The Patriot Threat

by Steve Berry

  “I’m sorry I let you down,” she whispered to her grandfather, who died before she was born.

  She grabbed hold of herself and tried not to be agitated.

  Across the building she caught sight of a younger man dressed in low-slung jeans, a collarless black shirt, and a pale jacket. He moved with the sinewy ease of an athlete and approached one of the Italian customs officials, flashing a badge. He was maybe late twenties, blond hair cut short, but shaggy on the edges, the face clean-shaven and warmed by a wide, toothy smile. He had a military look about him and was trying to gain entrance to the terminal, but the guard resisted. Eventually, though, he managed to make his way inside. Definitely American, and from the way he strutted in those boots, the Southern variety. Maybe even a little redneck. She knew the species, an odd offshoot of the American male.

  The newcomer walked straight toward her.

  “Ms. Schaefer,” he called out. “I’m Luke Daniels.”

  “Is that supposed to mean something?”

  He chuckled. “I see the reports were correct. You’ve got an attitude.”

  She’d heard the talk about her. Twenty-two partners in eleven years. None stayed long, but none of them cared like she did, either. “What kind of badge were you flashing over there?”

  “The kind that can save your ass.”

  Interesting answer. Okay. He had her attention.

  “I saw your cannonball earlier,” he said. “It was Anan Wayne Howell who shoved you.”

  Now he commanded her full attention.

  “I know where Anan Wayne Howell is right now.”

  She said, “He’s the least of my concerns.”

  “Actually, he’s the only lead you’ve got. Everybody else is gone.”

  Intuitive, she’d give him that. But he could also be bluffing.

  “I can point you the right way,” he said. “But it’ll cost you.”

  To the Southern charm he added a grin, which annoyed her. But she kept her feelings to herself and asked, “Who has the pleasure of employing you?”

  “Is that charm? I didn’t expect it. I’m told you’re not the most likable type.”

  “Maybe I’m just choosy.”

  “Or maybe there’s another word for it, but I don’t want to start off on the wrong foot. I myself don’t ever buy the peaches at the top of the bin. Too many hands on them. The ones down deep are always much firmer.”

  What she liked was that he wasn’t throwing his weight around. He clearly held the upper hand, and seemed to know her predicament. But he wasn’t cocky or arrogant. Instead, he seemed genuinely interested in making a deal. Which made her wonder how much this guy knew. Or was part of his job to find out what he could from her?

  “You still haven’t answered my question,” she said. “Who do you work for?”

  “Magellan Billet.”

  No surprise. But they did move fast.

  “Are you with Malone?” she asked.

  “I’m afraid I do have to claim him.”

  “He didn’t go home, did he?”

  He shook his head. “That dog simply does not take commands.”

  “What’s the price I have to pay for learning Howell’s whereabouts?”

  “I want to know what’s going on. Exactly, with no bullshit. Otherwise, you can fend for yourself. But I will tell you, you’re never going to find anything without me. It’s all flown the coop.”

  She thought she could provide enough to satisfy this cowboy without jeopardizing a thing. So she said, “Do you know the name Haym Salomon?”

  He shook his head.

  So she told him all about a debt that now totaled in the hundreds of billions of dollars.

  “Is that what’s in the black satchel?” he asked when she finished. “Proof of an old IOU?”

  She nodded. “An expensive IOU.”

  Then she waited.

  It was his turn to tell her things.

  TWENTY-SIX

  VIRGINIA

  Stephanie tried to recall anything she knew about the Chinese ambassador. He was born to humble roots, but rose to earn a doctorate in economics. His father had been a low-ranking government official who insisted that his son become something more. Ambition, along with capitalism, had made steady inroads into Chinese culture. She’d read reports where this diplomat had been described as both sharp-tongued and quick-witted. But it had also been noted that he never challenged the communist central authority on any issue. Which, more than anything else, explained why he was here. To be given the coveted post of ambassador to the United States, a long way from the eyes and ears of Beijing, meant that he was trusted beyond measure.

  Relations with China had definitely warmed since the selection of Ni Yong as its new leader. She, Malone, and Danny Daniels had played a key role in that ascension. But the country remained a perplexing tapestry of ancient customs and dark secrets. As far as she could recall, this was the first time Danny had ever sat face-to-face with this ambassador. If he had, no briefing report of any meeting had ever been circulated, which was standard procedure when a place like China was involved. For the ambassador to first agree to such a meeting, then travel from DC in the middle of the night to a stranger’s home, showed clearly the level of importance.

  Introductions were made, then Danny said, “I appreciate you coming tonight. From your call yesterday, it appears we have a mutual problem.”

  “Forgive me, Mr. President, but I asked to speak with you alone.”

  “Your message said that you have information about North Korea and Kim Yong Jin. This lady is knee-deep into that problem, so she needs to hear what you have to say. She’ll be the one dealing with it on my end, and time is short.”

