Red Swan

by P. T. Deutermann

  The ceilings were at least twelve feet high and the room was tastefully appointed in what looked to her like Victorian furniture, with a large Oriental rug and a fully operational wood fireplace. There was one large bow-front window in the living room, flanked by narrow secondary windows. There was a dining room with French doors at the back that led out to a patio and a small walled garden. There appeared to be a garage at the way back, next to a gate leading to the alley behind. Large mahogany doors led to the tower in the front corner. Must have been some real money somewhere, she mused, for even a senior civil servant to be able to afford one of these grand old mansions. The walls in the living room were paneled in squares of highly colorful wood veneers, many of a kind she’d never seen before.

  Melanie’s last two weeks had been truly interesting. Mornings at the cultural-indoc center, learning as much about Chinese customs and manners as one could in just ten days from some painfully patient instructors. Her afternoons with Minette had been all about the arts of discreet seduction, from how to sit, smile, laugh, walk, and cross and uncross her legs in a variety of skirts, to makeup, and even voice lessons. Apparently the Chinese had elaborate rules for beginning the dance between a sophisticated gentleman and an upper-class woman, similar to the intricacies of a Spanish lady’s deployment of her lace fan. Minette acknowledged those assets, but claimed that the lingerie method was far more effective—and took much less time.

  Allender reappeared at the front door to welcome another man, who was literally tall, dark, and handsome. He took one look at Melanie and said, “Wow. You’re right, sir. She’s gorgeous. This is gonna be a piece of cake.”

  Minette made an impolite noise. “Wait until she is properly decorated, young man. Then you may whimper.”

  Allender grinned. “Ladies, this is David Smith, who will be the controller for this little escapade.”

  David Smith was marine-lean, with a shaved head and the physique of a long-distance runner. Melanie speculated that he could be anywhere between twenty-five and thirty-five years old. He had boyish good looks but with a definite edge. “I would have thought you would be the control,” she said to Allender, still blushing a little from Smith’s outburst. Allender seemed amused.

  “Not qualified, I’m afraid,” he said. “David is a professional controller. I’m more of a fuse lighter. Let’s everyone sit down. I’d like to discuss this evening’s adventure. David: Start us off, please.”

  “Yes, sir,” David said, still stealing glances at Melanie, who had just possibly transitioned into one of Minette’s poses. For a moment she thought he was about to actually squirm.

  “Tonight,” David said, “it’s a reception at the Hilton Garden Inn for some visiting UN officials. Here’s the drill: Ms. Sloan will arrive in company with Doctor Allender. There will be a receiving line, after which they’ll migrate to the canapé table. Once General Chiang is in view, they will have a short but intense exchange, and then Doctor Allender will move off, obviously annoyed with her. Chiang either will or will not move in. Ms. Sloan will be indignant, sulk a little, then she’ll turn on the charm. She will deploy her legend. Once Chiang signals real interest, Doctor Allender will reappear and whisk her away. She will sneak one back-look, and then she and the doctor will leave the reception.”

  “That’s it?” Melanie said. “So quick?”

  “A taste,” David said. “Just a taste—and the legend. We need to have him check you out. His people are well used to his sudden infatuations, but he’s a general, and a connected general at that. They will scurry to find out more about you, and we have the appropriate baits in place. Your association with Doctor Allender is all part of this. So: Ms. Sloan, are you ready?”

  Melanie was taken aback, but quickly nodded. “I think so,” she said. “I’ve learned some lacy moves and a little bit about what might spool up a Chinese general.”

  “And if he asks about Doctor Allender?”

  “He is a senior director. When he asked me to accompany him tonight, I agreed. You know, he’s senior, but so am I.”

  “Right,” David said. “That’s the correct tack. Your legend—that you’re important—has to unravel gracefully. At the professional level, you’ll be seen to be reaching. At the sexual level, you’re on fire, and anxious to be rid of the much older, senior director.”

