Read THE SPANISH REVENGE (Craig Page series) Online
Authors: Allan Topol
General Zhou sipped a Macallan neat while he waited impatiently for Alvarez to arrive. His apartment occupied a whole floor of a luxury building off Place de l’Alma in a fashionable part of Paris, with a view of the Eiffel Tower across the river. The television was turned on mute to CNN. He wanted to see whether the Defense Ministers issued a statement following their meeting. So far nothing.
Where is Alvarez? he wondered. The Spaniard should have been here by now. What if he changed his mind? Alvarez didn’t know that General Zhou had the incriminating recording, and he had to be thankful for the ten million Euros. No, he’ll come. He better come.
I have to know what happened at that meeting.
From one of the bedrooms he heard Androshka and Masha yakking in Russian. Other than being Mikail’s moll, he had no idea what her life had been like before she met him. From time to time she’d spin fanciful and wildly inconsistent stories—a child born in
poverty; the daughter of a Russian General; a descendant of the Czar; a child of the Gulag. He was convinced she had no idea what was real and what wasn’t, nor did he care. She gave him great sex. She never questioned what he told her. And since Mikail’s death, her gratitude was limitless.
Half an hour later, General Zhou’s cell phone rang. Not the encrypted phone he used only for communicating with Musa, but his ordinary Nokia. General Zhou answered immediately.
“My car just pulled up in front of your building,” Alvarez said.
General Zhou exhaled in relief. “Good. I’ll tell the doorman to let you come up. Top floor.”
Alvarez looked weary, his shirt and tie loosened at the neck. General Zhou thought he’d been run through the mill.
“How about a drink?” General Zhou asked. “I’m having scotch myself.”
“Pour me a double over ice.”
General Zhou fixed the drink and handed it to Alvarez, who took a long gulp.
“Tough meeting?”
“Craig Page is one of those hard-driving, aggressive Americans who want to run over everybody like a steamroller.”
Oh, oh, doesn’t sound good. “Did the Defense Ministers stand up to him?”
“We did, but it wasn’t easy. He wants us to attack a French Arab, who calls himself Musa, based in North Africa. Also send in commandos to kidnap him. Craig is a wild man. But in the end, he didn’t get his way. We’re not taking any action.”
“What’s he think Musa did?”
Alvarez took a drink before responding.
“Craig says he carried out the Spanish train bombing six months ago. According to Page, now he’s planning to poison the Vatican’s water supply.”
“Does Craig have any evidence against this Musa?”
“Not for the Vatican attack. For the Spanish train bombing, Craig claims he spoke to a woman in Marseilles, Lila, the sister of one of Musa’s gang, who knew Musa when he lived in a Muslim slum outside of Paris. According to Craig, Lila identified Musa’s voice on the recording taking credit for the train bombing.”
General Zhou concealed his alarm. “That doesn’t sound like much of a case.”
“That’s what I said.”
“Good for you.”
“The others agreed … Still it is troublesome. If Zahara gets wind of it, he might persuade the Prime Ministers to reverse the decision.”
“You won’t let that happen. Will you?”
“No. Of course not. I tell Zahara as little as possible. You were a military man. I’m sure you operated the same with the Chinese civilian leadership.”
“But of course.” General Zhou gave a short sly laugh. Two military men tightening their bond.
“What will Craig do now?” Zhou asked.
Alvarez shrugged. “He won’t quit. That’s for sure. The guy’s like a dog with a bone. And he has that woman reporter to do his bidding.”
“Elizabeth Crowder?”
“Yeah. Speaking of women, is Masha here?”
General Zhou pointed to one of the bedrooms. “She and Androshka are getting dressed. Meantime, let me put on my jacket and tie, and we’ll leave.”
“Take your time. I’ll enjoy the scotch. I have to unwind.”
“I promise you won’t think about business any more this evening. Masha won’t let you.”
General Zhou winked.
In another bedroom, he took the encrypted cell from his pocket and called Musa’s matching phone.
“What happened in the meeting?” Musa asked before General Zhou said a word.
“The good news is that the countries aren’t taking any action.”
“I’m not surprised. They can never agree on anything.”
“The bad news is that Craig Page has a witness who implicates you in the Spanish train bombing.”
“How can he possibly?”
General Zhou explained about Lila in Marseilles. For thirty seconds, Musa reeled off a string of curses.
“Has Craig taken Lila into protective custody?”
“Alvarez didn’t say anything about that. So I presume, no.”
“OK, now tell me about the missile deliveries.”
“Everything is on schedule. In a few days I’ll have precise delivery instructions, which I’ll bring to you in person. The pontoon boats will be arriving at the crack of dawn tomorrow. We will be good to go with both operations.”
“Unless that cow Lila ruins it. But I won’t let her do that.”
