by David Wind
Steven scanned the parking lot one final time. When he was satisfied they were alone, he opened the car door. “Cover me. But no matter what happens, do not leave the car.”
“Be careful,” Carla cautioned as she cocked her weapon.
Steven got out and took a deep breath of the cold night air. Exhaling a cloud of white vapor, he squared his shoulders, and walked to the waiting man. A hundred feet behind the man, the cruising lights from a tour boat bobbed peacefully along. Although it was winter, Washington still catered to its tourists.
Stopping three feet from him, Steven bowed from the waist. The Ambassador of the People’s Republic of China did the same.
Without further amenities, Steven said, “I am going to ask you a question. The only answer I want is the truth. Without it, both our countries may perish.”
“Please, Lieutenant Morrisy, I have come as you asked,” Xzi Tao said. “There is no need for melodrama.”
“I wish it was melodrama, Ambassador, but it isn’t. Someone is trying to kill me. They’ve already tried to kill the woman I love. And they’ve succeeded in killing two of my friends. I am wanted as a spy, traitor, and murderer by the Federal Bureau of Investigation.” Steven saw a flicker of emotion cross Xzi’s features. “Your woman, she is safe? She is well?”
“She is in a coma, Ambassador. She may never be well.”
He stood still under Xzi’s intense scrutiny. “They have called you a traitor?”
Steven nodded once.
“How may I help you?”
Steven looked over Xzi’s shoulder, to the distant lights of the boat. From across the Potomac came the faint sound of another boat engine starting up. It was a busy winter night on the Potomac.
Steven’s mouth went dry. His mind stumbled under the realization that he was about to ask the man who had been his enemy, the man who had been his inquisitor, and his jailor, for help. He dug his nails hard into his palms to remind himself why he was here. “The other night, at the reception, you hinted that you believed Senator Pritman would be our next President. You based that on your country’s political analysts’ opinions, did you not?”
“Yes,” Xzi agreed. “Unless something of...of great bad fortune happens to the senator, we see him as your next President.”
“Great bad fortune?”
“You Americans have a way of canonizing your high officials’ public and private aspects. But when they show that in the privacy of their own lives, they are mortal, you cannot forgive them.”
“A scandal, you mean?” Steven asked, realizing Xzi was unsure of the proper English word.
“Yes,” Xzi said, thoughtfully. “A scandal.”
Steven smiled lightly. “Did you turn either Latham or Savak? Are they working for you?” Steven asked suddenly.
Xzi blinked, and then laughed. “You learned interrogation techniques well, Lieutenant.”
“I had a good teacher.”
Again Xzi nodded, the glint of humor returning briefly to his eyes. “If I had turned them, what point would it serve to tell you, other than to expose them?”
“Because I know how you feel about your country. And I can tell you with complete confidence, if you don’t want China destroyed, you will answer me truthfully.”
Xzi’s eyes turned intense. “How would such an unthinkable event be possible?”
“What would happen if the United States and China signed a mutual protection and retaliation pact? And more to the point, what do you think would happen if the United States and China joined together to prevent the Soviets from any further world aggression?”
Xzi’s eyes hooded. “If such an event was even remotely thought possible, the Soviets would have no choice but to attack China before such an agreement could be reached.”
“If they learned of it beforehand, but as an already presented fact, I think not.”
“It would be untenable; the amount of secrecy involved would be impossible to achieve.”
Steven grunted. “Not at all. In closed meetings with the proper committees, the President could have the treaty worked out and ready. I believe the same thing is possible on your end, with far more ease. Looking across the border to the Soviets, a treaty can be go easily through the Politburo.
“Ambassador, you have the Russians mobilizing along your borders. The analysts see it as a long siege, perhaps lasting until after our elections. Why this unusual flare in hostilities? It seems more than a coincidence that Soviet-Chinese relations are breaking down at this time, so close to our elections. Unless, of course, the Soviets and the Chinese each independently believe that with a change in administration such a treaty is within reach either to themselves, or to the other, and believe themselves to be acting from a position of strength, or of fear.”
Xzi started to speak, hesitated, and then said, “You believe that this… No, such a thing is impossible.” Ignoring the cold wind that had picked up its pace and whipped over them, Steven asked, “Can you be certain? Ambassador, please, return to your embassy tonight and consider what I’ve said. Look back over the past two years. I know you, Xzi Tao, well enough to be sure when you do, you will reach the only conclusion possible. Then you must find out if such a thing as I described is actually taking place.” Xzi looked out over the dark water, his eyes following yet another boat that had come into view from their right, a large cabin cruiser. He clasped his hands behind his back, and spoke without looking at Steven. “There have been rumors,” he said, his voice so low Steven had to strain to catch the words. “They were discounted because of the far reaching consequences. No, Lieutenant, I did not turn either of them,” Xzi said, facing Steven again.
Steven had no reservations about believing him. He smiled uneasily. “It’s funny, but between us there has always been truth, even in the face of the lie that brought us together.”
“I will call Beijing tonight. Where will I be able to reach you, if this madness you propound proves correct?”
