The Ghost War jw-2

by Alex Berenson

  Wells choked him long enough to be sure he was telling the truth and then let him go. Kowalski coughed — short, dry puffs.

  “Where can I find your contact?”

  “His name was Moon. But he won’t be talking to you. He died last month. Nothing to do with this. He had a sideline in the heroin business. He ran across some very bad men.”

  “But you’re still getting paid.”

  “Of course.” Kowalski’s face was dark pink, the color of medium-rare steak, and his arms hung heavily from the posts, but still he sounded confident. “Let me tell you something. Whoever you are. Even if you’re U.S. government, CIA, Special Forces, whatever. You’ll pay for this, what you’ve done tonight. Even if you think you’re safe. I’ll break the rules for you.”

  More than anyone he’d ever come across, even Omar Khadri, Wells wished he could kill this man. But he couldn’t take the chance. And anyway he didn’t kill prisoners. He grabbed a roll of duct tape from his backpack and plastered a piece over Kowalski’s mouth.

  Then, for no reason he could name, Wells began wrapping the silver tape around Kowalski’s skull. The fat man tried to twist away, but Wells held him steady. He draped the tape over Kowalski’s eyes, over his forehead and his cheeks, loop after loop, until the big man looked like a modern-day mummy, Tuten-Duct, the Egyptian god of electrical tape. He made sure to leave Kowalski’s nostrils open so he wouldn’t suffocate. Then Wells clapped a hand over Kowalski’s nostrils and squeezed them shut. He counted aloud to ten, nice and slow, before letting go.

  “Don’t forget to breathe.” And with that, Wells ran.

  IT WAS 3:29. Exley was sitting in the minivan. “Got your helmet?”

  Exley grabbed her motorcycle helmet from the van and they ran for the bike. Three minutes later, they were at the corner of Newton Lane and Main Street, the Honda purring smoothly beneath them. A police car turned past, its emergency lights flashing, but no siren and not speeding. The chief had kept his word, even given Wells a couple of extra minutes.

  Route 27 was empty and quiet, and once he’d picked through the traffic lights of the Hamptons and reached the highway, Wells wound down the throttle of the CB1000 and watched the speedometer creep up and the highway unspool before him. Exley wrapped her arms around him and gripped him tight, from fear or joy or both, and he was as happy as he knew how to be. Everythingdies, baby, that’s a fact, but maybe everything that dies someday comes back, he sang as loudly as he could, knowing that no one, not even Exley, could hear him.

  Only when he saw the red-and-blue lights of a police cruiser ahead in the distance did he slow. An hour later, they were on the outskirts of Queens, the traffic on the Long Island Expressway just starting to pick up with the morning’s earliest commuters. Wells pulled the Honda off the highway and they found the Paris Hotel, not particularly clean but happy to take cash.

  ROOM 223 OF THE PARIS had a faded gray carpet and a soft moist smell.

  “Nice,” Exley said. She poked at the rabbit ears atop the television. “I haven’t seen these in a while.”

  “We’ll always have Paris,” Wells said.

  “We did it. Am I allowed to say it was fun, John? Because it was.”

  “Sure it was.”

  Exley settled onto the mattress, ignoring the spring poking at her butt. “I can’t believe we’re already back in New York City.”

  “Told you the moto comes in handy sometimes.”

  “You have to slow down, John. Didn’t you feel me hitting you?”

  “Thought you wanted me to go faster.”

  Exley couldn’t believe they were fighting about this, after what they’d just pulled off, but they were. “Such a child. If you’re gonna get us killed, do it for a halfway decent reason. You don’t have to prove to me you have a big dick.”

  “Well, that’s comforting.” Wells lay next to Exley, his face almost touching hers. The bed sank under him. “Think this is one mattress or a bunch stitched together?”

  Exley had to laugh. Wells could be impossible, and more than once lately she’d thought that he planned to push his luck until he wound up in a wooden box. But she couldn’t pretend she didn’t love him. “So what did he say? Kowalski?”