  “Of course,” she said, shooting a sly look at Allender.

  “Ahem,” Allender harrumphed, and everyone laughed. “What’s our signal to end the fun?”

  “Ms. Sloan will bend over and reveal décolletage. Assuming the general locks on, you will swoop in and signal that the car is waiting.”

  “He will probably address me in Mandarin.”

  “Fine. It will signal that we’re all adults here, and that whatever he and Ms. Sloan are contemplating, it has nothing to do with business.”

  “Got it.”

  David looked at his watch. “Okay, team. Go suit up.”

  Twyla, her assistant, and Melanie followed Minette upstairs to the guest room. Allender sat down and asked Smith where the possible derailing points were.

  “For starters, his minders,” Smith said. “They may draw the line at an Agency employee, for the obvious reasons.”

  “Are they intelligence professionals or simply bodyguards?”

  “A bit of both, because of his political connections. Best described as faction guards. At least one political commissar type is always present.”

  “Will the Chinese ambassador be there tonight?”

  “No, sir. He will be at the dinner, and, by the way, he is not a fan of General Chiang’s amorous escapades. But: It seems our general has protectzia, as the Russians call it.”

  “Any other possible pitfalls?”

  “Sloan could blow it,” Smith said. “She’s pretty green.”

  “Is Smith your real name?”

  Smith grinned. “What do you think, Doctor?”

  Allender removed his glasses and studied Smith’s face for what was probably an uncomfortable moment. “I think it’s Farmer,” he said, finally. “Lionel Farmer. Close?”

  Smith, obviously surprised, blinked. “Um,” he began, but Allender waved him off.

  “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “I may have been briefed. As to Sloan’s inexperience, that’s a good thing, I think. No inconvenient track record. Lisbon’s a backwater posting, and she wasn’t actually doing much HUMINT there. She was usually in company with the station chief, so that will bolster the legend.”

  “And her claiming to be some kind of senior spook?”

  “I think that’ll work,” Allender said. “She’s older. His ego, plus his libido, will take that as a challenge. Either way, as long as Sloan establishes that famous short circuit between Chiang’s brain and his crank, you’re probably in good shape.”

  Smith grinned. “Well, I have to say…”

  Allender gave him an arch look. “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet,” he observed. “I need to change. I don’t anticipate any rough stuff, but you will have a team in place?”

  “Always,” Smith said. “If only because you’re going to be there.”

  “I’m flattered,” Allender said. “And no one knows about the clone, right?”

  “No one.”

  “Not even McGill?”

  “Especially him, as per your directions.”

  “That’s vital,” Allender said. “That’s the feature that’s going to take it from a simple honey trap to a black swan.”

  An hour and a half later, Allender and Melanie Sloan stood next to one of the buffet tables in the main reception room at the Hilton. There were probably two hundred guests, many in evening dress although there were several people, like Allender, wearing just a dark suit. If you were really important, you came directly from your cabinet office. Lesser mortals had time to go home and change. There was the usual hubbub of voices, clink of glassware, a string quartet trying manfully in one corner, and the occasional peal of feminine laughter. Melanie was positively
stunning in her Dior, and a good many men were struggling not to stare at her. At the moment, however, she wore a somewhat annoyed expression, and Allender was playing along, feigning dissatisfaction with something she’d just said. On the other side of the table stood General Chiang, dressed tonight in a civilian suit and looking every inch the urban predator he fancied himself to be. Melanie had exchanged a nod and a smile at a distance already, and now Allender muttered something in a semi-sharp tone of voice and walked away toward the bar, leaving Melanie apparently stranded for just a moment, looking exasperated.

  “Permit me to introduce myself,” a quiet baritone voice intoned from behind her. “I am General Chiang Liang-fu, from the Chinese embassy. I think I have seen you before, in Williamsburg, perhaps?”

  Melanie turned and gave him one of Minette’s best sultry looks. “Yes, I believe we have seen each other before,” she said. “I’m Melanie. Is your family here tonight?”

