by Allan Topol
“You’re kidding. You’re the best analyst they have.”
She shrugged. “Part of the pull back to the American shores. If we don’t care about the rest of the world, why waste so much money spying on them?”
Hearing the resignation in her voice, he felt sorry for Betty. She had made the CIA her life.
The waitress came over. They ordered cheeseburgers with fries and ice tea.
“And ketchup,” he called to the departing waitress.
“How’s Elizabeth?”
“We’re still living together in Paris.”
“The woman’s a glutton for punishment.”
“She came to the US with me. She’s up in New York this morning. She has a contract with Wellington to do a book about Muslims in Europe.”
“Good. I like her. What brings you to Washington?”
Keeping his voice down, he summarized what he knew about Musa and the Spanish Revenge. Also his discussion with Norris. When he was finished, she replied with a single word, “Asshole.”
“I guess he thinks he’s serving Dalton.”
“Yeah, well, he’s also jealous of you. While you were out in the field thwarting terrorist attacks, he was pushing papers at headquarters. He’s also resentful that you were Brewster’s first choice for the Director’s job.”
“I figured as much.”
The cheeseburgers arrived. Craig took a bite and savored it. “I miss these.”
“I assumed that you’d become a food snob. Fois gras or nothing.”
He was ready to ask for Betty’s help, but before he had a chance to open his mouth, she said softly, “I can get copies of the satellite photos for you.”
“I don’t want to get you into trouble. I know Norris is clamping down on leaks. And I was followed here.”
“I saw them outside. Two clowns from internal security in a dark blue Ford. They’re both wearing Nats baseball caps. I’ve seen them around the agency, but I’m not worried. If I have to flee the country, I assume you have a couch in your apartment in Paris.”
“We’ll give you the guest room. But let’s be serious. Norris made it clear he’ll have people following me around the clock. He’ll take action against anyone who helps me.”
She didn’t flinch. “I’m prepared to take the risk.”
“You really are a good friend.”
“Friendship is only part of it. I love this country. My father died on Okinawa. My brother in Viet Nam. If Musa and this Spanish Revenge gain traction in Europe, they’ll be even a larger threat to the United Sates than Al Qaeda, because they’re not trying to mobilize religious nuts. Rather, secular Muslims. Whether we like it or not, we’ll be drawn into the nascent struggle in Europe between Christians and Muslims. We tried to close our eyes to Hitler when he was a small thug, pretending he was only a European threat. Lot of good that did us. We were spawned in Europe. The umbilical cord was never cut. Any group that bombs Spanish trains today will hit Amtrak tomorrow. You can count on me for help. I’ll get you copies of the satellite photos.”
“You want to send them to me electronically? I have my laptop with me.”
“Too dangerous. Funny little men spend all night in the CIA computer center reading incoming and outgoing emails. It would be better if I printed hard copies at the office and slip them out in my briefcase when I go home tonight.”
He shook his head. “That won’t work. They know we had lunch. For sure, they’ll search your bag.”
“Yeah. Shame I don’t have bigger tits. With a 36 bra, I could stuff the photos inside.”
He smiled. “You can be funny.”
“Gallows humor. OK, let’s try this. I’m authorized to look at the photos. Even from a remote location. So I’ll access them from my computer at home tonight. Then print them. Where do you want me to meet you tonight for the drop?”
He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. He had to come up with something good.
“Well?” she said.
“Don’t be so impatient. I’m thinking.”
“The mills of the Gods grind exceedingly slowly.”
Finally, he had it. “Here’s what I want you to do.”
23
WASHINGTON
After watching Betty leave the diner, ready to light the cigarette in her hand as soon as she hit the parking lot, Craig called Elizabeth on her cell. “Where are you?”
“Just got off the shuttle at Reagan. I was about to call you.”
“How’d it go in New York?”
“Couldn’t have been better. Ned loved part one. He’ll have detailed notes in about a week. ‘Small stuff,’ he said. I’m mighty happy and relieved. What about you?”
