The Secret Cardinal (23 page)

“Blessed are the children,” Kilkenny whispered to Tao.

“I guess so.”

“Please, everyone,” Yin said, motioning for the people to rise. “I am honored to be among you and humbled by your faith.”

The people stood, and Ke Li's grandfather approached Yin. The two old men bowed. The grandfather knelt down on his left knee, took Yin's hand, and kissed the finger where the ring of the bishop's episcopal office should be. Yin blessed the man and asked him to stand.

“Is this your work?” Yin asked of Ke Li's cross.

“Yes, Your Excellency.”

“It is the finest I have ever worn.”

“I am honored.”

“That you have passed the meaning of this cross on to your children and grandchildren does you far greater honor than the praise of an old priest.”

Tsui and Shen returned with several young men dressed in coveralls.

“How's it look out there?” Kilkenny asked.

“Good,” Shen replied. “The perimeter's clear of hostiles, but I can't say for how long. We should put some distance between this truck and ourselves. Everything we need is here.”

Kilkenny nodded. He got to his feet and stepped out of the truck, followed by Tao. The appearance of the tall, freckled Caucasian startled many of those surrounding Yin. Though no longer rare, the sight of a foreigner in Chifeng, especially one with red hair, was still unusual enough to elicit a curious glance. Ke Li tugged at her mother's pant leg and pointed at Kilkenny. Yin looked at Kilkenny and smiled.

“These are all good people, even the one who looks like a foreign devil.”

Tao and the soldiers laughed, leaving Kilkenny, who didn't speak Chinese, out of the joke.

“What did he say?” Kilkenny asked.

“He vouched for you,” Tao replied.

“As if his standing here isn't enough?” Kilkenny turned to Yin. “Your Excellency, we need to change and get moving.”

“I understand,” Yin replied.

Their contact at the warehouse, a round-faced man named Su, led them to a small office suite where they were provided with new clothes. Both Yin and Kilkenny were stripped and quickly scrubbed raw by a group of matronly women with a greater regard for hygiene than for the men's modesty. As Kilkenny's prosthetic wounds were peeled away, he wished the real ones could be removed as easily.

As soon as Kilkenny had a towel wrapped around his waist, one of the women ushered him to a chair, where she sat him down with his head tilted back. The woman opened a bottle and poured a pungent, viscous liquid on his hair. Kilkenny tried to relax as she massaged the liquid in, quickly dying his red hair black.

“How do I look?” Kilkenny asked when Tao walked over to inspect his transformation.

Tao considered the question carefully before rendering a verdict. “Less conspicuous.”

“That's it? I'm not dark and mysterious?”

“No, just less conspicuous.”

“I can live with that.”

“But when we get home, go back to red,” Tao advised. “This is not a good look for you.”

With a fresh change of clothing, Yin, Tao, and the Asian-American soldiers could now easily blend in with the local population. As this was not possible for Kilkenny, Su and his people assembled a wardrobe typical of a tourist from the United States. Complementing the ubiquitous jeans were a pair of hiking boots, a gray sweatshirt with
Michigan College of Engineering
silk-screened across the front, and a navy blue L.L. Bean squall jacket.

“How do I look?” Kilkenny asked Tao.

“Like you're ready for a football Saturday in the Big House.”

As they dressed, Su's people cut the prison garb and soldiers' uniforms into strips and burned them along with the body bags and hoods.

A woman trimmed Yin's hair, then covered his jaw and upper lip with a layer of soapy foam. She went about the task of removing several weeks of growth with gentle skill, but despite her care, the honed edge of her razor nicked open the remnant of a scab on the crease of Yin's nose.

“I am so sorry,” the woman said, blotting the tiny wound. “Curse my clumsy hands.”

“The last person who shaved my face showed neither your ability nor your concern, as your blade has just discovered,” Yin said. “I bless you and your hands, and thank you for your kindness.”

