by Allan Topol
Liu had cautioned Xiang that secrecy was critical. “Trojan Horse is the most important intelligence operation our country has.”
“I’m honored to be a part of it,” Xiang had said.
Until now, everything had gone smoothly. Xiang was passing valuable information he had gotten from Jasper to Liu in the diplomatic pouch. Xiang didn’t have to worry about money flowing from Beijing to Jasper. The process had been established in the Tokyo meeting and was being handled in Beijing, with Xiang being informed when payments were made.
It was all perfect. The ultimate intelligence operation.
Now this!
The car pulled up in front of the Ministry. Two agents led Xiang up to Liu’s office where the spymaster was alone, sitting behind an old battered desk that Xiang had heard Liu brought with him from the Internal Subversives Unit where he conducted torture filled interrogations and smoked foul smelling cigarettes.
Liu had a jowly face, lips pressed tightly together. Xiang thought they might be permanently joined because the man never smiled. He was wearing narrow wire framed glasses below thinning black hair and a high forehead due to his receding hairline. Behind those glasses were hard, cruel eyes that had frightened Xiang the first time he met Liu and terrified him when Liu told him to break off his relationship with Kelly.
Liu had asked for the meeting. Xiang decided to wait to tell Liu about Jasper until he heard what the spymaster wanted.
“One of the documents you forwarded,” Liu said, “refers to a five-year plan for Asia and Pacific deployment being prepared by the Pentagon.
“Yes sir.”
“I want that document as soon as possible. I really want that document. Getting it from Jasper must be your top priority. Do you understand?”
Xiang hesitated. He had to tell Liu and he had to tell him now.
“We have a problem with Jasper.”
Liu’s eyes were boring in on him like lasers. “What kind of problem?”
Xiang reported, clearly and succinctly, everything that had happened since he had received the call from Jasper in the middle of the night. As he spoke, Xiang observed Liu becoming increasingly agitated. An angry scowl covered his face. Xiang hoped that rage would be directed at Jasper, not him.
At the end, Xiang reached into his briefcase and brought out the Washington Post which he had purchased at Dulles Airport, opened it to Vanessa’s obit, and placed it in front of Liu.
After reading it, Liu pounded his fist on the desk. “Jasper is a fool,” he cried out. “We should cut off his prick. It would be better for all of us.”
“I agree with that,” Xiang said, relieved he wasn’t the target.
“But we can’t. The information he has been giving us is valuable.”
“I’m happy to hear that. As you instructed, I don’t spend time reading the documents. I get them into the diplomatic pouch for transmission to you as soon as possible.”
“So, let me give you some idea of their value. The documents supplied by Jasper discuss the technology for a new generation of long-range missiles being developed by the United States. Also, American-Japanese cooperation to thwart our efforts to retake islands which are ours.
“But most important, some documents state that the United States is developing a new military strategy for the Pacific. The Pentagon calls it AirSea Battle, to defeat our technologically enhanced and sophisticated military forces that will prevent the Americans from entering areas which we regard as our exclusive province. To add specificity to the American strategy, the Pentagon is developing a five-year plan to show how many of their warships they plan to move to the Pacific. It will also reveal the timing of the movement of aircraft to the region, how many and where they will be stationed. The documents will also show the anticipated capability of new American ships and fast attack submarines able to operate close to this shoreline.”
Xiang was astounded. “That five-year plan would be priceless.”
“Precisely. And never forget why we need the information. The Americans claim they are interested in working cooperatively with us. But their true intentions are quite different. They are determined to remain the world’s only superpower. They’ll do anything to prevent China from growing strong enough to pose a challenge to that position. A decade ago they had a huge military advantage. That has been shrinking. If we have this five-year plan and other information Jasper would be able to give you, we would be able to level the playing field with them. So we may despise Jasper, but we must solve this problem for him with Vanessa and the CD to maintain the flow of jewels from the Pentagon’s war chest.”
