Dragon Head

by James Houston Turner

  “In 1975.”

  “Which Gordon Lightfoot memorialized the following year in his hit song, The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald. Unlike the Edmund Fitzgerald, however, the Arthur M. Anderson survived that storm, which to this day I do not know how you knew. But it led you to look me in the eye and say, ‘Only in a storm do you appreciate the kind of ship you’re on.’ When I asked what you meant, you replied, ‘You tell me.’ I remembered staring at you for the longest time until I realized you were talking about yourself, and that your performance in the storms we’d gone through together spoke louder than any words you could have said about your character and loyalty.”

  “It usually takes a storm for us to realize what we’re made of,” said Talanov. “Storms reveal character. Which is the advantage of studying history. We look back so that we can look forward, either with confidence or concern.”

  “Exactly. Which is why I’m asking you to look back at our history so that you can look forward right now with confidence.”

  “In other words, you’re not telling who we’re meeting.”

  “No, I’m not, and I need you to trust me on this.”

  Talanov thought for a moment, then nodded.

  “By the way,” said Wilcox, “I checked, and the Arthur M. Anderson is still in operation.”

  “Then I guess you two have a lot in common. Old and rusty, but still sputtering along.”

  “Hilarious. And to think I was actually going to spring for the first round of drinks.”

  “Oh, we are way beyond drinks, my friend. We’re talking lobster for what you and that ridiculous subcommittee put me through.”

  “How about a little gratitude? If you recall, I was the only one standing up for you in there.”

  “Pugilistic, flippant, arrogant, annoying, and dangerous? You call that standing up for me?”

  “I was under oath. I couldn’t lie.”

  The two men laughed and took a sidewalk that cut through the trees of Lower Senate Park, which flanked the rear of the Russell Senate Building. In the distance was Union Station.

  “By the way, I heard from Larisa,” remarked Wilcox. “She loves her job as a nurse in Adelaide.”

  Talanov did not reply.

  “She said to give you her love.”

  Talanov did not reply.

  “She asked how you were.”

  Talanov did not reply.

  “Will you please say something?” asked Wilcox.

  “What’s there to say?” answered Talanov.

  “That maybe you’re a little interested in how she’s doing since you’re the one who got her that job?”

  “And you know why I did.”

  “I know you’re trying to convince yourself that it was the right thing to do.”

  “It was the right thing to do,” stated Talanov.

  “I disagree. Larisa should have had a say in that decision.”

  “Okay, so maybe she should have. I suck at relationships and you know it.”

  “And that’s a flimsy excuse and you know it.”

  “And you’re not the one who gets people killed, Bill. I was married once – remember? – to a woman I didn’t know how to love. And she got killed for it, and died in my arms. And so I spun out of control for a while, and then Larisa came along and I began to feel things I knew I couldn’t allow myself to feel, or she’d be the next person to die.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “No, you don’t, and I live in the same world of shadows and secrecy that you do. So don’t go trying to convince me of something you’re not even convinced of yourself. Larisa loves you. Don’t you get it?”

  Talanov stopped in the middle of First Street and looked directly at Wilcox. “Don’t you get it, Bill? It seems you don’t, so allow me to repeat myself. The mob killed my wife, and they tried killing Larisa – and her family – and they nearly killed you. Which means you, of all people, should understand what I’m talking about here. Larisa needs to be someplace far away. It’s the only chance she’ll ever have at a normal life.”

  “It’s a decision she should have made.”

  “I couldn’t take that chance.”

  “You really can be a jerk.”

  “No argument there. Now, come on. Let’s go meet whoever it is you won’t tell me who we’re meeting.”

  CHAPTER 8

  Dragon Head paused at the top of the escalator and a hushed murmur rippled through the crowd of people waiting on the platform, which was a long, concrete island between two sets of tracks. Flanking him were Straw Sandal and the Shí bèi fighters. Straw Sandal took half of the fighters and began combing her way south. Dragon Head took the other half and began working his way north.

