The Italian Mission (10 page)

Jill spoke up. “I think it’s very strange that the Chinese let him to escape after so many years.”

The old monk bowed toward Jill. “I agree. The entire story is improbable. Yet he is here.”

“Can we meet him?” Conti asked.

“He is nervous about strangers,” the monk replied. “It is understandable. Unfortunately, there has been some violence. Up until now, he has led a very sheltered life, almost like a royal prince, and knows little of the world. I do not want to upset him further. Perhaps if only one of you came it would be better. Mr. Conti, I have told him about your father. I think he would be willing to talk to you.”

Conti looked at the others who nodded their assent.

“Go ahead,” Jill said. “We’ll be O.K. here.”

As if to confirm this statement, Rabbi Cadiz reached into his pack and pulled out what appeared to be an overfed pistol.

“What’s that?” Conti asked.

“A micro Uzi.” The Rabbi unfolded the stock and locked it into place. “Small but effective. Twelve hundred rounds per minute. I think we’ll be safe on our own for a while.”

“You’re full of surprises.” Conti turned to the old monk, “Which way?”

“We have a camp a few hundred yards up the hill. We were going to wait for first light to try and get into the Abbey. The Chinese are also around here, and I don’t want to run into them in the dark. They have even more dangerous weapons than that.” He nodded toward the ugly little submachine gun.

It took only a few minutes to scramble up a rocky, moonlit path to where another old monk sat with a third, younger man dressed in khakis and a gray wool sweater. They were eating canned sardines and crackers. The young man stood up and backed away as Conti approached.

Tenyal spoke to him in Chinese, and he appeared to relax a little, but remained standing.

“This is the American I told you about. His father was a great friend of the Tibetan people. I believe he will help us reach safety.”

The young man said nothing, but bowed slightly.

Conti returned the bow and sat down on a flat stone. He began speaking in Chinese. “I’m sorry I was not able to help you in Rome.”

“I understand English,” the young man said, his accent surprisingly good.

“Good. My Chinese is very rusty.” Conti continued, “I did try to find you Friday night, but I was too late. I have been told that you are the Panchen Lama. Is that true?”

“I am not a religious person.” The young man stared, unblinking, at his questioner.

Conti hoped the dark covered his surprise.

The old monk intervened. “We have been having this discussion for three days now. He does not deny that he is the person we recognize as the Panchen Lama. But he has no wish to take on such a position of responsibility.”

“I do not shirk responsibility.” The young man’s voice quavered. “But neither do I believe in ancient superstitions.”

Tenyal’s temper flared for the first time. “You are a
tulku
, the incarnation of Lobsang Gyaltsen, the tenth Panchen Lama — whether you believe it or not!”

“Ridiculous!”

Conti held up both hands and stage whispered, “Keep it down! The Chinese might be carrying parabolic microphones. I would be in their place.”

“So,” he went on, his voice just above a whisper. “You aren’t particularly religious. Why’d you decide to leave China? You realize the nationalist movement in Tibet will see you as a champion, don’t you?”

“That isn’t my problem — a bunch of superstitious old monks in India who want to go back to their monasteries in Lhasa. It will never happen. I am not interested in helping them. I am a modern person.”

Conti tried to sound sympathetic. “Yes, I understand. But that doesn’t answer my question. Why did you leave China if not to support the nationalists?”

“I didn’t answer you because it is a stupid question.” The young man spat out the words. “Why would anyone want to escape arrest in China? Freedom, of course. I want to reunite with my friend, Li Huang. I am going to be an artist.”

16.

Jill and Cadiz sat on the flattest rocks they could find. The Rabbi shined the flashlight into his pack and pulled out a couple of energy bars. He tossed one to Jill, then unwrapped the other and took a small bite. He chewed for a moment, swallowing with difficulty.

“Terrible. Must have been sitting on the shelf for a year. What I’d give for a pepperoni pizza. So, what do you make of all this?”

“Don’t know for sure,” Jill responded. “Pretty bizarre. So bizarre as to make me suspicious.”

“Oh?”

“It doesn’t add up, does it? The kid’s been under house arrest in China for twenty-five years. Even the CIA didn’t know exactly where, or if he was still alive. Then, after holding him incommunicado all that time, one of the most powerful, secretive governments on the planet lets him escape to Italy. Not sure I buy it. And why are those South African thugs in the picture? You say they’re working for us but, if so, no one told me.” She rubbed her sore shoulder. “And they certainly didn’t act very friendly.”

