Covert One 4 - The Altman Code (44 page)

“What about a high-altitude jump?”

“Depends on how high.”

“As high as I can get you.”

“You’re going to whistle up a nice big plane for me?”

“If I can land it somewhere and not draw attention. Meanwhile, since
Mcdermid’s there in Hong Kong, see whether you can turn up anything
about him and the leaks and why he’s involved in a smuggling deal like
the Empress. On your own and from the CIA. Might as well use them if we
can.”

“You’re all cooperation.”

That earned a hoarse chuckle. “Glad to have you back, Jon. I missed our
amusing repartee.” Klein broke the connection.

Jon went looking for Randi. Now that Mcdermid and Feng Dun were focused
on retrieving the last invoice manifest, their interest in Randi and him
would plummet. After all, what could he do without it? If he were
careful, that meant he could return to his hotel, change his appearance,
and pick up Mcdermid’s trail again until he had to head off to a
refresher course in jumping.

He found Randi sitting in an office with Tommie Parker. “I have to leave
now,” he told them.

“What about Feng Dun and his crew?”

“My bet is they’re gone.”

“Gone?” Tommie frowned.

Randi said, “He means to Dazu. They won’t care about us all that much
now. Whatever the leaks were all about, whatever Jon is really working
on, is in Dazu. Right, soldier?”

Jon refused to dance. “Close enough. I owe all of you, and Randi three
times over. It isn’t the first time, probably won’t be the last, and I
wish I could reveal more. But orders is orders.” Randi smiled
reluctantly. “If there’s anything we can do to help, give us a jingle,
and to hell with the DCI.” She looked him straight in the eyes. “Take
care of yourself. I know you think you feel fine, but you look like you
connected with a Mack truck.”

“Nice image.” Jon made his thick lips smile. “You, on the other hand,
are untouched.”

She sat there in an office chair, lounging back, long legs crossed,
blond hair a wild wreath around her sculpted face. He saw questions in
her eyes, but worry for him, too.

“My job,” she said dryly. “Gotta keep the face malleable and primed to
be disguised.”

“That’s the CIA for you. Ready to rock. Where’s this side exit?”

Tommie, who had been watching the exchange with amusement, said, “You
won’t need it. You were right. They’re gone.”

“I’ll use it anyway. No sense pushing my luck.”

Washington, D.C.

Fred Klein’s eyes snapped open. Instantly awake, he lay on the hidden
Murphy bed in his dark office. The night in the marina outside was
deathly still, the last boat, a battered seagoing trawler that had
arrived at eleven p.m. from Bermuda, was snugged down, and its crew gone
home.

The jangle of the phone sounded again. That was what had awakened him.

He had talked to Jon and fallen instantly asleep. He sat bolt upright,
swung his legs over the edge, and lurched to his desk chair, still
drugged with his first nap in thirty hours.

It was his blue phone. He grabbed the receiver. “Klein.”

“Your new office must be sumptuous for you to be so soundly asleep,”
Viktor Agajemian said. The former Soviet engineer chuckled. “I’ve been
ringing for two minutes, but I knew you’d be somewhere there, yes?”

“What does Chiavelli want, Viktor?”

“Ah, yes. We don’t exchange social calls anymore, do we?”

“Not at three a. m.”

“Good point. Very well, Captain Chiavelli tells me the merchandise is to
be moved tomorrow morning. He doesn’t know where or why, but all
indications are it’s not related to his mission.”

“Damn!” Klein exploded, fully awake now. “That’s the message?”

“Word for word.”

“Thank you, Viktor. The money will be in your account.”

“I never doubted it.”

Klein ended the connection, but he continued to hold the receiver,
considering. So Chiavelli thought the order to move Thayer was either
routine or connected to the human-rights treaty. Possibly, it was
related to the Empress. In any case, it was a disaster. He could never
have a civilian team, or even a military team, in place quickly enough.

He looked up at his ship’s clock. Yes, there still might be time for an
alternate plan. He depressed the cradle of the blue phone and dialed
again.

Hong Kong Jon had been right. He had observed the hotel long enough to
know no one was watching him from outside–except, of course, the CIA
agent Randi thought he had not seen at the safe house. You had to hand
it to her.

She was a bulldog when she was on assignment.

