by Allan Topol
“What did you say?”
“She’s quite smart.”
“No, I mean at the end.”
“Jill Morgan has a photographic memory.”
“Tell me about her personal life.”
“A widow. Husband was an Air Force pilot. Killed on a mission over Afghanistan.”
“Children?”
“A daughter, twelve. Now let me ask you a question.”
“Go ahead.”
“Who have you been using to recruit Jill?”
Zhou hesitated for a second.
“If you don’t want to tell me, I could understand that.”
He didn’t have to worry about telling March. March could only help him. “A former KGB agent. Dimitri Orlov. He’s convinced Jill will deliver the CDs for PGS to him in Washington next Thursday evening in return for money.”
“Page has done a good job tricking Orlov. My guess is that Page knows about the Russian because Orlov killed a prostitute, Angie, in Los Angeles. Page must have Orlov’s prints. You can’t let Orlov come to the United States for his rendezvous with Jill. Page can arrest him and force him to testify against you. Page won’t hesitate to use torture.”
“So what are my choices?”
“You could shut down this operation now. It’s likely that neither Jill nor Page have information about anyone higher in the chain than Orlov. You could pay off Orlov to buy his silence. Or you could kill him.”
Killing Orlov was an attractive option for Zhou, but as he told March, “Then I won’t get PGS. And I want it more than anything in the world right now. Not only for China, but because I want to steal it from under Craig Page’s nose.”
“Okay. Another option is to tell Orlov to switch his rendezvous point with Jill to a location outside the United States where he can isolate her.”
“You think Page would allow those CDs to leave the United States?”
“Probably not. But it doesn’t matter. As I told you, Jill Morgan has a photographic memory. She’ll be able to give the information on the CDs to Orlov from memory.”
“And we’ll be able to convince her to do that with torture or because she has a twelve-year-old daughter.”
“Precisely.”
“Suppose Page doesn’t let Jill leave the United States?”
March thought about it for a moment, then said, “Based on what Hennessey told me, I’m confident Page will do anything to find out who’s trying to get their hands on PGS.”
Zhou paced for a moment trying to make up his mind what to do now that he knew Jill was a dangle and working for Page. His first instinct had been to abort the whole operation, but March was right. In view of Jill’s photographic memory, he could still get what he wanted from Jill. All he had to do was shift the rendezvous point outside of the United States where Page couldn’t control Jill.
But Zhou couldn’t let Orlov know that Jill was a dangle. Orlov had no need for that information. The Russian might become frightened and cut and run. Instead, Zhou would make up a phony story to persuade Orlov to move his rendezvous point with Jill outside of the United States. And Zhou intended to make certain Orlov knew that Jill had a daughter and a photographic memory. Those could be useful.
Zhou stopped pacing and turned to March.
“Okay, you’ve convinced me. Sit here while I call Orlov.”
Zhou placed the call on the encrypted phone. First, the lie. “I’ve heard from an American source that the FBI is doing surveillance in the United States on the other members of Paul Walters’ Epsilon Unit. So, I want you to shift the exchange with Jill Morgan to a location outside the United States.”
Zhou was pleasantly surprised when Orlov didn’t challenge him. “I’ll call Jill and change it.” The Russian almost sounded relieved.
Now for the truth. “Are you aware that Jill Morgan has a photographic memory and a twelve-year-old daughter?”
“Thanks,” Orlov said. “The second I knew. The first might be useful.”
“So where do you want do to the exchange?” Zhou asked.
There was a pause. Orlov must be thinking. Zhou let him take his time. Finally, he responded, “The Czech Republic. I have friends there from the good old days when we controlled the country.”
Zhou hung up the phone and turned back to March. “I’m grateful for your help. I’ll make sure you are rewarded with work for your investment banking business.”
March shook his head. “That’s not why I came. I will admit that when I worked with you on Operation Dragon Oil, my motive was the financial benefit that I would gain from being on the winning side in China’s competition with the United States. But now there is something else.”
