“We might be able to knock him off.”
Gato hesitates. “It would be a tall order.”
“It’d be impossible in Beijing. But Kenya might be different.”
“Like JFK in Dallas?”
“That’s what I’m thinking.”
“It might even be easier. I’ve dealt with Africans before. Their soldiers and police would sell their mothers for fifty euros. We shouldn’t have any trouble buying intel.”
Norgay is back at their workbench. He clicks on another Internet article and reads the first sentence aloud. “Hu Jintao visited Nairobi in 2006.”
“Different president.”
“But Lao may use the same itinerary.”
“Even if he doesn’t, the Kenyans will screw up.”
Gato scales the distance between Diani Beach and Nairobi. “We’re only two hundred kilometers away and have plenty of time to get ready.”
“Let’s put the other plan on ice.”
Gato agrees. “This would be a glorious finale.”
“We need a name. You pick it.”
The Spaniard only needs a moment to reflect.
“Operation Red Satan.”
CHAPTER 30
“YOU ONLY KNEW Kylie for a week.”
“Say that again and I’m outta here.”
Brannigan is near the end of a therapy session. His physician is Dr. Martha Walsh, the Manhattan psychiatrist who treated him after Amy drowned. Before their first visit, he researched her background and felt an immediate connection. Both were raised in Irish-Catholic families and had to deal with a family tragedy. Dr. Walsh’s youngest child lost his battle with leukemia.
He called her assistant to schedule an appointment. The doctor didn’t have an opening for months. His depression was getting worse, and he offered to come on short notice. The assistant was pessimistic—few of the doctor’s patients cancel their visits—and gave him the names of other therapists. He was at home checking their credentials when Dr. Walsh called. She offered to see him during her lunch break.
She’s behind her Louis XIV desk. Brannigan is sitting across from her on the front edge of an upholstered armchair.
They’ve had an emotionally charged discussion.
“You’ve had no contact with Kylie in over a year.”
“It seems like yesterday.”
“That isn’t the point.”
“Don’t my feelings matter?”
“You knew it wouldn’t last.”
“All my doubts are gone.”
Dr. Walsh takes off her wire rim glasses. She paraphrases the history he gave. “You’d already decided to end the relationship.”
“You’re taking my statements out of context.”
“Can’t you see what happened?”
“I’ve had enough of your Socratic method.”
“Your imagination created the ideal lover.”
“Kylie isn’t a fantasy.”
“I didn’t say she was.”
“What we had was real.”
“Some of it.”
“I told you about the things we did together.”
“They sounded enjoyable.”
“I think about them every day.”
He isn’t the only one getting a workout. Dr. Walsh has begun to perspire. She hangs her suit coat over the back of her chair.
“Intrusive thoughts don’t equal love.”
“You’re doing it again.”
“Doing what?”
“Mischaracterizing what I said.”
“Settle down. Yelling won’t solve anything.”
He lowers his voice. But his tone is still angry and raw. “I can’t sleep or concentrate at work.”
“Those are just symptoms—”
“‘Just’? I’m barely functional.”
“—Not the source.”
“The cause is no mystery. It’s losing Kylie.”
“You need to consider other explanations.”
“There aren’t any.”
“Look at me, Michael.” The doctor stops talking until he does. “I know it’s painful, but we have to talk about Amy.”
His face reddens. “No way.”
“We can’t avoid it.”
“Hogwash. She has nothing to do with this.”
“Hear me out.”
He leans over the front of his chair. “Do you know what I think?”
“I don’t. Tell me.”
“Amy was the lucky one.” The concerned look on her face shakes him up. The document she hands him knocks that up a notch.
“This is the same contract we had last time.”
“I’m not going to hurt myself.”
“Then you shouldn’t mind signing it.”
“Give it to me.” He initials the form without reading it and tosses it back. While she clips the agreement to his chart, Brannigan weighs whether to open up. He opts for a trial run. “I’m not an introspective person.”
“That’s progress. Keep going.”
“There are times I wish I were dead.”
“Have you—”
“Nothing serious.”
“What happened?”
“I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“Tell me what you did.”
“We don’t have time. Next visit.”
“This can’t wait.”
“Like I said.”
“All right. Come back tomorrow.”
“Your schedule is full.”
“Not at 6:00 a.m.”
“Why the rush?”
“Why do you think?”
“You’re overreacting.”
“Promise you won’t hurt yourself.”
He stands up and faces the door. “I’m not brave enough for that.”
“Sit down, Michael. Give me ten more minutes.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to create a scene.”
Brannigan is back in his chair. Dr. Walsh refills his water glass and pushes it across her desk. “I don’t have the answers . . .” She smiles when he pretends to write that down. “. . . But if you give me a chance, I’ll help you find them.”
