If the bus’s scheduled stops didn’t thoroughly irritate Mike, the unscheduled stops succeeded in doing so. First, they had to stop to refill the ancient, leaky, overheated radiator with water from the canvas bags. Next, they had to change a tire. After five hours, they had covered only the first hundred miles of their journey. Mike alternated between trying to nap and filling his mind with thoughts of Cecelia and what she was doing with her family in Hong Kong.
It was well after dark when the bus finally arrived in Ciudad Juarez. Tired, hungry, and thirsty, Mike couldn’t wait until they crossed over the border into El Paso. The promise of a Coke, a hamburger, a shower, and clean sheets dominated his every thought.
The next morning, the two gringos, dressed in sport shirts, slacks, and shined shoes and carrying small canvas bags, appeared at the Greyhound bus station in El Paso. After purchasing two tickets to Dallas, they boarded the clean, luxurious bus, sat together, and spent time swapping stories about their recent escapade.
The next morning, after a night of restless sleep, the two tired and very hungry travelers found a coffee shop located across the street from Dallas’s Union Station. After asking the waitress for the table in front of the big plate-glass window, they settled down to order huevos rancheros, an extra side of patty sausage, a tall glass of freshly squeezed orange juice, and a big pot of coffee. From their vantage point, they could watch anybody entering or leaving the train station.
The express from New York had just pulled in. It wasn’t difficult for them to spot Smith and Jones among the arriving passengers. They were dressed in black pin-striped suits, white dress shirts, striped ties, and highly polished black dress shoes, and they were carrying large leather briefcases that appeared to be heavy.
Placing his hand on Juan Pablo’s arm as he started to rise, Mike said, “Why don’t we stay here for a moment and see who else might be getting off the train?”
Two more men, dressed in slacks, sport shirts, windbreakers, and heavy rubber-soled shoes were among the last to leave the station. They were clearly intent on following the black-suited lawyers.
After about fifteen minutes, Smith and Jones became noticeably irritated that they hadn’t been met at the station. Seemingly oblivious to the two men in windbreakers lurking a few yards away, watching their every move, the attorneys climbed into a waiting taxi. The men in windbreakers motioned for the next yellow cab in line.
Mike and Juan Pablo were considering their next move when what appeared to be two cowboys approached their table. One of them said, “Mike Stone? Maybe I should introduce myself. My name is Don Cerreta, better known to you as Mr. Smith. My friend is Mr. Jones.”
“Wait …” said Mike. “If you two are Smith and Jones, who are the two men dressed in dark suits who just got off the train?”
“They’re two Secret Service agents assigned to act as decoys in the event the Samson people were smart enough to figure out our next move. They’re going to their hotel to check in and wait to see what happens next.”
“Designated decoys?” said Mike. “What made you think Samson could have possibly figured out our next move? We couldn’t have been more careful in how we informed my father we needed your help.”
“Relax,” said Don. “You didn’t make any mistakes. When the Samson operatives failed to find you at Castle Dome and retrieve those files, we assumed they would anticipate your needing our assistance. Without our conversion of your information into an appropriate legal format, the information would be useless.”
“Even so, how were they able to learn which lawyers my father would select to come to Dallas?” asked Mike.
“We assumed, with all the resources available to an investigation firm as sophisticated as Samson, they wouldn’t find it difficult to discover which outside law firms the Stone City Bank uses for different kinds of cases,” said Don. “Once they identified the firm, it was only a question of waiting to determine which lawyers were selected to work on your case. All they had to do was wait for us to leave New York and follow us wherever we were going. Apparently, they failed to realize the two men they have been following are Secret Service agents.”
“Even so, aren’t you worried about your agents’ safety?” Mike asked.
Smiling, Smith said, “Oh, they’ll be all right. I doubt those two Samson operatives will try anything until you, Señor Perez, and the files appear on the scene. It’s those files they are after.”
“What if you’re wrong?” asked Mike. “What happens when we don’t show? How do you know they won’t decide to seize the two men they believe to be the two of you and hold them hostage?”
“That’s certainly a possibility,” said Don, “but I doubt very much it will be a problem. Additional Secret Service agents are waiting in both the adjacent rooms and the one directly across the hall from the room reserved for our dark-suited friends.”
Chapter 19
THE CHINA PLAN
Two weeks was a long time to spend traveling among China’s many provincial capitals. Having her father’s DC-3 at her disposal was making a long, arduous trip feel a little easier. Cecelia was also pleased to be accompanied by Ted Lee. At each stop, he would introduce her to the provincial leaders and businessmen, the men who played such prominent roles in China’s national government and economy.
Despite the many stops and the long schedule, it seemed to Cecelia there was no sense of urgency on the part of her hosts to speed things along—in fact, quite the opposite. In addition to their traditional ways of greeting people of perceived prominence, each of her hosts appeared to be intent on demonstrating their gratitude by extending their best and most formal hospitality. They spent quite a bit of time on local tours, exquisite dining, and friendly conversation. They clearly wanted to become better acquainted with the charming representative of America’s banking system. Any discussion of primary agenda items could only proceed once the traditional rituals had been fully observed.