  North toward him, thought Wu Chee Ming as a wave of panic swept over him. How Dragon Head managed to find him, he had no idea, but he could not think about that now. The only thing that mattered now was staying alive.

  He had, at most, a minute before he was seen. His only chance was getting off this concrete island. Across the tracks to his left was an impossibly high wall. Across the tracks to his right, however, was an embankment topped with a much smaller wall. If he timed things just right, say, at the approach of a northbound train, he would be shielded from pursuit. That would allow him enough time to climb the embankment, scale the wall and steal a bicycle, which would give him an advantage over anyone chasing him on foot.

  Wu Chee Ming’s heart began to race. This just might work.

  An announcement sounded against the metallic keening of an approaching train and Wu Chee Ming stepped to the edge of the platform as the northbound train emerged from the tunnel and began to slow. With adrenalin pumping and hopes soaring, he heard the train screech to a stop. He then heard the hiss of its doors as hundreds of passengers inched slowly forward. The nose of the train was directly in front of him now, and through the large glass windshield, he could see the bored conductor.

  Suddenly, from his left came the rhythmic clacking of an express train as it emerged from the other tunnel. It was speeding south, toward the Hung Hom terminal. Wu Chee Ming instinctively glanced toward the noise, and what he saw made the blood freeze in his veins.

  On the northern tip of the platform was Xin Li. Taking long, powerful strides, she was headed straight for him, her eyes fixed on him like a panther moving in for the kill. He turned to run just as Dragon Head pushed his way through the crowd and saw him from the other direction.

  He was cut off. His life was over. And not in a peaceful way, either. Dragon Head would make him talk before ending his life in some horrific, unimaginable way.

  A horn blast from the approaching express train startled him, and in a moment of clarity, he saw his ultimate escape. And with a quick glance toward the open sky above, he turned and ran.

  “No!” Xin Li shrieked when she saw Wu Chee Ming dive in front of the train.

  With a loud thump, Wu Chee Ming’s body bounced off the locomotive before being run over and crushed. Brakes began screeching and passengers began shouting and pointing. Many used their cell phones to record Wu Chee Ming’s body being dragged beneath the undercarriage. Clothing and debris from his suitcase swirled along in the wind.

  Xin Li ran to the edge of the platform and stared angrily at the scene. She had calculated every option but this.

  Dragon Head stepped to her side. “I presume you know what this means,” he stated rather than asked.

  Xin Li’s face hardened.

  “Are you sure you can handle it?” asked Dragon Head.

  Xin Li turned to leave but Dragon Head seized her by the arm.

  “Alive, do you understand? I want Talanov alive.”

  Xin Li tried twisting away but Dragon Head held firm.

  “Do you understand?” Dragon Head repeated emphatically.

  “I understand,” Xin Li snarled bitterly. “But he is mine once this is over.” She glared at Dragon Head for a long moment before he let go and she stormed away.
/>
  “Go with her,” Dragon Head told his daughter.

  Straw Sandal nodded and followed.

  By now, the train had stopped and station officials were rushing to the site of the trapped body. Sirens could be heard in the distance, and loudspeakers were warning spectators to stay clear of the tracks. Other announcements advised people that all southbound trains were being diverted.

  When Dragon Head turned to leave, he saw a man in a sports jacket watching him from across the platform. Shorter and heavier than Dragon Head, the man, whose name was Chao Lin, had a full head of peppered gray hair that hung down over his forehead.

  The man turned to leave but Dragon Head blocked his exit.

  “What are you doing here, Chao?” Dragon Head demanded.

  Six of Chao’s men surrounded Dragon Head just as the Shí bèi fighters surrounded them all.

  Chao glanced around. With odds clearly not in his favor, he bowed deferentially to Dragon Head, then pushed his way through the circle of Shí bèi fighters and vanished down the escalator.

