Covert One 4 - The Altman Code (49 page)

“We need to search.”

“Of course.”

The guards investigated the cupboard, moved the pallets, and looked out
the windows to see whether anyone was hiding. There was nowhere else to
look in the bare room. The governor walked slowly around.

At last, he told Thayer, “You may return to sleep.”

As he left, the guards close behind, they heard him order, “Post a guard
at each barrack. Conduct a pallet check every hour. The prison is locked
down. There’ll be no work tomorrow, and no one enters or leaves. No one,
until further notice.”

The governor marched out of sight. As the guards followed, someone
closed the door.

Chiavelli hurried to the window. He stood there for some time. “He’s
going back to his office, but he’s short a guard. He must’ve left one at
the barrack door.”

“That won’t matter.”

“The bed check and lock-down will. We can’t leave tonight. Even if we
managed to escape the farm, they’d be on us before we got five miles.”

David Thayer collapsed on a chair. “No.” His bony shoulders slumped. His
face was a mask of despair. “Of course, you’re right.”

“The only good thing is they don’t seem to have connected it to us, and
you won’t be transferred tomorrow. The lock-down’s saved you from that.”

Thayer looked up. “Now we wait. And hope. I’m used to that. Still …
this time, it all seems much harder.”

Between occasional, seemingly random sweeps by the searchlight beam, Jon
and Asgar worked their way around the fence, sometimes crawling,
sometimes trotting, always hunched over. Asgar knew where they were
going, when to crawl, and when to chance moving faster. Suddenly, he
dropped to his heels.

Jon pulled in beside him, squatting, too, and followed his line of sight
through the fence to a low, square building set ten yards inside the
chainlink enclosure. There was a double door in its rear wall, but no
windows. From the big door, an unpaved drive ran to the fence and out to
a road. Asgar said, “This is where they’ll come out.”

“What’s the building?”

“The kitchen and mess. We’ll stay here and hope like bloody hell we
don’t have to cut our way inside. Those rear doors are for loading and
unloading supplies. The important aspect of this piece of real estate is
that there’s a blind spot between the doors and the fence–about ten
feet wide– out of sight of the guard towers.”

“That’s a damn useful discovery.” They settled in to wait, again lying
close to the fence. Jon focused on the double doors. Time seemed to
stand still, and the night closed in. The noise of booted feet marching
across wood walkways broke the silence. It was a heavy sound,
threatening.

Jon frowned at Asgar. “What does that mean?”

“They’re marching away from the barracks toward the governor’s building
and the guardhouse.” Asgar’s voice was barely audible. “There must’ve
been an alarm, or perhaps the governor made a snap inspection. It
doesn’t look good, Jon.”

“A lockdown?” “We’ll know soon,” Asgar said grimly. He found a loose
pebble and lobbed it over the fence. It struck the ground with a tiny,
nearly inaudible thikkk.

Jon still saw nothing move inside the prison, not even a shadow. Then he
felt a sharp sting on his cheek. He had been hit by a return pebble. He
picked it up.

Asgar nodded. “That’s the signal. They’re locked down. We’ll have to
wait. With luck, twenty-four hours from now, everything will be normal
again. The only good thing is they won’t transfer Thayer in the morning.

Of course, it’s possible the lock-down will last longer, maybe even a
week.”

“I hope not, for all our sakes. Especially for Thayer’s.”

Sunday, September 17.

Washington, D.C.

Charles Ouray entered the Oval Office quietly. “Mr. President? Sorry to
disturb you.”

Late afternoon sunlight warmed the room and the back of the president’s
neck. Castilla glanced up from the President’s Daily Brief. “Yes?”

“The DCI would like a word.”

The president took off his reading glasses. “By all means, bring her in,
Charlie.”

Ouray returned with a woman in her early sixties. Not tall, she was on
the heavy side, with short, efficient gray hair. Compact, she had a
formidable chest and walked with a purposeful stride. Some who had faced
her questions compared her to a light tank–quick, fast, and powerful.

“Have a chair, Arlene,” the president told her. “It’s always good to see
you. What’s up?”

She glanced toward Ouray, who had taken his usual spot, leaning against
the wall to the president’s right.

“It’s all right, Arlene. Charlie knows everything now.”

