“There’s this letter I sent to one of my staff that might—”
“You send it to their office or home?”
“Home.”
Gary handed her a pad. “Write down the address.” He seemed lost in thought as she complied. “When and where’d you mail it?”
“East Manhattan, late last night.”
He thought some more and checked his watch. “Wouldn’t have been picked up until this morning at the earliest.” After another silence the smile returned. “Not a problem. We’ll interdict it at the home.”
They both felt the ship seem to shudder and begin a turn.
“How’s it going back there?” Gary called.
“Best we can do without X rays,” the doctor replied.
The lawyer spoke loud enough for both Xenos and
Valerie to hear. “We’re coming into Port Jeff now. Probably another reception committee on the dock. Everybody just stay low, in the back, and after we clear the village, we’ll talk about where we go next, okay?”
He helped Valerie back, then joined her as the doctor and his assistant moved into the front.
Xenos’s chest had been wrapped with a tight bandage and brace. A butterfly bandage held the wound above one eye closed, and the swelling was noticeably down in both. He also looked half asleep, but relieved of pain.
“You run a nice operation,” he said in a drugged voice.
Gary just smiled back professionally.
“Grazie. Il fratello si prende il suo.”
The great mouth of the boat opened and they disappeared into the traffic nightmare of a Port Jefferson Village sunset.
The busy night had worn into a hectic day for Xi. The Crisis Management Corps had analyzed everything that they knew. Conclusions had shifted, changed, been abandoned or embraced as more information was received throughout the day. Psychologists had been consulted for profiles on the new player, Xenos Filotimo; to update and factor in the recent actions of the unexpectedly unpredictable congresswoman.
Finally they were done.
In classic Chinese fashion the corps had reached three mutually exclusive conclusions on what to do.
Now, as Xi sat in his office, watching a large tank of tropical fish, he reviewed them carefully.
The LRSO was not set up to deal with short-term, immediate solutions to long-range operations. Quite the opposite. And Xi personally detested hasty decisions.
But this time he knew one had to be made, and in the next few hours at the latest.
He allowed his mind to drift with the fish as he rolled the options around his mind.
The easiest solution—endorsed by eight of the fifteen corps members—was to do nothing. Allow Canvas the
freedom to run his operation his way and not jeopardize thirty-one years of work and a near victory by unconsidered reflexive actions.
Four of the fifteen had voted for a slightly more activist response.
They advocated the execution of one of Valerie’s children as an object lesson. Although the woman was on the run, they were confident that news coverage of
a horrible traffic accident
would bring her out and bring her in. Once more the compliant eyes and ears needed to plug the holes the traitor Pei had created.
A small minority of the corps—three of the fifteen—had held out for the most radical of the possible solutions.
Their reasoning had the feel of correctness to the patient veteran of all of China’s covert wars. But its audacity and speed frightened him to the core. To say nothing of the implications of even the slightest error in the plan’s implementation.
But it felt right, and Xi couldn’t ignore that.
“We selected Apple Blossom from a cluster of seventy-five possible,” the three planners had argued. “Of this group, twenty-six remain active in the Apple Blossom chain in various critical positions in and out of the American government.”
“While Apple Blossom himself was selected as the best possible carriage, several of the others are of nearly equal qualification and pliability. Any of whom could be elevated to a position equal to Apple Blossom’s within five to ten years. This allows us a certain degree of flexibility in the boldness we may use in the current dilemma,” they’d argued.
In effect: take a calculatedly bold risk. If it fails, or begins to fail, simply remove Apple Blossom from the chain and start fresh with one of the other twenty-six. It would add time and expense to the operation, but the LRSO was designed to spend both freely. And to win the prize they were playing for, what were ten more years?
There were complications, Xi thought. Short-term, intense, potentially disastrous if things spun out faster than
Canvas could control them. But four assassinations—their planning already in place as a possible contingency—would remove all evidence of any LRSO involvement in the affair.
And the Americans would never react meaningfully without evidence.
