Covert One 4 - The Altman Code (47 page)

Monday, September 18.

Dazu.

After Jon gave him a brief rundown of his escape from Feng Dun and his
killers, Asgar Mahmout shook his hand again in admiration. Meanwhile,
Jon counted twenty Uighers, including Asgar. They wore that same odd
mixture of colorful, baggy Uigher clothes and loose Western garb as in
Shanghai. Most were cleanly shaved, while a few had thin, drooping
mustaches like Asgar’s. They said nothing. Asgar explained they spoke
bad Chinese and no English.

Jon surveyed the field. The dark eyes of Asgar’s men were looking
nervously all around. “We’d better get out of here.”

Asgar spoke to them in Uigher. With Jon shielded in the center, the
group moved off. To the left were fields of rice paddies, their watery
surfaces reflecting like black mirrors in the starlight. Farther off
were low mountains– purple inkblots against the night. That would be
where the Buddha Grottos were carved, including the Sleeping Buddha,
where Li Kuonyi would meet Mcdermid’s representative–probably Feng Dun.

Asgar was beside Jon. “There’s an ancient legend about those mountains.

The Han believed the peaks were goddesses who came down to earth and
fell so deeply in love with it they refused to return to heaven. The Han
have moments when they aren’t so bad. But don’t tell anyone I said
that.” Jon asked Asgar, as the two kept pace through the quiet night,
“How do you know Fred Klein?”

“I don’t, chum, but it seems I know people who do. They relayed his
message, along with considerable welcome cash in payment for said aid.”

“Who do you know who knows Klein?”

“A certain Russian engineer named Viktor.”

“He contacted you for Klein?” Jon asked.

“At first, yes. But this recent collaboration came about when I sent him
a message from Captain Chiavelli, in the prison.”

Now Jon understood. “You have contact with Uighers inside.”

“The Chinese call them criminals. We call them political prisoners. In
any case, they’re minor criminals with disproportionate sentences as
compared to equally minor Chinese criminals.”

“One man’s patriot is another man’s terrorist.”

“Not quite that simple,” Asgar said, still making Jon feel the universe
was slightly askew with the clipped Brit voice coming out of a
Turkic-bandit mouth. “The crux of the matter is, does the action of the
freedom fighter or terrorist benefit his cause and his people? If it
doesn’t, then he’s simply an egomaniac, a fanatic for whom the ”
matters more than its goal. It’s a question I often ask myself, and I’m
not always as sure of the answer as I’d like to be, especially about
others who’ve worked across the border for a free East Turkestan their
entire lives.” “I thought it depended on what was in the self-interest
of the powerful nations.”

“Ah, well. That, too, eh?”

Directly ahead was the stand of trees, thicker and deeper than Jon had
been able to perceive. As soon as the band reached the grove, they
skirted to the left, alongside the rice paddies. The men turned on small
flashlights. As always, Jon scanned everywhere. When he gazed up, he
almost stopped. In the murky tree limbs were clumps that looked like
gigantic nests of wasps or bees.

“What are they?” he asked Asgar.

“Bundles of unthreshed rice. The farmers store rice up there to protect
it from mice and rats.”

As they left the soft, plowed field, they broke into a lope and headed
into what appeared to be the beginning of an arm of a forest. There were
birch and pine and low bushes struggling to grow under a high, thick
ceiling of leaves and needles.

A few hundred yards inside, Asgar gave a whispered command, and three of
the men turned back, heading for the edge of the trees where the crew
had entered. Mahmout was setting up a perimeter defense. The rest
rounded a rock cropping into a protected dell, where they settled into
resting spots as if they had used this as a stopping place before. As
three more split off to vanish among the dark trees, the rest leaned
back, cradling their weapons, and closed their eyes.

Asgar motioned Jon to join him. They sat near the remains of a fire.

“After you left China,” Asgar told him, “we slipped away from the beach
safely, too, but it was inevitable whoever was chasing us would figure
out about the Land Rover full of crazy Uighers. We sent several of the
ones with residence in Shanghai back to hide in the longtangs, and I
brought the rest west, to lie low until things settled down again. It’s
our longtime pattern, you see.”