Smiling conspiratorially about his all-night absence and battered
appearance, the hotel staff welcomed him back. He left them to speculate
and rode up to his room. Once alone, he went to the bathroom mirror,
where he pulled off the Band-Aids from his face and studied his wounds.

He winced when he touched them, but they were all relatively
superficial. He yearned for a shower, but settled for using the Jacuzzi
in the bathtub.

He was soaking peacefully when his cell phone buzzed. It was in the
pocket of the hotel robe, hanging within arm’s reach. He had left it
behind when he had broken into Donk & Lapierre.

“Yes?” “You leave tonight,” Fred Klein told him.

“What do I do in Dazu for a day and a half? Pretend I’m a tourist? I
thought we decided I’d be better off here, digging into what Mcdermid’s

. » up to.

“That was three hours ago. There’s been a serious development.” He told
Jon about Viktor Agajemian’s call.

“Can you get the extraction team ready that soon?”

“That’s where you come in, Colonel. You’re going to have to help Chialli
get David Thayer out of prison.”

“Only two of us? How do we do that? Have you forgotten I don’t even
speak Chinese?”

“Chiavelli does. There’s not time for me to explain it all. You’ll find
out the details when you land. Can you leave now?”

“I’m in the bathtub. Give me twenty minutes.”

“Don’t bother to pack. I’ll send someone in to do that and check you out
after you’re gone. A car will be waiting downstairs to take you to the
airport. There’ll be gear and clothes inside. A navy jet will fly you to
the carrier. Good luck.”

“What about …?”

But Klein had already broken the connection. With a groan, Jon rinsed
off, climbed out, and dried himself carefully, avoiding the injuries on
his face and the ugly contusions and welts on his body. The hot water
and Jacuzzi jets had soothed the bruises, and he felt better. He dressed
and left the room. All the way down on the elevator, his uneasiness
grew. What was Klein sending him into now?

In her shortest, tightest, lowest-cut black sheath, Randi Russell turned
every male eye at the British Consul’s party, and most of the female
eyes, too, as she entered the glitzy throng. For a change, she wore no
facial disguise, only a light touch of glamor-queen makeup. Still, her
pale blond hair was swept elegantly upward, and her physical attributes
tended to focus an audience’s attention, so she hoped her target–Ralph
Mcdermid–would be sufficiently distracted to not recognize her.

She picked a glass of champagne from a passing tray and joined the only
person she knew–an executive from a British firm that was an MI6 front.

He smiled at her. “Working or playing?”

“Is there a difference, Mai?”

“Worlds. If you’re playing, I can make a pass.”

“How sweet,” she smiled back. “Another time.”

He gave a sad sigh. “So I’m only your pimp tonight. Pity. All right,
whom would you like to meet? And what’s your cover, by the way?” She
told him, and he took her around the room, the eyes following. Soon,
Mcdermid spotted her. He stared. She gave him a bold smile and continued
her conversation with an older Chinese woman high in the local
government.

“Would you kindly introduce me to your charming friend, Madame Sun?”

Mcdermid had come up silently behind Randi and touched her on the arm as
he passed to address Madame Sun.

The older woman favored him with an indulgent smile while she advised
Randi, “Be careful of this one, child. He’s a renowned charmer.”

“Mr. Mcdermid’s reputation precedes him,” Randi said.

“Then I’ll leave you to become acquainted.”

Mcdermid inclined his head to Madame Sun in a polite good-bye. When he
focused again on Randi, she saw a momentary cloud pass before his eyes,
as if he sensed something was not quite right.

She pouted, altering the structure of her face. “Your reputation does
precede you, Ralph Mcdermid. May I call you Ralph?”

The cloud passed, and the lecher returned. Possibly a combination of her
clear American English, the revealing dress, and the thoroughly
Caucasian face.

He smiled. “What reputation would that be, my dear?”

“That Ralph Mcdermid is a powerful man in all ways.”

The flirtatiousness of that from a stunning woman made even Mcdermid
raise an eyebrow, if not very far. “Exactly who are you, dear?”

“Joyce Ray. I work for Imperial Import-Export, San Francisco.”

“Or they work for you?”

“Not yet.”

Mcdermid laughed. “An ambitious woman. Well, Joyce Ray. I like you.

Shall we pass along the food tables and find seats? Perhaps outside?”

