Spy Zone

by Fritz Galt

  It was a simple apartment. An unfinished bowl of stir-fried spinach sat on a tea table. The television set broadcast local news.

  He heard traffic noises wafting in from the kitchen. The rear window was half open. A plump woman backed up against the kitchen wall.

  “Excuse me, ma’am,” he said, and opened the window wider. With a metal briefcase under one arm, Wang had just dropped to the third-floor roof.

  Eli eased through the window frame and grabbed the exterior grills. Then he lowered himself until his feet dangled five feet above the roof.

  He let go, twisted midair and rolled onto the soft tar.

  Wang was pounding down a wooden fire escape.

  Eli ducked under several lines of laundry and began to run down the steps. Black socks, knee-high nylons and tan panties clung wetly to his helmet.

  When he reached the last landing, the low rumble of a motorcycle approached from the far end of the alley.

  Zeroing in on the building, Stephanie opened the throttle.

  Eli leaned over the railing and watched her swipe the briefcase out of Wang’s hand.

  She tucked the briefcase between her knees and accelerated down the alleyway.

  Eli hit the ground running. He sprinted past Wang, who stood dumbfounded, and headed toward the far end of the alley. He prayed Stephanie would circle the building and pick him up.

  His leather soles slipped on the uneven cobblestones, so he was forced to take smaller steps.

  Just then the white BMW careened around the corner heading straight for him.

  He flattened against a wall and the car flew by. All he saw in the tinted windows was a reflection of himself, a middle-aged dude in a sporty helmet.

  By the time the sedan came to a halt near Wang, Eli was heading for Huai Hai Zhong Road.

  There, a shiny motorcycle wove between bicycles. He held out a hand and Stephanie skidded up to him.

  He swung a leg over the seat and had barely sat down when she popped the clutch.

  He grabbed her by the waist and felt the briefcase as they zipped past Building 209. They had stopped the transaction in time, before the banks opened and before the invasion of Taiwan.

  They even had the evidence.

  He freed one of his hands, grabbed Stephanie’s cell phone, and dialed Bronson Nichols in Taipei.

  “Ta ma de,” Wang Lo cursed. Damn it all. He sat in his apartment and jabbed a Taiwan number into his radiotelephone.

  Leng Shi-mung, the Chinese diplomat, answered a long distance away. “Wei?”

  “A foreign couple stole the access codes,” Wang said, without introducing himself. “I never got a chance to buy the stocks. So don’t approach the Taiwan military yet. Their money never reached the bourse.”

  “It’s too late,” Leng Shi-mung said, enunciating each word clearly as if speaking to a child. “I’ve already informed the military leaders controlling Taiwan that they must invite the People’s Liberation Army or risk our exposing their investment.”

  “But there was no investment.”

  “At least there was money. And there must be a paper trail. It’s enough to keep them awake at night.”

  “Listen, I’m still in Shanghai,” Wang said. “I’ve tracked the couple who stole the money to the American consulate. When they emerge, I’ll shake it out of them or hold them for ransom. We’ll get the papers back and put the transaction through.”

  “You’d better. Otherwise, I’m sitting on my hands here in Taiwan.”

  “If I can’t get the codes back and make the investments in time, I may have another way to help you,” Wang said.

  “How? We need something to keep pressure on Taiwan’s military.”

  “It’s very dangerous, but I can create enough rumors to send the market through the roof.”

  “First buy a few stocks for me,” Leng said, and hung up.

  So there was hope. Wang wiped the sweat off his forehead and picked up a cellular phone to dial the Alabaster.

  “We have a problem,” he said.

  “I don’t want to hear it,” Odette replied on the other end of the call.

  “We lost the access codes. They were stolen out of my hand before I could buy the stocks.”

  “Give them back. Now.”

  “I swear I didn’t take them. I think they’re at the American consulate.”

  “The Americans? Get the codes back at once.”

  “I will,” he promised. “I may not be able to purchase the stocks in time, so I plan to start rumors flying and set off a stock rally anyway.”