Sounding deferential and respectful, Xiang said, “I would like your advice as to how we solve Jasper’s problem with Vanessa and the CD.”
Liu ran his hand over his chin, then replied, “Senator Jasper’s difficulties with Vanessa and his vulnerability because of the CD presents us with a good opportunity—a way of getting the Pentagon’s five-year plan. Do you know what I’m thinking?”
Xiang thought he understood. “In exchange for my solving Jasper’s problem with the CD, he should give me the Pentagon’s plan.”
“Precisely. And the only way you can solve his problem is by finding the CD and destroying it. Nothing and no one can stand in your way. In Washington, only you and the ambassador know about Senator Jasper and Operation Trojan Horse. And no one else can know. Am I making myself clear?”
“Yes sir.”
“I will notify Hu, the head of our state security detail at the embassy right now. Tell him that he and every member of his group are to take orders from you.”
Xiang knew that Hu wouldn’t like it. Too bad, Hu wasn’t one of Xiang’s favorite people. The man was arrogant and never listened to others. Besides, Hu was twenty years Xiang’s senior and had been at the embassy for the last ten years.
As if sensing Xiang’s apprehension, Liu added, “If Hu gives you any problem, you let me know.”
“Yes sir.”
“Now let’s talk about where the CD might be.”
“I searched Vanessa’s apartment. Jasper searched her office. We found neither the CD, nor the key to a bank vault.”
“Your search may not have been sufficiently thorough. You may have missed the CD or the key. Go back again to the apartment. Or send Hu.”
Xiang didn’t think he could have, but he didn’t dare argue. “Yes, sir. I’ll do that.”
“Also, I want you to set up around the clock surveillance on Vanessa’s apartment. Perhaps she told someone about the CD. The obit refers to Vanessa’s twin sister, Allison. She’s a good possibility. When Allison or someone else uncovers the CD, you can seize it from them. Do you understand?”
Xiang nodded vigorously. “Absolutely.”
“Should I fly back to Washington now?” Xiang checked his watch. “I can still make a United Airlines plane.”
“Yes, but first I want you to do two things. As soon as you leave this office, tell my secretary to give you a secure line into the embassy. Call Hu and have him set up surveillance on Vanessa’s apartment. We need it in place immediately.”
“I’ll do that.”
“Then on your way to the airport, I’ll have my car stop at your parents apartment. You should have a brief visit with them.”
Xiang was puzzled. What an odd request. Why was Liu suggesting this?
“But if I do that, I might miss the plane.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll call the airport. That plane will not be cleared to leave the gate until you are on board.”
As Xiang stood to leave, Liu said sternly, “Keep me personally informed of what happens in Washington on this matter.”
“I’ll do that.”
“You must get that CD. Regardless of what it takes. Failure will not be tolerated.”
* * *
Xiang’s parents lived on the twelfth floor of a thirty story high-rise in a middle class area of Beijing. Xiang called from the car to say he was coming, and his father replied, “We’ll be gl
ad to see you.”
His mother had tea waiting. As Xiang drank it, he asked about his parents welfare. “We have everything we need,” his mother said.
Then his father told Xiang, “Let’s go outside. I want to smoke. Your mother doesn’t let me do that in the apartment.”
That surprised Xiang. To his knowledge his father had never done anything his mother wanted.
In the elevator, his father didn’t speak. When they were outside on a deserted grassy area, he took out a cigarette and lit up. His hand was trembling. Xiang hoped neither of them was sick. “You don’t smoke in the apartment any longer?”
His father looked around anxiously, then said. “I wanted to talk to you alone. Out here.”
“Why?”
“This morning, when your mother and I went shopping, I realized that we were being followed by a big man.”
“Are you certain?”
He nodded. “If they followed me, I was worried there might be a hidden microphone in the apartment. So I thought it was better to talk here.”