“So you were near here when you got the message about Viktor?”

“Yes. My contact in the prison camp had sent word that this Russian
engineer, Viktor, wanted to get an American agent named Chiavelli into
the camp to talk to David Thayer.”

Jon nodded. “Fred’s planning a lightning raid to rescue David Thayer.”

“Not anymore,” Asgar said. “We inserted Captain Chiavelli with the help
of some excessive bribes. His report about Thayer and the situation was
favorable. However–we don’t know whether the prison governor got wind
of the rescue, or it’s just incredibly bad luck–Thayer’s being
transferred out tomorrow morning. Captain Chiavelli gave the news to our
prisoners, and they got it out to me. I sent word to Viktor, who
reported it to Klein. I know that, because Viktor gave me a return
message from Klein.”

“To meet me, right? That was why the sudden change of plans.”

“Right. He wants you to help break out Thayer and Chiavelli. A great
deal can go wrong, and he seems to feel your skills could be immensely
helpful inside the farm.”

“Inside?”

“Exactly. If it’s necessary, we’ll have to sneak in. Then you,
Chiavelli, and I will bring Thayer out. Of course,” he added cheerfully,
“if it goes bad, you may have to shoot your way out, which is probably
the main reason Klein wants you there. You’re the backup gun.” “Swell,”
Jon said. “What could go wrong?”

“For one thing, a guard or two could decide to become unbribed.”

Jon sighed. “Even better.”

“Cheer up. This will be a cupcake compared to the assignment of some of
my fighters. You see, once you’re out of the prison–without, one hopes,
their knowing Chiavelli and Thayer are gone until morning roll call–the
real trouble begins.”

“Getting Thayer and Chiavelli out of China?”

“That’s our job, and a doozy it is. There’s an old Chinese adage that
says it all: ‘ your eyes, spin in a circle, and no matter where you are
or what time it is, when you look again, you’ll see a Han.’ The
population’s so enormous that Westerners stand out like fish in the
Taklamakan Desert.”

“Then there’d better be no gunfire. It could play hell with my primary
assignment.”

“Klein’s aware of that. He said you should skip the diversion if you
thought it’d damage your chances for the main mission.”

“You’ll be with me on that operation, too?”

“That we will,” Asgar said. “In force. We’ll get Thayer to the border,
too.”

“You have a place to stash me tomorrow?”

He nodded. “You’ll be safe as a temple mouse.”

“When do they want us at the prison?”

“Our people inside should be ready now. The timing’s up to us. They’re
waiting for our signal.”

“Then let’s go. How far?”

“Less than ten miles.”

“Any other instructions from Klein?”

“Other than making sure I knew your principal mission was to save the
human-rights treaty and that we’re assured money and influence in
Washington in exchange … no.” The expression on Asgar’s stoic face
darkened. “Your White House wears blinders. All they’re thinking about
is getting Zhongnanhai’s cooperation with the treaty. We won’t get
anything more from them after that. We’re expendable, which doesn’t give
us a lot of reason to help. But at the same time, your Klein realizes we
have to, because of our own interests.”

“I wouldn’t count Fred’s goodwill short. He won’t forget you, and
geopolitics change.”

Asgar nodded without much conviction. “After the prison, where’s the
second operation?”

“The Sleeping Buddha.”

Asgar was dubious. “That’ll be crowded damn soon after dawn any day.

Tourists and vendors, you know.”

“With luck, we’ll be in and out long before they arrive.”

“You care to give me a hint what we should prepare for?”

“An ambush and a different sort of rescue mission.”

“What are we rescuing?”

“The same document I failed to get in Shanghai.”

“Which is important to the human-rights treaty?” “Yes,” Jon said. “Now I
have a question … Do you have an escape route set up out of China that
I can use to get the document out, too?”

“More than one. You never know what the contingencies are going to be.

Dissidents and revolutionaries without exit plans are fools. Fortunately
for us, resistance is very un-Chinese, so the Han aren’t good at
handling it. Are we going to need a fast bunk?”

“Probably, yes.”

“I’ll alert my contacts.” He looked around at his men. Some were already
snoring. Smart guerrillas, they slept when they could. “Let’s move.”