  “Not much.” Wells recounted the conversation. “But there was one thing. He said he was getting paid out of a bank in Macao. Which doesn’t really make sense. Of course, the money could have been coming into that bank from anywhere.”

  “Think he was telling the truth?”

  Wells propped himself up on an elbow and stroked Exley’s hair. Finally, he nodded. “Yeah. He didn’t know who I was, but he knew no matter what, I couldn’t use it in court. He wanted me out of there and he didn’t know how much I knew. Honesty was his best bet.”

  “He’s going to come after you. Us. In a way, he was flaunting what he’d done.”

  “If he’s smart, he’ll let it go, be happy I didn’t shoot him. He can’t track us anyway. And if he does figure out it was us…”

  Exley understood. They were untouchable. Or so Wells thought.

  “Why did you tape him up that way at the end, John? He was angry already.”

  “Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

  She waited, but Wells was silent, his breathing steady, and she knew he wouldn’t say anything more. “Roll over,” she said.

  He turned his big body and Exley snuggled up and ran her hands around him. She pushed up his shirt and touched the raised red scar high on his back. He sighed softly, happily, and reached back for her. She closed her eyes and kissed his back.

  “So who do you think was paying for those guys?” he said.

  She lifted her mouth from his skin. “Don’t know. And that’s real money. A hundred and twenty million.”

  “But think on it. We spend a couple billion bucks a month in Afghanistan. For a fraction of that, somebody’s making it a lot harder for us. Not a bad investment.”

  “Syria. Libya.”

  “Iran?”

  “Maybe.”

  Wells sat up and leaned against the bed’s battered headboard. Exley traced her hand over his chest, the muscles solid as iron.

  “You close on the mole?” he said.

  “We’d be closer if I hadn’t come up here. But we’ll get him soon. Shubai gave us enough. In a way it doesn’t matter, though. He’s already done the damage. We don’t have one Chinese agent we can trust.”

  “Not a good time for it either,” Wells said.

  “No. Any day now, China and Iran are about to announce something big. They aren’t even denying it. There’s all this trouble in Taiwan. And Shubai says there’s a power struggle in Beijing. Says the hard-liners want to prove how tough they are, that we have to stand up to them, that showing any weakness will just make them push us harder.” Exley closed her eyes and felt weariness overtake her.

  “You think Beijing might have been supporting the Talibs through Kowalski?”

  “I wondered too when you said Macao. But why risk a war with us?”

  “None of it makes sense,” Wells said. “The Chinese make this deal with Iran. They betray the Drafter. It’s like they want a fight.”

  “Yes and no. They’re coming at us sideways. They’re hoping we overreact.”

  “But that’s not what Shubai says, right? He says they want us to back down so that the whole world will see how much more powerful they’re getting.”

  “What would you do, John? If you were running the show? Push back hard on the Chinese or let things simmer?”

  He considered. “I don’t know. We can’t let them push us around, and it sounds like this guy Shubai knows what he’s talking about. But there’s something we can’t see. Hate to go to war by accident.”

  Wells didn’t bother to ask what she thought. Without another word, he rolled onto her, his size surprising her, as it always did. He enveloped her, his mouth on hers, wet open-mouthed kisses. He never asked permission, she thought. He never needed to. His big hands gripped her waist, then on
e was unbuttoning her jeans, the other pulling them off her hips. And as quickly as that, she forgot she was tired.

  24

  LARRY YOUNG, THE WHITE HOUSE PRESS SECRETARY, felt the buzz in the press-room as he strode to the podium. These afternoon briefings were usually inside baseball, watched by a few thousand political junkies. Not today. Today Young would be live from Los Angeles to Boston, Tokyo to Moscow. The Chinese and the Iranians had certainly gotten the world’s attention that morning.

  Young waited for the cameras to stop clicking before he read the statement, approved forty-five minutes before by the president himself.