Beaming, the woman joyfully completed her work, transforming Yin's haggard appearance into a more civilized look. Su stood Yin against a light gray screen and snapped a photo. Kilkenny was last to be photographed. The images instantly appeared on a nearby laptop computer, and a college-age man quickly fabricated a new set of identity documents.

“Nice job,” Kilkenny said, looking over the young man's shoulder.

The man beamed. “I am number one-hacker. Next year, I go to University of Michigan.”

“This yours?” Kilkenny asked, pointing at the sweatshirt.

“I ordered on Internet after government say I can go. You know this school?”

Kilkenny nodded. “You'll love it.”

Su and Tao carefully reviewed Yin's new identity papers and declared the forgeries acceptable.

“These are for you, in case we're stopped,” Tao said, handing Yin the documents.

Yin read the name listed beside his photograph. “Feng Zhijian.”

“That mean anything?” Kilkenny asked.

“The loose interpretation is a phoenix who remains strong in spirit. I thought it appropriate.” Tao turned to Yin. “Once you have this information memorized, I'll give you a few more details to flesh out your new identity.”

“Such as?”

“I am your daughter, Feng Xiu Juan.”

“Then your mother must have been quite beautiful, because you thankfully look nothing like me.”

Tao blushed, embarrassed at both Yin's flattery and how easily he disarmed her emotional control.

“If you are wondering,” Yin said to Kilkenny, “her name means elegant, graceful phoenix. Fitting, no?”

“Quite.”

Su made a brief announcement, and the people began moving back into the warehouse.

“Time to go?” Kilkenny asked.

“That's basically what he said,” Tao replied.

“Would you look at that,” Shen said, amazed.

In just twenty minutes, the young men in coveralls had reduced the truck to its smallest component parts. Rubber tires sat stacked along with belts and hoses; copper wires stripped of their insulation lay bound in coil loops. Steel, still at a premium in China, had been carefully collected. A pair of sweat-soaked men sporting welder's goggles had cut the larger pieces of frame and body panels into manageable chunks. Anything painted was dipped in a fast-acting solvent that stripped the surface to bare metal.

“This gives a whole new meaning to chop shop,” Kilkenny said, knowing that by the end of the day, black-market smelters would recycle the metals, and anything else that could be identified as part of the truck would be as impossible to find as Jimmy Hoffa.

They left the warehouse in a collection of cars, taxis, and vans. Some of the vehicles were privately owned; others belonged to small businesses. The exodus was orderly, with only one or two vehicles leaving at a time in order to carefully blend Kilkenny's team and their Chinese collaborators into the midday flow of traffic in Chifeng.

31

Liu sat in the warden's office and stared at the tiny fragments clinging to the bottom of his teacup, but the abstract composition revealed no hint of the future. Not that he held any stock in tasseomancy or any other form of divination—he did not believe the future was knowable. Even luck he ascribed not to fate or supernatural whim but to one's ability to control unfolding events. And Liu's luck since arriving in Chifeng had been uncharacteristically bad.

The prison was on high alert, the brickyard idled, and the prisoners were locked down in their cells. Fire crews had finally extinguished the blazes at both gates, and mechanics now labored to remove the blackened wreckage and clear a way out.

The prison's technical staff faced similar difficulties recovering from a crippling attack on the computers that controlled the security and communications network. Unable to establish an encrypted line to Beijing, Liu decided the need to report Yin's escape far outweighed any potential security concerns, and he risked using his cell phone. The sleek device's tiny LCD screen displayed two words:
No Signal
. Until the prison's physical and electronic links were restored, the facility was quite effectively cut off from the outside world. And every minute that passed put Yin farther out of reach.

Someone rapped sharply at the door.

“Come,” Liu answered, annoyed.

Tang Hui stepped inside, a thin file clasped tightly under his arm. The manager of the prison's brickyard was a paunchy, middle-aged man with thinning hair matted down by perspiration. Tang's suit matched the man, gray in color and rumpled.

