Dark Ambition (33 page)

A bellman offered to help Chen with the suitcase. He waved the man away, not wanting anyone else to have control of the bag. That was stupid, he decided. It made him look more suspicious.

In the cab on the way to the train station, he asked himself once more whether he wanted to go through with this. There comes a time, he decided, when an individual has to stand up for what he believes. Since the Tiananmen Square protests, the regime had gone on doing what it had done to Mai, arresting and killing innocent people, university professors, students, and anyone who dared to yearn for freedom. Now they were gearing up to use their military might against Taiwan. People like his father had become accomplices in their own destruction. Well, that had to end. The world and the people in Taiwan had to realize that there was nothing inexorable about the growth of Chinese power—any more than Japan's in the 1930s. Operation Matchstick would send a powerful message to all of Asia and the world: Beijing isn't impregnable.

As for the personal risk, he had gone over the operation numerous times with Donovan. Everything had been planned with precision, to the last detail. Nothing could go wrong. No one would ever know he had done it.

The train station was a sea of humanity. After standing in a long line, Chen bought a first-class ticket for a train going southwest to Nanping, in Fujian province, about 230 miles inland from the Strait of Taiwan.

At the entrance to the train track, two policemen carrying clubs stopped him—one tall and thin, the other short and squat.

For what seemed like hours to Chen, the tall one examined his visa and passport.

"The nature of your business in Nanping?" the tall one asked.

"My computer company has one plant in Shanghai. We're considering building a second one in that area."

"Why there?"

"It's close to Taiwan. After unification, there will be transportation across the strait. We want to get there early."

That seemed to satisfy him. One of the goals of the regime was to stimulate new business.

Meantime, his colleague was eyeing Chen's bags suspiciously. "What's in that one?" he asked, pointing to the large brown suitcase.

"Computer parts," Chen said. He held his breath. The contents had been packaged to resemble computer parts, and that was what the writing said. Yet if the policeman began taking the items apart, he'd be able to determine what Chen was carrying. Chen felt the moisture building under his arms and soaking his shirt.

The short policeman pointed to the black duffel bag. "Open that one," he said.

When Chen obliged, he looked inside, examining the contents with care. Chen kept glancing at the large overhead clock. It was getting late. Other passengers were rushing by him, loaded down with bags. If he missed this train, he'd lose his pickup in Nanping and be stranded there.

He had only ten more minutes until the train's departure. Rushing these two policemen was a poor idea, he decided. With difficulty, he kept himself in check.

Sensing Chen's anxiety, the thin man said, "You have plenty of time."

The two policemen took a few steps back. The short one whispered something Chen couldn't hear. Then his colleague looked at Chen for several moments. "You can go," he said.

 

 

 

Chapter 20

 

"Will you make me French toast for breakfast, Daddy?" Amy said as she scampered into Ben's bedroom and jumped on his bed.

It was a few minutes past seven. Ben was wide-awake, as he had been all night. "I will on one condition," he said.

"What's that?" she said, climbing under the covers. He made sure his pajama bottoms were pulled up and tight around his waist. He didn't want her to see the Band-Aid.

"What condition?" she asked warily. She was used to the little deals Ben made with her to get her to do things.

He smiled. "The condition is, I get a big hug and a kiss."

She was happy to oblige. Holding her tight, Ben thought, God, I love this child so much. I can't let anything happen to her.

"Yuck," she said. "You're al! grizzly. You didn't shave."

"Well, I just woke up, silly. Now, you let the French toast man get dressed. He'll meet you in the kitchen."

"I'll get the batter started."

"Easy, kiddo. Wait for me."

"Daddy. I know what to do. I'm no baby."

This morning there wasn't any request of hers he wouldn't grant. "Great, you get started," he said.

Amy knew that she was on a roll. Reading her father's mood, she added, "And I'll make chocolate milk, too."

"Whatever you want," he said as she scooted out of the room.

The French toast was cooking in the pan, and Amy was getting ready to turn it, under Ben's watchful eye, when the phone rang. It was Jennifer.

"Sorry, I got in too late last night to call you back," she said in a brisk tone. "What'd you decide to do about that phony confession?"

"Hang on a sec," he said as he helped Amy turn the French toast. While keeping one eye on the frying pan, he stretched the phone cord as far as it could go into the dining room. Not wanting to alarm Amy, he whispered, "A new development in the Gillis case. It was frightening, believe me. I've got to talk to you. Please, Jenny, it's urgent."

Jennifer knew something was very wrong. "What time would you like me at your office?"

"Forget the office. Come to my house as soon as you can. Bring everything you have that's relevant to Winthrop's murder. And please don't say a word about this to anybody."

They had just hung up when Amy shouted. "It's burning, Daddy!" He ran into the kitchen and snatched the pan from the burner. "Just a little crisp," he said, examining the undersides. "We'll smother it in lots of maple syrup."

That made her very happy. As she ate, he walked to the back of the house, where he unobtrusively glanced out of the kitchen window. A plainclothes D.C. cop was sitting on the bench next to Amy's swing set at the far end of the yard near the garage, watching the house. Ben went back to the front and stood at the picture window looking out. An unmarked car was parked in front with two of Art Campbell's detectives in the front seat.

Ben no longer thought that the blonde was fifty miles away. She was still in Washington. Before long, she would strike again. The only question was whether he and Campbell could find out for whom she was working and end their party before that happened.

When Amy was dressed and ready for school, Ben scooped the child up into his arms and held her tight. "You have a good day, kiddo," he said.

She kissed him. "You, too, kiddo."

