by Allan Topol
“Jimmy Palmer.”
“I’ve heard that name,” Craig couldn’t remember when.
“Anyhow, he’s forty-two years old. Graduated from Michigan where he was starting forward on their basketball team, went to the NCAA finals his senior year.”
“Okay. That’s where I heard it.”
“Then spent a year at Georgetown Law. Dropped out and joined the CIA. We had him hunting Al Qaeda operatives in Africa for two years. He got very good reviews. His father, who owned and ran a huge electronic import business in Detroit, developed cancer. Jimmy quit and went back to take over the family business. The old man died, and it took Jimmy a couple years to put it on automatic pilot. By then, he was wealthy and bored. Living in Detroit as a wealthy playboy bachelor. So he cut a deal with the agency. They’d use him from time to time for special assignments—often taking advantage of his cover from the import business. They love the idea here in Langley because he provides the type of cover they would have to spend millions to create.”
“Sounds perfect. Is he available?”
“Ready to go. I didn’t tell him the assignment. Just that it meant going to Europe for a week or so.”
Betty reached into a folder, pulled out a photo and handed it to Craig. “This was taken of Palmer a year ago.”
He did look like the wealthy playboy Betty had described. Dressed in a sport jacket, striped shirt, and Hermes loafers with big gold H’s on the front. He was a little chunky. Definitely not his basketball weight. Gray hair at the temples. A good smile.
“He’s good-looking,” Betty said. “I hope Elizabeth doesn’t fall for him.”
“Just what I need right now is humor. Palmer will work. Have him come to Washington so Elizabeth and I can brief him. Meantime, I have to get ready for a root canal.”
“Sorry. I didn’t know you were having trouble with your teeth.”
“I’m not. I have to attend a Task Force meeting.”
Beijing
President Zhou was angry at his brother, Zhou Yun, which almost never happened. The two were having dinner alone at the
President’s house. Androshka had wanted to join them but President Zhou told her “positively not.” His brother had said he had something important to discuss.
As they approached the end of dinner, Zhou Yun delivered his
message: “Ordering the humiliation of Bao Yin, the Director of Intelligence, in front of the Central Committee and his execution, was not a wise move.”
“The man was incompetent. We can’t tolerate failure among our top leaders. Certainly not in a position as important as this. I intend to take China to the next step. To lead it to world domination. We can’t surpass the United States with fools and incompetents.”
“I don’t disagree with that. And I won’t defend the man’s competence. But a summary execution like this smacks of Mao’s methods. People are starting to talk.”
“What people?” President Zhou asked, sounding enraged.
“I hear it from business leaders, my brother. We can’t afford to lose their support. They want stability, not turmoil or erratic behavior.”
“Who used those words? Who accused me of erratic behavior?”
Zhou Yun was staring at his brother. “Who isn’t important. Word is also circulating that you had Mei Ling’s son killed on his ship and also Qin Ping, who was not only on the Central Committee, but a close friend of Mei Ling’s.”
“He was feeding Mei Ling lies about me,” Zhou protested.
Shaking his head, Zhou Yun looked very unhappy. “You may not know this because you were in Bali, but I had an incredibly difficult job persuading a majority of the Central Committee to select you over Mei Ling for president. Even with all the millions I spent in payoffs.”
“That’s why I tried to have Mei Ling killed.”
Zhou Yun seemed flabbergasted. “You did. Where?”
“In Paris. I didn’t want to risk leaving her alive to lead a coup. Captain Cheng failed. He died in the attempt. The damn French have now hidden Mei Ling. It must have been Craig Page’s doing.”
“Who else knows what happened in Paris?”
“Nobody in Beijing.”
“That’s good. Keep it that way. If people find out, they may turn against you and look toward Mei Ling to lead the country. She still has a great deal of support. It will grow if your attempt to kill her became common knowledge.”
Zhou gripped the arms of his chair tightly to keep from shooting to his feet with a furious diatribe against his brother. “That’s ridiculous.” Then he clenched his teeth to keep control.
