missing manifest

and the alarming cost of its loss. When the jet landed at Pudong

International Airport at exactly 1322 hours, he had come to no

conclusion except that if the human-rights treaty were imperative,

keeping more chemical weapons out of Saddam Hussein’s hands was probably

even more so.
    With their colleagues smiling around them, Dr. Liang Tianning escorted

Dr. Jon Smith from the jet. Not large by Western standards, the terminal

was ultramodern, with potted plants and a high blue ceiling. The ticket

counters were packed with men in business suits, both European and

Chinese, a symptom of Shanghai’s drive to become the New York City of

Asia.
    A few glanced at Smith and his companions, but the looks showed idle

curiosity, nothing more.
    Outdoors, a black limousine was waiting among the eager taxis. The

instant they were seated in the rear, the driver pulled into traffic. He

managed to dodge three taxis and two pedestrians, who leaped for their

lives. Smith turned to see whether they were safe, while no one else

paid the slightest attention, which said a lot about local driving

customs. Also it gave him a clear view of a small, dark-blue car that

appeared to be a Volkswagen Jetta. It had been parked among the taxis

but was now directly behind the limo.
    Was someone else expecting him–someone who had nothing to do with

biomolecular science and was unsure whether he was who and what Dr.

Liang said? The Jetta driver might simply be an ordinary Shanghainese,

who had mistakenly parked among the taxis instead of inside the garage

while waiting to pick up a returning friend or relative. Still, it was

remarkable that the driver had chosen the identical moment to leave the

terminal.
    Smith said nothing about it to Dr. Liang. As the men discussed viral

agents, the limo glided onto an express highway, heading west through

the soggy delta, which was barely above sea level for the entire

nineteen miles. Shanghai’s toothy skyline came into view–a new city,

almost entirely the work of the last decade. First came the sprawling

Pudong New District, with the needle-sharp point of the Oriental Pearl

Tower and the squarer but also soaring eighty-eight-story Jin Mao

Building. Expensive architecture with all the accouterments of luxury

and high technology. Only a dozen years ago, this land had been a flat

marsh that supplied the city with vegetables.
    The conversation turned to plans for Smith’s visit as the limo continued

through Pudong, under the Huangpu River, and into Puxi and the Bund,

which until 1990 had been the heart of old Shanghai. Now a phalanx of

glistening skyscrapers towered above the neoclassical business offices

of the city’s colonial period.
    At People’s Park, Smith had a close view of the cars, bicycles, and

individuals who mobbed the streets, a sea of life on the move. For a few

seconds, he paused to contemplate it all: The massive new construction.
    The evidence of outrageous wealth. The tooth-to-jowl humanity. Shanghai

was China’s most populous city, larger even than Hong Kong or Beijing.
    But Shanghai wanted more. It wanted a prominent place on the world’s

economic stage. It gave nodding obeisance to the past, but its interest

was focused on the future.
    As the limo made a right turn toward the river, Dr. Liang came close to

wringing his hands. “You are sure, Dr. Smith, that you do not wish a

room at the Grand Hyatt in Jin Mao Tower? It is a modern