Spy Zone

by Fritz Galt

  The car’s wheels squealed as they rounded the building.

  Two guards flung the back gate of the consulate open, and the car bounced onto the relative freedom of busy Huai Hai Road.

  An angry mob was the least of Eli’s worries.

  The typhoon forced Shanghai to close its schools, factories and offices early. Was the airport still open?

  Eli had never seen such clogged streets. Holding hands, schoolchildren in colorful uniforms sloshed through puddles. Men wearing flip-flops and sucking on cigarettes carried tanks of flammable propane gas strapped to their bikes and veered without looking into intersections. Office workers in colorful slickers trudged home as dusky clouds choked out the final ambient light.

  Shanghai Hongqiao International Airport seemed more like a glorified bus terminal to Eli. Except that green uniforms guarded every entrance.

  Eli was relieved to hear the sound of airplanes. They were taking off in a steady stream, while none seemed to be landing.

  The consulate driver slipped the long, gleaming Olds through honking taxis up to the curb. Eli let him take the luggage out of the trunk. He would hold onto the briefcase.

  Guards eyed Stephanie with mild curiosity as they entered the departure terminal.

  She pushed Eli toward a Dragon Air counter, where they dropped off their luggage. As prearranged, their boarding passes were already stapled to the tickets. She gathered them up, studied a dusty, green monitor and found the number of their gate.

  A ragged line of frantic foreigners waited at a metal detector. He overheard a soldier who walked through the crowd asking in Chinese, “Do your bags contain any presents?”

  Stephanie pulled Eli aside. “Grab your dip passport.”

  “I don’t want to reveal ourselves.”

  “Don’t worry,” she said.

  Scooping up his black diplomatic passport, she trotted with him to the front of the line. A guard took one look at their passports, then at the metal briefcase, and sent them around the metal detector.

  More green uniforms stood on the far side of the security check as they walked past. Mild interest flickered on their faces.

  Eli picked up his speed. “Has somebody alerted the army?”

  “Hard to say,” she said.

  “If the army lets us out of the country, then they’re probably not behind the investment scheme.”

  “If not, who is?”

  “I’d rather find out later,” he said. “Keep walking.”

  No guards were present farther into the building. Though old and dingy, the gate had already acquired a clubby, international feel.

  Eli studied the faces in the crowd. Many were Chinese, but the overwhelming majority was foreigners, mostly Americans hoping to beat the storm. A class of students from Los Angeles silently played gin rummy against one wall. Small groups of foreign businessmen chatted giddily among themselves.

  “One more step, and we’re out of China,” he said. “I wonder if we’ll ever come back.”

  “If we do our job right.”

  “On the whole, I’d rather be in Philadelphia.”

  “We can breathe easier soon,” she said. “Friendly faces will meet us at Kai Tak Airport, just for added security.”

  “Oh man. I hadn’t even thought about Hong Kong.”

  A ground attendant clicked her microphone and announced in Chinese, “Welcome to Flight 195. We’ll begin by boarding only those passengers who need special assistance—”

  Before she could finish her sentence, half the room mobbed the gate. She gave up with dignity and began tearing off boarding passes.

  In the crush of bodies, Eli hugged the briefcase with both arms. Handcuffing himself to it would have been a prudent move.

  As soon as they entered the jet, passengers threw their bags into the first available seats. Then they began to swap and trade places.

  He managed to bargain for a seat only one row behind Stephanie.

  Finally, the cabin lights dimmed and the plane taxied into the drenching downpour. He let out his breath and began to mull over his situation.

  Those aware of the general’s ill-advised purchase were most likely looking for the authorization letter, disbursement record and access codes. They’d try to take back the evidence in order to hound the general.

  However, since the army hadn’t thrown a net over Shanghai, maybe the army didn’t want it back. If not, who did?

  Then an excited buzz interrupted his thoughts. Passengers across the aisle pressed their faces against the windows. He couldn’t see out past them.