However, once these formalities had been completed, it didn’t take long for each of her new hosts to come right to the point. “Miss Chang,” said one, “much of our gold and our cash has already been transported to Hong Kong for safekeeping. Our problem is not that of transferring our wealth to safety, it’s converting it into an equally secure, liquid, and income-producing investment. About half of our liquid wealth has been converted into gold bearer bonds and sent elsewhere for safekeeping. The remaining balance is still deposited in local vaults.
“Should the Communists succeed in occupying our province,” the provincial leader continued, “we will lose the income regularly derived from our lands, local taxes, and other sources. It’s entirely possible that we will have to rely on the income or profits generated from our exportable wealth.”
Knowing she was expected to respond, Cecelia decided to be equally direct. “If the American government is receptive to your suggestion, would you be willing to invest a substantial amount of your remaining unconverted gold into interest-bearing government-guaranteed bonds, the proceeds of which will be used to finance the development of new oil reserves by independent operating oil companies?”
“Miss Chang,” he said, “you have a saying in the United States: one hand washes the other. If we support your oil development bond program, will it be reasonable to assume we will be accorded the same respect and cooperation when the time comes to finance the growth of our local industries?”
Cecelia understood the relevance of the question and the implications of her response. “You are in reality asking two questions. First, will lenders accept the oil development bonds as alternate collateral for lending purposes? Clearly, the answer to that part of the question is yes. I assume you understand the nature of the loan request must necessarily provide supporting information required to document the economic feasibility of each request. The second question I understand you to be asking is, Is American West prepared to provide you with access to the American capital markets? I can assure you that, subject to the satisfaction of es
tablished bank lending criteria, American West will not only make its funds available for such purposes but also, if necessary, will act as a lead bank and ask our correspondent banks to join us when your demands exceed our capacity.”
On the sixth day, almost halfway through her tour, a very tired Cecelia was back on board Tai-Pan’s plane when she began to feel light-headed and weak. She told Ted Lee, and he immediately directed the pilot to adjust their course and head for Hong Kong. An ambulance was waiting to transport Cecelia to her family’s preferred hospital.
The next morning, awake, refreshed, and clearheaded, she saw her nervous father sitting in one corner of the room and Ted, looking concerned, in the other. The subject of the unfinished tour didn’t come up until Cecelia had finished her breakfast.
Moving to the end of her bed, Ted announced, “Ray Tolles and Bob Arnold are waiting outside. May I invite them to join us? I’m sure you remember meeting them here in Hong Kong. Ray Tolles is president of the Colonial Bank of Hong Kong, Arnold the president of the Bank of Shanghai.”
Once all three bankers were standing around her bed, Ted continued. “Cecelia, we are here to talk about the balance of your tour. Rather than expose you to any further harm, we want you to go home, get well, and allow us the opportunity to finish the tour for you.”
“But I feel fine,” Cecelia insisted. “I appreciate what you are trying to do, but I don’t think it will be necessary. Give me one more day’s rest and I’ll be ready to resume the tour. Besides, I’m afraid if my friends in China learn of my condition, it might affect how they feel about supporting our program.”
“Cecelia, it’s important you listen to the three of us,” said Ted. “We were concerned you’d feel this way, but Ray, Bob, and I are here to assure you we can carry on with the introduction of your program. Between the materials you have developed and what you have taught us, we feel comfortable about completing the unfinished portion of your tour. After all, everyone on whom you would be calling is a customer of one of our three banks. It’s much more important that you return a healthy woman with a complete collection of the information you’ve gathered.”
Cecelia was silent, but the bankers could tell she was not convinced.
“You’re going home,” continued Ted, “even if we have to chain you to a wheelchair. All the arrangements have been made. In a little while, two of the biggest orderlies you have ever seen are going to appear in the room, and they have strict orders to deliver you to a plane we have standing by.”
“Gentlemen, I appreciate what you are trying to do,” said Cecelia. “I think the more appropriate course of action is to give it a couple of days before we make any drastic decisions.”
Chapter 20
CLOSING THE TRAP
The Secret Service agents quickly notified Steve Connors. Early the next morning, the four of them appeared at the ranch. Concerned that their arrival might alert the two Samson operatives, they took extra care to dress so they would appear to be cattle buyers, similar to other men who regularly visited the ranch.
The four athletic-looking men—dressed in Levi’s, checked, long-sleeved cotton shirts, and cowboy boots—were being conducted to the corrals containing the cattle that were for sale.
The lead agent talked to Steve while the other three made their independent assessments of the ranch and the dome. After making certain their conversation would appear as two men haggling over price, he asked, “Is there any way you can get my men into the dome without being noticed? We want to be in position before the Samson people decide they want to rescue their buddies.”
Connors noticed that one of the other agents was looking in the direction of the lava tube, the one that was closest to the ranch compound and in clear sight.