“Very well then.” She sat, crossed her ankles under her chair, and
paused to compose what she was going to say. “Would you first bring me
up to date about Jasper Kott and Ralph Mcdermid? Where do we stand with
them? When do you want to reveal what we know?”

“Besides your people, the FBI’s watching, collecting information. Part
of the problem is, what have they done that’s really illegal? Leaks of
unclassified information aren’t. But once we can document their roles in
the Empress mess, we may be able to get them on aiding illegal
contraband. Or maybe Kott has leaked classified information to Mcdermid.

An investigation takes time, as you know. In any case, we’ll need strong
evidence to convict them, so we don’t want to alert either yet. Now I’ve
told you what I know. What about you? Have you learned something new?”

She nodded somberly. “A big clue to the new leaker’s identity. Mcdermid
has been consulting someone else here in Washington. Another associate,
we’ll say. Perhaps a partner. A man. Probably highly placed. Anonymous,
so far.”

The president absorbed that. He repressed an outraged curse. “How do you
know this?”

“We have a tap in Mcdermid’s Hong Kong office.”

For the first time in days, the president smiled. “There are times when
I thoroughly enjoy the deviousness of the CIA. Thank you, Arlene. A
sincere thanks. Your problem, I take it, is you haven’t been able to
identify him yet?”

“Right. One of our agents in Hong Kong believes she recognizes the
voice, but she hasn’t been able to place him.”

“Have you heard it?”

“The tape’s not good enough over the phone, but it’s on its way to Langly
via courier.”

“When you place him, let me know. If none of your people can put a name
to him, bring the tape here. Maybe someone in the White House will
recognize him.”

“Yes, Mr. President.” She started to stand.

The president stopped her. “How are you doing otherwise with your
investigation of Mcdermid?”

“We’ve found nothing yet for why he or Altman is involved in the Empress
affair, except of course the obvious reason–financial profit from the
sale of the chemicals.”

“All right, Arlene, thank you. I appreciate your work.”

“It’s my job, sir. Let’s hope this is over soon. It’s like a firecracker
that’s on the verge of turning into a nuclear missile.” “Amen to that,”
Ouray said from his wall.

“Good hunting,” the president said. “Keep me up to date.”

“Certainly, Mr. President.”

“See the DCI out, Charlie,” Castilla said. “I’ll talk to you later.”

When both had left, the president reached for the blue telephone to ask
Fred Klein to drive over. He needed to let him know what the CIA had
discovered–and what it had not. And he, too, wanted to take no chances
with another leak.

Monday, September 18.

Dazu.

A lemon-colored haze rested on the eastern horizon, signaling dawn.
The aged limousine, Humvee, and Land Rover drove in a caravan five miles
past rolling farmlands and wooded hills. The thin morning light grew
warmer, sunnier. At last they pulled into a dark courtyard, draped in
moist shadows. In the distance, the violet hills of Baoding Shan were
beginning to transform into pale green. That was where the Sleeping
Buddha was carved, where the all-important meeting with Li Kuonyi and
her husband was scheduled. Jon studied the hills, wondering what the
night would bring.

An old Soviet-made bus was parked in the courtyard, its motor running.

“What’s that for?” Jon asked as Asgar parked. The other vehicles pulled
in alongside, and the drivers turned off their motors.

“Alani and her group expected to use it to transport David Thayer and
Captain Chiavelli to the border. Their cover was as a group of Uighers
heading home to Kashgar.”

“Sounds risky. Even with your makeup team, they’d never pass in
daylight.”

“Wait here. I’ll show you.”

He crossed the dusty yard and spoke to the old Uigher behind the wheel
of the bus, who immediately turned off the engine. He got out stiffly
and followed Asgar’s men into the house.

Asgar beckoned Jon. “Come along.”

Inside, Asgar pointed to a pair of voluminous women’s garments like
Afghan burkas, lying on a rustic wood table, one black and one brown.

“In Xinjiang, many of our women wear veils, but some go even more
extreme and wear these monstrosities. We’ll dress Thayer and Chiavelli
in them and sit them next to Alani because she’s tall. If they keep
their knees bent, they should pass.”