“Believe me, brother, I talk to business people. You are isolated. You spend your time with lackeys who pander to you. And with the military leaders who have a narrow focus.”
President Zhou had planned to tell his brother about the efforts he was making to obtain the Americans’ top weapon, PGS, for the Chinese military. But he was so angry at everything he’d heard that he decided against it.
Besides, he now worried that after the Paul Walters incident, Orlov might not succeed. He hadn’t heard from the Russian for days. That was not a good sign.
Zhou Yun said, “All I’m asking is that you think about what I’ve said. I only want the best for you. Believe me.”
“I need your support. I don’t want you listening to my enemies.”
“You’ll always have my support.”
His brother’s words didn’t mollify General Zhou, but there was no point prolonging the discussion. He had barely kept his rage from boiling over. He’d never been so angry.
President Zhou’s brother left and he went upstairs to the bedroom suite. Androshka was pouting. “I don’t see why I couldn’t have been included at dinner. You could have had your discussion afterwards.”
Just what he didn’t need now was whining from that Russian bitch. “Because that’s what I wanted.”
“Perhaps I should go back to Moscow.”
“To do what?” He was shouting. His rage from the last hour exploding. “Be the whore of a Russian gangster… or the stooge for that incompetent brother of yours?”
“Orlov’s a good man.” Her eyes were blazing.
“He can’t do anything right. The worst thing I ever did was getting involved with your brother. And that was all your fault.” He was pointing a finger at her, yelling “I pulled you out of the gutter and made you an Empress here. You’ve changed and I don’t like it. All you do is complain.”
She began to cry.
“Get out of my sight,” he told her with a wave of his hand.
Screaming, she ran from the room.
Now alone, Zhou poured a glass of Armagnac and sat down in a leather chair. Upset by what his brother had said, he was mulling over Zhou Yun’s words. His critics lacked vision and courage. They didn’t understand or appreciate that Zhou was planning to lead China to world dominance.
He knew how to silence his critics. All he had to do was steal the PGS technology. Unlike the Americans, China had plenty of money to construct the system immediately. He would parade the new PGS missiles through Tiananmen Square and the streets of Beijing. China would then be able to take any military action it wanted. That would be his vindication.
Androshka walked into the room dressed in a sheer pink negligee. “I put on your favorite,” she said, her face still red from crying. “I’m sorry for what I said. I’d like to make it up to you.” She walked over and unbuttoned his shirt then unzipped his pants. “Come to bed. I’ll relax you.”
“I need that.”
When they were both naked in bed, he stretched out on his front. She took some lotion and massaged his back. “Oh, that feels good. So good.”
She worked her hands down over his legs then up to his buttocks. She reached in and played with his balls, grabbing his limp penis.
He flipped over. She caressed him, then took him into her mouth. Dammit, he wanted sex more than anything, but his stalk wouldn’t stand up. Except for a couple of nights,
this is how it had been since he returned to China.
She was playing with him while sucking, but nothing happened.
He pushed her away. “You’re no good,” he said. “You can’t get me up. You’re not even good for that.”
She looked angry. “You’re blaming me? You’re the one with the problem. You can’t perform. You haven’t been good for weeks.”
“How could anyone be interested in you,” he shouted. “Somebody who does nothing but whine and complain.”
“I’m bored here,” she shouted back. “There’s nothing for me to do.”
“How about being grateful. I rescued you from your life as a whore. Killed Mikail Ivanoff before he killed you. And this is what I get from you in return.”
“I’ve done everything to please you.”
“Don’t make me laugh.”
“I should have gone back to Moscow long ago.”
“And go back to being a whore.”
“At least I’ll get sex. With you nothing. You have a problem. You should see a doctor. I’ll only stay if I can find a young Chinese man. I heard they stay hard forever. Not like you.”
That was too much for Zhou. First his brother heaped scorn on him. Now this Russian tramp insults his manhood. He’d had enough.