“You have something to report,” Liu said, more a command than a question.

“Yes, sir. Our phone system should be operational in the next few
minutes. Once testing is complete, the line you requested to Beijing will be established. Our security system has been partially restored, and I have staff reviewing feeds from our cameras to see if we have any usable images of Captain Jiao and her accomplices. Also, we have located the file on the prisoner who escaped with Yin.”

“Finally. What took so long? The man was just brought in last night.”

“That was the problem. The paperwork had been processed by the receiving officer but hadn't yet reached the records department.”

Tang handed the file to Liu. It contained several pages of information about the prisoner—official-looking documentation so perfect it could pass a forensic examination. Yet everything in the file was worthless except for the color photographs and physical description of the man.

Liu studied the two pictures of the prisoner—one head on, the other in profile. The man's red hair was short, framing an oval face with a slender nose, thin lips, and green eyes. At nearly two meters in height, such a man would stand out in a crowd anywhere in China. The rest of the team that spirited Yin from prison would be far more difficult to spot. As Liu studied the photographs closely, his eyes narrowed with recognition.

The multiline phone on the warden's desk lit up and emitted a soft electronic purr. Liu looked up from the file at Tang and nodded for the man to answer the call.

“Tang,” the man said clearly into the handset.

He listened for several seconds, then complimented the caller on a job well done and cradled the handset.

“The phones are for the most part working again, and our technical staff should have an encrypted line to Minister Tian's office connected to this phone shortly.”

“Good.” Liu laid the file on the desktop with the page oriented toward Tang. “Given all that has happened, can I trust that these photographs accurately depict the man who was brought here last night?”

Tang scanned the page. “Yes. Official procedure requires the receiving officer to confirm that the paperwork matches the prisoner.
Lieutenant Yu signed the transfer papers, verifying that everything was correct.”

“And Yu would have actually seen this prisoner and made a visual match?”

“Yes.”

Liu scrawled an e-mail address on a Post-It note and affixed it to the page. “I want these photographs and the physical description of this man sent to this address at the Ministry of State Security. Perhaps they can find out who he really is. And as soon as you have useful images of Captain Jiao and her men, send them along as well.”

The phone rang again, and Liu motioned for Tang to leave. He waited for the office door to close, then picked up the handset and prepared to deliver the most difficult report of his career.

“So, the matter of Yin Daoming is now resolved, eh?” Tian asked with uncharacteristic directness.

“No, sir, it is not,” Liu replied.

“Explain,” Tian commanded.

Liu chronicled the events as they unfolded upon his arrival at the prison, then added what he knew about the foreigner who was brought into the prison during the previous night.

“This foreigner, are you certain he is the same man you encountered in Rome?” Tian asked.

“Yes.”

“Then it is unfortunate you did not kill him there. A fake execution,” Tian mused. “The Vatican has tasked some very clever people with liberating Yin. The political damage that could be caused by Yin's escape is incalculable, but perhaps there is still time to correct the situation. I will contact the Ministry of Public Security and the People's Liberation Army with regard to securing our borders and airspace.”

“What are my orders?” Liu asked.

“Hunt down and kill Yin and these Vatican terrorists before they flee the country. You will be provided whatever resources you need, but you must not fail.”

32

VATICAN CITY

“Any word from Nolan?” Donoher asked as he entered the subterranean workroom.

Grin sat in front of a large-screen monitor watching a grainy black-and-white video. In the days since Kilkenny's team entered China, he had kept a patient vigil here, maintaining a fragile electronic lifeline halfway across the world.

“Just this.”

Grin reset the clip to the beginning. The camera panned out, revealing its position some thirty feet off the ground. The sun cast harsh shadows on the sandy yard. Several guards were visible on the left side of the screen. Then a group of soldiers marched two hooded men into view. Both were forced to their knees and executed with a shot to the back of the head. Donoher winced as the bodies toppled to the ground.