He circulated, waking them, speaking softly. They checked their weapons,
took bandoliers of extra ammunition from boxes hidden among the rocks,
and waited, prepared. A low whistle from Asgar brought the six pickets
in with reports of everything quiet.

A gibbous moon hung just above the treetops. Asgar sent out his point
men, nodded to Jon, and the remainder broke into two columns and moved
deeper into the timber. Ten minutes later, the forest thinned, and they
emerged onto a dirt road where a Land Rover, an ancient Lincoln
Continental limousine, and a battered U.S. Army Humvee waited.

Jon raised his eyebrows in question. “That’s a lot of foreign horsepower
for rural China.” Asgar smiled. “One’s a reluctant gift from a Tajik
journalist, and the other two were midnight ” in Afghanistan. Amazing
what you Yanks give to various warlords in and out of the Northern
Alliance, and how careless they can be with their ill-gotten swag. Shall
we saddle up?”

They climbed into the three vehicles, which cruised out in a caravan on
the rough road, one after the other, beneath the broad, starlit sky.

Although the Uighers did not look like it, they behaved like a trained
and highly disciplined unit, which encouraged Jon. They drove along a
series of dirt roads past farmers, fields, and animals. In this part of
China, Asgar explained, even a bicycle was a luxury. Most people walked
long distances to see family and barter for goods. Consequently, there
were few vehicles on the road or parked beside buildings. Still, there
was evidence of people everywhere. The farmhouses came in clusters, in
small villages, and in larger villages. Shacks offering barbering, food,
and tea appeared periodically beside the road. Still, no one came out to
see who was passing by so late. Whether in rural or urban China, it did
not pay to be too curious.

“They probably wouldn’t report us if they did look,” Asgar told him.

“It’s not wise to attract attention from officials, even out here.”

Less than a half hour later, Jon saw the outlines of a chain-link fence
and two guard towers in the distance. The drivers turned off their
headlights. Asgar gave an order, and the vehicles rolled off into a
stand of timber.

“The government won’t allow houses to be built any closer than a mile to
the prison. We don’t want to be seen or heard by the guards, so we’ll
park here.”

“And then?”

“It’s just like any military anywhere. We wait.”

Sunday, September 17.

Washington, D.C.

The Chinese ambassador had demanded to speak with the president
immediately. The matter was urgent, or so he said. Chief-of-staff
Charlie Ouray took the request upstairs to the president, who was
working on a bill in his overstuffed recliner, his reading glasses
perched on the end of his nose.

Charlie noted that the president had moved a framed family portrait to
the lamp table beside him. It was lying faceup. He must have been
looking at it. Charlie had never seen the photo before. It showed the
president as a gangly teenager in a football uniform, standing between
his proud parents, Serge and Marian Castilla. All three were smiling,
arms wrapped around one another. They had been a close family, and now
Serge and Marian were both dead.

Charlie focused on the president. “Shall I tell the ambassador that he
doesn’t get to make demands? I can soften it by saying you might be able
to squeeze him in for a few minutes tomorrow. Maybe in the late
afternoon.”

President Castilla considered the pros and cons. “No. Tell him, as it
happens, I want to see him, too. Let him worry about what that could
mean.”

“You’re sure, sir?”

“It won’t set a precedent, Charlie. We can let him cool his heels some
other time to make the point. Right now, I want to hammer at the Empress
and at the same time give a strong hint of willingness to work with the
doves in Zhongnanhai to defuse the confrontation. We want that
human-rights accord for a lot of good reasons.”

“Still, Mr. President, we can’t let him think–”

“That we don’t want an incident? Why not? If my theory’s correct, there
are at least some on the Standing Committee who feel the same as we do.

Maybe we can pry confirmation out of our eminent ambassador.”

“Well–”

“Make the phone call, Charlie. He won’t browbeat me, you know that.

Besides, I’ve got some brickbats of my own. If what we believe is
true–that there’s a power struggle going on over there–he’ll be just
as uneasy and cautious about the whole situation as we are.”

Half an hour later, Ambassador Wu Bangtiao walked into the Oval Office.