He had to talk to her, but not in the hotel suite he’d taken in the Four Seasons. By now Norris would have had his men find out where Craig was staying and plant bugs. He also had to be careful what he said on the cell phone. The CIA would no doubt be listening.
“Hey listen. It’s warm outside. Perfect for a walk on the mall. Drop your bag at the Four Seasons then meet me at the Reflecting Pool at the base of the Lincoln Memorial.”
“How’d it go with Norris?”
“I totally struck out, so we might as well do the tourist thing the rest of the day.”
“Sorry to hear that. See you soon.”
Traffic was brutal. When Craig arrived, Elizabeth was already sitting on a park bench alongside the Reflecting Pool. “Let’s walk,” he said.
She fell in next to him.
“Sorry I dragged you down here. We have to talk, and I figure Norris has our suite bugged.”
“Are you serious? You’re a representative of the United States’ best allies.”
“Trust me. I know Norris. He’d love nothing better than to nail me for improperly obtaining classified information.”
“Then he’s crazy.”
“The CIA does lots of crazy things. If you look over your left shoulder, you’ll see a heavyset guy in a Nats baseball cap. He’s been following me since I left CIA headquarters.”
She glanced back. “You want to tell me what you did to gain this much attention?”
He summarized his meetings with Norris and Betty. Then told her what he wanted her to do. “But only if you’re willing.”
“Count me in,” she said without hesitation.
“You might end up spending a night in a DC jail.”
“It can’t be as bad as being a prisoner of the Taliban.”
He admired gutsy Elizabeth. Up to any challenge.
When they returned to the suite, Craig raised a finger to his lips, then searched for bugs. He found two of them. A tiny transmitter hooked to the bottom of a painting in the living room. And attached to the bedroom ceiling, a video and audio recorder transmitting to a remote location.
He left them both in place. He could use them to get around the CIA surveillance while obtaining the satellite photos. Elizabeth, who had been watching him, was shaking her head in disbelief.
At seven, they left the hotel and walked three blocks west on M Street to Citronelle for dinner. Even after living in Paris, Craig was convinced Michel Richard’s food was as good as any in the world. This evening’s meal confirmed it. As the dessert arrived, an assorted chocolate selection for Craig, and a meringue snow man for Elizabeth, he savored the last drops of the splendid Rion Vosne Romanee and felt sated from the great meal they’d had.
Only one thing marred the evening. From their table, close to the glass wall separating the kitchen from the dining room, Craig had a view of the upstairs bar. The heavyset CIA security agent in his Nats baseball cap was seated at the bar turned sideways watching Craig and Elizabeth.
“Maybe we should send him a glass of wine,” Elizabeth said. “Clarify that we know he’s here.”
“Only if you have poison in your bag that I can add.”
“I’m glad you’re on my side.”
They both ordered double espressos. They had to be alert for the long night ahead.
When t
hey finished the coffee, Craig paid the bill and whispered to her, “Show time.”
They walked back to the Four Seasons. As soon as they were in the suite, he told her loudly, “I’m going out for that meeting I told you about. Don’t wait up.”
“Are you kidding? After all that wine, I’ll be asleep before you’re in the elevator.”
Once Craig exited the hotel on M Street, he turned right, walking east, crossing the bridge marking the Georgetown border. As he expected, the blue Ford moved out from the curb, hanging back, but following. Craig wasn’t surprised the security agents in the Nats baseball caps weren’t making any effort to conceal themselves. Norris would be content with intimidating Craig to block his effort to obtain the satellite photos. But if Craig boldly decided to arrange a transfer, they’d swoop in and break it up, arresting the others involved.
After crossing the bridge, he raised his hand and hailed a cab. “14th and U,” he told the driver.
“Looking for a little night life,” the driver said.
“Yeah. Something like that.”