“You won’t. Do you know who Julius Axelrod is?” Xzi’s eyes glinted with genuine humor. “As well as I know who heads our own internal security forces. Lieutenant, what kind of danger are you in?”
“I’m not important. What’s happening to our countries is.”
Xzi nodded solemnly. “I would not consider those words from anyone else. Nor would I have ever thought we would meet again. But perhaps I should have expected it, for you are a resourceful man.”
“When I have to be.”
“And as such, you should have found a way to return my birthday present.” Before Steven could recover from his surprise, Xzi said, “Call me tomorrow, if you can. I will have an answer about your theory.”
“I will try,” Steven said.
They bowed formally to each other before Xzi started away. He stopped after two steps and, without turning back to Steven, said, “When I learned of your escape from the prison camp, I was pleased.”
“You knew that they wouldn’t believe me when I told them their plans had failed, didn’t you?”
Without answering, Xzi Tao started walking again. Watching him, Steven’s emotions churned. He wanted to believe his doubts about Savak were unfounded. Although Xzi had helped to ease some of his concern, Steven acknowledged there were still other possibilities that he had to look into.
When Xzi was a dozen feet from him, and as Steven started away from the abutment, he heard the low-throated sound of a boat’s engine close behind him.
Glancing over his shoulder, Steven froze in midstride. The large cabin cruiser that had been moving toward them was almost abreast. Standing on the flying bridge was the dark silhouette of a man holding a rifle.
Steven spun, shouted to Xzi, and raced after him as the thunder of semi-automatic gunfire shattered the night. Bullets stitched a path ahead of him, tearing up the pavement leading toward the ambassador. Just as he came within reach of Xzi, one of the ricocheting bullets skipped up from the pavement and hit Xzi in the arm.
Five feet from Xzi, Steven cat
apulted himself into the air. He caught the ambassador by the shoulders, and hauled him to the ground. When they landed, Steven covered Xzi’s body with his own.
Two of Xzi’s guards charged forward, firing at the boat. The other two raced to the lead car. Carla was out of the rental car and running toward Steven and Xzi when the familiar coarse and grunting thud of a grenade launcher came from the boat.
Steven half raised himself above Xzi. “Down!” he shouted to Carla.
Carla obeyed instantly, diving to the pavement. Xzi’s two guards did the same, throwing themselves onto the black surface of the parking lot and covering their heads with their arms.
A heartbeat later, the black Mercedes nearest them blew apart. Flames leaped upward and outward, hurtling metal, glass, and gasoline over the parking lot. The second car, so close to the first, burst into flames, the high-octane fuel from the first car covering it like napalm.
As the flames from the two cars turned night into day, Steven saw the disbelief mirrored on Xzi’s face. He stood, helping the ambassador up at the same time.
Carla had already reached her feet, and was running toward Steven and Xzi when, suddenly, the gas tank of the second car exploded.
Everyone was thrown from their feet. Steven, lifted and twisting above the macadam like a rag doll, felt something rip into his cheek. Then he was on the ground, rolling beneath a second rain of flaming metal and glass.
He covered his head with his arms and hands, as the bullet-like debris peppered his back. Something heavy and burning hot hit him just below his left shoulder. He bit off a scream as the pain spread over him. He rolled, trying to dislodge the burning debris.
Carla was on him instantly, smothering his burning clothing with her own jacket, and bringing him back to the present. He fought to his feet and ripped off his coat and shirt.
When he stood with his chest bared to the cold night, the burning eased slightly. Carla went behind him. He heard her breath catch. Instead of speaking, she picked up his shirt, tore some of the material free. She wadded it into a lump and extended it to him. “Your cheek,” she said.
Steven took the makeshift bandage and pressed it to his cheek. He winced at the first touch. The pain was bearable, but he knew it would get worse very soon.
Xzi gained his feet and joined them. He held his arm. Blood seeped through the fabric of his coat, and over his fingers, but his face was expressive with concern for Steven. “You must go before anyone arrives.”
“Your men?” Steven said, ignoring his wounds while looking toward the burning car that Xzi’s two guards had gone to.
Xzi shook his head. “Go before the authorities come. You have no choice. Lieutenant,” Xzi added, “I will do what I can.”
He gazed at Xzi for a fraction of a second longer before turning toward the car.
Each step became a shockwave of pain radiating along his back. When he reached the car, he motioned Carla to drive. He sat heavily in the passenger seat, a wave of nausea catching him unprepared. Without realizing it, he leaned back. Pain raced along his back. He cried out. Then he bit down hard on his lower lip.
“Move,” he ordered Carla.
“Where?”
“Just get the hell out of here!” He turned to look at Xzi, who stood with his men, watching Steven and Carla.
Carla sped out of the lot and onto M Street. She drove several blocks and then, as the sounds of sirens reached them, turned off the main street and pulled to the curb.
“Steven, your back,” she said, leaning toward him and lightly touching his bare shoulder.
“I’m fine,” he said through the pain.
“No you aren’t. Those wounds have to be treated. The burn is bad. And your face…”
He pressed the bandage against his cheek, but felt nothing. It had gone numb. He pulled down the sun visor, turned on the overhead light, and looked in the mirror.
