Dance with the Dragon (37 page)

“McGarvey is convinced that Updegraf was killed on General Liu’s orders. We’ll probably never find the contract killers, but most likely they work for one of the drug cartels. We think that Liu is using them for his fieldwork, and probably financing.”

“Financing what?” Berndt asked.

“That’s what McGarvey is trying to find out,” Adkins said.

“Are you saying that whatever it is Liu is up to may be an independent operation?” the president asked. “Something without the sanction of his government?”

“At this point it looks that way.”

Again Haynes exchanged a glance with his NSA. “I may bring it up with the premier.”

“I wouldn’t advise that, Mr. President,” Adkins said.

“Why?”

“In the first place, we don’t have all the facts. McGarvey could be wrong.”

“That’s not likely,” the president said.

“Liu’s background and position have to be considered,” Berndt said. “It would be like the Chinese trying to convince you that one of the Kennedys was a traitor.”

“What does McGarvey think Liu is doing?” the president asked sharply. He was getting frustrated. “Is the man a terrorist? Is he mounting an attack on us? Because if that’s what you’re saying, I can’t buy it. The Chinese are trying to squeeze our balls on trade issues to give themselves leverage on Taiwan. But you sure as hell can’t convince me that one of their top spy agency generals is another Osama bin Laden with a holy grudge against the West.”

“We haven’t come to that conclusion, sir,” Adkins said. “But one of our field officers was assassinated, and coincidence or not, he was targeting Liu for some reason, and he was seen at a party hosted by Liu. The same party that Representative Newell attended. At the very least we need to find out what the connections are.”

“I agree,” the president said after a moment. “We’re not going to let an American’s death go uninvestigated. I promise you that much. But the timing is wrong. Whatever Liu has as his agenda does not involve World War III. So I think it’s safe to suggest that we rein in McGarvey until I return from Beijing.”

“I don’t know if that’s possible, Mr. President,” Adkins admitted.

“We’ve been down this path before,” Haynes said angrily. “I don’t intend doing it again. Get word to McGarvey to back off, just for now.”

“Yes, Mr. President,” Adkins said. “What about our ongoing investigation of Mr. Newell?”

“So far as it doesn’t involve the Chinese beyond the oil deal, you may proceed.”

“He’s been to Beijing, and he’s taking soft money from a pair of PACs in Hong Kong that do have a connection with Liu. We’ve come up with that much so far.”

This was unexpected news to both the president and Berndt. “Christ,” Haynes said softly. “How long has this been going on?”

“I’m not sure we know that yet, but we’re working on it from this end.”

“Does the son of a bitch actually think that nobody will find out?” the president asked rhetorically. “If the
Post
or the
Times
gets wind of this they’ll have a field day. Which is fine with me. But not yet. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“No leaks. Not so much as a hint. Is that also clear?”

“Perfectly, Mr. President,” Adkins said.

Haynes let it hang for just a moment, then softened. “Is there anything else this morning?”

“Just one, Mr. President,” Adkins said. He’d debated with himself bringing this up, but ever since McGarvey had been DCI, the CIA always told the White House the entire, unvarnished truth, whether or not it agreed with the president’s policies. “Our special-projects director believes that the threat level to the U.S. is very high.”

This was something the president definitely did not want to hear. “Are you talking about Otto Rencke?”

“Yes, sir.”

Haynes nodded. “I see,” he said. “Keep me posted. All I need is two weeks of McGarvey not killing someone. Two weeks.”

SIXTY-THREE

COLONIA LOMAS ALTAS

The horizon to the east was just starting to brighten when they got back to Gloria’s apartment. The television was tuned to CNN in Spanish and the only lights on were in the kitchen and the master bath. The city outside the sliding glass doors was just beginning to awaken with the dawn. It seemed to McGarvey to have been a long night.

“I’m going to take a quick shower. There’s coffee in the kitchen, but it might be a little strong for you. It’s Cuban.”

“That’ll be fine,” McGarvey said.

She looked at him for a long time, her eyes alive, her dark skin glowing. “It was you who had me fired, wasn’t it?”