“What’s that?”
“I hate Craig Page for wrecking Operation Dragon Oil and doing his best to have me prosecuted for treason. I won’t rest until I get even with him.”
Zhou rose to his feet and rolled his hand into a fist. “That makes two of us who want to destroy Page.”
Paris
Ever since Captain Cheng’s effort to kill her, Mei Ling didn’t answer her cell phone and rarely returned calls because she worried the call was a ploy by Zhou to determine her location and to send someone to kill her. But when the caller ID showed that Yin Shao, the Chinese Health Minister, was calling, she made an exception. Mei Ling and Shao were longtime friends. She knew that Shao despised Zhou. She doubted whether Shao would be working with the Chinese president. While there was a chance that Zhou’s security people were eavesdropping on the call, unbeknownst to Shao, Mei Ling was willing to risk it. Weary from being cooped up alone in the safe house, interacting only with French security people, Mei Ling desperately wanted contact with one of her countrymen.
“Yes,” she answered in a halting voice.
“This is Yin Shao. I’m in Paris for an international health symposium and I would like to see you.”
She hesitated. Was it a genuine social visit? Or a trap? Something Shao had been coerced by Zhou into doing? Then she recalled that Shao had been with her in the observation booth above the surgery theater when President Li had been assassinated; and he had been appalled. He knew what had happened: That Zhou had killed President Li. It was possible that Shao was bringing her information: maybe a message from one of her friends on the Central Committee. Attending an international health conference was the perfect cover.
She had to risk it and meet Shao. She was confident that Jacques would agree to let her do it with sufficient security. If not, she’d call Elizabeth.
“I can meet you this afternoon,” she told Shao.
“Tell me where and when.”
Mei Ling couldn’t let Shao come to this house. Too dangerous if she was making a mistake. She had to call Jacques and get his consent. Also ask him to set a place. “I’ll call you right back with the details,” Mei Ling said.
She then called Jacques. “This could be an important meeting for me. I need your help in arranging it. I’d like a place that would be natural for a Chinese tourist to visit yet easy for you to defend.”
When he didn’t respond, she said, “I could call Elizabeth or Craig and get their approval if you’d like.”
“You’re in France,” Jacques said gruffly. “This is my turf. I call the shots.”
“I’m sorry,” she replied demurely.
“Okay. Okay. Call your friend, the Health Minister, back. Tell him to meet you at three this afternoon in the Sculpture Garden in back of the Rodin Museum on the Left Bank. At noon, I’ll clear out the museum and have the large metal gates in front closed. No other visitors will be permitted until you both leave. We’ll post a ‘private event’ sign.”
Mei Ling arrived first, walked through the Museum and into the bright sunlight of the garden, and took a seat on a bench in front of Rodin’s Thinker. As she opened a small umbrella to shield her face from the sun, she glanced up at the museum roof. Three French sharpshooters were lying flat on their stomachs, their guns raised. Ten minutes later, precisely at three, Shao ar
rived.
Approaching her, he was looking around anxiously, his gait unsteady. While the day was warm, it didn’t justify the perspiration that dotted his forehead.
A terrible thought ran through her mind. What if I’m wrong? What if he reaches into his pocket, pulls out a gun, and shoots me?
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. It might be her last.
Then she felt the bench vibrate as someone sat down. She opened her eyes to see Shao staring at her. “Are you alright?” he asked.
“Yes. And very glad to see you.”
“I hope you’ve been well.”
“Thanks. The French are taking good care of me.”
“Is this place secure for us to talk?”
No one else was in the Sculpture Garden. “Absolutely,” she replied.
“I know that Zhou sent Captain Cheng to assassinate you, but the French killed Cheng.”
“How did you learn that?”
“A group of us, including supporters of yours on the Central Committee, share information about Zhou and the outrageous things he’s doing.”
“He had my son murdered. Didn’t he?”