  “That will help Leng stick it to the Taiwanese, but how will we convince General Chou that we brokered the transaction?”

  “Once I get the codes back, I can bring them along with General Li’s authorization note and the account numbers as evidence of the transaction. That will convince General Chou that we deserve the Multiple Launch Rocket contract.”

  “Well, we need those papers in time for our meeting with General Chou tonight.”

  “Don’t worry. We’ll get them to you in time.”

  “Have a nice day,” she said.

  Chapter 34

  It was not much of a swimsuit.

  But Odette’s taste in fashion probably ran more to the South of France than the South China Sea.

  Alec tried it on.

  Thank God there was no mirror in the cabin.

  What the heck. He stepped onto the ship’s foredeck, held his breath and tried to ignore how little was holding him together between his legs.

  Both Odette and May-lin were oiled and ready. May-lin sat cross-legged in a black one-piece swimsuit under an umbrella. Odette, adorned by a string bikini and a thin gold belt, sprawled on her back catching the sun’s rays on a chaise lounge.

  A warm breeze wafted over them as the yacht steamed westward across the still waters of the Bashi Channel. It was interesting how Odette’s purple bikini gripped her bronze curves so precariously.

  “May I take a seat?” he asked her.

  She didn’t remove her sunglasses or change expression as she tapped the white lounge chair beside her.

  He felt the two women appraising him like an Adonis in an art gallery as he eased his long-limbed, but muscular, physique into the recliner. The plastic webbing felt cool against the full length of his spine.

  “Can you spare some lotion?” he asked.

  Both women offered their bottles.

  He grinned and selected the bottle offered by Odette. She hesitated before releasing the oily container, then let him pull the bottle slowly through her fingers.

  She tilted her head his way as he applied the coconut oil to his skin.

  Meanwhile, May-lin sucked on a tall glass of iced tea.

  Odette’s surreal calm and the coconut vapors relaxed him. As he massaged the liquid into his limbs, he felt the sun’s rays penetrate deep under his skin.

  He had spent a sleepless night with the Tao family. Their burlap beds had been too rough and the storm too threatening for him to fall asleep.

  He closed his eyes and the nightmares returned afresh: the blinding crack of light that hurt all the way to the back of his head, the sudden violent animation of his hotel bed as it crashed against the wall, the odor of charred flesh washing ashore amidst the kelp.

  The tropical breeze had a medicinal effect. He set the lotion down and willed himself to sleep.

  Then, two competing aromas of cigarette brands invaded the air.

  “Oh, my God,” said a female voice with a flat, Midwestern accent. “Another man.”

  Alec peered over his toes. A man and woman in matching bathrobes stood over him. The LaRues had just entered his life.

  “Miles LaRue,” the man said cheerfully, and extended a soft palm. “Welcome aboard.”

  “Alec Pierce. Pleasure to meet you.” He realized too late that his fingers were still greasy.

  “I guess I’ll just have to introduce myself,” the woman said. “I’m Stacie. Just call me ‘Frequently.’” S
he laughed at her joke until she noticed the stony expressions on the other two women.

  “Would you care for a seat?” Alec offered.

  “No, please. Don’t ripple a muscle. I’ll just stand here and drool.”

  Miles LaRue wiped his fingers on his bathrobe and pulled a reclining chair up to May-lin. What a snake. “How were your accommodations on shore, my dear?”

  “Fine,” May-lin replied.

  “Nasty storm last night. Terrible fright. These typhoons couldn’t be all that frequent.”

  “You are having to prepare for them in this area.”

  “I understand,” he said. “Mind if I settle under your umbrella?”

  “Not at all.”

  Alec couldn’t interpret the tone in her voice. It was the same equivocal politeness she had projected when they first met.

  Stacie dragged a lounge chair toward Alec on the far side of her husband. “Tell me, sailor. What brings you to this port?”

  “Science.”

  “Oh, I love studying nature.”