Calmly Xi rose and began feeding his fish. Precise amounts of food carefully crushed between his thumb and index finger. He watched as they rose to the top of the tank, conditioned to the time and placement of the food, by their own natural instincts.
As he stared into the tank, even deeper into his own heart, he knew that he, too, was equally conditioned. To distrust speed, rapidly arrived-at decisions, actions that entailed more than minimal risks. It was both his strength and his weakness, and the hallmark of his administration of the Long-Range Study Organization.
He reached into his pocket for the bottle of medication he kept for a troublesome heart. Skimming up some of the residue of the tablets on one finger, he brushed a very few grains into the water. A brilliantly colored angelfish rapidly rose to the three grains that floated downward and swallowed them instantly.
Less than ten seconds later the fish convulsed and died.
Instinct, he thought as he scooped the fish out of the tank and walked back to his desk. He put the dead fish on the desk as he pressed the call button for his aide.
A moment later the man stood before him.
“On Apple Blossom,” he said softly as he stared at the fish whose instinct had caused its death. “Inform the German that he is to expedite the operation. Fruition in one month, please.”
“Sir!” The man hurried from the room to issue the order.
Xi stared at the dead fish for ten minutes before finally burying it in a nearby planter—typically taking advantage of the death to further something else… the fish’s decaying form would add strength and resiliency to the plant.
As Xi’s death from a disaster wrought by his casting instinct aside would strengthen the LRSO. They would never again risk such a precipitous act.
In either event—grand failure or spectacular success—the LRSO (and the People’s Republic beyond) would benefit from his decision.
And that was all that mattered.
It looked like it wanted to die, but kept on out of habit.
Happy’s Burgers and Playland sat alone in a brown weedy field, odd spindly-looking green things having consumed 80 percent of its former parking lot, wooden boards sealing every door and window as permanently as pennies on the eyes. But due to oddities and discrepancies in the land’s title, it was never allowed to be euthanized. Just forced to remain in annually greater decay; a frozen monument to a time that must have been better since it was in the past.
But the life within the hollow building was far from frozen.
Tables were set up in the former Nerf Pit, on which were spread maps, photographs, a telephone. Cots and trays were in the cold kitchen; including a microwave oven powered by a car battery, several ice chests, and a neat pile of cans.
But it was the dining room that was the most jarring incongruity in the place.
High-powered lamps surrounded a glistening coroner’s table that was draped with hospital-green sheets. Bloodstains browned on the floor around it, carts with surgical instruments were alongside, oxygen cylinders stood by IV stands, all connected—one way or another—to the man
that lay on the table, watched over by a blue-jeaned nurse reading
Forbes.
For two days the fugitives had rested at this improvised way station. Two days of sleep and alternating worry, panic, and relief for Valerie.
Two days of surgeries, follow-ups, and blissful unconsciousness for Xenos.
An armed man sat by the seemingly boarded front door, another sat at the rear; and Gary—constantly on the phone or checking on his charges—was everywhere. He would come and go, no explanations asked or offered. And he would return with fresh clothes, newspapers, and this morning … information.
“Valerie,” he said as they talked in the improvised operations center, “this thing is spiraling out of control, and fast.”
But she was taking such news better now, almost as though it had become the norm and nothing special to react to.
“What now?” she asked as she read a
Washington Post
article about the crisis of the week—Taiwanese nationalists had allegedly boarded a U.S. merchant vessel, robbing it, raping a female officer. The Taiwan government denied any involvement, but the evidence seemed otherwise.
As the world paid rapt attention, moving the disappearance of a congresswoman from Spanish Harlem to the back of the paper.
“Someone’s ratcheted up the pressure.” Gary referred to his hurried notes. “New York cops have received an advisory from the Secret Service to locate and detain our sleeping friend over there.” He nodded at Xenos. “They list him as a possible terrorist out to kill the president.”
He shook his head. “No one seems to know what set the Feds off on him, but everybody’s giving it a very low-key but very high priority.”
