The Expediter (36 page)

“What’d you tell them?”

“Just your name. But it was enough. The major should be coming out of the front gate now.”

A slight man in dark trousers and an open-collar white shirt stepped past the Chinese security guards at the gate and stopped.

“I’ve got him,” McGarvey said. “Let’s go,” he told Kim. He got out of the car, and reached back to help her, but she batted his hand away and jumped out.

Together they walked past Pak and the Reconnaissance Bureau lieutenant colonel, McGarvey acutely conscious of how delicate the situation was.

Major Chen stepped aside as they reached him and motioned them through the gate, which the security guards closed after them. McGarvey didn’t look over his shoulder to see if Pak had driven off as they crossed the narrow courtyard and entered the front stair hall of the four-story building.

“We agreed to bring you this far, Mr. McGarvey, on the strength of
your reputation,” Major Chen said, stopping in the middle of the hall. “Now, considering the importance of the current situation, we will require an explanation.”

“The North Koreans did not kill General Ho, and I’ve been asked to prove it,” McGarvey said. “This woman may hold the key, but only if I can get her back to Washington immediately.”

Major Chen’s left eyebrow rose. “We have never met, but I was told that you are an unusual man.” He looked at Kim. “We have the ambassador’s aircraft standing by at the airport, but I’m not sure we would be allowed to get to it, or if it would be allowed to take off. What proof?”

“I can’t say right now—”

“You of all men must appreciate the urgency of our position. If we initiate an attack that stupid bastard will probably launch, and we couldn’t do a thing about it until afterward.”

“It’s why I came here.”

“Without your government’s sanction,” Major Chen said bitterly.

“I need your help.”

The Chinese intelligence officer was clearly frustrated. “I can’t do a damned thing for you. They won’t let you out of here.”

“Yes, they will, if you’re willing to fly us to Washington.”

“You have to get to the airport first.”

McGarvey raised the sat phone. “Otto?”

“Here.”

“Can you contact Kim Jong Il’s people, explain the situation, and allow me to talk to him with a translator?”

“Holy shit, Mac. I’m on it.”

Major Chen was impressed and it showed. “I was not told that you were a surprising man.”

No one else was in the stair hall and the building was all but silent, though somewhere in the distance McGarvey thought he could hear a muffled conversation, two people arguing about something.

Kim was getting shaky on her feet and McGarvey sat her down on a wooden bench with carved dragons. But it took nearly ten minutes before Rencke was back.

“You owe me one, kemo sabe,” Rencke said. “He’s on the line. No names, not his, not yours.”

“Right,” McGarvey said, and the call was switched. “You understand that I have agreed to help.”

He could hear the translator in the background, but there was no response.

“I may have the proof that we need. But I must get to Washington as soon as possible.”

Again he could hear the translator, but no answer.

“It will require that I have safe conduct to the airport, along with my prisoner, and clearance for the Chinese ambassador’s aircraft to leave North Korean territory.”

Still there was no reply, and a moment later the connection was broken.

“They’re gone,” Rencke said.

Major Chen walked to the long narrow windows flanking the door. “They’re leaving,” he said. He turned back and looked at McGarvey. “You Americans say, son of a bitch. That’s a good expression. What now?”

“We need a ride to the airport and the use of your ambassador’s airplane.”

Major Chen allowed a slight smile. “I think that is possible.”

McGarvey raised the sat phone. “We’re on our way out.”

“I’ll arrange something from Beijing,” Rencke said. “That was some spooky shit.”

“Yeah,” McGarvey said. “But there’s more to come.”

Washington

Rencke had rounded up a C-20G Gulfstream IV VIP jet at Yokosuka Navy Base in Japan, and had it at a quiet corner of Beijing’s Capital International Airport by the time McGarvey and Kim arrived from Pyongyang. The transfer went smoothly, and once they were aboard and outbound for Hawaii, Kim was fed rice and sushi by an attractive petty officer, and afterward she had put her seat back and had fallen asleep.

“May I get something for you, sir?” the girl had asked McGarvey.

“A Martell straight up, if you have it.”

“Of course.”

“And let me know when the pilot thinks it’s okay for me to use my sat phone.”

“Right now, I think, but I’ll check.”

She came back with his drink and gave him a smile. “I was right. It’s only cell phones that give our electronic gear trouble.”

“Thanks,” McGarvey told her. “Do we have an ETA for Andrews?”

“At this point it looks as if we’ll be landing around 0600, and that includes refuels at Midway and Long Beach. If that changes I’ll let you know.” She glanced at Kim. “You look as if you could use a few hours sleep yourself, sir.”

“You’re right,” McGarvey said and when she went forward he took out his sat phone, got a signal, and phoned Rencke.

“You’re out.”

“We took off from Beijing about an hour ago,” McGarvey said.
“Should be arriving at Andrews around six in the morning. Does anyone know where I’ve been?”

“If anyone does they’re not mentioning it. Howard’s spending most of his time covering his ass up on the Hill, and Dick has been over to the White House four times in the past thirty-six hours.”

“What about Rodgers?” Richard Rodgers, III, was the new Director of U.S. Intelligence, supposedly with oversight over the CIA and the other thirteen intelligence agencies.

