Razing Beijing: A Thriller (75 page)

“Neither was dropping the wire.”

“You can’t keep an American citizen against his will.”

McBurney smiled. “Watch me.” He slid his hand inside his
coat and removed the familiar blue jacket of an American passport. He waggled
it in Stuart’s face before slipping it back into his pocket. “I’ll keep you as
long as I like, Mr. Pedersen. Excuse me a minute.” McBurney left Stuart behind
in the ambulance and jogged slowly to greet his Japanese friend.

THE CHARTERED JET
carrying its abbreviated CIA entourage was two hundred miles east of Tokyo Bay
when, just past 4
A.M.
in Beijing, a
stiff breeze chilled the uninvited visitor waiting outside Rong Peng’s
Zhongnanhai residence. Heavy curtains drawn over the windows muffled
unrecognizable voices.

Deputy Minister of State Security Chen Ruihan discarded his
apology for the man whose sleep he had expected to interrupt. Rather than
Rong’s
mishu
it was the vice-chairman himself, fully dressed and alert,
who answered the door. Rong gave his guest a cursory glance. He dismissed the
PLA 8341 Division escort who had accompanied Chen Ruihan from Nanhai Street.

Entering the foyer, Chen observed several white-gloved
Filipino porters hurriedly wheel breakfast trays into the room of loudly conversant
guests. Rong led the deputy minister to his personal library, where the leader
refrained from offering a chair—this interruption, however important, would be
brief.

Chen observed his mentor’s face turn deepening red as he
explained the disturbing turn of events at the APEC summit in Tokyo.

“How did the security detail learn the American’s
identity?” Rong asked.

Chen’s eyes came to rest on a set of gold-crested volumes
of Homer’s
The Iliad & The Odyssey
. “We were in the process of
determining backgrounds of all potential negotiating experts,” he said. “Something
apparently caught the eye of a low-level informant. Major Cheung dug deeper and
discovered incomplete information in this American’s credentials.”

Rong’s eyelids drifted to half-mast.

“It became a simple matter of lifting fingerprints from
room service utensils. These provided a match with our files. I assure you,
Comrade Rong, an effort commenced immediately to relocate the commissioner to
another hotel.”

“And this emergency evacuation of the hotel...?”

“Possibly a CIA intervention. With the egregious assault on
Major Cheung, for which there has been no—”

“Can there be any doubt this man actually conversed with
Commissioner Deng?”

Chen exhaled. “We may have no choice but to assume that he
did.”

Rong closed his eyes, appearing eerily calm—Chen had witnessed
Rong display such composure prior to lashing out at his confidants. “Has our
great national asset offered his own explanation?”

“Not yet. His security detail is uncomfortable approaching
the commissioner with such an inquiry.”

Rong opened his eyes and looked at him. “And your
explanation for this alleged conversation, comrade?”

In preparing his answer, Chen reflected on the inexplicable
gyrations that Rong had put his organization through in order to segregate Deng
Zhen from his doctor friend. He still had no idea why Doctor Wu had been
banished to Xinjiang Province. It was difficult even to know if Rong held the
aging technocrat in esteem, or disdain. Chen had been instructed to operate
under a hands-off policy with respect to Deng’s hooligan son. Had these things
been done to protect the old man, and if so, what would Rong’s instinct be now?

During the flicker of time it took Chen to seek his own
counsel, Rong turned and approached the cabinet beside his leather-bound chair.
“I see,” Rong said, extracting a cigarette from a pack inside the top drawer. “I’ll
leave for you how best to deal with those responsible for Deng’s security lapse.”
Rong lit the cigarette. “See to it that Comrade Deng returns safely to
Beijing.”

“He is booked on a China Southern flight later this
morning.”

Rong thought for a moment, drawing the smoke deeply into
his lungs, whereupon he proceeded to dispel any lingering doubt of his esteem
for Commissioner Deng. “Treason must inflict a deeply disturbing, conflicting
range of emotions. I’ve always thought traitorous men with even the slightest
notion of country must contemplate suicide. I imagine Deng must suffer such
torment. In fact, I am sure of it.”