His parents had no idea what Xiang did. They knew only that he worked for the state and was based in Washington.
“Are you in trouble?” his father asked.
As the question hung in the air, Xiang put the pieces together. Liu wanted him to visit his parents because he wanted Xiang to know about the surveillance, which had just commenced. Obtaining this five-year plan was vital to Liu. The spymaster knew how much Xiang loved his parents. By exerting control over them with surveillance, he was signaling to Xiang: your parents are my virtual hostages. You do what I’m directing you to do, or they’ll suffer. Liu had raised the stakes for Xiang.
“Well, are you in trouble?” his father repeated.
“Oh, no. Not at all. My work in Washington is going extremely well.”
He had tried to sound confident and reassuring. He didn’t want to worry his father.
Judging from the troubled look on his father’s face, Xiang knew that he had failed. But he couldn’t say anything else.
Washington
At 7:30 in the morning Martin was in the kitchen, sipping coffee and reading the Washington Post, when the phone on the wall rang. Who the hell’s calling at this hour? Hope nothing happened to one of the girls. He picked up. “Hello.”
“This is Jim Nelson from the New York Times, Mr. Martin.”
He wondered why the national security reporter for the Times was bothering him at home. Having been wounded by his failure to talk to Potts, Martin decided not to stonewall a second reporter.
“Yes,” Martin said, trying to sound cordial.
“I’m working on an article about prisoners in Guantanamo who were released. I understand that you represented one of them.”
For an instant, Martin didn’t know what Nelson was talking about. Then he recalled. A couple of years ago, Paul Maltoni wanted to represent, pro bono, a prisoner at Guantanamo. Martin agreed to supervise him and reviewed Paul’s brief in the Court of Appeals in Washington that led to the prisoner’s release. Paul had asked Martin if he should put both their names on the brief, and Martin had said, “Sure.”
“You can read the briefs in the court file,” Martin said to Nelson. “Those are public documents.”
“I want to talk to you about the prisoner. What he was like? Did you have any communications with him after his release?”
What the hell was going on, Martin wondered. Nelson was a veteran reporter. He had to know he was out of line. Had a supporter of Corbett or Butler put him up to it?
Calmly, Martin replied, “C’mon, Jim. You know I can’t do that. It wouldn’t be proper to discuss communications with a client.”
“Look here. I’m giving you a chance to help yourself,” Nelson said in a surly tone.
“As I said, it wouldn’t be proper for me to talk to you.”
Nelson gave Martin his cell phone number. “In case you change your mind.”
As soon as Martin hung up, he dialed Paul’s cell.
“Yes, Andrew.”
“Refresh me about the Guantanamo case you worked on a couple of years ago.”
“We represented a prisoner in Guantanamo. Khalid was his name. He’s an Iraqi who had been arrested near Baghdad after a roadside bomb detonated, killing American troops. He was captured in a roundup of people in the area. There was no evidence he had anything to do with the bomb. You helped me on the brief. I argued it in the Court of Appeals. They agreed, and he was released and sent back to Iraq. That’s pretty much it. Why are you asking?”
“I just got a call from Jim Nelson at the New York Times.”
“Why’s he digging this up now?”
“I guess that goes with being on the president’s short list for chief justice.”
“Wow! That sucks.”
“You have an eloquent way of expressing yourself. Can you get together copies of the briefs and all the papers on the Khalid case and meet me in my office this morning?”
Martin heard in the background, “Delta flight 228 to Cincinnati is now boarding.”
“Where are you?” he asked Paul.
“Reagan National.”
“I didn’t know you were going out of town. I thought you were working on my brief in the FCC decency case. 24/7.”
“Well, um …” Paul stammered. “I’m going to a funeral in Ohio.”
“But your family are all from New Haven.”
“Yeah … well, a woman I dated seriously last year, Vanessa Boyd, died. She was a staffer on Jasper’s Senate Armed Services Committee. There was an obit in yesterday’s Post.”