  The ambassador considered the situation, then seemed to concede the point and said, “I agree, time is short. For the past month we’ve been noticing an alarming amount of talk from North Korea about Kim Yong Jin. There are people there nearly panicked over him.”

  “We’ve picked up the same chatter,” the president said. “And I imagine the reason you’re here is because they also discussed your country.”

  The ambassador nodded. “North Korea has always been a source of contention for us. We try to help—they are, after all, our neighbor. But it is a place reason seems to avoid.”

  Danny chuckled. “That’s a mild way of putting it. At least your two countries are allies. They hate us. So why are your people so concerned?”

  “Our relationship with Pyongyang has not been the same since we acknowledged the world sanctions.”

  The United Nations had long imposed penalties against North Korea for its nuclear testing. The country was without a doubt developing a bomb, and no one thought that would be a good idea. A few months ago China had finally joined the economic sanctions, providing further evidence of a change in its political direction.

  “I am aware,” the ambassador said, “of my premier’s great respect for you. I am here on his direct order. Our joining the world sanctions was something North Korea clearly did not expect. Their Dear Leader has made it known that he is not happy with us. But of course he can push only so far, as without us he truly has nothing. We are his only route of trade remaining.”

  She’d read the confidential CIA analysis. The Chinese had signed off on international sanctions to appease the world, but had continued quietly to supply North Korea with food, medicine, and manufactured goods.

  “We have also loaned North Korea money,” the ambassador said. “Dear Leader fashions himself a great builder. He has erected amusement parks, apartment blocks, even a ski resort. We recently provided him $300 million U.S. for a new bridge across the Yalu River. Money has also been advanced for highways and rail links. We believe that it is in everyone’s interest to keep that country stable.”

  “Not to mention the mining concessions you obtained for magnesite, zinc, and iron.”

  She was impressed with the president’s depth of knowledge. Say what you want, but he was no fool.

  “Tra
de runs the world,” the ambassador said. “We need to receive something for all our generosity.”

  The president smiled. “Again, why the concern? Seems like you own Dear Leader lock, stock, and barrel. What’s the problem?”

  “Kim Yong Jin has no such loyalty to us.”

  A valid point. But she said, “Mr. Ambassador, Kim is hardly in a position to do anyone much harm. From all reports he drinks too much, gambles incessantly, and is more interested in women than politics. He’s been gone from North Korea since his father died, which was twelve years ago. He’s a nonplayer. What could he effectively accomplish?”

  “We believe he is intent on deposing his half brother, proving to his dead father, and himself, that he is not—as he was labeled—incapable.”

  “But he would have to have the means to accomplish that,” she said. “Which he hardly possesses.”

  “We are not so sure about that. And that is why I came here tonight. I need to ask a question, one we have not been able to answer. The premier is hoping that you will be open and honest with your reply.”

  She and Danny waited.

  “What is it from your past that so interests Kim Yong Jin? We know from our intercepts that Kim has been in communication with a former official from your Treasury Department, Paul Larks, and a fugitive from your courts, a man named Anan Wayne Howell. They talk of a great fraud and injustice from your past. What is this?”

  Stephanie would love to know the answer to that question, too.

  “I can only say, Mr. Ambassador,” Danny said, “that there may be something that could cause us all trouble. I was not fully aware of it until the past few days. So it’s impossible for me to provide any concrete details, at least at this time.”

  “You can offer nothing?”

  “Not right now.”

  But she wondered just how much Danny really knew.

  “It clearly appears Kim is staging a comeback,” the ambassador said. “He wants his half brother gone and his birthright restored. To do that he apparently plans to harm both the United States and China. He aims high, that I will give him. If successful, he would achieve what no Kim has ever managed—a clear victory over us both.”

  She heard the apprehension in the ambassador’s voice as he continued to fish for information.

  “Here’s something I can tell you,” the president said. “A few hours ago Kim tried to steal twenty million dollars. It was money generated by an insurance fraud scheme, sent to Dear Leader each year on his birthday. We were there, watching, but the money was destroyed in a helicopter crash. All of that happened in Venice. Kim is there, right now, with Howell, that fugitive you mentioned.”

  “And the former Treasury official. Larks. Who is dead,” the ambassador said, a clear signal that the other side was not entirely in the dark. Stephanie herself had only learned that information a couple of hours ago, thanks to a second call from Luke Daniels.

  “We have people on site,” the ambassador said. “It seems Larks’ body was found in his cabin. No cause of death was immediately known.”

  “What people do you have there?” the president asked.

  She wanted to know that, too, since they could prove a problem. Danny was performing at his best, winging things, making it up as he went along. He was part Lyndon Johnson, with his deep voice and strong-arm tactics—part Bill Clinton in Southern charm and disarming looks. Congressmen had complained for years at their inability to tell him no. He adhered to a tried-and-true formula. Reward your friends and punish your enemies.

  And that he did, with a vengeance.

  The question of the night, though, was which side China fell on.

