The Secret Cardinal (27 page)

“It's a good fit,” Tao replied.

“That's an understatement. I bet the tailor who put that outfit together never worked with a set of measurements quite like yours. Slip on a pair of stiletto heels and you'd be set for a late night of after-hours clubbing.”

Tao glowered at Kilkenny. “You first.”

Bishop Yin appeared in the doorway looking puzzled, his suit bunched up in places around his light frame and Ke Li's cross dangling from his neck.

“Have I put on this uniform correctly?” Yin asked.

“There's really only one way to wear it,” Kilkenny said as he looked over Yin's suit. “Unfortunately, it's not a one-size-fits-all, and I guessed a little too big for you. I apologize if it's uncomfortable, but it will keep you warm.”

“Then I will be fine.”

“We'll find you a good tailor once we're out of China,” Kilkenny promised. “Your cross might be a problem when we're airborne. Would you like me to stow it for you?”

Yin placed a protective hand over the symbol of his faith. “No, I wish to wear it.”

“Then let's get it inside your suit so it won't bat around in the wind.”

Tao loosened Yin's collar and carefully slipped the cross inside. It barely telegraphed through the loose fabric covering Yin's torso. Tao placed a reassuring hand on his chest over the shrouded symbol.

“That should protect it,” Tao said.

The bishop folded his hands over hers, “And
it
will protect
us
, my child.”

Outside, they heard the sound of hoofbeats racing toward the encampment.

“Stay with him,” Kilkenny said as he unholstered his pistol and slipped through the doorway.

The hoofbeats stopped abruptly, replaced with orders shouted harshly in Chinese. The horses whinnied and snorted, sounding winded from the ride. In the darkness beyond the halo of campfire light, Kilkenny saw movement in the shadows. The forms of two men with their arms clasped behind their heads grew more distinct. They were Asians and dressed in civilian clothing. Gates and four warriors followed closely behind, weapons trained on the unexpected arrivals.

Recognizing the two men, the patriarch of the clan rushed toward them, his hands waving frantically in the air.

“You catching any of that?” Kilkenny called out.

“The head man just vouched for these guys,” Chow answered. “That good enough for us?”

Kilkenny holstered his pistol. “Yeah, cut ‘em loose.”

Weapons were lowered, and Chow informed the men of their
release. The patriarch escorted them to the fire and ordered others to fetch water for the riders. Both men were caked in dust from a hard ride, their horses frothy around the muzzle. The men brightened when Yin and Tao emerged from the yurt. After they had drunk their fill, the patriarch questioned them. The exchange flowed quickly, with the men talking rapidly.

“What are they saying?” Kilkenny asked Tao softly.

“Apparently we got out of Chifeng just in time. The whole city is locked down—no one going in or out. The local police with army backup are running house-to-house searches. Phones, TV, radio—all shut down. Curfews. They've imposed martial law as part of their effort to apprehend a group of very dangerous criminals who escaped from the prison.”

“That would be us,” Kilkenny said.

“Before the lines were cut,” Tao continued, “they received word that all border crossings are closed. Also, you and I and the bishop are the latest additions to Mongolia's Most Wanted.”

“Would they really arrest us?” Kilkenny asked.

“If the Chinese asked them to, yes,” Tao replied. “When you're landlocked between two very powerful neighbors, you learn to get along.”

“Is there a problem?” Yin asked.

“Yes,” Tao replied. “We planned to go north and take you out through Mongolia, but that way is now closed to us.”

“Which means we go to Plan B,” Kilkenny added.

“Plan B?” Yin questioned, unfamiliar with the phrase.

“Our second choice,” Kilkenny explained. “It's a much longer flight, but it should still work.”

“A
longer
flight,” Yin repeated, a childlike twinkle in his eyes. “Having never flown before, I think I would like that.”

“Then I hope you find our BATs comfortable, because we'll be spending a few nights in them.”

Tao motioned for Kilkenny to quiet down as she tried to glean more news from the riders. The patriarch nodded his head gravely and looked at Kilkenny and Yin.