Shao looked down at his feet. “Yes, I’m sorry to say. Zhou ordered your son’s Captain to force him to divulge your location so he could send Cheng to kill you.”
“I figured as much. I hope my son didn’t die in pain.”
“He was tossed into the sea.”
“After he was no doubt tortured to give up my location.”
Shao didn’t respond. He fiddled with his ring.
Mei Ling asked, “Who else has Zhou killed?”
“Bao Yin, the Minister of Intelligence; and your friend Qua Ping, on the Central Committee.”
“No!” Mei Ling said in horror.
Shao wasn’t finished. “Zhou also killed his Russian mistress, Androshka.”
Shao looked around nervously. Then reached into his pocket, removed a cell phone, which he slipped it into Mei Ling’s black bag.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“On the phone is a video of Zhou killing Androshka. It shows the behavior of a crazed man.”
Mei Ling was astounded. “How did you get it?”
“One of Zhou’s servants, who hates him, took it. He forwarded it to Wei Fuzhi on the Central Committee. Wei knew I was coming to Paris. He asked me to meet with you and give you the video. I also have a message from Wei,” Shao paused and leaned his face close to Mei Ling’s ear. “Wei asked me to tell you that when you believe the moment is right, he wants you to return to China to seize the Presidency from Zhou. The country needs you, and he will line up support in Beijing.”
Mei Ling swallowed hard. “You’re asking a great deal.”
“You’ll have broad support. The business community is unhappy with Zhou’s erratic behavior. Though I have no proof, I heard that even Zhou’s brother, the billionaire industrialist, Zhou Yun, is finding his brother to be an embarrassment.”
Shao’s words made a deep impression on Mei Ling. Also, the risk he took by meeting with her and carrying the video from Beijing.
“You’re a brave man doing this,” Mei Ling said.
“I care deeply about my country. Our country. We cannot afford a lengthy rule by another Mao. Now I must get back to my conference.”
Mei Ling told Shao to leave first. “I’ll wait fifteen minutes before going myself.”
As she sat alone on the bench, she decided she had to get the video of Zhou’s murder of Androshka into Elizabeth’s hands. Craig and Elizabeth would know what to do with it.
Washington
Craig left Jill’s house with two copies of the fake CDs she had prepared, following Craig’s directive: describe a long-range missile system, close to PGS in content, but containing only public information. Craig could have had someone pick them up. But he wanted to meet with Jill, provide her with a status report on the operation, and check on security at her house.
It seemed solid. Two men in the house around the clock. At least one awake at all times. A third man to drive Tracy to and from school, baseball games, and anywhere else.
Jill had to be feeling cabin fever, but she was in good spirits, Craig thought. She told him, “I work out on the exercise equipment in the house. Also, I tell myself, suppose you were on a submarine. You couldn’t leave that.”
Back at CIA headquarters, Craig gave Betty Jill’s bogus CDs.
“I’ll have techies install micro tracking devices on each set.”
“Any luck tracing where the million dollars came from that Orlov wired to Jill’s account?”
She shook her head. “The trail stops at an Andorra bank that won’t divulge a thing. We could ratchet up the pressure.”
“Leave it alone. We don’t want to scare Orlov into going into a hole.”
After Betty left, Craig’s cell rang. It was Elizabeth. “I just received a video on my phone that you have to see.” Her voice was charged with emotion.
“Where are you?”
“Home in Georgetown. Are you at the office?”
“Yeah. I just got back from Jill’s.”
“Is she okay?”
“All things considered.”
“Don’t leave. I’m on my way.”
Twenty minutes later, Elizabeth arrived and handed him her phone. He activated the video; then nearly flew through the roof of the CIA headquarters building.
On the screen, he saw President Zhou and Androshka naked in bed. Zhou pulled a gun from the end table. Androshka was running toward the door. Zhou shot her once in the back. She turned toward him and fell to her knees. He shot her two more times. She wasn’t moving. Zhou walked over and felt her pulse. He threw a blanket over her head.