“At least weapons can be hidden underneath.” The farmhouse looked old,
with a worn wood floor and exposed timbers as beams. It was furnished
with homespun tables, chairs, sideboards, and bureaus for hanging
clothes. Through an archway stood a bedstead and a wood washstand, on
which were a clay bowl and jug. He saw no sign of the Uighers, but the
old bus driver sat at a bare table in a kitchen through another narrow
arch. “Where do I sleep?” Now that he knew he had to wait until tonight,
he was abruptly exhausted. Every muscle ached. The wounds on his face
itched. He wanted to wash off the blackout cream, eat, and fall into any
kind of bed he could find.

“There’s a hidden cellar. Plus, the barn has secret rooms behind the
stalls. You want to sleep now or eat?”

“Eat. Then sleep.” Jon followed him into the kitchen where fourteen of
his guerrillas were seated at another table, wolfing food, and women
were cooking and putting full platters on both tables. Among the women
was the pair of giggling makeup artists from the Shanghai longtang, who
started giggling the instant they saw his face. They pointed him to the
sink, where he used cool water and homemade soap that smelled of tallow
to get the blackout goop off his skin. Feeling better, he sat at the
table with the old man, who stared up from his food as if to ask, “What
are you?” Then he shrugged and resumed eating. Asgar joined him,
carrying a bowl of the same rice laced with mutton scraps, carrots,
onions, and some kind of shelled bean, all held together by melted
sheep-tail fat, which they had eaten in the longtang. He put it on the
table with the other dishes. Famished from the long night and
unrelenting tension, Jon took generous portions of everything. The
thin-skinned dumplings and thick filling were delicious. The mutton
kebabs were crisp on the outside, tender on the inside, and without any
of the odor many Americans found unpleasant. As Jon ate, Asgar watched
and shoveled food into his mouth, too. The moment seemed to bring out
nostalgia in Asgar. He said ruminatively, “Uighers were nomadic
sheepherders long before we settled into farming. Mutton is to us what
seafood is to Japan, beef to the Argentine and States, and beef and
mutton to the Brits. That was one thing I liked about England.

I could get good mutton, and if I were lucky enough to find the rare
English-raised Southdown, ahhh … that was the best mutton I’d had
since leaving home.” Jon used the bread to wipe his plate. “Not many
people like English food as much as you do.”

“I loved it, old boy. Real English food. Lots of suet in the puddings
and dumplings plus all the roasts, thick gravies, organ meats, and
mutton. Maybe that’s why when so many Brits came here in the old days
they seemed to understand us far better than the Chinese and Russians
ever did or ever have.” When they finished, Asgar led him back out
across the courtyard’s hardpacked dirt to a small house against the left
wall. Inside, a solitary Uigher stood at a window overlooking the
courtyard, his assault rifle resting on the sill. “We have sentries on
all the walls, too,” Asgar explained as they passed. “What happens if
you get a visit from Chinese authorities?”

“There’s an extended Uigher family that lives here and farms. We take
cover, and they do the meet and greet. Everyone knows the family.” Jon
followed Asgar down a cleverly hidden narrow staircase into a cellar
illuminated by bare lightbulbs. Rows of pallets held sleeping men and
women. Asgar pointed to the empty one next to his, lay down, and was
snoring instantly. Jon stretched out, tensing and relaxing his muscles.

He told himself he felt better. In any case, he was certain he would
feel better when he awoke. As he tried to drift off, his mind kept
returning to the problem of David Thayer. The potential for trouble and
failure at the Sleeping Buddha less than twenty-four hours away was
enormous enough. Any glitch in the attempt to free Thayer could ruin the
entire mission. He rolled over, tried one side then the other. At last,
he fell into a restless sleep.

Beijing It was late morning, and usually the Owl would have been in his
office at Zhongnanhai for hours by now. Instead, he worked at his desk
in his home study. He was smoking one of his favorite Players cigarettes
and putting his chop to security documents when his wife ushered in
Ambassador Wu Bang-tiao.

The Owl immediately put down his cigarette and stood to greet him. For
once, there was a broad smile on his face. The ambassador was an ally
and friend, who owed his post in Washington, D.C. to the Owl’s influence
and discreet lobbying. As his wife disappeared out the door and closed
it, Niu said, “Welcome, my good friend.” He grasped Ambassador Wu’s
small hand. “This is a surprise, especially considering the difficulties
between us and the United States.” A slight rebuke in his tones: “Until
I received your message this morning, I’d no idea you were returning.”