by Allan Topol
Liu thought about the ambassador some more and finally came up with a solution. Liu kept personal files on many of the top leaders. He knew that the ambassador’s only child was a daughter whom he cared deeply about. She was married to a French man and living in Paris with two children. On the ambassador’s next visit to Beijing, Liu would have a chat with him. He would explain to the ambassador that Liu had made arrangements with an MSS agent in Paris to kill the ambassador’s daughter and grandchildren if he dared to mention anything about the CD or these events. And Liu wouldn’t be bluffing. He would make all the arrangements for the three Paris murders so all he would have to do was make a single phone call.
Then there was Xiang. He could destroy Liu as well as the ambassador. Arranging Xiang’s death would be an easy matter. No one cared about Xiang other than his parents. But Liu didn’t want to do that. He viewed Xiang as a valuable asset in the United States to do his bidding. And as long as Liu had Xiang’s parents under his control, Xiang would do what he wanted.
He realized he was taking a risk leaving Xiang alive, but he was prepared to do that … at least for now.
Washington
Allison awoke at five thirty. Potts had said he’d make sure a copy of the morning paper would be at the front desk in the hotel, held with her room number. No name.
It was there. She picked up the paper and a cup of coffee in the lobby.
In the elevator, returning to her room, she glanced at the upper right hand corner. She saw Martin’s picture and the headline: “WASHINGTON LAWYER INVOLVED IN CONGRESSIONAL STAFFER’S MURDER,” and under that, “WHITE HOUSE WITHDRAWS ANDREW MARTIN FROM CONSIDERATION AS CHIEF JUSTICE.
Back in her room she read the article. Potts laid out the whole story, beginning with Jasper’s murder of Vanessa and his Sunday night call to Martin. He had it all right. Within the body of the article he quoted a criminal law expert saying, “It is extremely unlikely that Martin would be charged with any crime.”
At the end, Potts quoted an unnamed White House source stating that, “In view of these facts, the president withdrew Martin’s name from consideration as chief justice.”
Allison didn’t care about the criminal charges against Martin. She was just pleased that she had knocked him out of the running to be chief justice.
She read the article again. Potts, as promised, didn’t mention Allison by name or as a source. There was no reference to the CD or to the Chinese chasing her—topics which Allison hadn’t discussed with Potts.
But now that she had gained revenge for what happened to Vanessa, Allison turned her attention to those topics—the CD and the Chinese.
She felt as if she were trying to solve a complicated puzzle: the Chinese had desperately wanted the CD; she gave the CD to Martin; Jasper was mysteriously and coincidentally murdered the next morning by an unidentified killer.
She felt as if she had to find a way to fit these pieces together or she would still be at risk because she had listened to the CD even though Martin didn’t think she had a copy. Most importantly, she knew about Liu’s meeting with Jasper at which Liu recruited the senator.
She closed her eyes and moved the pieces together in her mind, the same way she solved a complex archeological issue. Finally, something clicked.
Question: Who would have wanted Jasper dead at that point?
Answer: The Chinese. Jasper had become a liability now that the CD had been discovered.
Question: How could the Chinese have known that the CD had been discovered?
Answer: Andrew Martin, because Allison gave it to Martin.
Conclusion: Martin had to be working with the Chinese. She recalled that the first time Paul had met Vanessa, Martin had sent him to the Hill as a representative of the Chinese government to oppose an arms sale to Taiwan.
The Internet was wonderful. Allison accessed the government files for registration of foreign agents, all public information, for Andrew Martin. Sure enough, he was registered as an agent for the governments of France, China, Brazil, and Australia.
So Martin must have tipped off the Chinese about the CD rather than taking it to the FBI director as he promised, which was why he lied to her and said he returned it to her.
Allison now knew what she had to do with this information to protect herself.
Using Madison Hotel stationery, she wrote a letter to Rick Potts explaining about the CD; the conversation between Jasper and Liu; how the Chinese had chased her; how she had given it to Martin, who was registered as a Chinese agent; and how Jasper had been murdered only hours later. “From all of this,” she wrote, “the inescapable conclusion is that Andrew Martin was a conspirator with Chinese officials in the murder of Senator Jasper.”
