The Washington Lawyer (14 page)

That was two years ago, Liu recalled, when he was still deputy director of MSS. Dressed in a suit and tie, accompanied by two security men who were also in civilian clothes, Liu had slipped into the hotel through an unmarked rear door that lead to a small private VIP, admission by invitation only gambling room in the back of the casino. Craps was Liu's game of choice. He spent an hour making large bets with money he had siphoned off from MSS funds, winning a little and losing a little, but essentially staying even.

All that changed when a powerfully built Russian, missing the pinkie on his right hand, picked up the dice across the table. Liu immediately recognized Andrei Mikhailovich, formerly a top KGB agent, then head of its successor, the FSB, rumored to have recently had a falling out with Putin.

Andrei had a hot hand that night. Liu was betting with him as he made point after point, and they were both betting much of their winnings. He sensed the Russian gradually moving around the table, until by the eighth point he was standing next to Liu.

After Andrei made his tenth straight point, he said, “Nyet” to the croupier who offered him the dice. He gathered up his chips and said to Liu in Chinese, “Pigs get slaughtered.”

Liu gathered up his as well. After they collected their winnings, Liu said, “Can I buy you a drink in gratitude?”

“No, but you can come onto a yacht I'm using and talk. It'll be worth your while. I promise you.”

When Liu hesitated for a moment, Andrei pointed to Liu's two guards. “You can bring them along. Guns and all. It'll only be the four of us. I told the crew to remain on shore until further notice.”

Liu and Andrei had gone down to the teak-paneled stateroom while the security men remained on the deck.

Andrei fixed himself a vodka and poured scotch for Liu. When they were seated across a small table and Liu was anxious to hear what Andrei wanted, the Russian began. “I had a falling out with Putin. I told him to go fuck himself.”

“That takes guts.”

“Or stupidity. Anyhow, I need a new employer and some security. Not that Putin ever plays for revenge.” He gave a short caustic laugh.

“And in return for those, what can you do for me?”

Andrei took a long drink of vodka. “Your so-called intelligence agency, MSS, is a joke. Hardly fitting for the world's second most powerful nation on its way to being the top dog.”

Liu bristled. “What do you mean a joke?”

“Your primary approach of getting information from tourists coming and going is absurd. You need a comprehensive network of agents in place around the world as we, the Americans, and British all did at the height of the Cold War. I want to teach you how to do that. I know you're close with Yao, and he's likely to be the next president. If you have a plan to remake the MSS according to my plans, and you tell him about it, he's certain to make you director. Once you're in that role, you'll be able to hit the ground running.”

“So you want to turn the MSS into the KGB?”

“Why not? Russia supplied you with nuclear technology. Now we'll export our spy craft to you. Or more precisely, I'll export it to you.”

“You want a salary?”

“A large one. I have a lavish life style. I'll also want some plastic surgery as well as plenty of security at the right place to live. And two beautiful Chinese women to share it with. Having sex with only one becomes boring. With two, the possibilities are, well use your imagination.”

“Beijing or Shanghai?'

“Both are too dangerous. You don't want your Chinese colleagues to know I'm advising you. It's better for you if you make it look like you're doing it yourself. Also, there are too many Russians running around in those cities. If one of them figures out who I am, word will get back to Putin.”

“Where then?”

“Hong Kong. Put me up in one of those walled compounds outside of town that British industrialists used.”

Liu liked what he was hearing. Perhaps sensing this, Andrei said, “Do we have a deal?”

“Yes.”

That was almost two years ago. Each had carried out his end of the bargain.

Operation Trojan Horse had been Andrei's idea. He had taken with him from Moscow his files on important American political figures, including Jasper.

The plane hit the runway with a thud.

Welcome to Hong Kong, Liu thought. Once a jewel in the British crown, it was now under the control of China, as all of Asia would be one day.

* * *

When a security man opened the thick metal front gate of the compound for Liu, he spotted in the courtyard the two Chinese women with whom Andrei lived. They were playing a card game. Liu wondered if Andrei took them both to bed together or separately, but he never asked.

Andrei was waiting for Liu in the wood-paneled dining room. The Russian had lost twenty pounds since he moved to Hong Kong. He looked fit and exuded power and self-confidence. He could have passed for an important Central European industrialist. Liu had been paying him well with money siphoned off from the MSS budget. Liu imagined Andrei had been winning at the craps table in Macau as well. And Liu had always thought Andrei had stolen plenty in Russia before he left, which was now stashed in a bank in Singapore or somewhere else in Asia, beyond Putin's reach.

Andrei signaled to one of his servants. Moments later the man carried in plates of roast duck, steamed vegetables, and Cantonese fried shrimp. Another one served Chateau Margaux.

Once Andrei waved them both away, the two men ate in silence for several minutes. Then Andrei said, “What's the urgent problem?”

With Andrei, Liu held nothing back. He laid it all out for the Russian. His meeting with Yao, the Pentagon's five-year plan that the Supreme Leader so desperately wanted, and his conversation with Xiang.

At the end, Andrei was shaking his head, looking squarely at Liu. “You screwed up in Tokyo,” the Russian said.

Though Liu knew it was true, if anyone else had dared to say it to the spymaster, he'd be a dead man.

“That's in the past. What do I do now?”

With barely a pause, Andrei fired back, “You have Xiang kill Jasper and make it look like an accident.”

“But Jasper is my source for getting the Pentagon's five-year plan for Yao.”

“That's the whole point. You'll tell Yao that Jasper is dead and you're starting from scratch to find a new source for the document. That removes his pressure from you. Yao will be unhappy, but he won't be able to blame you for Jasper's death. Also it eliminates the risk of Jasper one day turning on you, which he might very well do because he is under stress due to the CD. Meantime, you'll have Xiang intensify his efforts to get hold of that CD. It's the perfect solution.”

“Suppose Xiang doesn't find the CD. What if the media or the FBI gets hold of it?”

Andrei laughed. “Then you will join me in exile somewhere else in the world where neither Putin nor Yao can find us.”

“That's a comforting thought.”

“Your best move right now is having Xiang kill Jasper.”

Liu paused to move food around on his plate with his chopsticks. Then thoughtfully, he said, “Perhaps one day I'll kill Jasper, but I'm not ready to do that yet.”

“Because?”

“The intel he is feeding us is so valuable. He's an incredible source. I don't know if I'll ever find another one like him. I hate killing the goose that's laying the golden eggs.”

“You don't have to convince me of Jasper's value. I was the one who gave you the file on him.”

“For which I'm very grateful.”

“You figure that with the intel you're receiving from Jasper, you will continue to rise in the Chinese government.”

Andrei was reading Liu's mind. The spymaster nodded. “You could put it that way.”

“You're playing a dangerous game. One of those eggs is likely to turn out to be a loaded hand grenade which will explode in your face.”

Liu realized Andrei was correct. Xiang was the key to his salvation. Xiang had to locate that CD.

Oxford, Ohio

R
iding to the cemetery in the back of the hearse with the windshield wipers slapping away the light drizzle, sandwiched between her sobbing mother and her comatose father, Allison felt as if she were having a nightmare. Nothing felt real. She couldn't believe this was happening. But this was her life. Her family. Or what was left of it.

Unable to sleep, she had cried so much during the night that she didn't know whether she had any more tears. Somewhere about three or four in the morning she redirected her anger away from her mother for destroying Vanessa's life by taking her to New York, to the man who had been with Vanessa in Anguilla. Was he responsible for her death? Or did he merely slip away, leaving her alone on the beach?

And as for her mother, difficult as it was, Allison tried to push aside the bitterness she'd felt, bordering on hatred, for so many years. Her mother's insides had to be ripping apart, Allison thought. She was burying her daughter whose life she'd lived through vicariously. She was misguided, but could Allison say that her own grief was greater than her mother's? Whose grief can ever exceed a parent burying a child? That's not the way it should be.

The black Cadillac passed through the cast iron gates at the entrance to the cemetery, wound around for a few minutes, then began a gradual ascent, coming to rest under a large oak tree close to the graves of Allison's four grandparents. As they got out, a tall sallow-looking man from the funeral home, who was as thin as bamboo, held an umbrella over Allison's head. Allison, her mother, and father moved to one side of the casket, poised above the open grave.

At one end of the gravesite she saw Pastor Barnes, a book in his hand. He was in his sixties, short and stocky, with heavy black-framed glasses halfway down a beak nose too long for his face.

On the other side of the casket were a group of about forty; among them was Sara Gross who was staring at her. Next to Sara was Chuck Burton with a brown crew cut and expensive suit and tie. He had been Vanessa's first boyfriend in grade school, and they dated until she went off to New York. Allison had heard he was now an important lawyer in Columbus, a rising star in the Ohio political galaxy. Beside Chuck were his parents, his mother supported by a cane, his father now with a thick white beard. She remembered Vanessa telling her about Chuck's efforts over many years to hook up with her again and her laughter when she said, “He's as square as a box.”

Next to Chuck, she spotted Paul. She felt touched he'd made the trip. Allison recalled arguing with Vanessa after Vanessa broke up with him. Allison had liked Paul and thought he would be good for Vanessa. Allison had told her sister, “He'll be a partner in a law firm and successful.” But Vanessa aspired to much more than that. She wanted power and wealth.

Close to Paul stood Geraldine Cox. Allison took an immediate dislike to the woman when she came to the house the night before the funeral for a perfunctory visit. In a self-important way she had announced, “I'm the Chief of Staff of the Senate Armed Services Committee.” She'd struck Allison as an awkward, slightly overweight brunette with a nervous, restless way, a bad complexion, and an irritating laugh that reminded Allison of a machine gun. She constantly twirled the ends of her hair and stole glances at her wristwatch.

Other than Paul, Allison noted, Geraldine was the only one from Washington. And Allison sensed that Geraldine was no friend of Vanessa's. She had said something about having a mother in Cincinnati. She must have volunteered to be the representative of the committee and planned to visit her mother after the funeral.

Although Vanessa attracted men like flies—and perhaps because of that—she had had few female friends.

Vaguely she heard Pastor Barnes reciting a psalm. Not listening, she linked her right arm through her father's. He was so weak and frail. She doubted if he had any idea why he was here. Tears ran down her cheeks, bitter salty tears, mixing with raindrops.

As Barnes was concluding the psalm, Allison thought, I hope he's not going to speak. But he did.

“We are gathered here together in the sight of God to lay to rest a young woman who can best be described as an angel.”

Mother obviously got to him, Allison thought.

“I first knew Vanessa Boyd,” he continued, “as the most beautiful baby I'd ever seen. She grew up to be a beautiful, very intelligent, and accomplished young woman. She achieved international fame and recognition in her chosen field of fashion. While working hard at that, she made time to earn, with honors, a degree from New York University. Not content to rest on her laurels and retire, she went to Washington to help improve the state of our country. Others talk about doing that, but Vanessa Boyd went and did it. She had an important position on the Senate Armed Services Committee. She was able to influence the passage of legislation, which affects all of our lives and keeps us more secure. Her end was tragic. We can't understand the ways of God. Suffice it to say that he has other plans for this wonderful and talented creature.”

More tears poured from Allison's eyes. The pastor began another psalm. Her knees wobbled beneath her black skirt. A bell rang in the tower of Miami at the University of Ohio two miles away. Then they lowered the coffin. And that was all!

Allison's mouth was dry. Her eyes were closing and she was feeling faint. She thought about them being in the womb together. She should be buried with her twin. Allison's body pitched toward the grave. The powerful arms of a young man from the mortuary pulled her back. Then Sara was clutching her.

“I'm fine now,” she said.

She noticed the crowd dispersing slowly. A nurse led her father toward a limousine. Its engine was running, foul-smelling fumes belching from its exhaust. “Are you coming?” Mother said. Allison spotted Paul, standing nearby and turned to him. “You have a rental car?”