Valerie tossed the paper aside. “It just keeps getting better, she said as if she’d just tasted something unpleasant.”
Gary handed her a fax. “You have no idea.”
FBI DCHQ Nat’l Sec Desk Highest Priority
To: All Field Offices, Subdistricts, Branches, Divisions
From: The Office of the Director
Status: Extremely Urgent/Confidential—Maintain InfoSec on Need to Know strictly
Message Follows
A highly placed DEFECTOR from the Foreign Ministry of the People’s Republic of China has informed USG that he has been in regular receipt of HIGHLY CLASSIFIED DOCUMENTS and briefings re: USG policy and intelligence efforts directed at his country
.
DEFECTOR further states that primary source for this information has been CONGRESSWOMAN VALERIE ALVAREZ of New York City.
CONGRESSWOMAN ALVAREZ and her family have been missing from home and office since news of the defection reached USG D.C.
Make every effort to locate and detain ALVAREZ and any others in her presence and hold incommunicado until resources from DCHQ and Central Intelligence can arrive.
Valerie turned ghostly white, her hand began to tremble, sweat poured from her forehead. “My God,” she whispered over and over again. “My God.”
Gary took the stolen telex from her unresisting hands and poured her a shot of something from a flask in his pocket.
“Like I said, someone’s getting very serious about this.” He returned to his notes. “We’ve got heavy surveillance on all ports of exit in the city and on the island. Cops, Feds, Coast Guard covertly checking pleasure craft under the guise of safety inspections. All with our friends from Connecticut still sniffing around.”
He shook his head in a cross of amusement and desperation. “I’ve never seen anything like it. Gotta be costing a ton.”
Valerie seemed to be slowly recovering. “So what do we do now?”
For the first time since she’d met him, the lawyer seemed uncertain. He caught himself, and the trademark smile returned.
“We deal with it. I’ve made certain arrangements, set some things in motion. But essentially”—he paused and looked her in the eyes—“we wait.”
“I can t!”
“Valerie…”
The fear and panic seemed to recede as Valerie took the pad from him and began making notes.
“You don’t understand the federal bureaucracy. I do,” she said distractedly. “The longer this bullshit is allowed to go unchallenged, the more real it becomes. Second law of Washington survival.” She continued writing/thinking. “Tell a lie loud enough, long enough, and it becomes the truth.”
Gary was impressed as he saw the competent, tough, capable government official begin to emerge from shock. “What do you propose?”
“Four possibilities,” she said as she scanned her notes. “One, I call friends in the media. Tell them everything I know and get our side of the story out, and fast.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
The lawyer adopted an almost scholarly pose. “Unless you have an intimate relation that owns the
Times
, you can’t guarantee your story will get out. The government will be expecting something like that and have probably already briefed—on background—key editors and decision makers. You’d be exposing us all with no real guarantees of results.”
Valerie scratched out that idea on the pad and turned to the next. “I could go in. Turn myself in, to the director of the FBI himself if I have to. Get my statement on the official record and safely into police custody before anyone
knows what’s happened. Then I become too hot to touch and can make contact with friends in Congress who I trust.”
She looked steadily at the doubtful lawyer. “Just get me to the director, let me go into their custody, and they’ll have to keep me safe.”
Gary looked dark. “Like Oswald?”
After a confused moment Valerie shivered.
“Okay. Third option. I turn myself over to the secretary general of the United Nations and ask for asylum.” She sounded more confident now. “I know him. He’s smart, tough, and has granted
real
spies on the run refuge until he could sort out truths and lies. From there, I’d be able to safely talk to the media, to the FBI, to the world.”
Gary seemed to consider this option. “I see two problems. First, you think you know what he’ll do,” but you can’t be sure. Whoever’s behind this is going to bring massive pressure to bear when you surface.
“Second, and more troubling, I expect the FBI knows you know the secretary general. I doubt we’d get a hundred yards out of the Brooklyn tube before they’d snatch you up.”