“What is it?” Kilkenny asked.

“Helicopter searches. They're looking for camps like this one, any place where we could have found refuge. And they're arresting suspected Roman Catholics.”

“Then we're out of here,” Kilkenny decided. He looked at Gates and the team. “Time to saddle up. We need to put some distance between these kind folks and ourselves. Roxanne, please express our sincere thanks to our host and to these brave gentlemen for this information. They may have just saved Bishop Yin's life.”

“Permit me,” Yin said.

Starting with the patriarch, Yin bowed deeply to each of the men and offered what Kilkenny could only imagine was a glowing tribute at the end of which he blessed them, then all who dwelled in the house of their host.

“I don't know what he just said,” Kilkenny whispered to Tao, “but clearly the man can work a room.”

“You have no idea.” She also was moved by Yin's eloquence.

Kilkenny showed Yin how to don the balaclava and adjust his helmet. Tao slipped into the rear seat of the BAT piloted by Han and held her hand out for Yin. As the bishop carefully climbed aboard, Kilkenny took the co-pilot's seat.

“Team Comms on,” Kilkenny said clearly, activating the short-range receivers in the rest of the teams' helmets. “Listen up, people. Our Mongolian egress is a no-go, so we are switching to Flight Plan Marco Polo.”

One after another, the three Night Stalkers confirmed Plan Marco Polo and tried to load the coordinates into their navigation computers.

“Uh, Nolan?” Han called out. “Our NAVCOM is negative on Plan Marco Polo.”

“That's because we're going to make it up as we go along. I have a few tentative waypoints roughed in that I'll upload to you once we're airborne. For now, just head west.”

“Why do you call your plan Marco Polo?” Yin asked.

“He was the most famous Westerner to travel the Silk Road. Since he successfully returned to Italy from China, I find him inspirational.”

As Kilkenny spoke, the pilots wound up the engines and completed their preflight checks.

“Those who traveled the Silk Road did so mostly by day,” Yin offered, “but I recall one group who made the journey west traveling only at night. They were guided by a star.”

Kilkenny laughed. “Then you will be very pleased to know that we will be guided by a constellation of twenty-four stars. They're not as bright as the one that guided the magi, but ours are accurate to within a few centimeters.”

“Twenty-four is eight threes—a very lucky number.”

“I can take a hint. People, Plan Marco Polo is now Plan Magi.”

One by one, the three BATs lifted off and quickly gained speed.

Yin craned his head back, watching the nomad's camp disappear behind them. Tao noticed that his hand pressed tightly to his chest.

“Are you all right?”

“I am fine,” Yin replied.

“Terry,” Kilkenny said to the pilot, “once things settle down, I'd like to get a little time behind the stick and brush up my piloting skills. We have a lot of flying ahead of us.”

“When we're over a nice flat stretch of nothing, I'll run you through a refresher course.”

 

 

AFTER FLYING SEVERAL HOURS under a clear, moonless sky, Kilkenny watched the grasslands gradually succumb to the Gobi Desert. He was piloting the aircraft, and behind him Tao slept and Yin stared out with rapt fascination at the stars. Han busied himself with checking various systems while keeping an eye on Kilkenny to verify that he was on course to the next waypoint.

“Anybody out there sniffing around for us?” Kilkenny asked.

“No, but when my kids are this quiet, I get nervous,” Han replied. “You got any?”

“Any what?”

“Children. I have two boys and a girl—all under six. My house is a zoo. Those kids back there really latched onto you, so I figured you must have some of your own.”

Kilkenny thought for a moment before replying. “My son was to be born on the first of November. He died with my wife in August.”

“I'm sorry,” Han said empathetically, imagining Kilkenny's loss.

Kilkenny shrugged. “Look, I'm going to let Rome know what we're up to. If you need me, just send a ping or rap on the side of my helmet.”

“Roger that,” Han replied meekly.

“Comms off,” Kilkenny said, disconnecting his link to the rest of his team. “Satellite uplink on.”

