The Case Officer (38 page)

His condition was worsened by the
physical injuries he had received in the fight with Lim. His left arm was held
in a loose sling, and the broken ribs scraped across his lungs with each
breath. The sunglasses he wore did not completely hide the ugly bruise on the
left side of his face. He wore tennis shoes, jeans, and an un-tucked
short-sleeved denim shirt. He looked a mess and felt like shit.

He was also quite certain that
the news the courier was bringing from the DDO was not going to make him feel
any better.

Mac saw him first as he passed
through the double doors of the customs area and entered the main terminal. The
big man limped toward him, head down in his characteristic John Wayne saunter.
He looked tired. He was dressed casually in baggy tan slacks, white shirt and a
rumpled light blue sport jacket. A green backpack was slung over one shoulder.
My
God
, thought Mac,
he came personally
. The news couldn’t be as bad as
expected—not if Edwin Rothmann was the courier delivering it.

The DDO’s face lit up in a wide
grin when their eyes met. He hefted the backpack on his shoulder and quickened
his pace. When they met, they embraced gingerly. Rothmann pushed Mac back and frowned
at his condition. “You look terrible,” he growled, unable to mask his concern.

“You should see the other guy,” Mac
replied sheepishly, “but I guess you know all about that by now. It’s good to
see you, boss. Thanks for coming. I can’t wait to hear what happened after I
left, and…and what’s next on…”

“Cool it, Mac.” The big man
patted Mac on the side of the head. “Let’s get out of here and go someplace
where we can talk. I’ve got plenty to tell you, and lots of time to tell it to
you.”

“Okay, let’s go.” Mac took the
old man’s backpack with his good right arm, slung it over his shoulder and guided
him out into the late afternoon sun to the taxi waiting area. They entered the
first cab in the queue and Mac directed the driver to take them to the
Pousada
de Macau
.

The big man stopped and turned.
“You can’t imagine how sorry I am about Wei-wei, Mac. I just can’t tell you…”

“I know, boss. It’s really tough.
I…”

“There’ll be a service for her at
the Trinity Church a week from today. It’ll be a private thing. You should be
there. You need to come home and…”

“I’ll be there. Don’t worry. I’ll
be there. I’ll go back with you.”

Talk of Wei-wei was uncomfortable
for them both, so they made small talk during the short drive to the inn. When Rothmann
asked about his injuries, Mac replied, “Nothing to worry about. I’ll heal...” 

Rothmann could see that the driver
was concentrating on weaving his rattletrap taxi through the traffic around the
gaudy Lisboa Hotel and decided it was safe to assuage Mac’s greatest concern. Mac
was gazing thoughtfully out the window. The DDO leaned close and spoke in a low
voice. “By the way, Lim’s alive; he made it—what’s left of him.”

After a moment Mac said, “I’m
glad.”

Rothmann smiled, “I somehow
thought you might be. I understand.” Rothmann knew that Mac had attacked Lim
for his own, personal reasons. Which meant a charge of murder could have been
brought by the French, complicating life for Mac and the Agency—which would not
have hesitated to disavow any knowledge of Mac’s actions. That’s just the way
things were done.

Chapter One Hundred-Eight

T
he taxi dropped them in front of
the old
Pousada de Macau
. Mac paid the driver and led the DDO up the old
wooden steps of the porch, through the small entrance hall and directly out to
the veranda overlooking the bay. The sun hovered only a few feet above the
horizon, casting a crimson aura over the sparkling blue-green waters.
Red at
night; sailors’ delight,
he thought. It absently reminded Mac of a painting
he had seen somewhere.  

Most tables were unoccupied, and
they selected one a discreet distance from the other people. A stately old
waiter in starched whites arrived instantly. The DDO ordered a scotch on the
rocks and Mac a vodka-tonic. When the waiter returned with their drinks, Mac
lifted his in a toast to Rothmann. “
Kam-bei
, boss.” The rim of his glass
touched the DDO’s slightly below its rim, honoring him in an ancient Chinese
way, like a deeper Japanese bow.