  “The United States denounces the action by the People’s Republic of China in the strongest possible terms. If China wants the world’s respect, it should condemn Iran’s nuclear program, not support it. Most important, China must understand that the United States will hold it accountable if Iran deploys a nuclear weapon.”

  The statement was short and to the point, as Young had recommended. “That’s all. I’m sure you have questions.” A dozen hands went up. “Jackson? My hometown favorite.”

  Jackson Smith, from The Washington Post, stood. “Any sanctions planned against China? A trade embargo? Will we be recalling our ambassador?”

  An easy one, Young thought. Smith was smart but predictable. “That’s three questions, but they all have the same answer. At this time, we’re reviewing our options, both economic and diplomatic.”

  “But nothing planned at this time?”

  “We’re not going to be hasty, Jackson. Next.” He pointed to Lia Michaels, from NBC. They’d had a brief fling a few years back, when he was a congressional aide and she was at CNN. They were both married now and never mentioned their history, but he always made sure to call on her and she always smiled at him when he did.

  “The Pentagon has announced that the United States is deploying three aircraft carriers to the South China Sea. Why? Do we plan any military action?”

  Young took a moment to get the answer exactly right. He’d worked this phrasing out with the president’s chief of staff and he didn’t want to miss a word. “The announcement today is only the most recent in a series of provocative actions by the People’s Republic. China must be aware that its actions have consequences. Next?”

  But Lia wasn’t finished yet. “You said the United States will hold China accountable if Iran uses a nuclear weapon. Does that threat include a nuclear strike against China?”

  “It’s not a threat. And we never discuss military contingencies. Next?”

  Anne Ryuchi, the new CNN correspondent, caught his eye. “There have been rumors about this agreement for a couple of weeks. Did you try to warn China off?”

  “We did attempt to express our concerns. Obviously the Chinese weren’t interested in hearing them. Next.”

  Dan Spiegel, from The New York Times, practically jumped out of his seat. Young didn’t much like him. A typical Times reporter, smart but not as smart as he thought. “Mr. Spiegel.”

  “You mentioned a series of provocative actions. Does the United States have a theory as to why China is being so aggressive?”

  “You’d better ask them.” Young enjoyed snapping Spiegel off.

  “To follow up. Aside from their deal with Iran, what other actions have the Chinese taken that the United States classifies as provocative?”

  “Their recent missile tests, and their saber-rattling toward Taiwan. Taiwan is a democracy and an ally of the United States.”

  “But didn’t the Taiwanese start this controversy with their discussion of a possible independence vote? ”

  Spiegel loved to hear his own voice. Like so many reporters, he believed mistakenly that he was as important as the people he wrote about.

  “The people of Taiwan must be allowed to express their opinions without fear of Chinese reprisal,” Young said. Time to give them something new to chew on. “Also, while I can’t provide specifics, we have learned that the Chinese government has damaged a classified program critical to the national security of the United States.”

  “Can you tell us more?”

  “Unfortunately not.”

  THE CONFERENCE WENT ON forty-five minutes more, until almost 3:00 P.M. Eastern. In Beijing, twelve hours ahead, Li Ping watched in his office, sipping tea as a colonel on his staff translated. Cao Se watched alongside him, filling a pad with notes. When the conference ended, Li flicked off the television and dismissed the colonel.

  “What did you think?”

  Cao flipped through his pad. “They’re very angry, General.”

  Li wasn’t disturbed. “Furious words, but no action. As I expected.”

  Cao clasped his hands together. He seemed uncomfortable, Li thought. “I respect you greatly, Li. You’re a great leader.”

  Li found himself unexpectedly irritated. He was used to having junior officers suck up this way, but he expected more from Cao.

  “General,” Li said, emphasizing the word, reminding Cao of his seniority, “don’t waste your breath flattering me. It’s very late. Now go on.”

  “Sir—” Cao stopped, twisted his hands. “Fate is a strange beast. Even the most perfect plan can fail.”