“Where did you get this?” Craig asked.
“From Mei Ling. Before forwarding it, she called and told me that she got it from a friend who hates Zhou along with many others in Chinese leadership positions. According to her friend, a member of the Central Committee received the video from a servant of Zhou’s in the Presidential House who also hates Zhou.
“This is a game changer for us,” Craig said. “Now we can seize Orlov when he meets you in Rock Creek Park Thursday night. I’ll show him the video of Zhou murdering his beloved sister. That should be enough to turn him against Zhou and persuade him to work with us to nail Zhou.”
“I figured as much. That’s why I raced out here.”
“What’d you tell Mei Ling?”
“I thanked her and said we would use it carefully.”
“Your relationship with Mei Ling has been invaluable.”
A cellphone in Elizabeth’s bag rang. Craig watched her pull out Jill’s cellphone with a worried look on her face.
Craig heard her say, “Yes. I understand what you’re saying… No. I don’t know if I can do that… You have to give me some time to think about it… Of course I heard you about the two million… I need time. I’ll let you know tomorrow.”
She put down the phone. “That was Orlov. He wants to move the location for our exchange to the Czech Republic. I’m supposed to fly Thursday evening to Paris. Then connect to Prague, bringing the CDs with me. He’ll meet me at Prague Airport. As a sign of good faith, he’ll transfer two more million to my bank account as soon as
I agree to come.”
“Did he tell you why he made the change?”
“Just that it would be easier that way. I still want to go through with the exchange the same as I was planning to do in Washington.”
“It’ll be much more dangerous.”
“I’m prepared to take the risk.”
“Hey, wait a minute,” Craig said. “I’ll bet I know why Orlov made the change.”
“What do you think’s happening?”
“They’ve learned Jill’s a dangle. We have a leak on our team. Orlov was tipped off. Or Zhou was tipped off and told Orlov to change the location.”
“You really think so?”
“There is no other explanation.”
Craig thought about the last Task Force meeting. Leeds and Hennessey were so vocal in their opposition. One of them could have been the source of the leak.
Craig called Betty into his office and explained the situation.
“You’d probably like me to tap the phones of Leeds and Hennessey,” she said. “Well, it’s a nonstarter. Not the FBI Director and Assistant Secretary of State.”
“Even I know we can’t do that without Treadwell’s approval, which we’d never get.”
“So what’s the backup plan?”
“We start more modestly. Get me bios of Leeds and Hennessey.”
Ten minutes later, Betty handed him and Elizabeth the bios. Leeds had a boring resume. Lawyer, federal district judge in Nebraska, then FBI Director. Married with three children. Not a damn thing of interest.
Craig turned to Hennessey. Not married. No children. Princeton undergrad. Harvard MBA. Then ten years of employment with Hansell Gray Investment Banking firm in New York before joining the State Department.
Craig read the last sentence. Hansell Gray… Hansell Gray…
Bells went off in Craig’s brain. Loud, clear bells. Hansell Gray was William March’s investment bank.
March, the devil incarnate. March, the worst traitor in United States history to receive a free pass… a get out of jail card… an escape from the electric chair… a presidential decision not even to prosecute.
Thinking about Brewster’s decision on March made Craig’s blood boil.
He closed his eyes and saw March pointing a gun at him in Kirby’s father Aspen home. March would have killed him but for Elizabeth.
Craig opened his eyes. “Well isn’t that nice,” he said.
“William March,” Elizabeth said, before Craig had a chance to explain what he was thinking.
Damn, she was smart. She always got it.
“Where does Hennessey live?” Craig asked Betty.
“I have an address on River Road in Potomac, Maryland.”
“The land of mansions. He must have made a bundle at Hansell Gray.”
“Or it’s family money,” Elizabeth added.
Craig turned to Betty. “Check with Hennessey’s secretary. See if he’s in town. Tell her I’m thinking of scheduling a Task Force meeting tomorrow.”