Some of his worst days are before and after therapy sessions. Today is one of them. He’s exhausted after last night’s bout of insomnia. Certain she’ll wear him down, he decides not to fight a losing battle. “If we need to talk about Amy, let’s do it now.”
“We’ve already discussed the transference phenomenon.”
She mentioned it during his first session. He was glad she warned him. He’s never told Dr. Walsh, but he is physically attracted to her. He tries to make light of it.
“You said I might make a pass at you.”
“I think I phrased it differently.”
“Why are you repeating that Freudian BS?”
“Transference can also occur with other relationships.”
“That’s psychobabble. Where the heck is this going?”
“You’re conflating your feelings.”
“Kylie isn’t a substitute for my daughter.”
“Your subconscious is reacting like she is.”
“How would you know? You’ve never met them.”
“There’s one thing you can’t dispute—”
“Is that what we’re having?”
“You’re consumed with guilt.”
“It’s my penance for being a bad father.”
“Amy’s death wasn’t your fault.”
“Yes it was. I promised Amy I’d go to Florida with her. At the last minute, I canceled my vacation and went to a business meeting in Brazil.”
“That didn’t cause her accident.”
“Of course it did. I would’ve been her babysitter.”
“Unless you deal with the guilt—”
“You know I’ve tried.”
“—Emotional intimacy will always be a problem.”
“It wasn’t with Kylie.”
“For a week.”
“That does it. We’re done.”
She stands up
before he does. “Forgive me, Michael.”
“I feel bad enough without you attacking me.”
“I shouldn’t have said that.”
Brannigan retakes his seat. “I appreciate your input, Doctor. But there’s something you need to understand. Until I met Kylie, I was never with the right person.”
“This is about more than Kylie—or any other woman. Your greatest challenge involves children. If you don’t have another one, you’ll never be happy.”
They had the same discussion every week for two years. His views haven’t changed. “No one can replace Amy.”
“‘Replace’ isn’t the right word. But we’ll save that discussion for another day. Let’s talk about how she affects your feelings for Kylie.”
“I don’t see a connection.”
“There could be a transference link.”
“Spare me the mumbo jumbo.”
“You might be channeling your affection for Amy—”
“What a great journal article.”
“—To another seriously injured female.”
“Or a National Enquirer headline.”
“Try to be objective.”
“About what?”
“You’ve been with other women since your divorce.”
“None of those relationships went anywhere.”
“They were deeper than this one.”
“You’re confusing duration and intensity.”
“When they ended you moved on with your life.”
“Kylie is different.”
“Not as much as you think.”
“We’re not making any progress.”
“It’s going to take time.”
He wonders if coming back was a mistake. “Mine is extremely limited. I’m in China more than New York.”
The doctor closes his file. “I’m concerned about your trajectory. You need intensive therapy and it can’t wait.”
“It’s pointless unless you listen to me.”
“Let’s keep seeing each other.”
“Where else can I have this much fun?”
Dr. Walsh is writing on her prescription pad. “You can get these medications downstairs. One is a mood elevator. The other will help you sleep.” She detaches the top page and lays it on the desk.
He leaves it there. “Let’s give talking a chance.”
“You took the same drugs last time.”
“I felt doped up.”
She runs the scrip through her shredder. “How about this—”
“My mother used that preamble.”
“Did it work?”
“Once. After that, I tuned out.”
“Why didn’t you follow her advice?”
“It was usually unpleasant.”
“My suggestion is different.”
“Forgive me for reserving judgment.”
“Talk with Kylie. Tell her everything.”
“I think about that every day.”
“Why haven’t you?”
“She couldn’t handle it.”
“That isn’t the woman you described.”
“You’re suggesting I just call her on the phone—”
“Explain the situation. She’ll understand.”
“It would sound creepy.”
“What about telling her mother?”
“‘There’s something you should know about your daughter. A few days after we met, I jumped in the sack with her and had great sex.’”
“I like the elegant wording.”
“Any way I package it, our love would seem cheap. It would embarrass Kylie and offend her mother. RC girls don’t sleep with guys they just met.”
“Is that the real reason?”
“What are you getting at?”
“Are you sure she loved you?”
His neck veins are bulging. “Excuse me?”
“I wasn’t being disrespectful.”
“The hell you weren’t.”
“It’s an important question.”
“I knew it before she told me.”
“Kylie and her mother haven’t called or written.”
“You don’t have to remind me.”
“She probably found another lover.”
“That keeps me up at night.”
“You don’t want to know.”
“I would never ask her that.”
“You don’t have to.”
He thinks about Harry turning Dickie Chang inside out.
“I won’t invade her privacy.”