“I didn’t say they worked for the CIA.” The Rabbi stood up and twisted his torso back and forth to loosen his back muscles. “God, that pack is heavy.”

“What have you got in it?”

“The usual. Ammo, water bottle, crappy energy bars, plastic explosive. It’s the ammunition that’s heavy. This thing uses bullets like there’s no tomorrow.” He picked up the mini machine gun and checked the magazine.

“Have you used it before?”

“I had one around the time of the Seven Day War. Mostly shot Coke cans in the desert. But they insist I carry it on jobs like this. This and a cyanide pill. If one doesn’t do the job … you know.”

“I’m not a field agent. We learned a few things about undercover work in training, but that was a long time ago. I don’t know if I could shoot anyone.”

“It’s not so bad,” the Rabbi said. “Until afterwards.”

Jill jumped with a start, almost falling off the rock, as her phone vibrated. She looked at the number, took a deep breath to regain her composure, and answered. “Burnham.”

Mosley’s gravelly voice boomed in her ear. “Where the hell are you?”

She moved the phone a few inches away.” In the woods north of Siena. Closing in on Mitri Abbey. That’s where our target is headed.”

“How do you know that?”

“We met up with the monks. Conti is talking to them now.”

“Well, the shit has hit the fan back here. The Chinese are calling everyone they know in the government. They want this guy back bad. They’re expecting riots in Lhasa and Sichuan in the morning. They don’t want the Panchen Lama to get anywhere near computer equipment. They are afraid if he gets on the Internet, they won’t be able to block it.”

“Makes sense.” Jill waited, expecting and, for some reason, dreading the order to turn the Panchen Lama over to the Chinese. But it didn’t come.

Mobley’s voice calmed down, the pitch descending half a tone. “The White House wants us to back off.”

“The White House?”

“Ellis, the dipshit three-star who runs the National Security Council staff — guy thinks he’s Rambo.”

“Why?”

“Don’t know. Something’s going on they’re not telling me about.”

“What should we do?”

“Good question. Can’t give him to the Chinese without the White House going ballistic. But I’m not backing off no matter what that NSC gorilla says. Stay there and monitor the situation until I find out who’s playing who.”

“We can try. But there are spooks with guns running around these woods.”

      
“Try to get him into that monastery, or whatever it is. But don’t let him near any computers.”

Conti came sliding back down the gravel trail fifteen minutes later. “I think he’s the Panchen Lama alright. But he’s not what I expected.”

“Let me guess,” Cadiz offered. “He’s not political. Not interested in starting a revolution in Tibet. Doesn’t want to be a monk. Doesn’t know who arranged his escape. Wants to be an actor in L.A. or something.”

“Not bad. Four out of five. He wants to be an artist in New York. How’d you know?”

“Elementary. The Chinese have had him for twenty-five years. If they have any sense, they’ve treated him well and educated him to believe that religion, and Tibetan Buddhism in particular, is an oppressive feudal system designed to keep the peasants in thrall to the monks. Ergo, he would think that being the Panchen Lama is absurd at best and villainous at worst.”

“Then why bother to escape from China?” Jill asked.

“Freedom,” Cadiz answered simply.

“That’s what he said.” Conti took the half energy bar that Jill offered and struggled to bite into it. “God! What is this stuff?”

“I spoke to Mobley,” Jill said. “He wants us to play for time. Doesn’t want us to hand the Lama over to the Chinese or take him into custody ourselves. Seems he’s arguing with some national security folks at the White House over what to do next.”

“Right,” Conti answered. “We’ll sit here in the woods, getting eaten by mosquitoes,” he slapped at his forearm, “and maybe getting our asses shot off while we wait for Washington to get its act together. Typical. What do you think, Rabbi?”

“Me? What should I think? If I were making the decisions here, I’d probably arrange a meeting with the Chinese and talk it through with them. We Israelis are always looking for stability. We don’t upset things unnecessarily. Too much to lose. But I’m not making the decisions. You are. My orders are to stick with you and help you out.”

“And keep an eye on us.”

The Rabbi shrugged. “If you aren’t in a position to negotiate with the Chinese, then we need to get out of these woods as soon as possible. Before morning. Jill is right. There are men with guns out there. When the sun comes up, they’ll be beating the bushes. So I’d suggest we get ourselves and the young Lama into that monastery before first light. And, I agree with your boss. Keep him away from computers. Even his picture on the Internet could cause riots.”