  He heard the engines of several jets approaching just as the cabin doors closed.

  “What’s happening?” he asked a middle-aged redhead across the aisle.

  “Planes are arriving in a long queue,” she said with an Australian accent.

  “What kind of planes?”

  “Military jets.”

  His seat vibrated as his plane’s engines grumbled, then rose to a high whine.

  The plane jolted, then pulled away from the terminal. As it turned, he spotted a line of Chinese fighter jets taxiing quickly toward the terminal.

  He concentrated on a positive thought. Hong Kong.

  Kai Tak Airport was the colony’s only entry point by air. He imagined a pair of beady eyes watching him step into the terminal.

  Surely the director of AIT knew he was a target. If anybody so much as touched him, he would file suit against Uncle Sam.

  But Bronson Nichols seemed like a reasonable man. Tough, but intelligent. He simply wanted to threaten the general in Taiwan. Bronson wouldn’t purposely set Eli up as a target.

  There were only a few lamebrains around who might try so ill-considered and slip-shod an operation, throwing him to the wolves. Then he clicked his fingers.

  “Bill Fellows.”

  Stephanie turned in her seat to check on him.

  He closed his eyes and shook his head.

  “Cabin crew crosscheck and prepare for departure.”

  They were sweeping down the runway.

  The plane lifted off the tarmac and launched into the blustery sky.

  Applause and cheers erupted throughout the cabin.

  The plane banked and circled back over the airport. He could count a line of twenty jets nosing up to the terminal.

  He still couldn’t let down his guard.

  Even though he was following Bronson’s instructions to get the briefcase to Taipei, he needed to trust his instincts and take the initiative. It was only a matter of time before someone got to him. How would he react?

  Aw, let them have the damned thing if they wanted it so badly. He could hunt them down later. He imagined having to hold a broken jaw together while racing after some Triad thug.

  He squeezed the briefcase tightly between his knees. It was just a pile of papers. Then, from the periphery of his consciousness, a tiny voice that had been there all along broke through.

  Was it the same briefcase? He checked it over.

  It had been out of his sight for several hours while at the consulate. Exactly who were those men waiting outside the consulate who took it away? Who ordered a lock installed, the combination of which he did not know?

  There weren’t that many metal briefcases in Shanghai. It had to be the same one.

  What was really inside?

  In Shanghai’s noisy airport, Wang Lo placed a long-distance call to the Alabaster.

  “The Americans just took off,” he said. “They are taking the evidence on Dragon Air Flight 195 to Hong Kong.”

  “Who’s carrying it?” Odette asked.

  “We don’t have his identity.”

  “Description?”

  “He’s a nervous-looking, forty-five-year-old American in a trenchcoat. He’s with a blonde his same height. He’s carrying the briefcase they stole from me. It’s made of some kind of hard metal. I believe it’s titanium.”

  “We’ll ‘meet’ him at the airport,” she said. “Let’s hope there’s enough evi
dence to convince General Chou we played our part.”

  “I’m sure there is,” he said. “You needn’t worry.”

  “It’s you who should worry. They stole it from you.”

  He had no response to that.

  “By the way,” she said, “has André contacted you lately?”

  Three Filipinos teased a seductive sound out of their musical instruments: a mandolin, a baritone saxophone and an electric keyboard. A disco ball rotated above them, reflecting pinpoints of light from several colored spotlights.

  Alec led May-lin through a slow dance, while feeling the deck vibrate underfoot. The captain had cut the ship’s speed to allow for the nocturnal entertainment, but Alec could still sense the ship’s forward movement.

  Meanwhile, Odette watched from a canvas director’s chair. She had prodded him to dance with May-lin while she watched, and seemed to be enjoying her mai tai for all it was worth.

  Before the piece was over, the music began to drift through her body and Odette began to sway beside the musicians. The lead singer handed her a microphone, and her breathy voice emerged from the echo chamber of several speakers.