  CHAPTER 9

  Wilcox led the way across a parking lot full of cars toward the green canvas awning of the Monocle Restaurant. The iconic Washington, DC watering hole was actually a conjoined pair of two-story cream-colored brick buildings, with flat roofs, green shutters, and French windows on pop-out extensions. Behind the Monocle was a Cadillac SUV. It was silver and was parked in a reserved space beside the back door.

  Someone important, thought Talanov, noting the laminated permit hanging from its rearview mirror.

  Talanov followed Wilcox inside. On their right was a polished bar with a brass foot rail, where groups of government workers were unwinding from a long day. To their left along the wall was a row of small tables, most of which were occupied by young bureaucrats sipping drinks and working their phones. At the last table was a young Chinese woman sipping from a glass of white wine. She had a fitted turquoise top and a bulging Hermès handbag in the chair across from her. Talanov would not have taken any special notice were it not for the look she gave him. Most glances were casual and brief. Hers was different. A flash of recognition. A stiffening of her posture. A quick grab of her cell phone, as if checking for messages.

  With a thoughtful frown, Talanov followed Wilcox into one of the Monocle’s two dining rooms. It was paneled in blond oak and was buzzing with quiet conversation, as was an adjoining dining room off to the right, which was separated from the first dining room by a waist-high pony wall. When Wilcox and Talanov passed through the first dining room, many people looked but paid no special attention.

  The second dining room had a brothel-like decor, with framed photos of celebrities and politicians on the salmon-colored walls. Large inset panels were covered with patterned yellow-and-orange wallpaper. The carpet, a similar color, both clashed with and complemented the rest of the decor. White tablecloths added elegance.

  In the back corner of the room was a small table where Diane Gustaves was seated. She had changed out of her yellow brocade and was now wearing a slack suit and jacket. She stood when Talanov and Wilcox approached.

  “Congresswoman Gustaves?” said Talanov, surprised. “You’re the reason for this top-secret meeting?”

  “One can’t be too careful with someone so pugilistic and dangerous,” Gustaves replied with a smile. “And, please, call me Diane. I believe you know Grady and John?”

  Talanov glanced at the neighboring table. Seated there were two of the big guys who had guarded him earlier. Talanov nodded but they remained deadpan.

  “I’m surprised you beat us here,” Talanov remarked.

  “I move quickly when tequila’s involved.”

  Talanov laughed.

  “Speaking of which,” Gustaves said, gesturing for him and Wilcox to sit, “I took the liberty of ordering the first round.”

  Their waiter, Henry, approached with a silver tray. On it was a bucket of ice, a bottle of red wine, a bottle of Don Julio tequila, a bottle of frosty Chopin vodka, several glasses, and two small bowls. One bowl contained slices of lime; the other contained ribbons of orange zest. After placing the items on the table, Henry said, “Shall I pour for you, ma’am?”

  “I’ve got it, Henry, thank you.”

  Henry bowed and left the table.

  Gustaves handed the wine to Wilcox. When he looked at the label, his mouth fell open. It was a bottle of La Tâche, from the Burgundy region of France, which was Wilcox’s favorite wine from his favorite wine region in his favorite part of the world. La Tâche had also been Wilcox’s codename while he was working undercover for the CIA in the American Embassy in London.

  “Diane, I don’t know what to say,” Wilcox said, knowing the premium price tag of such a label.

  “You deserve it, Bill,” Gustaves said. She watched Wilcox gaze at the bottle for a long moment before filling his glass one-third full, which he then swirled several times before reverently savoring its bouquet.

  Gustaves then smiled at Talanov. “Colonel, I understand you prefer your vodka at fourteen degrees, Celsius, correct?”

  Talanov replied with a nod that said he was both impressed and guarded about where this was leading.

  Gustaves poured three fingers of Chopin into a tumbler and handed it to Talanov. She then poured herself three fingers of tequila and held up her glass in a toast. “To the future,” she said.

  While taking a sip of his drink, Talanov noticed Turquoise Girl, as he found himself calling the young woman in the fitted turquoise top, walking quickly to the rear corner of the restaurant, where the bathrooms were located. Her stride was tense and she was clutching the shoulder straps of her bulging handbag tightly. Before entering the bathroom, she glanced his way.