Chen met Rong’s piercing gaze with a nod of resignation.

“Be certain the appropriate self-recriminations are found.”

“Very well. Only...might that raise other questions?”

“Such as?”

“Such as the material consequences of his treason.”

Rong considered his subordinate’s point. “You were to
secure the research facility in the United States. What is the status?”

Finally some positive news to report, Chen thought. “I am
pleased to inform you that a Congressional fiat has terminated the research
project. The CLI facility has been shut down pending further deliberation,
which I am assured will take months, if not longer.”

“I see. In light of this development, should we reconsider
having it destroyed?”

“Comrade?”

“We may not be too late to preempt their military options. As
I recall, you had already drawn up such a plan.”

Chen furrowed his brow. This approach still seemed to him
an invitation to disastrous scrutiny. Upon whose head would
that
responsibility fall? “I can give you my assurance that the matter is closed.”

“Very well. Then, if that will be all...?”

“Yes, Comrade. Actually...if you permit me? Perhaps the
commissioner has presented you with an opportunity, one in which we might also
learn what he exchanged with the American.”

Rong eyed him uncertainly.

“Suppose we were to confront Deng, accuse him of treason,
in the presence of General Secretary Zhou? You will have boldly excised a
traitor. The reverence our technology czar enjoys in the core leader’s eyes is
no secret. Deng’s humiliation and ruin, then, would proportionally bolster your
political capital.” Chen paused to see how his words were being received. “Our
leader is old and senile, but he still wields influence among the Politburo. He
is popular among the Hundred Names. His favor can only help consolidate your
own leadership. Deng might even be driven to commit suicide by his own hand.”

“The idea has merit,” Rong allowed. “And Deng’s importance
for the upcoming show had slipped my mind.”

“I’m certain it would have occurred to you.” Chen held his
breath.

“What evidence would I present? You indicated we haven’t
anything to prove the two men exchanged even a word.”

“So, I have a little work to do. There is also this matter
of his dissident son to attend to.”

“Tighten surveillance on Deng—
tight as a drum
. I’ll
consider your proposal and advise you of my decision.”

“Yes, Comrade.”

“Tell me, Chen. How do you enjoy your security ministry
post?”

“Why, with great honor.”

Rong nodded. “You are certain this facility is being dismantled?”

“Our source is unequivocal.”

Rong’s expression hardened. “What a disaster it would be to
learn that the Americans were revising their strategic threat assessment, after
all, based on what Deng had told them. This raises another question. Do you suppose
that Deng is your high-level mole? I am referring, of course, to your own
explanation as to how our traitorous physicist nearly slipped through our net.”

Chen did not know how to respond. Deng had been under his
nose for months now.

“If I were you, I would work diligently to resolve these many
unanswered questions. Dismissed, Comrade Chen.”

PAUL DEVINN IGNORED
the chime from his cell phone while completing the final few passes with the
airless paint gun. He stepped back to critically examine his work. Satisfied,
he set the sprayer down on the concrete floor and retrieved the phone number
from the display. He had been expecting the call.

Devinn slipped the breathing mask down from over his mouth.
“It’s me,” he announced into his cellular phone.

“Status?”

“It’s clear now I missed my calling as an auto body
specialist. Everything’s in order on my end, and I’m getting a green light.” The
wave-off signal from their Iranian operatives, had there been one, would have
been relayed to him in the form of an alphanumeric message from his lawyer. Clutching
the phone to his ear, he walked around to the other side of the Econoline van. The
freshly painted surface was barely tacky to the touch of his fingertip.

“Well, we’ve got a problem” he heard Lance Lee say. “It’s
not related to the current job, but I’m afraid it needs your immediate
attention.”

Devinn took note of the hitch in Lee’s voice. “What sort of
a problem?” He peeled back a piece of masking tape securing the template to the
exterior of the driver-side door.