  She sang the next lovely song in French.

  Alec held May-lin close by the small of her back, and she draped both arms around his neck. Synthesized maracas and simulated brush strokes pulsated through her body. In the subtle interplay of their movements, he let her willowy frame gradually and instinctively take the lead.

  Then he heard her breathing in his ear.

  “What did she tell you?”

  He turned away from Odette and contemplated the question.

  “She’s in bed with the Chinese. She’s mad at Margaret Thatcher. And her husband is absolutely devoted to her.”

  From his angle, he watched Odette’s slim figure move with the beat. Her eyes were half-closed as if she were in a trance. For a moment, their eyes met and she nodded in assent. To what, he did not know. Perhaps to May-lin’s sentimental embrace.

  “Is she bad, too?” May-lin whispered in his ear.

  He closed his eyes and buried his face in her silky hair. “You saw her plant the bomb.”

  She quivered slightly. “But was it her idea?”

  “I don’t know.”

  On the inky horizon, points of light from passing freighters blended into the Milky Way.

  For the first time, he noticed a dimly illuminated shoreline off the starboard bow.

  Farther west was a thin strand of blinking lights. They looked like decorations on a cruise ship, but moved too quickly.

  Then he realized. They were airplanes landing at Kai Tak Airport.

  Chapter 38

  “Come on, honey,” Mick said. “We’ve got a flight to catch.”

  Applause and cheers rang out in the room as his wife ran into his arms.

  Not since their engagement had Natalie’s graceful touch and expectant lips felt so forbidden, and exciting.

  He embraced her tighter than the damp shirt that clung to his skin.

  At last, she pulled away and examined him. “You’re scuzzy.”

  “You’re beautiful.”

  From the corner of his eye, he caught Bronson Nichols cautiously approaching. “Glad you made it, son.” He extended a hand.

  Mick ignored the man for several seconds, then finally took his eyes off his wife and shook Bronson’s proffered hand.

  “Now we can put you to work,” Bronson said.

  “Couldn’t be any more difficult than what I went through over the past twenty-four hours.”

  “I’m not so sure.”

  Mick looked at Natalie and she nodded.

  “Hear him out.”

  The three drew up chairs and talked while the rest of the staff dispersed in the darkness.

  When Bronson finished, Mick had to make sure he understood correctly. “In short, you want the incriminating evidence and access codes to bring out the culprits.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Play dumb and let them take it from us.”

  “You’ve got it.”

  “Let them steal three hundred million dollars from us.”

  “That’s the only way to catch ’em.”

  Mick drew a deep breath.

  “Are you up to this?” Natalie asked, her eyes glittering with hope and energy.

  “Are you out of your mind?”

  She nodded.

  “Then let’s go.”

  “Not so fast.” Bronson grabbed her by the arm. “She stays here.”

  Mick stared down at the director. “If we want to catch these bastards, she comes with me.”

  Bronson glared at her, his eyes imparting fear. “Don’t screw this up.”

  “I’ve got only two things in mind,” she assured him. “Number one is to catch the bad guys.”

  “If there are bad guys behind this,” he reminded her.

  “And number two is to kill them.”

  Mick looked at his wife in shock.

  “That’s your business,” Bronson told her. “But you must promise, no dirty tricks.”

  “No dirty tricks,” she promised.

  “No tampering with the contents and no hiding the evidence.”

  “No tampering. No hiding,” she agreed.

  “I want only the truth to come out.”

  She nodded, and he reluctantly let go of her.

  Mick grabbed his wife and led her out the office door. “What was that all about?”

  “The end of a long and bitter argument.”

  He was surprised to step directly into the open air. Apparently, the earthquake had created several new exits.

  Dr. Morisot stood in the evening gloom of the courtyard. He was wiping the revolver that he had found at the radio station.

  “Put that away,” Mick said.