“I am hungry.” Randi gave it the double meaning, and she could see a
pink flush rise an inch above his collar. He had bitten.

“Then off we go.” He gave her his arm.

They walked to the buffet table and carried their plates to a secluded
corner of the patio. He told her a few carefully selected anecdotes
about the Altman Group and learned in return that Imperial was a
wholesaler with clients in major cities across America and branches in
most countries. Also, that she was a vice president.

They got along famously, and she was working her way toward prying
information from him, when he stiffened. There was a faint vibration
beneath his dinner jacket. His cell phone.

“Excuse me a moment.” No smile. No endearment. She made no attempt to
follow as he walked out past hibiscus and frangipani into the garden.
Far too risky and obvious. In any case, it would not matter. He was gone
less than thirty seconds. “I have to leave. Rain check, okay? I’ll call
your company.” Before she could respond, he marched off. She waited
until he was out the door. She followed, first on foot and then by car,
always at a discreet distance.

She was still tailing him when he drove down into the parking garage of
his office building. She waited then parked six cars away and watched
him stand in front of the elevator, foot tapping. As soon as a car
arrived, he stalked inside, and the doors closed. She climbed out and
rushed to the elevator. The indicator went all the way to the top. The
penthouse. What had brought Mcdermid here at such a late hour? She did
not like it. On the other hand, perhaps she would learn something
useful. She sprinted back to her car, skirt riding up on her thighs.

Inside, she switched on the portable link to the wiretap bug. She heard
Mcdermid’s voice: “Okay, I’m in my office.”

“What’s so important that we had to talk?” A man’s voice. She did not
recognize it. “Please don’t tell me you allowed Smith to escape.”

“I allowed nothing,” Mcdermid snapped, “but, yes, they escaped.”

“What do you mean, ”?” The voice was not young, not old. Calm, well
modulated, and forceful. A certain projection to it. “He was helped by
another agent. We think she’s CIA.”

“Think? Charming.”

“Don’t get sarcastic. We need each other. You’re a valuable member of
the team.”

“I’ll stay that way only as long as I’m behind the scenes.”

“It’s not as bad as you think. In the end, neither Smith nor the CIA
woman damaged us or our project.”

“That the CIA may have you under surveillance doesn’t concern you?” the
voice demanded uneasily. “Even if it’s not related to our deal, they’ve
traced at least some of the White House leaks to you. That should bother
you one hell of a lot.”

“Realistically, the leaks are of little consequence to either of us.
Until someone figures out exactly which ones I’m interested in and why,
I’m not going to worry. Besides, we have far larger problems.”

“Such as?” Mcdermid hesitated. Then he delivered the bad news: “Yu
Yongfu’s alive. So is his wife. Worse, they still have the Flying Dragon
manifest.” There was a bellow of outrage. “This is your fault, Mcdermid.

Where are they? Where’s the damn manifest!”

“China.” A lengthy pause, as if he were controlling his shock. “How? You
assured me the manifest had been burned!” Mcdermid sighed and explained
the details. “The two million isn’t much, just coffee money, but I won’t
pay it unless I have to.”

“It wouldn’t end there anyway, and there’s no guarantee we’d get the
document. ” The shock was gone, replaced by an even inflection that was
almost soothing. Definitely the man was a polished speaker and
on-his-feet thinker. Probably accustomed to public appearances. She was
beginning to believe he was a politician, someone accustomed to the
necessity of diplomatic discourse that said nothing and revealed less.

But it was definitely not Secretary of the Army Jasper Kott, on whom she
had eavesdropped in Manila. “How will you handle it?”

“The way they instructed, with a few surprises. Feng should be nearly in
Dazu by now.”

“If Li Kuonyi is as intelligent as you say, she’ll expect him.” There
was a thoughtful pause, and when the stranger spoke again, Randi
realized she’d had an eerie feeling about him since she first heard his
voice. She had heard him somewhere, perhaps not long ago. “I’m not at
all sure you’re well advised to continue to use Feng.”

“There’s no time to replace him. Besides, he not only knows all the
players now, he spent time in Dazu on some kind of operation. He has the
kind of free movement in China that’s hard to find for a Westerner.” The
voice said nothing, but its familiarity continued to resonate in Randi’s
mind. Where? When?