  Talanov thought about her for a moment. Had she been in yesterday’s hearing? He didn’t remember seeing her, not that he would have noticed, with his attention on the committee members who had been grilling him. He thought about the glance she had given him just now, which, when he thought about it, was not so much aimed at him as—

  “So, Alex, what do you think?” Gustaves asked.

  Talanov looked at Gustaves, then back at Turquoise Girl, who was hurrying through the dining room toward the bar, but without her handbag.

  Who leaves a Hermès handbag in the bathroom?

  “Excuse me,” said Talanov, standing.

  And with Gustaves and Wilcox watching curiously, Talanov hurried up the steps and through the dining room in time to see Turquoise Girl drop some cash on her table and make a beeline toward the front door.

  Talanov ran to the rear corner of the restaurant and into the women’s bathroom, where he made a quick search of the toilet stalls. He then looked inside a large metal trashcan with a swing-top lid.

  And that is where he found what he hoped he would not find.

  CHAPTER 10

  The bomb inside the handbag was two bricks of C-4 explosive duct-taped to a cell phone. Inserted into each brick were six rod-like blasting caps. All of them were connected by wires to an electronic motherboard that had been wired to the phone. C-4 did not require that many blasting caps, so it was obvious that some were real and some were fakes. But which? Other wires ran from the C-4 to a small metal box. Was the box a battery pack? A movement detonator? A timer? The whole assembly was a dizzying array of wires so that no amateur would know what to do.

  Running out of the bathroom, Talanov ran to Gustaves and Wilcox.

  “Diane, you need to get out of here,” said Talanov. “There’s a bomb in the women’s bathroom.” To Wilcox: “Call the bomb squad and clear the restaurant.” To Grady: “Give me your gun. I saw who planted that bomb and I’ve got to stop her from detonating it.”

  “That’s a job for the Capitol Police.”

  “We’ve got a minute at most before she stops to dial a number that will blow this place to hell. Now, give me your gun!”

  “He can’t; take mine,” Gustaves said, retrieving a Glock 19 from her handbag. “Don’t use it unless you ha
ve to,” she said, handing Talanov the gun. “And I mean that.”

  “When you’re clear of this place, call the Capitol Police. Tell them who I am and that I’m in pursuit of a young female. Chinese, black hair, turquoise top.”

  With Grady leading the way, John rushed Gustaves out the back door while Wilcox began shouting for everyone to move toward the exits.

  After pushing his way outside, Talanov began scanning the crowd. No Turquoise Girl. He then ran into the parking lot, where people were running in all directions. No Turquoise Girl.

  To his left, he saw Gustaves climb into the backseat of her silver SUV, which had been parked near the rear of the restaurant. John shut the door behind her, then jumped into the front seat and the SUV squealed away.

  With Gustaves out of danger, Talanov continued scanning the parking lot. Where was Turquoise Girl? It was possible she had changed tops to avoid being seen, and she knew she had been seen when he and Wilcox had entered the Monocle. She also knew she had been seen entering and leaving the bathroom, so a change of tops made sense. Still, a pretty woman changing clothes in public would attract attention and he was not sure she would take the risk. She had to be hiding somewhere.

  Time to change perspectives, thought Talanov. He leaped up onto the hood of a car, then up onto its roof, where he saw her kneeling between a pickup and a sedan, looking in the direction of Gustaves and her SUV.

  And she was smiling.

  Talanov glanced in the direction of the SUV, then back at Turquoise Girl, who began dialing the cell phone in her hand.

  My God, there’s a second bomb.

  “Put it down!” shouted Talanov, taking aim with the Glock.

  Turquoise Girl spun toward him and froze. Several seconds passed and Talanov wondered what she would do. Would she surrender? Would she attempt to finish dialing? How many numbers had she dialed? She was no more than twenty feet away, and if she tried dialing, he could easily put a bullet in her head. He could see her deliberating.