Lowering the blood soaked bandage, he exposed a jagged three-inch slice on his cheek. He guessed that a piece of glass had hit him a glancing blow. The blood was coagulating. Most of the bleeding had stopped. He thought the cheek might need stitches.
“I can’t take the chance of calling anyone.”
“What about Joshua Raden?”
“No. Carla, everyone I come in contact with is hurt or killed. I won’t expose anyone else. Find an all-night drug store.”
As they drove, anger and frustration mixed with the increasing physical pain. All he could see were the red flames of the car, and the pattern of bullets on the pavement. “How?” he shouted, his voice thick with futility. “How the hell did he know?”
He turned his head to look at Carla, who drove ashen faced and silent. “How?” he repeated.
She shook her head but said nothing.
“Every move I make. Everything I do, I’m a step behind. What do I have to do?”
“Steven,” Carla said, reaching across to take his hand. “I think we should go in. Let the agency handle this. Too many people have been killed.”
Steven yanked his hand from hers, wincing at the surge of pain in his back. “And let him win? No. Pull over!”
Following his orders, she rolled to a stop at the curb. He bent, ignoring another ripping of pain, and reached across Carla to open her door. “Go,” he ordered angrily.
Her lips narrowed. Her face turned red. She slammed the door shut. “Not without you,” she said, hitting the gas.
A half hour later, on US 1, in Greenbelt, Maryland, Carla found a Giant supermarket with a large drug department. Leaving Steven in the car, she went inside and bought burn ointment, aspirins, and bandages.
Steven watched her enter the store, wondering if somehow Carla could have reported in. That could explain what had happened at the parking lot. But she hadn’t been out of his sight since they’d left Pittsburgh, except for two bathroom visits, and she couldn’t have called anyone then.
Then who?
He remembered the man in the brown car. The CIA could have found out where he was going. All they’d have had to do was to trace his call from the motel phone.
Why would the CIA want to kill me, and Xzi Tao? No, I’m still missing something.
He tried to focus on the problem and ignore the worsening pain in his back. Too soon, his thoughts blurred and he leaned forward to rest his head on the dash and wait for Carla’s return.
The next thing he knew, Carla back in the car and leaning anxiously over him. After making sure he was conscious, she got back on US 1.
From that point on, time became insignificant to Steven. The pain grew, and he fuzzed in and out of consciousness. Without warning, Carla swung into the entrance to a Holiday Inn.
“No,” Steven said, speaking through pain clenched teeth.
She pulled to a stop under the concrete awning and turned to him. “Ever since Paul Grange was wounded, you’ve been giving me orders. This time we’re doing it my way!”
Staring defiantly at him, she shut off the ignition and pulled the keys free. “This won’t take long.”
Steven, groggy and gripped with pain, was unable to stop her.
Carla returned quickly, and drove around the side of the building. She parked near the side center entrance and said, “Stay put. I’ll bring the bags to the room first, and then I’ll come back for you.”
He passed out, awakening only when Carla tried to maneuver him out of the car. He helped her as best he could, leaning against the car.
Thankfully, their room was on the first floor. Once inside, she guided him to the bed and helped him to lie face down.
“Easy,” she whispered when his muscles spasmed in pain. She went to the door, locked it, and emptied the contents of the supermarket bag on the bed.
“How bad?” he asked.
“I’ve seen better,” she replied. “There are pieces of shirt stuck in your skin. I...I have to get them out. Please, Steven, let me call Joshua!”
“Do it yourself, or leave it alone. They’ll be watching him.”
“It’s going to hurt.”
Steven nodded. “Just get it over with.”
Carla rummaged through her purse and came up with eyebrow tweezers. Swallowing hard, she poured alcohol over the metal and went to work.
The first touch brought incredible pain. His body arched. He bit down on the pillow and fought the pain.
She worked for fifteen-minutes. He accepted the pain as best he could, using the pillow to muffle the groans he could not hold back. Then through his fog of pain, he heard her warn him there was a small piece of metal imbedded beneath the last piece of fabric.
The tweezers grasped it and she tugged tentatively. There was a pause, and then she pulled. A bolt of pain ripped through him turning everything red and white.
“It’s out,” she said. “I...I have to put antiseptic on it. Steven...” she said as she began. It was the last thing he heard before the pain turned into fiery agony and he passed out.
<><><>
Amos Coblehill studied the notes he’d made on the yellow legal pad. The Director of the National Security Agency had been at his desk all night—for the second night in a row.
He poured more black coffee from the thermos into his cup, and then added a splash of brandy from the bottle on the tray. He took a long drink, set the cup down, and reviewed the events leading to this moment.
Yesterday afternoon, according to the reports from the field, Morrisy had ditched the team following him. Morrisy’s move was not only anticipated, but expected. When the emergency transmitter activated, the surveillance team had kept a fifteen-minute spread between themselves and Morrisy, all the way to Pittsburgh.
When the team reached Pittsburgh, they’d found the parked car at the hotel. They’d checked with the desk and learned that Morrisy had taken a room for two nights. Morrisy had used his own name.
It was Coblehill’s assessment that Morrisy had done this to see if the mole was onto him.