She reread her letter, placed it in an envelope addressed to Rick Potts and put it into a second envelope addressed it to Sara Gross. Inside she added a note: “Sara, when and if you have to mail the prior package I sent you, before doing so, please open that package, insert the letter inside this envelope addressed to Rick Potts, reseal it and mail it. I am doing well and hope you will not have to mail it. Allison.”
She got stamps at the desk and dropped the letter to Sara into a mailbox at the corner.
Back in her room, she checked the time: 7:15 a.m. She called Martin’s cell.
“Are you proud of yourself?” Martin said.
“I called because we have to talk.”
“I have nothing to talk to you about.”
“Oh, I think you do. You shouldn’t have believed me when I told you that you have the only copy of the CD.”
“You’re a liar, too.”
“Coming from you, that’s quite a compliment.”
“I’ll meet you at the Cosmos Club in an hour.”
“It’ll have to be in the dining room. Not a private room.”
“Fine. And I’ll want to see your cell phone to make sure it’s not in the record mode. As I’ve learned, you have a tendency to do that.”
* * *
Allison met Martin in the reception area of the club at the bottom of the grand circular staircase running to the second floor of what had once been the most ornate mansion in Washington.
“Where’s your cell phone?” he asked.
She showed it to him, placed in her bag, and checked that in the cloak room, along with her coat.
“Do you want to frisk me, too?” she asked. She was wearing a skirt and blouse. “Maybe do a strip search in the ladies room.”
“That’s funny.”
The maître d’ led them to a table facing the garden in the wood paneled dining room. Only a few other tables were taken—none close to them. They could easily talk.
Martin ordered a blueberry muffin and coffee; she did the same.
“You wanted this meeting,” he said tersely. “Tell me about the other CD.”
“I will, but first I want you to know that Paul had nothing to do with my going to Potts with the story or what I’m about to tell you. All he did was print for me copies and bios of the 535 members of Congress so I could zero in on Jasper, based upon what an eye witness in Anguilla told me. He has a great deal of respect for you and your firm, and I hope he doesn’t suffer because of me.”
“You could have come to me with your story rather than going to Potts.”
“I tried that a couple of times. You manipulated me to try to save yourself. I went to Potts because he knows what you’re really like.”
“You have a vivid imagination. I want you to know that I had nothing to do with you being attacked in the Metro station. You can believe it or not, but it happens to be true.”
“I’ll give you that, but …”
“And I had no idea Jasper murdered Vanessa.”
“I think that’s probably true.”
“All I was doing was trying to help a friend. I didn’t know about the CD. Jasper was responsible for everything that happened. I became collateral damage because of your digging and that unfortunate CD.”
“Just an i
nnocent victim in all of this. Is that what you tell yourself? Is your capacity for rationalization that great?”
“Now what about the other CD?”
The waitress was approaching with the coffee and muffins. Allison waited until she was gone to continue in a soft voice. “I’ve deduced that you were responsible for Jasper’s death.”
Calmly, Martin replied: “That’s the most absurd thing I’ve ever heard. What could possibly lead you to that conclusion?”
“I gave you the CD. You lied about giving it back. Jasper was murdered hours later. You represent the Chinese. The Chinese had been trying to kill me to get their hands on the CD. Jasper was only a liability to them now that you, their representative, had possession of what you thought was the only copy.”
“But you made another one and lied to me about that.”
“It was my insurance policy.”
“I hope you’re not expecting me to respond to these ridiculous charges.”
“No, of course not.”
He paused to pick off a piece of the muffin top.
He’s stalling, she thought. Washington’s top lawyer is stumped. He doesn’t know what to say. Still, she had to admire his calm veneer.
“What will you do with this fairy tale you’ve constructed? Take it to your friend Potts?”