He reached over to the end table, opened the drawer, and pulled out a gun. She looked at him wide-eyed with astonishment. Then terror. She jumped out of bed and ran toward the open bedroom door shouting. “No, Zhou. No.”
Before she reached the door, he fired, hitting her in the center of the back. She turned around facing him and collapsed to her knees. “Please. No,” she moaned.
He fired two more time. Hitting her in the chest.
Calmly, he walked over and checked her pulse. She was dead.
He threw a blanket over her head. Then, he shouted for Liu, one of the servants whose orders were to remain close by at all times in case Zhou needed anything.
Liu ran into the room. “Yes sir,” he said.
Zhou pointed to Androshka’s bloody body. “Get her out of here. Bury the body secretly and clean the carpet. I don’t want any sign that she was ever here.”
Washington
President Treadwell couldn’t attend the Task Force meeting. But the rest of them were there when Craig arrived ten minutes late because of insane traffic on the Theodore Roosevelt Bridge coming into the city. Washington in rush-hour traffic was the worst in the country.
The others were all seated around the table. To paraphrase the movie Casablanca, he had rounded up the usual suspects. Ed Grayson from DOD, General Braddock, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, Colonel Rhodes from DIA, R.J. Hennessey from State, and George Leeds, the FBI Director, accompanied by his young assistant, Maureen. Craig couldn’t understand why Leeds needed her. His guess was that Leeds felt having her tag along wherever he went enhanced his own importance.
“I want to bring you all up to date,” Craig said, “on recent developments.”
All eyes were focused on the CIA Director.
Without PowerPoint, Craig reported that he had made the choice of Jill as a dangle. He then distributed her bio. He explained what happened in Las Vegas, omitting that Jill was in her house with guards around the clock and Elizabeth was pretending to be Jill. He told them he would be going to Monte Carlo with Jill and a CIA contract hire to try and catch whoever was trying to get their hands on PGS.
The instant Craig finished, Leeds pounced. In a surly voice he said “I can’t believe you let that Russian, Vladimir, or whoever the hell he was, leave Las Vegas. You should have arrested him.”
“I’m hoping we can move up the food chain in Monte Carlo.”
“Hoping. That’s the operative word.” Leeds voice was dripping with sarcasm. “Perhaps praying might be more accurate. And to think of how you chastised me for not arresting Angie. What you’ve done is ten times more stupid.”
Craig tried to remain calm. “I’m sorry you feel that way. The situations are not analogous.”
“And when your Russian pal doesn’t show in Monte Carlo and you’re standing around with your dick in your hand, you’ll know then that you screwed up your chance to blow this wide open.”
Craig had the same concern. Which he had no intention of sharing with members of the Task Force. Looking around, he saw troubled faces. To some extent, he thought, they no doubt shared Leeds’ misgivings.
“What’s worse,” Leeds continued in his harangue. “These people will now go underground only to surface months from now when we least expect it.”
Hennessey spoke up. “Why didn’t you bring the dangle idea to the Task Force before you launched it?”
“There wasn’t time.”
“That’s bullshit,” Leeds shot back. “Of course you had time for a brief meeting or even a conference call. You wanted to act on
your own.”
Hennessey picked it up. “The process point bothers me. President Treadwell appointed a Task Force to run the operation, responding to Paul Walters’ death. He made you Chairman, but we weren’t supposed to be bystanders. We were intended to have meaningful roles. You’ve essentially disenfranchised all of us. You’re flying solo on this.”
“Amen,” Leeds said.
Craig decided he’d better smooth this over before it got out of hand. “You make a good point, R.J. Even if there wasn’t time for a meeting, I should have convened a conference call. I’ll do better in the future. Okay?”
Hennessey was shaking his head. “I’m also troubled by the substance.
“What do you mean?”
“With all due respect, Craig, I don’t like the dangle idea.” He sounded worried. “I’ve read Jill’s bio. You’re putting the life of a single mom at risk. Someone who lost her father and husband in the service of our country. It’s just too dangerous. You’ll never be able to protect her in Monte Carlo. I propose that we cancel the operation right now.”