McGarvey nodded. “I wanted you to have the freedom to operate independent of the embassy.”

“I knew it,” she said. “The only part that grates was Gil’s attitude. He loved every second of it, the officious prick.”

“What’s his problem with you?”

“He’s never been in control. Drives him nuts.”

“He was your boss,” McGarvey suggested.

Gloria laughed. “What’s the plan for today? What should I wear?”

“Blue jeans. Nothing is going to happen until tonight.”

Her expression darkened. “The clubs?”

McGarvey nodded. “We’re going hunting.”

She smiled. “I don’t suppose you’d care to wash my back.”

“Behave, and I might take you to lunch,” McGarvey said.

*   *   *

The coffee was extremely strong but very good. McGarvey had opened the sliding glass doors and sat outside on the balcony and was watching the city come alive when Gloria came out to him. She was dressed in designer jeans and a sleeveless white turtleneck, and was barefoot.

“This is the best time of the day,” she said. “But I was going a little crazy with nothing to do, wondering when you would come back.”

“I’m sorry about your father.”

She started to say something, then changed her mind and looked away. It was impossible for McGarvey to gauge her mood, to guess what she was thinking, what she was feeling just then, but he felt instinctively that he was missing something important.

The odd pause lasted just a moment, and then she was back. “I’m making breakfast. Do you want some?”

“I’ll have whatever you’re having,” he said.

He got up and followed her into the kitchen. He sat on a stool at the counter, and she poured him another cup of coffee.

“Unless you’re used to it, you should drink this only in the morning,” she said. “In the evening it’d keep you glued to the ceiling all night.”

She took out eggs and bacon and butter from the refrigerator and started breakfast, her movements swift and efficient, as if she were a short-order cook. But then everything McGarvey knew about her from firsthand experience and from her fitreps was of a woman who was highly competent.

“What did my father tell you about me, or aren’t I supposed to know?”

“That he loved you, but didn’t understand you.”

“He never did,” Gloria said. “But it wasn’t his fault, not entirely. I was a difficult kid, and never got better. I got worse.”

“He said that, too.”

“What’d he tell you about Raul? Havana?”

“He liked your husband, thought it was a good match. But he didn’t know what happened in Havana. He had only some secondhand opinions and guesses. But he was proud of the fact that you were enough of a survivor to get out in one piece.”

A brief look of pleasure crossed Gloria’s face. “He said that?”

“Yes.”

She finished cooking and served McGarvey his eggs, bacon, and toast at the counter. She sat down next to him.

“I would have thought you’d make huevos rancheros,” McGarvey said.

“That’s Mexican. Cubans eat this if they can get it.”

They ate in silence for a minute, CNN in the living room little more than background noise, the sounds of traffic outside rising.

“What do you want me to do?” she asked finally.

“I want you to become a dancer for General Liu.”

Gloria fell silent again, finishing her breakfast. When they were done she rinsed their plates and silverware in the sink and loaded the dishwasher. McGarvey figured it was busywork, to give her time to think.

She turned back to him. “For you, darling, I’ll do anything,” she said. “Even that.”

“It’s not like that,” McGarvey said.

She nodded. “Yes it is. It’ll always be like that. I love you.”

“You know that nothing will ever happen.”

She nodded. “Doesn’t change how I feel,” she said. “But hey, listen, it’s not your problem. It’s mine, and I’ll deal with it.”

“We start making the rounds of the clubs tonight to get you established,” McGarvey said. “This won’t be pleasant, but it’s the only way I can think to get to him.”

“He has a weakness for women.”

“He hates them, for whatever reason. And he’s already killed at least three and probably more, so you’re going to have to be extremely careful.”

“But not so careful that he gets suspicious from the start.”

“Something like that,” McGarvey said. “First you’ll need the right clothes.”

“I thought that we would probably be going in this direction, otherwise you wouldn’t have taken me to the Wild Stallion,” she said. “Hang on a second.”

She went into the bedroom, leaving McGarvey sitting at the kitchen counter. Two minutes later she was back, dressed in a fluorescent white cocktail dress with almost no back, a neckline that plunged to her navel, exposing all but her nipples, and an uneven hemline that was well above her knees. The effect against her dark skin was stunning.