  Morisot’s fingers rolled the chamber one last time. “Of course.” He stuffed the gun into his back pocket.

  “We have a chopper to take you to the airport,” Bronson said, and summoned a car.

  Mick introduced the scientist to his wife and the director. “Dr. Morisot, rhino horns.”

  They pumped hands.

  “Sorry to leave you behind,” Mick told the scientist “But we’ve got business in Hong Kong.”

  Morisot caught his arm as he reached for the car door. “Take me with you. I’ve got to get off this island.”

  Mick studied the desperate eyes magnified behind the thick lenses. Why not? It would be best for the island.

  “Come with us.”

  Morisot crawled into the front seat, and Bronson hopped into his official seat: backseat, curbside. Behind the driver, Natalie squirmed close to Mick. Between kisses, she extracted details of his trek through the devastated hinterland. Bronson listened in sober silence.

  When they reached Ta-an Park, the helicopter’s front and back rotors had already roared to life.

  Bronson lingered by the car as the three turned to thank him.

  He waved it off. “Just, don’t hesitate to push the green button,” he shouted over the noise of the chopper.

  “What green button?” Morisot said.

  Bronson gave Natalie a firm handshake that looked more like they were sealing a deal.

  Then she grabbed Mick and Morisot and prodded them toward the helicopter.

  A marine gave her a boost into the open bay. Then Mick vaulted aboard. He reached back and tugged on Morisot’s hand while the marine pushed from behind. The scientist got a leg up, clawed a bit, then sprawled awkwardly onto the metal floor.

  At the pilot’s insistence, they strapped into lap belts and shoulder harnesses. Sitting across the fuselage, Morisot gave them two thumbs up.

  Then they rose above the undulating ocean of grass. Natalie clung to a handgrip and Mick threw the director a confident salute. The solitary man didn’t turn away from them, as if all his hopes rode on their success.

  High above the park, Mick tilted his head back and let the perspiration on his face and neck evaporate in the br
eeze of the open door.

  From there, he watched patterns develop in the dark landscape. Red lanterns hung from temple gates. Flickering torches illuminated the dragons of Longshan Temple. Headlights from cautious cars formed new thoroughfares through the cleared debris.

  He squeezed his wife’s hand. Before his eyes, Taiwan was coming back to life.

  By the time Eli heard the announcement that the Dragon Air flight had leveled off at a cruising altitude of thirty-five thousand feet, he figured he wasn’t carrying a bomb triggered by altitude.

  His gold watch, a gift from his wife on their wedding night, told him that he’d been in the air for half an hour.

  An inscription on the back of the watch had some gibberish about eternal love. Could the aviation authorities identify his remains by the watch he was wearing? Probably not. The words were no longer true.

  He felt sticky and wet even after the air conditioning had kicked in. Maybe the briefcase had a timing device.

  How could Stephanie be so calm? Either she was clueless or she knew more than she let on. It was time to find out.

  He unbuckled his seatbelt and tapped her on the shoulder. “We need to talk.” He motioned for her to follow him to the back of the 747’s long cabin.

  It felt good to finally take action. Maybe he could spread the fear around.

  A female flight attendant was advancing with a tray of drinks for the snack portion of the two-hour flight. He lifted the metal briefcase overhead and stepped into a row for her to pass. Was that ticking he heard?

  Was it a timer?

  He pressed the cold metal against his ear for several seconds.

  “What’s he doing?” a woman cried.

  “Sir, what’s in that briefcase?” the stewardess asked nervously.

  He lowered it, allowing his expression of curiosity to remain on his face.

  Stephanie beamed a reassuring smile to the concerned passenger.

  Steering him down the aisle, she reached an empty galley and yanked the curtain closed.

  “What the hell was that all about?” she demanded.

  “Do you know what I’m carrying here?”

  She stared at the briefcase. “All I know is you managed to scare the you-know-what out of people in that cabin.”