“She would never know.” Dr. Walsh’s recommendation surprises him. She’s well known for her liberal causes. Today’s comments are at the opposite extreme, straight out of the NSA playbook.
“That wouldn’t make it right.”
“You’re afraid.”
“Of course I am.”
“Try to forget her.”
“What a brilliant idea! His-and-hers amnesia.”
“That isn’t what I meant.”
“If I erase her from my memory—”
“I didn’t say that.”
“—Then our love never existed.”
“Stop fighting what comes naturally.”
“My mind doesn’t work that way.”
“Allow your memory to fade.”
“I can’t.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“How about seeing other women?”
“They’d hate me when they knew the truth.”
“What’s your deep, dark secret?”
“I’d be kissing Kylie’s lips, not theirs.”
“You need to get over this woman.”
“Someday she’ll remember what we had.”
“It’s been over a year.”
“Why are you so negative?”
“Because it’s highly unlikely.”
He checks his watch. “It’s time for your next patient.”
“And for you to face reality.”
“I have been. For fifty excruciating minutes.”
“Eventually you’ll agree with me.”
“That’s a bold prediction. About what?”
“Your relationship with Kylie. It’s over.”
“You’re wrong. I’ll never stop loving her.”
“All she does is cause you pain.”
“Don’t blame her for that. I’ve been miserable ever since Amy died. I relive her funeral every night. The driving rain—her tiny casket—and the worst part of all. Watching my sweetheart being lowered into that god-awful hole.”
CHAPTER 31
NORGAY’S BAD WEEK just got worse.
He and Gato are in their forested safe house high above Bilbao. They came to Spain to firm up their assassination plot. Everything was progressing smoothly until China’s president changed his African itinerary. Yesterday, Lao announced he would make a single stop at AU headquarters. His press release said that meeting in Addis Ababa would allow Arab leaders to attend. Given the timing, Norgay and Gato had no choice. They aborted Operation Red Satan.
This morning, Norgay gained worldwide notoriety. His “most wanted” poster—containing an out-of-date photograph—was published on the Internet and circulated on six continents. The changes in his life are radical and immediate. He’ll need to disguise his appearance and avoid staying in one place too long. Their frenetic traveling is about to begin. A van is waiting out back. The ETA driver will drop them at Bilbao Airport. They’ll board separate flights and won’t meet again until they’re deep inside China.
They’re new plan is the old one—Operation Sheer Terror. That took little thought. They’ve already done most of the legwork. Norgay knows they’ll have to act quickly. It won’t be long before the PRC or Interpol tracks them down.
He’s in front of the bathroom mirror smoothing his makeup. His transformation—including a dye job, bad haircut, and thick glasses— matches his most unattractive passport photo. Gato has already completed his preparation. He’s been sitting on the edge of the
bathtub with a glass of Torre Muga in one hand and the Interpol Red Notice in the other. “This photo is ancient. How old were you?”
“Twelve.”
“Couldn’t they find a later photo?”
“I ran away the next week.”
“Who ratted you out?”
“Hard to say. Probably the Drepung monk.”
“Handicap our shelf life.”
“We’ll be dead in three months.”
“That doesn’t give us much time.”
“It’ll be enough unless we screw up.”
Gato opens the shade and waves at their getaway driver. He responds by spraying cleaning fluid on the windshield and activating the wipers. Gato passes along the all-clear signal. “Everything outside is okay.”
“What’s the status of our devices?”
“I just spoke with Eduardo. They’ll be ready next week.”
“Can we count on your runners?”
“Absolutely. They’ve never failed.”
“Delivering to China will be tougher.”
“They’ll get the job done.” The Spaniard hands an energy bar to Norgay and opens one for himself. “Are you still planning to recruit monks?”
“If at all possible.”
“We can do better than that.”
“Not in terms of political impact. They won’t know it, but the monks will help us eliminate Tibet’s second biggest problem. The Chinese will destroy all the monasteries when they learn Buddhists were involved.”
Brannigan is heading upriver on the Yangzi.
He chartered a hydrofoil to transport him from Yichang Airport to Three Gorges Dam. He’s never seen the river this busy. Scores of heavily armed gunships are patrolling the river in both directions.
Rocky is back in Hubei Province after a trip to Manhattan.
He received a warm welcome at Global’s corporate headquarters. The next day, the members of the International Hydropower Association gave him a standing ovation for his speech at the IHA’s annual convention. Visiting America’s gateway was part of its program. He updated Brannigan on the dam during their boat ride to Ellis Island.
“Our laborers walked off the job again.”
“More of the same?”
“Worse. Two trades won’t cross the picket lines.”
“Which ones?”
“The plasterers and cement masons.”
“What about the others?”
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