  He smiled and said no, he was by himself, and did she perhaps need another glass of white wine?

  “That would be most kind,” she said, handing over her glass and making sure their fingers touched. He was bigger than she’d remembered, but not fat like so many Chinese senior officials. They were of the same height so, she was able to look directly into his sharp, black eyes. He bowed slightly and left for the bar while Melanie found two empty chairs together and sat down in one. As he returned with drinks in hand she arranged her skirt in a seemingly unconscious maneuver designed to reveal just the tops of her pale white stockings. He joined her and then made a salud gesture with his drink. She hoped he wouldn’t start a ganbei round, but knew it wasn’t likely with her drinking wine.

  “So,” he said. “What brings such a beautiful woman to such a boring event?”

  She pointed with her chin in the direction of Allender, who was about twenty feet away, deep in what seemed to be a serious conversation with an Indian official. “One of our senior directors,” she said.

  “Doctor Allender? Ah, yes, I recognize him. Do you also work at Langley?”

  She nodded.

  “And in what capacity, if I may ask?”

  She gave him a look that said, Are you kidding?

  He smiled again. “Yes, yes, I know, that was foolish of me. It’s just that I think we are in the same business. I am attached to our embassy here in Washington, in a, how shall I say it—related capacity?”

  “Really,” she said, sipping her wine and pretending not to care, while smoothing her skirt with her other hand, running it down the inside of her thigh. “I thought you said you were a general?”

  “I am,” he said, sitting up a little straighter while keeping track of her hand. “In our system, which calls itself the Ministry of State Security, there are many military officers.”

  She nodded. “As in our system, now that I think of it. Sometimes we have senior military officers at the top of our—company.”

  He laughed quietly at her use of the word “company.” “Do you find the work of your—company—interesting?” he asked.

  She giggled. “Truthfully?” she said. “Not always. These days it’s mostly about data, ones and zeroes, as my people are fond of saying. There are times I wish I was back overseas, but once you reach a certain level, that becomes out of the question, as I’m sure you know. Are those your people watching us?”

  Chiang didn’t even look. “Well, of course,” he said. “And Doctor Allender—is he minding you tonight? I would have thought he was too senior for such duties.”

  She tossed her hair impatiently. “We are of similar rank,” she replied. “Besides, he is not a pleasant man. People in my company are afraid of him, I think.”

  “I understand he is called Dragon Eyes,” Chiang said. “That would have a specific meaning in our language.”

  “Really,” she said. “Now that I think of it, I believe he does speak Mandarin. Your English is impeccable, by the way.”

  “Thank you,” he said. “I have spent years developing my modest understanding of American English, and you are correct, Doctor Allender speaks excellent Mandarin. He grew up in Taipei.”

  “We have some people in my directorate—not that many—who can speak Mandarin,” she said. “But they are unanimous in saying they have a long way to go in getting to true proficiency.”

  “And yet our two-year-olds manage it in their sleep,” he said.

  “I wouldn’t know anything about that,” she said. “Two-year-olds, that is.”

  “Are you not married?” he asked, seeming surprised.

  She realized that he was being forward, indeed, if her instructors at the cultural center had been correct. On the other hand, at her age, it probably would surprise a Chinese man that she was not married. Mission accomplished, she realized, and bent forward to adjust one of the straps of her shoes. Minette had taught her a way of doing that that made for something of a cleavage show, but it was also the signal to Allender that she thought the hook was, if not set, at least being firmly nibbled.

  Make contact, he’d instructed. Use body language to indicate interest, then back out. Tantalize, but no more. She straightened up and gave him a look that said she’d seen him looking. Then Allender materialized.

  “General Chiang,” he said, in Mandarin. “Enjoying the scenery?”

  Chiang laughed quietly as he stood up to shake hands. “It is spectacular scenery, Doctor.”

  Allender made a face that said, I can’t argue with that. “However, General, your staff do not look pleased that your are associating with not one but two members of the opposition.”