Opening the door, Ben heard footsteps. His heart skipped a beat as he glanced through the storm door. With relief, he saw Jennifer walking up the steps, swinging a black briefcase in her hand.

"Time to go," Amy said.

When he put her down, Amy grabbed her old metal lunch box and book bag, then took Elana's hand.

He watched them go down the stairs, passing Jennifer on the way. At the sidewalk, they turned left and headed up the street toward the preschool. Amy was singing a Spanish song Elana had taught her. The police car fell in behind them.

"Cute kid," Jennifer said. With a pang she wondered if she and Ben would have had a child like that if they had gotten married.

"Thanks."

"How old is she?"

"Four. I'll bet you were a beauty when you were four."

She smiled at the compliment. "I was trouble, too."

"So what else is new?"

"One thing that isn't new is that sweatshirt you're wearing," she said in a jocular manner. She tapped him playfully on the shoulder, wanting to make it clear that she was willing to get away from her biting, sarcastic manner.

He eyed the Yale Law School sweatshirt dubiously. "Yeah, you were always after me to toss it. I could lie and say I bought a new one."

"But I'd know that a new one couldn't possibly get so grungy in five years."

"I feel comfortable in it," he said by way of apology. "I do my best work in it."

"So I remember. By the way, I assume those are still the same jeans?"

He smiled. "Regrettably, yes."

Jennifer took off her raincoat and hung it herself in the closet. She was wearing a perfectly pressed Dior gray suit with a thin red stripe and a white blouse. He didn't see how anyone could look so good early in the morning. If she felt awkward being back in the house she had lived in for almost a year, she didn't say anything, although he did watch her woman's eye roaming around, trying to determine what changes had been made since she moved out.

"Let's go back into the kitchen," he said.

He poured two cups of steaming coffee into mugs and sat down across from her, while she waited patiently for him to begin.

"Art Campbell told me about the blond hair," Ben said. "He also told me that you don't think Clyde Gillis killed Winthrop. I want you to tell me what you know."

"Where are you going with this?" Jennifer said evenly. "You've got to let me in on what's happening before you can expect me to lay out my whole case. Really, Ben. I'm not being difficult."

Ben paused to sip some coffee. She was right, of course. He had to tell her everything first, before he could ask her to disclose what she knew.

"I'm convinced," Ben said abruptly, "that Clyde Gillis didn't kill Winthrop."

She straightened up in surprise. "Wow, that's a mouthful." A great load had been taken off her mind. "Then why are we here? Why don't you dismiss the case? We can all go back to what we were doing before last Sunday."

"It's not that simple, I'm afraid."

"You want to tell me why?"

He looked down at the table, ashamed of what he had done, not wanting to admit it to her. "I was threatened last night and nearly killed," he said clumsily.

At first she thought he was kidding, which Ben had had a tendency to do when they were dating. She was ready to laugh. Then she saw the grimness in his face. She thought about the attack on Ann yesterday to get the second copy of the video, and she knew this was no joke.

"That's why we're meeting here, Jenny. Art's got police covering the house."

"Oh, Ben, I'm so sorry," she said.

He knew she meant it. "I appreciate that. I really do."

"What happened?"

He hesitated, not sure how much to tell her. "A blond woman attacked me."

Alarm bells started going off for Jennifer. "Where did this happen?"

Ben squirmed in his chair. At all costs, he refused to tell Jennifer what had happened to him last night. His interest in her was still strong. If she ever found out what he had done, she would probably be so repulsed that any chance of a rekindling on her part would be snuffed out forever.

"The details aren't important," he said, "and it's painful for me to talk about." Which was true, he thought. "The key thing is that the blonde who attacked me has to be our infamous George Nesbitt. When you put that together with the fact that George Nesbitt was a phony name, and my impression from my interrogation of Clyde Gillis at the jail Sunday night, a different scenario spins out."

She was suspicious about the details, but let it go. "Which is?" she asked.

"Art and I figure that somebody in the administration knows who killed Winthrop, and they're trying to cover it up. Your client happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. They rigged the evidence to fit him."

That was what she had thought all along. "Then why not release him?"

"These people play for keeps. She threatened to kill me and Amy." He winced at the memory. "The confession has to be coerced. If I let Gillis out, she'll kill him in a minute and leave a copy of the confession beside the body."

The news of these threats alarmed her. "Then why not go to Director Murtaugh at the FBI, or even the President? Ann can get us into the White House."

He said quietly, "Because I don't know how high up this goes."

She thought he was overreacting. "Brewster's a decent man. He's never been mixed up in anything like this."

"Neither of us knows him that well," he said, frowning. "I can't speak for you, but I'm not prepared to bet my daughter's life on a guess about the integrity of a president I don't know. We've had some beauts in the Oval Office over the years."

"So whom do you trust? What do you plan to do?"

"With Art's help, and hopefully yours, I'll find out who hired the blonde to kill Winthrop. Then I'll go to the President—only after I've set it up so I can say the story goes to the press if anything happens to me."

She nodded her head hesitantly. "That sounds like a good plan."

He saw the doubt on her face. "The trouble is, I don't have much time. On top of that, I don't have the faintest idea who hired the blonde. That's where I'm hoping you might be able to help."

Jennifer studied Ben carefully. In those bloodshot eyes was a fear that she had never seen before. Ben was genuinely afraid for his own life and Amy's. How could she possibly not help him? She wouldn't be compromising the rights of Clyde Gillis. Ben was now in agreement with her that Clyde was innocent. And if Ben was right, Clyde might be murdered unless they found out who was behind Winthrop's death.