It amazed Craig that only a few years ago 14th and U was the center of urban decay in Washington. Now the U Street corridor was a racially mixed, hot area, jammed with bars and discos frequented by young people, that stayed open until three or four in the morning. Craig saw a bar that looked busy … The Down Home … With a sign in front that said “OPEN UNTIL 4 A.M.” He walked in, adjusted his eyes to the dim light and his ears to the blasting music from a live band, and found an empty table in the back. He ordered a Jack Daniels on the rocks and settled in.
Minutes later, through the corner of his eye, Craig watched one of the Nats caps enter through the front door, spot Craig and take a seat at the bar. Pretending not to see him, Craig checked his watch and looked around anxiously.
After a while, he checked his watch again, while glancing at the front door. He removed the Blackberry from his pocket, looked at it in dismay and returned it. Anyone watching would conclude he was waiting for someone overdue.
Fifteen minutes after Craig left the suite in the Four Seasons, Elizabeth called parking and asked the valets to bring up the car Craig had rented.
She exited the hotel driveway and turned left, driving west, then right up into the streets of Georgetown. Glancing in the rear-view mirror, she made three quick turns.
Confident she wasn’t being followed, she drove north and east. Once she reached Connecticut Avenue, she descended a winding road into Rock Creek Park. She didn’t see another car. The sliver of moon was covered by clouds. The park seemed eerie.
Craig had told her where the old Adams Mill was. Just north of the stone building she saw a picnic grove. The parking lot was deserted except for a red pickup truck. Elizabeth pulled in and flashed her lights twice. She parked close to the truck and rolled her window down, precisely as Craig had told her.
Behind the wheel, Elizabeth saw Betty puffing away on a cigarette. She snuffed it out and left the pickup holding a thin envelope. She handed it to Elizabeth. “Tell Craig: No problem at my end.”
Before Elizabeth had a chance to respond, Betty was back in the pickup, turning on the engine.
Elizabeth held her breath waiting for FBI agents to flood the area with light, then rush in and arrest both of them. The night air was in the thirties. She was trembling from the cold and fear.
Nothing happened. No FBI agents.
She watched Betty pull away.
Elizabeth knew what to do next. From the concierge, she learned of an open all night Kinko’s near DuPont Circle—ten minutes away.
With the classified material in her possession, she was feeling nervous. Her left leg was shaking. She knew she wasn’t being followed, but she was carefully watching her speed and red lights. The last thing she wanted was DC cops to stop her for a traffic violation and to search the car.
At Kinko’s, the clerk on duty behind the counter, a thin black man, was alone in the shop. As Elizabeth approached, he put down a civil-engineering textbook. “How can I help you?” he asked in a Nigerian accent.
She needed access to a computer. As long as she paid up front, he was willing to let her do the work herself, while he eagerly returned to Principles of Civil Engineering.
With her hands shaking, Elizabeth scanned the satellite photos and forwarded them to her computer in Paris.
Once the electronic transmission went though, she put the photos back into the envelope. Looking around, she spotted the restrooms in a the back. Calmly, she walked to the ladies room and locked the door. Half expecting the FBI to burst in, she tore the photos and Betty’s envelope into tiny pieces. It took three flushes before all the bits were gone.
Elizabeth breathed a sigh of relief, took a long pee and exited the restroom.
Fifteen minutes later, she was back in the hotel suite.
She poured two small bottles of cognac from the mini bar into a glass and took it into the bathroom. As she soaked in the hot tub to unwind, she sipped the amber liquid, then closed her eyes and thought about the strangeness of her life.
Growing up in a tough area of Brooklyn, she dreamed of pitching in the major leagues. The first girl player. For the New York Yankees. She got as far as the boys’ high-school team, where she won all four games they let her pitch.