Craig responded. “I have already secured the assistance of Giuseppe, the Director of the EU Counterterrorism Agency, and Jacques, the head of French intelligence. You can be sure that we will protect Jill.”
“You’re dreaming,” Hennessey said. “It’s a terrible idea. “Too dangerous.”
“Jill is aware of the risks,” Craig replied.
Hennessey was looking around the room. “Do any of you share my concern?”
“I certainly do,” Leeds said.
Of course, you’re opposed, Craig thought, because it was my idea.
General Braddock spoke up. “To be honest, I am concerned about Jill Morgan. But nothing means more to the defense of our country and its military superiority than PGS. I would do just about anything to safeguard this weapons system. That includes finding out who’s trying to steal it.”
Ed Grayson was nodding. “Exactly what I was thinking. And besides Craig, you’re very experienced in the espionage business, and you’ve gotten great results over the years. If you tell us that using Jill as the dangle is the right way to go, that’s good enough for me.”
“And me,” Colonel Rhodes added.
Craig looked at Leeds and Hennessey. They had nothing further to say.
“Alright, I’ll move forward with Monte Carlo,” Craig said, wrapping up the meeting.
As Leeds left the room, he glared at Craig with a menacing look. He’s planning something, Craig thought.
Monte Carlo
On Wednesday, Orlov arrived at the airport in Nice and rented a black Mercedes for the drive to Monte Carlo.
Behind the wheel, with the sparkling blue Mediterranean on the right, he was having doubts about what he was doing. His gut told him that this whole operation was increasingly likely to turn to shit. He couldn’t define precisely why he felt that way; but he’d had enough operations go south on him over the years to feel it happening now. The sensible course was to break it off. Go back to Moscow and tell Kuznov that Zhou was too deceitful and he’d never give Kuznov what he wanted. Kuznoz wouldn’t object. The Dalton assassin
ation was a plus for Russia and Kuznov never trusted Zhou. As for Orlov, he had enough money in Swiss banks from what Sukalov had paid him and what he had skimmed to live comfortably the rest of his life. So why not do it?
Orlov was in the left lane driving 120 kilometers per hour when some maniac in a red Audi was flashing his lights from behind. Orlov moved over to the right lane.
Grimly, Orlov thought, walking away wasn’t a choice. If he did that, Zhou, who was desperate to get his hands on PGS, would kill him. Hiding from a man like Zhou with the resources at his disposal wasn’t possible. The world wasn’t large enough. Zhou would hunt him down and kill him if it was the last thing he ever did.
Besides, Zhou had Androshka and he’d kill her in a minute if Orlov abandoned the project. And Orlov loved his sister. He couldn’t let that happen.
No, skipping out wasn’t an option. He’d better forget about that and concentrate on doing the job: recruiting Jill and having her turn over the CDs for PGS.
Orlov arrived in Monte Carlo on a gorgeous day. The sun was beating down on the sea and the town with its incredible number of modern high-rise apartment buildings sprouting up from the rocks
surrounding the city, inhabited by the rich and famous who took advantage of Monaco as a tax haven. Tourists were milling around the streets. The harbor was crowded with large yachts and sailboats.
Orlov checked into the hotel Metropole in the heart of the town, across a grassy square from the casino. Then he went to work. The first thing was to find out where Jill was staying. She said she’d be flying Thursday. That meant a Friday arrival.
He called one of his former KGB colleagues in Moscow who was an expert at hacking into commercial computer systems. In thirty minutes, Orlov had Jill’s itinerary. On Thursday, she’d be leaving Washington with James Palmer, flying into Paris on Air France and connecting to Nice arriving at noon. Jill and Palmer were staying at the Hotel de Paris, the luxury watering hole adjacent to the casino.
Somehow, Orlov had to split Jill away from Palmer so he could talk to her and make his proposition. She would no doubt be in the casino, trying to win back what she’d lost in Las Vegas, but again too many cameras.