In a white fury, Musa pressed the power-off button on the cell phone. He couldn’t believe that Lila was threatening to unravel his entire operation. Craig Page wouldn’t quit after his rejection by the Defense Ministers. He’d use Lila to build a case and eventually get some action. Dammit… Dammit.
He picked up a green crockery water pitcher on his desk and flung it hard against the far wall, where it shattered into a myriad of pieces.
Omar came running into the office. “Is everything alright?”
“It’s all turning to shit.”
Musa explained what General Zhou had said.
“The European Defense Ministers weren’t willing to act,” Omar said. “Maybe we can tough it out.”
Musa snarled. “Craig Page will build on what he learned from Lila. We can’t tolerate that. We don’t know what else her brother told her.”
As he finished speaking, Musa recalled his last conversation with Omar about Lila. Omar had wanted to eliminate her.
“I was a damn fool,” Musa said. He pounded his fist on the desk. “I should have listened to you about Lila. Then we wouldn’t be in this mess.”
“It’s not too late. I’m willing to go to Marseilles and kill her.”
“Craig’s smart. He’ll have cops or intelligence agents protecting her.”
“I can be resourceful.”
“I need you to go to Paris to kidnap Professor Etienne at the University of Paris and take him to my house in Marbella. I was planning to tell you about that when General Zhou called.”
“Who’s Professor Etienne?”
“I had a meeting with Professor Khalid at the University in Casablanca. He told me that Etienne, a well respected medieval scholar at the University of Paris, has discovered that, on her deathbed in 1504, Queen Isabella wrote out on a parchment an edict granting to Muslims in perpetuity a swath of land in Southern Spain.” Excited, Musa was talking rapidly. “That’s huge for us. It changes everything.”
“I don’t understand.”
“We’re not acting on behalf of any government. Rather, for Muslims throughout the world. This parchment gives us a legal basis for the invasion of Southern Spain.”
“But how can we get the parchment?”
“First we have to find out where it is. Khalid didn’t know. But he told me Etienne does.”
“Now I see why you want me to kidnap Professor Etienne.”
“I have to decide which is more important. Having you eliminate Lila or kidnap Etienne.”
“I can do both,” Omar said with confidence. “Fly to Marseilles, then go to Paris.”
If Omar was captured or killed in Marseilles, Musa didn’t have
anyone else good enough to abduct the Professor. Losing Omar would be like losing his right arm.
“Don’t worry. I’ll be careful in Marseilles,” Omar said as if reading Musa’s mind.
“If her protection is too great, I want you to abort and go to Paris.”
“I’ll do that.”
“For the Paris job, get on the internet and learn everything you can about Etienne. As I said, he’s a professor of medieval history, at the University of Paris. Also, get help from the boys in Clichy.”
Omar turned to leave the office. A powerful idea popped into Musa’s head.
“Don’t go yet. I want to talk about Lila some more.”
“Sure.”
Omar sat in front of the desk.
“Sometimes,” Musa said thoughtfully, “We can turn what seems like a disastrous development into an advantage. I want to do that with Lila.”
Omar looked puzzled. “Sorry. That’s a little too mysterious for me.”
“Did you ever hear of Florinda, the beautiful young Arab woman in the Eighth Century?”
Omar shook his head. “I didn’t go to Columbia University.”
“I’ll ignore that. Anyhow, she was bathing naked in the Tagus River in Spain. The Visigoth King Rodrigo saw her and raped her. When word spread, enraged Muslim hordes crossed the Strait of Gibraltar and captured the Christians’ lands in an act of vengeance.”
“Aha. Now I understand.”
“Good. Here’s what I want you to do.”
Craig Page rarely dreamt. But tonight his dream was so vivid he might as well have been watching a video. His daughter Francesca, twenty five, his only child, his only family, was driving at night in a blinding snowstorm. Suddenly, a big rig, an eighteen wheeler, came barreling down on her from the front. The truck crashed into her car, folding it up like an accordion.
In a cold sweat, Craig shot to a sitting position, screaming. “No Francesca. No.”
That woke Elizabeth beside him in bed. She clutched Craig tightly. “What happened?”
“I had a dream. Francesca’s death. In Calgary. Just as it happened. It was so real.”
The starkly modern bedroom, all metal and glass, Elizabeth’s taste, not his, was warm, because the heat never worked right in the
old building, but he was shivering. Elizabeth turned on a light and draped a blanket around him.
“No sense trying to sleep now,” she said. “I’ll get us some Armagnac. We’ll talk.”
He followed her to the living room, took the glass she handed him, and sipped the golden liquid.
“I haven’t dreamt about her in months.”
“You know why now?”
He nodded. “Because I’m convinced General Zhou is supporting Musa. As I’ve thought about it, I’m even more persuaded.”
“I’m still not sure. Musa’s arms are Chinese, and the instructors are Chinese, but Beijing could be doing this without General Zhou.”