  “You’re going to take Kim out, aren’t you?” Danny asked.

  “Not us. But Pyongyang has a different agenda. They are simply waiting for Kim to find whatever it is. Then they plan to claim it for themselves.”

  “And use it to coerce us both.”

  The ambassador nodded. “Now you realize the extent of our mutual problem. Regardless of who wins this fight between the Korean brothers, the two of us remain in jeopardy.”

  “The crazy half brother, disgraced and exiled, isn’t as stupid as everyone thought,” Danny said. “That much we now know. We have a saying back in Tennessee, where I come from. Even the blind-eyed biscuit thrower hits the target every once in a while.”

  “And we have a similar wisdom. With time and patience the mulberry leaf becomes a silk gown.”

  A few moments of silence passed between them. Everything about the Chinese ambassador signaled both restraint and concern.

  Finally, she said, “We have our best people in Venice, right now, working on this.”

  “As do the North Koreans.” The ambassador faced Danny. “Please know, Mr. President, that China has no grievance with the United States. We neither started nor wanted this fight. To keep the current stability between our countries is a good thing for us all. But Kim Yong Jin is another matter. He is an unknown. So let us hope we are successful in stopping him.”

  The ambassador stood and bid them good night. Danny did not try to stop him from leaving. Apparently, enough had been said. The front door closed and the parlor returned to its former quiet, the lights still burning low. Edwin Davis had waited outside, his job to return the ambassador to Washington.

  Not until they heard the car drive off did she say, “You do realize that he’s lying.”

  “Of course. China’s after Kim, too. They surely have people over there, ready to move. But they won’t make a move until they have what it is Kim’s after. Beijing can’t, and won’t, let this opportunity pass, no matter how much supposed goodwill exists between us.”

  “Which begs the question, why alert us?”

  “That’s easy. First, he doesn’t want to disrupt the goodwill that really does exist between us. And second, he had to know if it was worth the effort.”

  “Is it real?”

  “Unfortunately this is as real as it gets, but I’m not going to make the same mistake Joe Levy made. Cotton and Luke need to know what they’re up against.”

  “What are we up against?”

  She saw that he understood her inquiry. She wasn’t referring to espionage and some potential assassins. Her question was more specific.

  More American.

  “I’ll tell you,” he said. “But first, make the call to Italy.”

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  ADRIATIC SEA

  Malone sat at a table beside one of the exterior windows, the long dining room crowded, the air reeking of scrambled eggs and bitter coffee. The ferry was more a liner with 300-plus cabins, salons, bars, lounges, even a theater. Room for more than a hundred trucks and cars occupied its lower decks. Outside, the blue Adriatic rolled by as they cruised east toward Croatia, the ride smooth and level. He’d stayed with Howell the whole way, boarding after him, keeping his distance. There were several hundred people on board across the many decks, plenty of places to disappear into, yet Howell had come straight here and filled a plate from the breakfast buffet.

  Not a bad idea, actually. So he’d followed suit, having a bagel, banana, and orange juice. He hadn’t eaten since yesterday afternoon. But that was nothing unusual. Back when he was a full-time agent, he’d go days without eating. The anxiety and stress of fieldwork seemed to clamp his stomach. The same had been true at JAG when he tried cases in court. Thankfully, once the pressure was relieved, his appetite always returned. At the moment, though, things were ratcheting up. He’d found Howell, so the woman with the satchel should not be far behind. In Venice she’d gone one way, Howell the other, the idea surely to throw anyone interested off track. Of course, he doubted if Howell realized that two separate factions—the Justice Department and Treasury—were now interested in him. Yet the ruse had partially worked, as they were here without anyone from Treasury in sight.

  As if on cue the woman with the black Tumi bag entered on the far side, walked over, and sat with Howell.

  They kissed.
>
  Malone relaxed into the clamor of dishes, silverware, and conversation, eating his breakfast, acting disinterested in anything and everything, his actions no different from those of the hundred or so others around him. The noise, along with the din of the unabated engine became hypnotic and he resisted the urge to close his eyes.

  His phone buzzed.

  The display read UNKNOWN.

  He decided to answer, which also made him no different from a multitude of others engrossed with their own mobile devices.

  It was Stephanie.

  “Your number didn’t appear,” he said.

  “I’m at another location, on a landline.”

  “I have Howell and the documents in sight,” he whispered to her.

  “Tell me,” she said.

  He gave her a quick report.

  “You’re going to have company at some point,” she said.

  He listened as she explained about Kim Yong Jin, a disgraced exile who had once been the next in line to lead North Korea, and his contacts with Howell and Larks. Then she told him about a conversation with the Chinese ambassador.

  “We suspect the Chinese and North Koreans may be after Howell and the documents. How about you secure them both before anything bad happens.”

  “This is turning into something far more than a part-time babysitting assignment.”

  “Don’t worry,” a male voice said. “I’ll make sure she ups your pay.”

  Danny Daniels.