“It involves a surveillance problem for you to resolve.” The
more thorough explanation that followed—and the irony of it, Devinn
realized—brought an appreciative smile.

“DO WE KNOW WHO DID THIS,
or
not?” asked the President. In the hallway outside could be heard muffled sounds
of footsteps and low voices as yet another meeting was preempted, the would-be
attendees escorted away.

“I think you’ll find the forensic evidence compelling,”
replied FBI Director Dave Dolan. “If not down-right indisputable. Lance?”

The President seemed to chafe at that, but directed his
gaze back to the projection screen. The next Powerpoint slide was advanced to
reveal two nearly identical graphical overlays.

“What you see here are trace element profiles obtained
using a scanning electron microscope,” Deputy Assistant Director Lance Lee
explained. “Hours after the attack, our mobile lab made a cursory check using a
technique called chromatometry. A swab of the residue discovered on the
fracture surface of one of the bridge’s main support cables indicated a high
concentration of carbon, probable origin RDX, a constituent of plastique
explosive.” Lee faced toward the screen. “Those initial results are consistent
with the SEM findings shown here, produced early this morning at Quantico. The
red line represents residue of an explosive device we can say with some
assurance was used to destroy the George Washington Bridge. Just for reference,
we’ve superimposed this signature of a sample from the device retrieved and
safely detonated after last year’s failed attempt on Yankee Nuclear. You can
see that the trace constituents are not quite the same.”

“There’s a point somewhere in this?” asked Thomas Herman,
the President’s national security advisor.

“I’m building the case for a modus operandi. This species
of terrorists seems to like using plastique.”

“You’re calling these the work of one cell?”

“We’re not quite ready to say.”

“God
damn
it.” President Denis was clenching his
fists. “I am forever assured our borders are secure—we’ve spent billions to see
to that. How are people able to smuggle this stuff in?”

“Standard military Composition - 4,” the national security
advisor read aloud the designation on the screen. Herman turned toward the
President. “That is to say, U.S. military issue. They wouldn’t have had to
smuggle it in.”

The President’s glower wandered around the table before
coming to rest on the FBI Director.

“Mr. Lee will address the pedigree of explosive,” Director Dolan
said, “but I have to say that, so far, our accounting of thefts and military
stockpiles hasn’t allowed us to locate the original source.” He paused,
frowning. “What I also find troubling is that those suspension cables are
massive
.
We’re talking one hell of a shape charge, probably two of them, assuming that’s
what they used. Perhaps fifty or sixty pounds of the stuff.”

The President and his quorum of cabinet members pondered
the significance of Dolan’s statement. “And why is that troubling?” the
President finally asked.

“That’s a large piece of material. It’s a wonder nobody on
the bridge noticed it beforehand.”

“Just what are you trying to tell us?” asked Herman. “Have
you got a story or not?”

“We’ve prepared an early status of the investigation, Tom,”
Dolan replied. “Not a story.”

Herman jutted his chin toward Lee. “Your point doesn’t seem
to jibe with that made by your own staff. If their modus operandi includes
molding this plastique into familiar-looking objects, maybe they wrapped
something around this big cable that looked like part of the bridge.”

“NYPD speculates that the device or devices were put into
place the previous night, under cover of darkness,” Lee informed them. “Detonation
occurred before morning maintenance crews arrived. Nobody’s explained how they
managed to circumvent the bridge’s surveillance.”

The FBI director added that Quantico analysts had been
unable to divine the presence of tags among the constituents of residue. Chemical
tags were inert agents added to materials deemed as having the potential for
the illegal manufacture of explosives, such as nitrate fertilizers and
trinitrotoluene. Finally written into law some years following the Oklahoma
City attack, tags in explosive agent residue could be traced back to the
specific manufacturer’s lot in which they were sold.

“There’s a cache somewhere they acquired some time ago,” Herman
suggested.

“We can’t trace the manufacturer’s records?” asked
Secretary of State Laynas. He turned toward Dolan. “This isn’t court admissible.
At least not in a way adequate to incriminate someone.”