  Now Li understood. Cao feared the United States. “The Americans won’t fight us, Cao.” Li had studied the flash points of the Cold War — the Cuban Missile Crisis, the Berlin Blockade, the Soviet destruction of KAL 007, a Korean passenger jet that strayed over Russian territory in 1983. Each time, after threats of war, the two sides found a way to defuse the crisis. Nuclear-armed powers didn’t fight each other. China and the United States would find a way out too — but only after Li had taken power.

  “But what if the Americans miscalculate?”

  “There’s no reason to worry. We control the situation.” Even Cao didn’t know all the levers Li had at his disposal. He hadn’t only negotiated the agreement with Iran and given up the Drafter. He was behind the independence crisis in Taiwan as well.

  Over the years, the People’s Liberation Army had built a huge network of agents in Taiwan, including one of its most senior politicians, Herbert Sen. Now, on Li’s orders, Sen had called for the island to declare its independence from China. In doing so, Sen had put the United States in a miserable position. Since 1949, when the Nationalists fled Mainland China and established their new headquarters on Taiwan, the People’s Republic had viewed Taiwan as a renegade province. In fact, the island was effectively independent from China, with its own government, currency, and military. America helped guarantee that security. In turn, Taiwan wasn’t supposed to rattle China’s cage by officially declaring its independence. A Taiwanese move to break that bargain would give China an excuse to invade — and leave the United States with two bad options. Let China attack Taiwan, its democratic ally, or go to war over a crisis that the Taiwanese themselves had started.

  Of course, Li didn’t want to invade Taiwan. An attack would be worse than messy, even if the United States didn’t get involved. Taiwan was extremely well defended. But Li knew better than anyone else that the independence movement wouldn’t get far. Soon enough — on his orders — Herbert Sen would have a change of heart. In the meantime, Sen’s demand had increased the pressure on the Americans.

  “Think of it this way, Cao. We’ve created a storm the Americans didn’t expect. Now they’ll try to frighten us. They’ll bring up their navy. They’ll reach too far. Then all of China will unite against them”—behind me, Li thought—“and they’ll see they have no choice but to ask for peace. When they do, we’ll give them what they want. The skies will clear. And America will have a new respect for China.”

  “And with your new power, you’ll make sure that the peasants are treated fairly.”

  “No more riots like the one in Guangzhou. No more stealing at the top of the Party. A new China, where everyone shares in the blessings of the economy. The people have waited too long for honest rulers.”

  Li had never before spoken his plan aloud, not even when he wa
s alone. His heart quickened. In a few weeks, the world would see him as he was, Mao’s rightful heir.

  “The people will thank us, Cao,” he said. “I’m certain of it.”

  THE MEETING OF THE STANDING COMMITTEE began precisely at 2:00 P.M. the next afternoon. The foreign minister discussed the world’s reaction to the deal with Iran. Aside from the United States, most countries had hardly blinked. Some had even quietly told Beijing that they supported the Chinese and Iranian efforts to counter American power.

  Then Li reviewed America’s military maneuvers. As it had promised, the United States was moving three carrier battle groups toward the Chinese coast — a formidable fleet, with hundreds of jets and several dozen ships. In response, China had moved forward its newest submarines and had increased fighter patrols. Already the Chinese pilots were reporting increased contacts with American and Taiwanese jets.

  “Our pilots are aware of the delicacy of the situation,” Li said. “We don’t expect any offensive contact, but if the Americans attack we’ll respond. Does anyone have questions?”

  For a moment, the room was silent. Then Zhang spoke. “Defense Minister, the American reaction to our announcement concerns me. Didn’t you promise that the United States wouldn’t act against us?”

  “So far they’ve done nothing but talk,” Li said, as he had that morning to Cao.

  “But what if that changes? The Americans have discovered that we betrayed them to North Korea. They said so at their meeting with the reporters.” Zhang was almost shouting across the table at Li, a bit of theater to show his anger. “You told us they wouldn’t find out about that. Obviously they have, thanks to that traitor Wen Shubai. One of your men, Minister Li.”