She shook her head. “No, I’m not interested in damaging you any further. You got lucky.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I’ve laid out in a letter to Potts the whole story of your involvement in Jasper’s murder, which is a crime, unlike what happened in Anguilla. I’ve given that letter and the CD to a third party. Not Paul. Someone you don’t know or have ever heard of. If anything happens to me, that third party will mail the letter and the CD to Potts. So you will be charged with murder. Your Chinese clients will be charged with spying in the United States. Some of them will be banished from the United States. The scandal will adversely affect American-Chinese relations for years to come.
“So the point is,” she was talking slowly, articulating clearly, making certain he understood exactly what she was saying, “both you personally and the Chinese government would suffer mightily if anything were to happen to me. Then you would lose your powerful law practice and your fancy lifestyle. So don’t even think about having me murdered.”
“You flatter yourself,” he said in a barely audible whisper, “if you think anyone would want to kill you.”
“Perhaps, but I won’t end up like Senator Jasper. I want to make certain you and those Chinese agents don’t come after me.”
She gave Martin a moment to respond. When he didn’t, she stood up, turned, and left the dining room.
Israel
One Month Later
Allison was relieved and happy to be back on the dig. Not only was she among friends, but she was doing what she loved to do. They were uncovering new objects almost daily. The results of the dating tests on the objects confirmed her belief that this was a town from the time of King Solomon.
Tomorrow, a reporter from the prestigious London based Archeology Magazine would be coming, with a photographer to interview Allison and her coworkers for an article about the dig.
Allison was in her small, wooden-framed, makeshift office, reviewing her notes in preparation for the interview, when Zahava came into the office.
“You have a visitor,” Zahava said.
“But I thought the London people weren’t coming until tomorrow.”
“No. Someone else. From the United States.”
Allison walked out of the office and saw Paul Maltoni standing there, dressed in khaki slacks, a polo shirt, and a Washington Nationals cap. He was holding another identical cap in his hand.
When he saw her, he stepped forward, smiled, and handed the cap to her. “I figured you could use this with the hot sun.”
She put it on. “What are you doing here?”
“I happened to be in the neighborhood.”
“You don’t look like a lawyer with a prestigious Washington law firm.”
“I’m not. The day after you left my house, I went into Martin’s office, seeking some explanation for what he had done. And he told me to get the hell out. Then and there I told him I was quitting. I couldn’t stand to work for him after everything he did.”
She was pleasantly surprised. She wouldn’t have guessed that. “Good for you.”
“Oh, and he had a message for you.”
“I can imagine.”
“He said to tell that nosey bitch Allison he hopes you’re happy.”
“As a matter of fact, I am. I hope he was damaged by what happened.”
“Well, he didn’t get to be chief justice.”
“I hope he’d suffer more than that.”
“I don’t know what happened to his law practice. I’ve stayed as far away from the firm as possible.”
“What will you do now?”
“I’ve taken a job as a trial lawyer in the Civil Division at the U.S. Department of Justice. I want to use my law degree to do some good, which was why I went to law school. I start next week.”
“That’s great. I’m happy to hear it.”
“If you ever come to Washington, I hope you’ll let me know. I’d like to have dinner with you.”
“We’ll do it,” she smiled, “on one condition. You get to pick the wine, but my turn to pay. I insist.”
He laughed. “I would never argue with you, Allison. When you want something, I learned that you get it.”
About the Author
Allan Topol is the author of ten novels of international intrigue. Two of them, Spy Dance and Enemy of My Enemy, were national best sellers. His novels have been translated into Chinese, Japanese, Portuguese, and Hebrew. One was optioned and three are in development for movies.
In addition to his fiction writing, Allan Topol co-authored a two-volume legal treatise entitled Superfund Law and Procedure. He wrote a weekly column for Military.com and has published articles in numerous newspapers and periodicals, including the New York Times, Washington Post, and Yale Law Journal.
He is a graduate of Carnegie Institute of Technology, who majored in chemistry, abandoned science, and obtained a law degree from Yale University. He became a partner in a major Washington law firm. An avid wine collector and connoisseur, he has traveled extensively researching dramatic locations for his novels.
Since his graduation from Yale Law School, Allan Topol has been a Washington lawyer.
For more information, visit www.allantopol.com.