Mac leaned forward and spoke very
softly. “Soon I’ll treat you to a meal of the best African Chicken and vintage
Portuguese Dao wine this side of Lisbon. But first...let’s have it...all of
it...from the beginning. Start with why you came personally.”

The DDO took a sip of his scotch
and put the glass down. “I came because you deserve it Mac. You’re one of the
best case officers I’ve ever had the pleasure to work with. You know what I
think of you. The Director wants to castrate you for what you did.  No one else
knows where you are and I decided not to tell them. I took leave to come here
on my own because I wanted you to hear this from someone close to you, not from
one of the assholes who are taking over this fucking outfit.”

“Thanks for that,” MacMurphy
said. “Yeah, the outfit is changing. The people in charge don’t want to take
any risks anymore. They crept up to where they are by playing it safe, and
they’re so desperately afraid of losing what they have, they just talk a good
show but don’t actually do anything -- paper ops from paper operators.”

He checked himself. “But don’t
get me started on that one now. Anyway, go on.” He had a lot of questions and
he needed answers.

The DDO sipped his scotch and
gazed out over the water. The hot red sun was slipping slowly into the cool and
soothing sea. He reflected on the sight for a moment, then shared a memory:
“When I was a little kid, I used to wonder why the sun didn’t sizzle when it
hit the water.”

Mac smiled and nodded.

His mind returned to the present.
“Anyway, I decided to come myself. The fact that no one else could figure out
where the hell you had gone when you bugged out also helped a lot. You really
had them doing back flips. I got the back channel message you sent via Rodney
and decided to keep the information regarding your whereabouts to myself. I
also wanted to gauge your mental state. You know…you’ve been through a lot and…”

“Well, I really thank you for that,
boss. I’m okay. I’ll make it okay.” Mac sat back and nodded his head
appreciatively. There were so few like Rothmann…and so many of the others.

“And I’ll tell you one other
thing,” said Rothmann, his voice more upbeat now, “we are damn lucky Lim didn’t
check out, because if he had, the Director would have had an excuse to crucify me
and push me out. He’d like nothing more than to get rid of me. He considers me
a hair in his soup. And I hate to imagine what he would have done to you…”

MacMurphy adjusted his position
in the chair again, grunting as one of his cracked ribs stabbed him. “So, what
about Lim? When I left him, I thought he was dead. I really thought I had
killed him.”

“Well, from what I hear, it
wasn’t from lack of trying. When the police found him, he was indeed at death’s
door. But he survived, and the Chinese have already returned him to Beijing.
Only problem is he suffered extensive brain damage from the loss of blood and
oxygen and the pounding you gave him. So not only will he now be the ugliest
guy in his neighborhood—I guess you really did a job on his face—he will also
be the village idiot.”

MacMurphy grimaced. “You must
think he got what he deserved.” 

“You better believe I think he
got what he deserved. I’ve got no sympathy for that SOB whatsoever after what
he did. I’m just glad you’re not facing a murder rap.”

“What about the police?”

“It was reported as an attempted
robbery.” His finger spun the ice in his drink absentmindedly. “They think Lim
caught someone trying to rip him off and decided to take the law into his own
hands. Only problem was he obviously bit off more than he could chew,” he
grinned.

“And he’s in no shape to tell
them any differently…even if he wanted to…and from what I heard, he never will
be. Actually, that’s the way it is with the entire theft operation. The French
know nothing and neither the Chinese nor the Agency is saying a word about the
affair. But I’m getting ahead of myself.” The big man threw back the rest of
his drink and set his empty glass down on the table. “Buy me another drink and
I’ll tell you about the missing money.” He smiled again.

Chapter One Hundred-Nine

T
he waiter brought fresh drinks,
and the DDO continued, feeling better now on his second scotch. “So the bottom
line is the Chinese would prefer to let the whole matter drop. They don’t want
the news to get out that they smuggled 50 million Euros into France through the
diplomatic pouch, and they certainly don’t want anyone to know what the money
was to be used for.