Yin turned his attention from the stars to the man seated in front of him and prayed for his rescuer.

38

VATICAN CITY

What are you trying to tell me?
Grin stared at the four cryptic words he had written in neat block letters across the top line of the legal pad.

Kilkenny's latest message departed from the
Lord of the Rings
theme of the first two. This in itself told Grin something had happened—some event that forced his friend to follow a different storyline from the one he envisioned. At this point in Kilkenny's plan, the extraction team would have waited until dark before flying north across the Sino-Mongolian border. Under their guise as tourists, they would then depart from Ulaanbaatar for Rome via Germany.

The magnetic lock securing the workroom door buzzed loudly as it released, emitting a discordant note amid the middle movement of Mozart's “Violin Concerto No. 3 in G.”

“No rock ‘n' roll tonight?” Donoher asked.

“Wolfgang Amadeus is better for solving puzzles.”

“Puzzles? A crossword or that infernal sudoku?” Donoher asked as he sat down by the workstation.

Grin handed over the legal pad. “A message from Nolan. I know I should get this, but for the moment it's eluding me.”

“That's because you're exhausted.”

“Maybe, but I'm not on the run with half the Chinese military after me. I promise to get a solid eight in the sack right after our team gets the hell out of China.”

“I share your sentiments.” Donoher shrugged and placed the pad
on the desktop. “Sadly, I can't make heads or tails of this message either.”

As the digital clock display on Grin's largest monitor reached 8:00 p.m., the screen cleared and filled with the image of Jackson Barnett seated in his office at the CIA's Langley campus.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” Barnett said. “I see from the news that black smoke has once again emerged from the chimney of the Sistine Chapel.”

“Yes,” Donoher replied, “and I apologize in advance, but I am not permitted to discuss the election.”

“No offense taken. Regarding our friends in the Far East, I have a great deal to report.” Barnett flipped open a folder. “All crossings along China's borders with Russia and Mongolia are closed. The normal complement of border guards has been augmented with PLA troops, and army helicopter units are out patrolling over three thousand miles of border, including the stretch China shares with North Korea.” Barnett glanced up from his notes. “The last I heard, the Vatican's relations with Pyongyang were as frosty as our own.”

“A move in that direction would be out of the frying pan and into the fire,” Donoher concurred.

“The size of the troop movements we're seeing has more than piqued the interest of the Russians,” Barnett continued. “They've placed their own forces on an elevated-alert status. The Chinese are being typically closemouthed about what they're doing, and the Russians, being Russians, are suspicious.

“The city of Chifeng is under martial law, and PLA forces are visible in significant numbers at every transportation center in the country. The Chinese Navy is also making its presence known in the Yellow Sea and the Formosa Strait, countering any attempt to fly over water to South Korea or Taiwan. Antisubmarine warfare vessels have also been deployed, presumably against a submarine extraction.”

“I wasn't aware the Vatican possessed a submarine,” Grin offered.

Ignoring the comment, Barnett pulled a page from his file and placed it on a document reader just off camera. The image on the screen immediately split into two windows, with Barnett on the right
and a facsimile of a printed flier on the left. Three photographs ran down the side of the flier—prison shots of Yin and Kilkenny and a grainy image of Tao in uniform. Two blocks of text accompanied each image, one in Cyrillic and the other in Mongolian.

“This information has been issued to all law enforcement and border personnel in Mongolia—the bishop and our associates have been accused of a litany of offenses. As Mongolia is quite interested in fostering good relations with its neighbor to the south, the Chinese have effectively cut off this avenue of escape. It will also be only a matter of time before the authorities in Ulaanbaatar generate a match for Nolan from his tourist visa, albeit under a false identity. The question is whether they will choose to share this information with the Chinese.”

“Why is that?” Grin asked.

“Embarrassment,” Donoher answered.

“By now, the Chinese have combed their database of foreign visitors and come up empty, which means Nolan entered their country illegally,” Barnett continued. “In confirming that he was in Mongolia just days before appearing at Chifeng Prison, the Mongolians would be conceding he crossed their border into China.”