  She hefted her robe off her shoulders and let it drop to the deck. She let Alec examine her tanned, bikini-clad form for several seconds, then leaned over to stub out her cigarette. She twisted and turned deliberately to arrange her towel on the lounge chair. Married or not, Stacie was a very blessed creature.

  “Are you native to these parts?” he inquired.

  “Hell no. This is my first visit to Hong Kong. It’s a long way away.”

  “From?”

  “England, basically. And California. England and California.”

  Introductions had gone smoothly. So smoothly, in fact, that he wondered if the two were more than they appeared.

  It was time to add a little friction.

  He rolled toward Stacie. In the lazy breeze, he let his words carry only to her.

  “Where have I seen you before? I can’t quite place you.”

  “Oh, nowhere I’m sure.”

  “Oh yeah. I know. Don’t you model?”

  “Sometimes. I guess you could call me a part-time fashion model.” She seemed pleased by his attention.

  “Do you model in Paris?”

  “Oh, no. Such a sweat shop.”

  “I swear I’ve seen you in Vogue or Cosmopolitan. Weren’t you on a cover?”

  “No. Don’t try to flatter me.”

  “Was it another magazine? Something along the lines of Playboy?”

  She giggled. “I’ve done some work for them.”

  “Classy publication,” he said.

  “I only reveal myself to people of taste.” She closed her eyes with a satisfied smile.

  Odette’s chair creaked behind him. She’d probably stared long enough at his backside.

  “Alec,” Odette said. “Tell me about your science.”

  “Oh, you wouldn’t be interested in my project,” he said over his shoulder.

  “How do you know? Many things interest me.”

  He rolled onto his other elbow and faced her. “Like what?”

  “You don’t strike me as a scientist,” she said.

  “How do scientists strike you?”

  She shrugged. Then she raised the back of her chair like a spectator taking interest in a race.

  He rolled onto his back to give both women his full attention.

  “I don’t know what a scientist is like.” Odette inhaled deeply and thrust her breasts out. “I’ve never studied one before.”

  “What about me confuses you?”

  She stroked her long fingers through her hair and pulled it behind her neck. “Frankly,” she said, “Everything confuses me.”

  “Does May-lin look like a scientist to you?”

  “I don’t pretend to understand the Chinese race.”

  “Oh, come now,” he said. “Your Cantonese is flawless. You’re like the innocent French virgin who’s attracted to the Orient.”

  “Give me a break.”

  He laughed lightly. Maybe he was playing too rough, but something about her pent-up frustration encouraged him to continue. “Give me a break. From your sheltered life, you wouldn’t recognize a scientist if one—”

  “If one what?”

  He smiled to himself. “If you’ll excuse me now. I don’t want you girls to tax your imagination.”

  Time to go.

  He looked about and found a towel. He stood up and draped it around his waist. “I need a shower.”

  Odette wouldn’t leave it at that.

  He heard no reaction as he strode off the foredeck and circled aft. When he crossed the prickly Astroturf of the rear deck, he saw the captain watching him.

  Alec brushed past and descended to his berth. He jammed his key in the cabin door and stepped inside.

  It took a full minute for the hot water to course through the ship to his cabin. Waiting just outside the shower, he watched his portholes steam up.

  Then he heard the door unlock.

  Odette entered, hefting the passkey in her hand.

  She didn’t stop, and drove him into the shower stall. With tiger-like claws, she ripped the material from their bodies.

  She pressed him against the metal wall. The moment their lips met, he withdrew.

  “What is it?” she cried.

  He was so close to the stockbroker responsible for the deaths of those islanders that he could taste it. In fact he had put himself in the man’s position. He was in the clutches of Johnny Ouyang’s wife.

  “Oh, nothing. Just kiss me.”

  As her lips touched his, more tenderly this time, his imagination wandered into the thoughts of the man who embraced her every night. What did wild ecstasy do to a man?

  Did her animal instincts control his life, too?

  Natalie was introducing the naval medics to the local staff when Colonel Gabe Starr called a meeting on the tennis court.