“That entrance is not the one you want to use,” Steve said. “It’s longer and not as easy to pass through as the entrance around the other side, which is well hidden and out of sight of the two men on top of the dome. Unless you know what you’re looking for, it’s difficult to find. It’s the one we use.”
Connors went on to tell them exactly how to find the entrance, and the lead agent gave his men directions on how to carry out the operation. Before leaving, he turned back to Connors and asked, “Is there something you can do to remove the Perez family safely?”
Remaining inside, out of sight of the two Samson operatives, Señora Perez and her two sons waited until the sun had set and the moonless darkness of night had settled in before venturing out to the barn and the waiting saddled horses.
Led by one of the vaqueros, the family headed out on what during the day would have been a picturesque ride through the high Arizona desert. The guide, who was intimately familiar with the terrain, led them through the darkness, along an old and seldom-used path, until they reached a red Ford station wagon.
Brazenly, the four unsuspecting Samson operatives drove out to the ranch, crossed under the large archway, and pulled to a stop in front of the main house. Identifying themselves as federal immigration officials, they produced what appeared to be valid credentials and warrants. They entered the house with the permission of Steve, looked around, and asked a lot of questions. Convinced there was no one of interest in the main house, they extended their search to include the other buildings—the guesthouse, the barns, the bunkhouses, and even the working families’ living quarters.
Watching what was happening below them, the two Samson operatives atop the dome built a fire and began to wave. The smoke did its job, attracting the attention of their fellow agents.
“What and who is that up there?” one of them asked the foreman.
“It’s an old sanctuary that Mr. Dean’s ancestors would use to protect themselves from Indian bands and Mexican troops,” said Connors. “I have no idea who those two men are. They’re certainly none of our people. We keep the gates to all the caves locked. It’s a well-known rule that no one is allowed up there, and I have the only key.”
Showing the agents the large brass key, he continued. “A few days ago, one of my men noticed that the lock on the Mexican entrance had been pried open. He reported replacing the lock, assuming whoever had broken in had long since departed. I’ll be happy to open the door if you want to look inside.”
Motioning for the men to follow him over to a large storage closet, he reached inside and said, “You might want these.” He handed them each a flashlight and a long-handled broom.
Confused, one of the Samson operatives asked, “What do we do with these?”
“They’re for the snakes,” the foreman said as he walked away.
“For the snakes? What the hell are you talking about?”
“You’ll find out.”
The four Secret Service agents were already inside the dome. Two of them had taken up positions behind two large boulders where they could train their rifles, loaded with high-impact shells, on the outcropping of rock that hung over the narrow trail leading to the top of the dome.
The other two Secret Service agents assumed positions from which they could get clear shots at anyone trying to proceed up or down from the point below the outcropping.
The reverberating noise from the tunnel alerted the Secret Service agents that the Samson operatives had entered the old volcano. It was hard for them not to laugh as they heard the curses about the snakes and the occasional gunshots.
Hearing voices, the two Samson operatives atop the dome leaned over the edge of the opening and peered down. Anxious to leave, they started down the path to meet their fellow agents, who were beginning to cautiously make their way up the steep corkscrew trail.
The Secret Service agents waited until the two groups met, about halfway up, in an exposed part of the narrow trail. Stepping out from his hiding place, the agent in charge, with the assistance of his bullhorn, announced: “We are United States Secret Service agents. Throw down your weapons and return to the bottom of the path, and you won’t be hurt.”
Caught totally by surprise, all six Samson operatives froz
e in their attempt to figure out what was happening. Realizing they had unwittingly walked into a trap, two of them began to scramble back toward the top. Two others opened fire in the general direction of the bullhorn, and the other two retreated down the path to the protection of the rock outcropping.
The two operatives trying to reach the top of the dome were fully exposed. From the protection of his rock, the lead Secret Service agent announced his second and final warning.
Watching the men continue their effort to reach the top, the lead agent motioned to one of the sharpshooters. Hearing the single shot and watching the other man fall, the second Samson operative froze in place, dropped his weapon, and raised his hands.
One of the Secret Service agents who had the rifle with the high-impact shells took aim on the jagged rock formation just above the outcropping and fired. The concussion dislodged a surprising amount of rock, which fell on top of the two crouching men, pinning them against the inner wall.
Witnessing what had just happened, the three remaining Samson operatives lowered themselves onto their stomachs and began inching their way toward the bottom. Hidden from view by the outer edge of the trail, they managed to make their way to the last turn in the path before it straightened out on the final stretch before reaching the floor of the cave.
As they slowly rounded the final turn, they were greeted by two Secret Service agents with rifles trained directly on them. Captured in short order, they were soon joined by their dusty and bruised colleagues who had been pulled out from under the fallen rock.
The trap had been sprung. One of the Samson operatives had been killed, and five had been captured.
Within fifteen minutes, Washington had received the Secret Service’s report.
Crude Deception Page 10