“Something like this?” she asked, doing a slow turn.

“You’re a beautiful woman. If any men in the clubs aren’t turned on, they’re dead above the neck.”

She smiled. “I’m only interested in turning on one man.”

“Yeah, General Liu,” McGarvey said.

SIXTY-FOUR

THE APARTMENT

“I’ll do whatever it takes to get close to Liu,” Gloria said after she’d changed back into her blue jeans and turtleneck top. “Anything. But first you’re going to have to level with me. If I’m going to stick my head—my entire body—into the lion’s mouth, I want the whole story.”

“I agree,” McGarvey told her. “But it’ll have to be a two-way street. You’ll have to be straight with me. No bullshit. If I find out that you’ve lied to me, you’ll be outside looking in.”

“And if this plan of yours works, and I get to Liu, what then?”

“Whatever you want,” McGarvey said. “At the very least back in the CIA with McCann off your back.”

“Fair enough,” she said. “What are we looking for exactly? What has the general done that has the CIA so interested?”

“And got Updegraf assassinated,” McGarvey said.

An odd expression came into her eyes and the set of her mouth, as if she were doing everything within her power not to let her anger show.

“What?” McGarvey asked.

“It was so stupid, getting himself killed.”

“What do you mean?”

“He wasn’t trying to burn some code clerk, that much was obvious from the start. But he didn’t do his homework.”

“How do you know?”

“I said it was obvious,” she snapped, all but dismissing the question. “Are you going after Liu because Louis got himself killed? Or do you have something else?”

McGarvey could not tell if she was lying. She was not as transparent as Shahrzad or as Monique in New York. But if she was holding something back, as her father suggested she’d done all of her life, then she was a master.

“One of Otto’s research programs was starting to show lavender when the National Reconnaissance Office came up with a couple of satellite shots of Liu here in Mexico City, and the threat level started to go ballistic. He ran a quick background check on the general and stumbled across a couple of old FBI files naming Liu as a principal suspect in a series of murders in New York and Washington.”

“But that wasn’t enough for them to call you out of retirement. There had to be something else.”

“It looked like the Chinese might be up to something down here, and when Updegraf was assassinated after supposedly going after a clerk in the Chinese embassy, Liu’s presence began to raise some serious question marks, at least in Otto’s programs.”

Gloria was shaking her head. “I still don’t get it. Why didn’t McCann send a flying team down here to find out who killed Louis and why?”

“Nobody wants to upset the Chinese just now,” McGarvey told her.

“Trade issues.”

“Something like that. But it’s possible that Liu is running his own operation for a reason or reasons unknown to his own government.”

“So they sent you,” Gloria said. “Still doesn’t make any sense.”

“We think it’s possible that Perry is dirty.”

They had gone out to the teak chairs and table on the balcony to talk. Gloria sat back.
“Cristo!”
Her eyes were wide, and for the first time McGarvey thought that he could see fear in them. It wasn’t the reaction he’d expected.

“Did you have no idea?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I suppose I should feel glad or something, but I don’t. He’s a prick and I don’t like him, but I would never have guessed he was anything but a Boy Scout. He wanted to be the deputy director someday.”

“Tell me about him,” McGarvey prompted.

She took a moment before she answered. “He was a crappy manager, I can tell you that much with certainty. He has no people skills.” She shook her head again and laughed. “I’m telling you, Mac, this is hard for me to accept. I would have thought he was too chickenshit to work for the opposition.”

“We’re not sure about him; could be he just has a lousy memory,” McGarvey admitted. “Did you know that Updegraf was fluent in Mandarin?”

Gloria nodded. “It was a weird kind of hobby for him. When he was a kid he started tinkering around with the language. He’d wanted to be an artist, but he had no talent. The next best thing was reading and writing the Chinese pictographs. He was pretty good at it, but he used to joke that it was a good thing his Spanish was lousy, otherwise he would have ended up in China.”

“Would Perry have known that?”

“I would imagine so.”

“Perry told me that he wasn’t aware of it,” McGarvey said.

“You met Gil, you talked to him?”