  “It is just their duty,” Chiang acknowledged. Then he switched back to English as he got up. “Melanie, it has been a pleasure. Perhaps we will meet again sometime.”

  Melanie had been briefed on how to respond: “You must be careful of the company you keep, General. In fact, I am required to report our brief—if pleasant—meeting.”

  “Yes, of course,” he replied. “In any event, have a good evening.” He turned to Allender. “You, too,” he said in Mandarin, with just a hint of a leer.

  Allender brushed it off. “This one plays her own game, General. I am not part of it.”

  “Oh, of course,” Chiang said, bowed slightly, and headed off to the bar.

  “Well done, I think,” Allender said to Sloan, as they made for the lobby. “He and most every other man in the room couldn’t keep his eyes off you. You look extraordinary tonight.”

  “Well, thank you, kind sir. I had a lot of help from my friends. Are you taking me to dinner again? This secret agent is starving.”

  “I’m not one to waste a beautiful woman’s time on a dinner date unless it’s business,” he replied. “But there’s David Smith.”

  Smith met them at the main entrance. “David,” Allender said. “Ms. Sloan says she’s starving. Can you help?”

  “Hell, yes,” Smith said, positively gawking at Melanie. “Assuming the lady’s agreeable?”

  “Of course I am,” Melanie said, shining a brilliant smile at Smith. Allender beamed and off they went; but when Smith got tangled up with someone coming through the lobby’s revolving door, Melanie Sloan looked back over her shoulder and gave Allender a look that clearly said that Smith was not who she’d had in mind. Allender bowed slightly and gave her a polite smile, but he couldn’t help but look at her as she slipped into the revolving door.

  Wow, he thought, not for the first time. What was it the Brits said? Damn my eyes? Then reason returned. Your job is over now that Smith has taken charge. He wondered if she knew what was coming next. He almost wished he could go along and help her.

  SEVEN

  Deputy Director for Operations McGill was apparently in one of his pacing moods. He walked back and forth in front of the windows in his office, coffee mug in hand, pipe in mouth, as he listened to Allender’s report of the reception encounter with Chiang Liang-fu. It was late in the afternoon, and the building was beginning to clear out. When Allender had finished, McGill
began shaking his head.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “There’s no way that his people won’t suspect a honey trap.” He emphasized his words with the ornate pipe, which Allender had never seen actually lit. “No way in hell.”

  Allender disagreed. “Look,” he said. “A honey trap traditionally involves a woman planted by one country’s service to snare and then embarrass or even blackmail someone in another country’s service. She is always under deep cover—a schoolteacher, a medical person, even a straying wife, but in no way connectable to our business. Sloan was with me. Chiang and I know of each other. She even admitted she worked for the Company. Said she was senior, and complained about how hard it was to find decent Chinese linguists. In other words, I do work for your opposition, General, so if we do hook up, it’s not going to be about business.”

  “If one of my senior people brought me that scenario I’d warn him off in the strongest possible terms,” McGill said. “So would you, I hope.”

  “Neither of us allows his groin to lead his brain,” Allender said. “This one does, and regularly, and his boss is not pleased, apparently. If he weren’t some senior party boss’s brother or cousin he’d probably be a tour guide on the Great Wall by now.”

  “Okay, but: When I brought you into this one, I explained that this wasn’t about mousetrapping a single spy. It was about breaking their entire organization by doing something extraordinary. So what’s this bright idea you’ve given to David Smith—that’s not his name, by the way—that’s going to achieve that objective?”

  “Smith works for you; ask him, why don’t you.”

  “He won’t tell me, if you can believe that. Says it won’t work if anyone but the controller and a few assistants know what the plan is.”

  “Well, then, Carson, there you have it.”

  “Goddammit, Preston—it’s your idea. You’re the expert manipulator who also knows the damned Chinese. So what are you going to do to him, assuming he can’t keep away from the delectable Sloan?”