Next stop for Elizabeth was Harvard on scholarship—the first in her family to go to college. Right after graduation, she married a classmate, but that only lasted a year. As soon as they got away from the idyllic campus life, she realized she hardly knew him. He wanted to pursue his own activities and didn’t care about her. He was going off to Africa to work for an NGO, and she was trying to establish a career as a journalist. They called it a starter marriage and ended it with an amicable divorce.
She thought about the relationships she had since then and before Craig. A couple of fellow journalists. Too dull. A tight end with the New York Jets. Not smart enough. A surgeon. In bed he treated her like a piece of meat on the operating table. None she wanted to commit to. And the truth was, she loved her work. She was determined never to get serious about a man again. Certainly not to get married.
Then Craig came along.
Ah, Craig. They were so good together. And not just for sex. But of course that for sure.
He shared her daring spirit. He appreciated her and respected her work. Let her thrive in journalism. He was exciting and fun to be with. He was bold and decisive. He had accomplished so much with the CIA and now with the EU. Truly, he had made a difference. She wanted a man she could regard with pride and admiration. That was Craig.
Marriage? To someone who might be killed any day? She didn’t know. Don’t even think about it, she told herself. Right now you have to concentrate on stopping Musa.
“Hey mister, we’re cleaning now,” the twenty-something, black-clad, blonde waitress in a mini skirt, said to Craig. “Your girl’s not coming. You want to take me home?”
He and the Nats baseball cap were among the six patrons still in the Down Home. Craig smiled. “I don’t think so.”
“I could give you a good time.” In case he had any doubt about what she had in mind, she touched herself in the crotch.
Craig reached into his pocket, took out two twenties and handed them to her. “Maybe another time.”
Satisfied, she left him alone. He checked his watch and Blackberry one more time. Then with a sigh of resignation, Craig got up and walked toward the bar. “I could use a ride back to the Four Seasons,” he said to the security agent in the Nats cap.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” the surprised man said.
“No harm in trying. We’re both going there.”
“Fuck off.”
“Give my regards to Norris.”
Outside, Craig waved down a passing cab.
When he walked into their suite, he saw Elizabeth in a robe, looking anxious, pacing in the bedroom.
“What happened?” she asked while she gave him a thumbs up.
“He never showed. Th
is whole trip was a waste of time.” Craig sounded dejected.
“I’m sorry.”
“I’ll book us on the early Air France flight tomorrow.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll make you forget about your troubles.”
“How are you going to do that?”
“Well, first I intend to suck your cock.” She was pointing to the recording device attached to the bedroom ceiling.
He smiled. “You’re the best.”
24
PARIS
As soon as General Zhou returned to Paris, he called Freddy Wu.
Freddy answered his cell phone. General Zhou heard voices in the background. “Can you talk?” he asked.
“To you, of course. I’m in a meeting. I’ll move out in the corridor.”
A moment later, Freddy said, “What’s up?”
He sounds so western, General Zhou thought. “We have to talk. When can you meet me?”
“I was planning to have dinner this evening at Apicius with a French movie star, but I’ll reschedule her. Tell her a business emergency popped up. Can you meet me at the restaurant at nine?”
“I’ll be there.”
On the way to dinner in the back of his car, with Captain Cheng driving, General Zhou heard the “ping … ping … ping” signaling a call from his brother.
“I have good news,” his brother said. “President Li’s colon cancer has become more aggressive. The doctors are giving him six months at most, unless he undergoes surgery, which could save his life. So far, he refuses.”
“That is good. What about your efforts to have me become the next President?”
“I’m developing support. We’re gaining momentum. People realize what you tried to do with Operation Dragon Oil. I’m feeling confident.”
General Zhou arrived at Apicius promptly at nine and walked up the three steps into the glamorous temple of haute cuisine that resembled an ornate country home. The maître d’led him to a corner table in the prime first dining room, where Freddy was sipping a drink. General Zhou ordered a Macallan. For several minutes, he let Freddy gloat about his sexual exploits with French movie stars. Once they made their dinner choices, General Zhou said softly, “I just returned from Morocco.”