“You think my hatred for him is blinding me?”
“That would be understandable.”
“From all my experience, I know he’s part of this.”
“Face it, Craig. You don’t have a shred of evidence.”
“Musa’s from Paris, and I know General Zhou has been living in France since he was exiled from China. I’ve had one of my people keep tabs of his location. I have an address for him in Paris and another in the South of France. Also phone numbers.”
She looked startled. “You never told me that.”
“It’s my own little obsession, waiting for him to slip up, so I could lower the boom.”
Craig thought about his options. Calling General Zhou in for interrogation was pointless. He’d deny any involvement with Musa, and Elizabeth was right. Craig didn’t have evidence to incriminate the man.
Zhou had never become a French citizen or changed his visa to stay this long. Craig was tempted to call Jacques and have him arrange with the Interior Ministry to expel General Zhou. Put him on the first non-stop plane to Beijing. Let him face punishment in China for violating his expulsion order. That would give Craig a measure of personal revenge, but wouldn’t advance the ball with Musa.
Besides, there was an advantage to having General Zhou in Paris. It was conceivable that General Zhou could lead Craig to Musa or provide information about what Musa was planning next.
“Where does he live?” Elizabeth asked.
“In Paris, in a chic area off Place de l’Alma. He also has a house in Cap d’Antibes in the South of France.”
“The man obviously has lots of money.”
“His brother, the wealthy industrialist in Beijing, is probably funneling cash to him.”
“Why don’t I have a brother like that? Mine are all New York City cops. What are you planning to do?”
“Call Jacques and have him put a tail on General Zhou. Tap his phones. Also plant a bug in his apartment.”
“Without proof linking him to Musa, that’ll be a tough sell.”
“I have to find a way to convince Jacques.”
“Good luck.”
Craig glanced at the clock on his desk. Only 4:15. Too early to call.
He tried, but couldn’t fall back asleep. At six, he called Jacques and woke him.
The Frenchman’s initial reaction was “Impossible.”
Craig couldn’t remember how many times he’d heard that word from French people since he’d been living in Paris. He’d learned to ignore it and push on. “Why not?”
“Because you don’t have any evidence that General Zhou is involved with Musa.”
“I saw a huge quantity of Chinese arms being unloaded at the base and Chinese instructors.” Craig was raising his voice.
“That could have all been orchestrated from Beijing.”
Same reaction as Elizabeth.
“In my gut, I know he’s involved.”
“We have laws in this country. You think anyone in law enforcement who has a feeling a French citizen is guilty can authorize following him around and tapping his phone?”
Craig remembered what Elizabeth had found. “He has no rights in France.” Craig had tried to remain calm, but he was raising his voice. “General Zhou’s not a French citizen. He’s overstayed his tourist visa.”
Jacques didn’t respond. Craig took that as a good sign.
“You sound emotional,” the Frenchman finally said. “I don’t want to be drawn into a vendetta from your CIA days.”
Craig decided to level with Jacques. “General Zhou and I do have some history, but I firmly believe he’s supporting Musa.”
“Aha. That’s what I figured. I have to know about it before I make a decision.”
“Fine. I’ll tell you.”
“Not over the phone. Since you woke me, you can come here for breakfast. My wife’s visiting her mother in Annecy. I think I can make coffee. Pick up some bread at the shop on the first floor of my building.”
“You better like espresso,” Jacques said. “Because I bought this fancy Italian coffee machine for my wife for Christmas and she hasn’t let me near it. Bottom line is, I have no idea how to foam milk for cappuccino.”
Craig smiled as he handed Jacques the baguette. “Espresso is what I always drink.”
“Good. That’s what you’re getting.”
When they sat down at the kitchen table, Jacques said, “OK. What’s the history with you and General Zhou?”
“Do you have any children, Jacques?”
“My fifteen-year-old son, Pierre. He’s off in Annecy with his mother.”
“I had a daughter, Francesca.”
Talking about her was painful. Even a year and a half later.
“I didn’t know you were married.”
“Once, to a wonderful woman, Caroline.”
Craig thought about their storybook romance. Childhood sweethearts in Monessen, Pennsylvania, married a week after they both graduated from Carnegie Mellon. Francesca was born a year later in a difficult birth, leaving Caroline unable to have other children. But that didn’t matter to Craig. The three of them were so close, thriving the two years they were in Houston where he worked with the oil company and then in Washington when he started with the CIA.
“What happened to Caroline?” Jacques asked.
“She insisted on moving to Dubai with me when the CIA stationed me there, nineteen years ago. Francesca was eight at the time. I pleaded with Caroline to stay in Washington, but she was too stubborn. So the three of us moved to Dubai.
“Caroline paid for it with her life.” He shook his head. “Six years later, she became ill. I couldn’t convince her to see a doctor. By the time I got her to a hospital in Dubai, it was too late. