Choke Point (18 page)

“I think so.”

“The other parties would have to agree.”

“I understand that,” the courier answered. “But you have no problem with a change if I can get the schedule approved?”

The speaker went silent for a good ten seconds, the woman obviously thinking about it. “If it’s approved by all parties, I don’t see how that would affect anything.”

“It won’t.”

“Well, you’ve got the security codes. You know who to talk to?”

“Absolutely,” the courier answered. “I’ve got the list right in front of me.”

“Make sure you use that scrambler I gave you.”

“Of course.”

“Then do what you have to do.”

“Thanks, Billie.”

“How’s Li Quan doing?”

“He’s uh…he’s a hard man to read, but the place is looking good. A lot’s been accomplished in the last four days.”

“You’re telling me things work better when you’re in jail?”

The courier laughed. “Apparently so. That and a little good weather.”

“Are we going to make it?”

“Yes.” A slight pause. “Unless there’s another accident.”

“Right. What’s my daughter up to?”

“I just got to the hotel. I haven’t seen her yet, but she’s here someplace.”

“Is she okay? I know she’d rather be here with her father.”

“She’s doing fine. Atherton is helping to keep her mind off things.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that.”

“Why would I worry? They seem like a good match.”

The woman made a little sound, a kind of sardonic snort. “Men are so stupid.”

“It’s a genetic imperative, Billie, we can’t help it. What’s that got to do with—”

“Gotta go, Simon. Do what you have to do.” There was a faint click and the speaker went silent.

Mawl looked at Robbie, who had just opened a second bottle of beer. “What’s this about a travel schedule? Where’s he going? Have you overheard anything?”

Robbie shook his head. “Nae. Course if I knew the plan, maybe I could help connect some dots.”

Mawl opened his mouth, intending to give the kid the old need-to-know speech, then reconsidered. Playing bodyguard twelve hours a day, plus missing the assault at Mei-li Chiang’s, the kid was obviously feeling left out. “That’s true, but if you knew what to expect, you might inadvertently tip them off.”

“I ain’t stupid.”

No, just young and naïve,
but if the courier suddenly left the area, they would miss their best opportunity, something Mawl couldn’t allow to happen. “We’re planning a little accident for Mr. Leonidovich. All I need is some idea of his movements within the hotel. A meeting time or an inspection tour, so we’re ready for him. That way he’ll just walk into it. No one would suspect he was a target.”

Robbie nodded slowly, the gears grinding. “He meets with the bird every morning. Usually between seven and eight.”

“I realize that, kid, but we need to do it in the open, with lots of witnesses. Maybe we’ll get lucky with one of these calls.” He reached down and double-clicked the second file.

This time the recording started with a click—an incoming call—followed immediately by the courier’s voice. “Hello.”

“Welcome home.”

Mawl hit the
PAUSE
button. “Recognize the voice?”

Robbie nodded. “Aye. That’s the bird.”

Mawl added the note to his surveillance log and clicked the
PLAY
button.

“This is a little more plush,” the courier answered, “than what I call home.”

“You’re free, that’s all that’s important. Sorry I wasn’t there to meet you, I had a meeting with Li Quan.”

“No problem. Your friend Mr. Atherton took care of everything.”

“Hey, the way you say friend…you make it sound like a bad thing.”

“Hey, yourself,” the courier came back. “You’re hearing something that isn’t there. The guy’s great. He just busted me out of jail.”

She hesitated, the line silent for a couple of long beats. “I’m sorry. Maybe I overreacted.”

“No problem.”

“I’m in the lobby. May I come up?”

“Is it important?” the courier asked.

There was another momentary pause. “Not really. I just thought…”

“I haven’t showered yet.”

“Oh—”

“Then I need to get some sleep. I can barely think.”

“Oh…sure…I understand.”

Mawl chuckled to himself—the woman sounded anything
but
understanding.

“I’ll see you in the morning, okay? Our regular time?”

“Absolutely. I’m glad you’re back, Leonidovich.”

“Thanks. See you tomorrow.”
Click,
then silence.

Mawl scanned down the list of call times. “He didn’t sleep, that’s for sure.” He highlighted the next file and hit the
PLAY
button. The moment he heard the long string of dial tones—another international call—he stopped the recording and started over, recording the acoustic numbers on his micro-recorder.

A machine answered, the female voice distinctly American. “You have reached the American Embassy in Beijing. Please press—” The message was interrupted by the courier as he punched a string of numbers into his keypad. After a moment of silence, the speaker hummed with a series of clicks and beeps, then a high-pitched screeching sound, similar to that of a fax machine. Mawl lowered the volume, letting the recording run.

“What the bleeding hell is that?” Robbie asked.

“He’s using a scrambler. Rynerson must have set up a secure communication link with the embassy.”

“Why?”

Mawl shook his head, wondering the same. “It must have something to do with the Pearl. There’s a lot of legal issues involved with opening a new resort.” He sat back and closed his eyes, waiting for the recording to play out. The low irritating screech lasted twenty-eight minutes before ending.

“Can you decipher it?” Robbie asked.

“Of course,” Mawl answered, though he doubted if he could, and had no intention of wasting his time trying. No matter what they were talking about, it wasn’t going to change his orders:
Just get it done!
He scrolled down to the next file and hit
PLAY
.

Another machine answered, a similar voice, followed by another scrambled conversation, only this time it was the American Institute in Taipei, and the call only lasted twenty minutes.

“What’s the American Institute?” Robbie asked the minute the speaker went silent.

“The Yanks don’t officially recognize the government of Taiwan,” Mawl answered. “The AIT serves as a substitute embassy.” He clicked open the next file, wanting to avoid any more questions—questions to which he had no answers.

A woman answered, her voice thick with sleep. “This better be good.”

“I love you too, Sissie.”

“Boris!” There was a faint
click
—a lamp switch—and the sound of someone sitting up in bed. “Don’t tell me they let you out of jail?”

Mawl stopped the recording, made a note of the name on the courier’s profile sheet—aka: Boris—and hit the
PLAY
button.

“About two hours ago,” the courier answered. “Everything okay back there?”

“Of course everything is okay.” She sounded offended. “How about you? You still like girls, or did you become the alabaster play toy for all the boys in lockdown?”

Robbie snorted. “That’s funny.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, Sissie, but I still pee standing up.” His voice took on a businesslike tone. “I need you to do something.”

“So what’s new?”

“I’ve got a shipment. A five-or six-day job. Something I can’t do myself.”

“What’s this, the world’s greatest courier needs a courier?”

“Don’t be a smartass, Sissie. I’ve been locked up for four days and I haven’t slept much, so unless—”

“Okay, okay, I get the picture, your summer vacation left a lot to be desired. So what’s the job? When, where, what? Size, value, destination? You know the drill.”

“I’ll e-mail you all that. Just find me someone with no affiliations in this part of the world. Someone independent and reliable.”

There was a moment of silence, a few seconds beyond the normal intercontinental delay, before her voice came back. “I’ve got just the man. You remember Bill Rapp?”

“Yeah, sure. Head of security there at the new building.”

“Right. He just started a three-week vacation and doesn’t know what to do with himself.”

“Now how would you know that?”

“He’s interested in doing some part-time work,” she answered. “He’s a former detective with the NYPD, and he’s fully bonded.”

“You didn’t answer my question, Sissie. Are you seeing this guy?”

“I’m going back to bed now. Take care of yourself, Boris.”

“No wait”—
click
—“a minute. Damn woman.” There was another click and the recording ended.

Robbie levered himself up from the table. “Want a beer?”

Mawl shook his head, added the call to his surveillance log, then sat back, wondering how the courier had managed to pull it off.
Clever bastard. Clever, clever, bastard.

Robbie opened the refrigerator and grabbed another Red Dawn. “What you think that was about? Why would a courier need another courier?”

“No idea.” But he did. He was sure of it. Though he couldn’t imagine how, the bastard had not only hidden the gun, but had somehow gotten it out of the house. All he needed now was someone to carry it out of the country.
Someone independent and reliable.
Mawl smiled to himself—the gun was now meaningless—the man had a date with death, and nothing could change that. He reached down and double-clicked the next file.

This time the call was local, to the
Macau Post Daily,
the only English-printed newspaper in the province. Though Mawl didn’t understand the odd transaction—a prepaid, one-month subscription, the papers to be held until Leonidovich picked them up—it did seem to confirm the man’s intention to temporarily leave Macau. The next and last file, a fourteen-minute call to Macau Aviation, made it clear exactly how and when he intended to go.

“Now what?” Robbie asked. “If he leaves in the morning, we’re bloody screwed.”

Mawl smiled to himself. He didn’t know what Leonidovich was up to, or why he would charter a small plane. But the opportunity was clear enough. “No, kid, we’re not screwed. Not screwed at all.”

“How’s that?”

“You don’t remember what Chrich did in the service?” Except for Big Paddy, Thomas Chricher had been with Mawl longer than anyone on the team. “Think about it.”

Robbie took a sip of beer, stalling, the hesitant expression of a pupil wanting to please his teacher, then his eyes widened with the look of remembering. “Chopper pilot, aye?”

That’s right, Jocko, Chrich flew a chopper, but the man can fly anything, fixed-wing or rotor, and he’s one hell of a mechanic. He knows how to fix ’em—” Mawl paused, making sure the kid understood. “—and he knows how to break ’em.”

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-TWO

The Pacific Pearl, Taipa Island, Macau

Tuesday, 10 July 07:07:21 GMT +0800

Balancing the two cups in one hand, Simon pushed the door closed behind him, surprised that the lights were on and the curtains open. “Rynerson?”

“In here.”

In here
turned out to be what the new brochures referred to as “your breakfast room,” a small table with four chairs overlooking the Pearl River Delta. Beyond the glass, the sun reflected off the blue-green water with a sparkling luminescence that seemed to make the boats and hovercraft quiver in the early-morning light. Kyra was sitting at the table, dressed in what he now thought of as her day uniform—a cotton blouse and khaki slacks—sipping on a large mug of steaming coffee. He feigned a look of shock. “What’s this, Kyra Rynerson up and dressed at seven in the morning? You just getting in or going out?” When she didn’t smile, he realized things were about to get frosty.

She stared up at him, a look of concern. “Are you angry with me?”

“Absolutely not. Why would you would think that?” But he knew, and realized he was being disingenuous. “I’m sorry if I seemed a little short yesterday. I was pretty tired and—”

“It’s not that,” she interrupted. “I know you were tired. I just want to be sure that’s it. There’s nothing else we need to talk about?”

He heard the question, loud and clear, and in lieu of honesty, there was only one good answer: avoidance and misdirection. “As a matter of fact, there is something we need to talk about.”

She nodded and glanced at her watch, as if she knew what he wanted to discuss, and how much time it would take. “We have a meeting with Li Quan at seven-thirty. Maybe we should wait until after.”

“I won’t be here.”

“Oh?” Though her expression never changed, her pupils dilated, exposing her surprise. “And why is that?”

“That’s what we need to talk about.” He lowered himself into the chair facing her, and slid one of the café mochas across the table. “I’m flying to Taiwan.”

“To Taiwan?” She sat back. “Why?”

“To pick up their section of the crest.”

“But you’re not due there until the seventeenth.”

“I changed the schedule. They’re expecting me in Beijing the day after tomorrow.”

“Beijing?” She repeated the name as if trying to decipher the punch line to a joke. “But…have you discussed this with the State Department?”

“Of course. I received their final approval about thirty minutes ago. The Chinese, of course, are more than happy to take early delivery. If something goes haywire before they dot all the
i
’s on the agreement, they’ll still have their crest. Once I explained the situation, both the State Department and the Taiwanese government agreed.”

“The situation?”

“That someone knows about the proposed trade agreement and is trying to stop it.”

“You’re sure about that?”

He nodded, not really sure about anything. “Madame Chiang was about to give me some information when she was killed. They wanted to keep her quiet, and they wanted me out of the way. It’s the only logical reason for such an elaborate attempt to set me up.”