  Why there? For secrecy?

  She notified Steve Novak, stepped over some sleeping children and went out to the court.

  “Bad news,” Gabe was announcing.

  The section heads huddled in a sweaty bunch. Bronson served her coffee with a mysterious grin.

  She took a swig and studied the tall colonel who used to land airplanes on aircraft carriers.

  Gabe tried to rub the nervous twitch out of his eye. “I just received word from a Mr. Tony Chen at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. Apparently, he’s been tracking this case from his angle and didn’t know who to turn to.” He looked at Natalie.

  She’d never heard of Tony Chen.

  Gabe went on. “Mr. Chen has been following the movements of a Mr. Leng Shi-mung, who is the main diplomat for ARATS, China’s body for handling cross-strait relations. He told me that Mick Pierce had linked this Chinese diplomat to Taiwan’s military establishment.”

  “That’s right,” Steve said. “He’s the one who passed the message to General Li telling him when to invest on the mainland.”

  “I’m assuming that the military took the bait,” Gabe said. “According to Tony, Mr. Leng Shi-mung has just visited the Presidential Palace and thrown down the gauntlet. Either Taiwan’s military government accepts China’s ‘aid,’ or he reveals their investments in China. It’s blackmail, pure and simple.”

  “Strange,” Bronson said. “I heard something completely different.”

  Natalie nearly choked on her coffee.

  “That’s right,” he said. “I just received word from Hong Kong that our operatives have successfully intercepted the transaction. In fact, they have it in their hot little hands. The investment never went through.”

  Steve shook his head in confusion. “With no investment, China can’t threaten General Li.”

  “Okay,” Bronson said. “So how the hell can Leng Shi-mung make this assertion?”

  Gabe scratched his head. “Maybe Leng didn’t know. Like most of us, he may have lost contact with the outside world. This could have been a timed event, and the timing got screwed up.”

  “I’ll call Vincent Chu,” Br
onson said. “I can tell him we have it on good authority that there was no such transaction.”

  “It’s General Li who’s being blackmailed, not the vice president,” Bill Fellows reminded him. “And it’s the general who has the authority to invite in the Chinese.”

  Bronson looked at his CIA station chief. “Okay, I’ll tell General Li.”

  “But he made the transaction.”

  “So I’ll inform him it didn’t go through.”

  “Does it matter any longer?” Bill said. “If he consented to the transaction, he may have been involved with the Chinese from the start.”

  “Good God. You’re saying he’d allow in the Chinese anyway?”

  Natalie watched the exchange with amusement. Bronson certainly knew how to twist logic.

  “All I’m saying is we just don’t know that much about the general,” Bill said.

  “People, listen,” she interrupted. “If the general willingly took part in an invasion scheme, why would China pursue all the chicanery with the money and blackmail? There would be no need to coerce him.”

  “She’s right,” Steve said. “This ultimatum would be as much a surprise to the general as it is to the rest of the government.”

  Gabe raised lifted his gaze over the institute to the merciless glare of the sun. “I know the general fairly well. He would be one very nervous grand-daddy right now. He isn’t going to know how to handle an ultimatum.”

  “Let’s get our story straight,” Bronson demanded. “I’ll call the general and tell him that there was no transaction, and we won’t say a thing about it, either to his president or the press.”

  Bill Fellows coughed slightly. “We could hold the evidence over the general’s head. We could stuff him in our back pocket. We could force him to repeal martial law.”

  “We can’t hold evidence over anybody’s head,” Bronson said. “There was no transaction. It didn’t happen.”

  “There must have been money,” Bill said. “It would have passed hands to get into China. If he wants us to destroy all evidence, he’ll do whatever we tell him.”

  Bronson shook his head. “Why play hardball? All I want is the Chinese out of our hair.”

  “And a return to the days of martial law?” Bill asked.

  Bronson paused and stared at Bill. “You’re talking about us blackmailing General Li, the same thing that the Chinese are trying to do. Aren’t we above that?”