“For the moment this belongs to us, and no one else, so when the actual shit hits the fan we’ll be the only agency to take the hit,” Rencke said almost bitterly. He’d always known how the game was played, and for the most part he’d always been above it. “Everyone else will come out fairly clean and they’ll be the first ones up to speed, and not hamstrung by a bunch of bullshit congressional committees.”

“Time to retire?” McGarvey asked.

“I’m thinking about it, Mac, honest injun. But retirement hasn’t seemed to have done you much good.”

“Have you found out anything new on Turov?”

“No, and that’s damned odd. Given the time and a push in the right direction my search engines can scan just about any system, but the shit I’m coming up with now is superficial. Driver’s licenses, property deeds, a Citation jet. He’s a wealthy Russian ex-pat living in Japan, but I can’t get a lock on what he does for a living, or how he’s come up with his money after he left Moscow.”

“From what I saw he’s not living
that
large in Tokyo, in fact he’s practically invisible,” McGarvey said. “What about his contacts, any luck there? According to the shooters, it was Turov who gave them the general’s precise schedule. It’s my guess the Russians may have penetrated Chinese intel and Turov got his information from Moscow, because it doesn’t look as if anyone on Kim Jong Il’s staff was the source.”

“There’s been a few rumblings over the past six or eight months that the FSS was trying to score big, but that’s all I’ve heard. I’ll check on it though.”

“How about us?” McGarvey asked. It was a thought that had been
niggling at the back of his head since he’d learned of the existence of the Russian expediter in Tokyo. For years the CIA had been trying to penetrate the Chinese intelligence apparatus, Guoanbu, first in Washington, then in New York at the U.N., and over the past few years in Beijing itself, but the Company had only a limited success.

“I’m not sure,” Rencke said softly as if he were worried that someone might be eavesdropping. “I don’t generally stick my nose in Mc-Cann’s business unless I have to, but I caught the whiff of a rumor that we might have finally gotten someone inside last year, right after that deal you were involved with in Mexico City. Your burning General Liu and his operation threw the Guoanbu a curveball and while Beijing was trying to get its shit together we might have gotten someone inside. But so what?”

“Find out for me, please,” McGarvey said. “And if we do have someone in place, find out who’s handling the product.”

Rencke was silent for a long second or two, and when he came back on the line he sounded even more guarded than before. “You’re thinking that maybe Turov’s source is here, inside the Building?”

“I don’t know what I’m thinking, Otto. But the way things stand we’ve got the most to gain by China flattening Kim Jong Il’s regime.”

“You’re right, but it doesn’t necessarily mean that we’re behind it,” Rencke said. “Dick wouldn’t have anything to do with something like that, he doesn’t have the guts or the imagination. He’s bland not insane. And anyway, we’re probably talking big money here and there’s been no sudden drain on our finances for any sort of a black project. I know that for a fact, because I went looking for the funding for the Mexico City operation and came up empty-handed. So far as I know the Bureau thinks the big bucks came from Mexican drug money laundering. That stream alone tops eight billion, so a few hundred million here and there wouldn’t have made much of a dent.”

“It still comes down to a problem of motivation,” McGarvey said. “The Mexican drug cartels have no reason at all to engineer anything like this.”

“No,” Rencke admitted. “But Turov’s intel might have nothing to do with money.”

“I think it has,” McGarvey said.

“Okay,” Rencke said after a moment. “I’m on it. What about when you get here?”

“Is the Cabin John safe house free?” The house was actually a small estate along the Potomac River that the CIA had confiscated in a sting a few years ago. McGarvey had used it a couple of times, but not recently.

“Hang on,” Rencke said. He was back in twenty seconds. “It’s been empty for six months. A caretaker goes out there a couple of times a month to check on it. He’s not due for another ten days, but that might not be such a great place to hide the woman. It won’t take housekeeping long to find out you’re there.”

“I’m counting on it,” McGarvey said.

“Shit,” Rencke said softly. “I don’t like this, kemo sabe, I shit you not.”

“Trust me, I don’t either.”

“I’ll pick you up at Andrews.”

McGarvey telephoned his daughter who along with her husband was the director of the CIA’s training base outside Williamsburg. “Van Buren,” she answered tersely. She always seemed to be in a hurry.

“Hi, sweetheart, it’s me.”

“Daddy, where the hell are you? Mom’s been going nuts.”

“I’ll be landing at Andrews first thing in the morning, and hopefully this business will be resolved in a few days, but it’s not going to be pretty.”

“Well, the shit’s been hitting the fan around here in the last twenty-four hours. We’re at DEFCON three, and the word on the street is that might be bumped up to two unless something happens to defuse the situation out there right now.”

“What about the Russians?”

“They’re in it too. Putin is calling for restraint, but his Rocket
Forces are on alert, and just about every naval vessel in Vladivostok has lit off their power plants and headed out to sea.”

“I need a favor from you and Todd,” McGarvey said. “I’m bringing somebody in with me, and we’re going to the Cabin John house. I’m going to use her as bait, and I’m going to need some muscle. But it’ll have to be completely off the books.”

“For how long?”

“Twenty-four hours at the most.”

“Do you need a detail to meet you at Andrews?”

“I don’t want to attract that much attention. Otto’s meeting us and driving us out.”

“I’ll send someone.”

“Thanks.”

“Shall I call Mother?”

“No,” McGarvey said, and when he looked up, Kim was awake and staring at him, an enigmatic expression in her Oriental eyes.