“Furthermore, they are terribly
embarrassed by the defection of one of their senior MSS officers and want that
kept quiet too. For our part, we agreed to keep mum about it—no publicity—and
to give Huang a new identity so he can live out his years in the U.S. in
anonymity. And you can be sure the Company won’t be jumping to advertise the
fact that one of theirs pulled a heist right under the noses of the French and
then pulverized a friendly third country diplomat.”

“So Huang did defect,” said
MacMurphy.

“You knew he would. He had no
choice. Losing 50 million Euros of the people’s money and allowing a
subordinate to run amok would not win him any medals in Beijing. He would’ve spent
the rest of his days in whatever the Chinese equivalent of Siberia is.”

“Yeah, that’s about what I
expected. That’s what I hoped would happen. Defection’s not as good as
recruitment, but
Tant pis
, half a loaf and all that shit. He’ll have a
great life in the U.S. The Agency will take very good care of him.”

“That’s right,” said Rothmann. “What
we did was one hell of a lot better than kidnapping him like the Director and
Berger wanted. At least Huang had a choice in the matter. And it saved the
outfit the embarrassment of the rendition of a Chinese diplomat.”

Rothmann thought a moment before
continuing. “I’m getting a bit ahead of myself, but that’s part of the message.
The defection of Huang was so important, we’re putting you in for the
Intelligence Star. And the Director can’t do anything but support it. Huang is
the highest-level MSS officer ever to defect to the west. The debriefing is
expected to rewrite the book on the internal structure and external operations
of the MSS.

“The China Operations Group is
ecstatic. They’re talking about nothing else. And Huang’s knowledge goes well
beyond the MSS. He knows every major personality in the politburo and was
deeply involved in preparing military and economic, as well as covert action
plans over the last couple of decades.

“The Directorate of Intelligence
is planning to rewrite their national estimates on China’s military, economic,
and intelligence capabilities based on Huang’s information. And all of that is
rather mundane when you consider what he’ll bring to us in terms of Iranian
plans and intentions in Iraq, its involvement in supporting terrorism, and its
relations with China and other countries. Of course, there are always some
operational details and other things he probably won’t ever give us, but we can
certainly live with that.”

“I’m glad they’re so pleased,” Mac’s
voice was laden with sarcasm. “But it all didn’t come without cost, you know. Wei-wei,
François and Le Belge, and, well…Lim.”

“Well, yes, but don’t be too
proud of yourself. The medal is just half of it—the good news. The bad news is
you’re fired. The Director wants you out.” Rothmann looked at him levelly,
watching for a reaction, but Mac didn’t return the DDO’s gaze.

Mac stared into his drink
pensively. “Can’t say as I didn’t expect it. So...I guess it really is over...”
His voice wavered.

Rothmann spoke softly. “Yeah Mac,
it’s over. At least this part of it…” He reached over and patted Mac’s arm
affectionately. “Hey, case officers like us are dinosaurs. The cold war is
over, Vietnam and the rest of Southeast Asia are forgotten, and when our
country does decide to do brave things like ‘Desert One’, the capture of
Noriega, Afghanistan, Iraq, the Bin Laden takedown, and all the rest, the
Agency takes all the heat if everything doesn’t go exactly according to plan.
We can stop a thousand terrorist attacks, but as soon as a bomb goes off somewhere
where Americans are congregated, the press and Congress call it an intelligence
failure, and the CIA gets all the blame.

“They castrated us through budget
cuts and all the rest, and now they want to reorganize the place out of
existence. It’s just not the same can-do organization anymore. You said it
yourself. Its time to leave anyway. It’s over. Don’t you think?”

“Yeah, I suppose…” Mac looked out
over the calm, moonlit bay. Shards of silver moonlight glinted on the nearly
still waters, broken only by an occasional small wave or the wake of a boat. He
drained his glass and set it down. “Let’s go for a walk along the quay before
dinner,” he suggested.