Martin couldn’t believe he was hearing this. For a second, he was speechless.
Paul continued, “Actually, I first met her when you sent me up to the Hill a couple years ago to help defeat legislation authorizing arms sales for Taiwan. We hit it off. But this is the damndest thing. She drowned in Anguilla. And she was an excellent swimmer.”
“The currents can be tricky in the Caribbean.” Martin tried to sound sympathetic. “I’m sorry to hear about your friend. When will you be back?”
“This evening.”
“Okay, gather all the papers together on the Khalid case when you return. Come over to my house with them at seven tomorrow morning. I have to get on top of this. And don’t talk to Nelson or any other reporters if they call.”
When Martin put down the phone, he thought about the coincidence of Paul having dated Vanessa. It wasn’t much of one. In many respects, Washington, or at least the Washington world that powerful lawyers, lobbyists, administration, and congressional officials moved in, was like a small community. Paul had said that he dated Vanessa last year. Martin wondered how long Jasper had been seeing her. It was possible his star associate and one of his best friends—or former best friend—were doing this girl at the same time.
Martin knew that Paul had a sharp mind and he could pursue matters when he became curious. He already thought it was peculiar Vanessa had drowned. Martin just hoped Paul would let it rest, get his ass back to Washington, and go to work on the brief.
Hong Kong
Liu looked out of the window of his private plane at the sparkling lights of Hong Kong.
“Fifteen minutes to touch down, sir,” a flight attendant told Liu. He handed over his glass, all of the Macallan 10 Years gone.
Liu hated making this trip. His schedule was full in Beijing, but he had no choice.
When Xiang had left his office, Liu had paced back and forth, trying to find a solution to this mess.
To be sure, there was a chance Xiang would find the CD and give it to Jasper in return for the Pentagon’s five year plan. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized that was a long shot.
Perhaps there was another way. Small drops of perspiration had dotted his thin mustache. If he didn’t supply the Pentagon’s plan to Yao and eliminate the threat posed by the CD, the consequences would be severe for him, particularly because any investigation would determine that Liu had caused
the problem by permitting Jasper’s mistress to record their meeting. Very sloppy on his part. And he knew Yao would never forget about the five-year plan. Once the Chinese president had something in his sights, he never backed away. Unable to come up with another solution, Liu decided he needed advice and there was only one place to turn: Andrei Mikhailovich. The Russian might have an idea.
That meant flying to Hong Kong. He had never wanted the Russian to come to Beijing, where he might be recognized by Russian agents or diplomats. If word got back to Putin of Andrei’s location, the Russian President would arrange for his murder.
Liu had called Andrei. “Are you available to meet?”
“For you, anytime. Where and when?”
“Your house as soon as I can get there. I’ll fly out of Beijing in thirty minutes.”
Liu heard the landing gear going down. He thought about the first time he had met Andrei.
Liu liked to gamble. Initially, he thought that had led to a chance meeting, his first meeting with Andrei. Later, Andrei told him there was nothing accidental about the meeting. “I knew you liked coming to the casino in the Mandarin Oriental in Macau. So I took a room in the hotel for an indefinite stay. Spreading around lots of money. Eventually, I received what I wanted: a tip about your arrival.”
That was two years ago, Liu recalled, when he was still deputy director of MSS. Dressed in a suit and tie, accompanied by two security men who were also in civilian clothes, Liu had slipped into the hotel through an unmarked rear door that lead to a small private VIP, admission by invitation only gambling room in the back of the casino. Craps was Liu’s game of choice. He spent an hour making large bets with money he had siphoned off from MSS funds, winning a little and losing a little, but essentially staying even.
All that changed when a powerfully built Russian, missing the pinkie on his right hand, picked up the dice across the table. Liu immediately recognized Andrei Mikhailovich, formerly a top KGB agent, then head of its successor, the FSB, rumored to have recently had a falling out with Putin.
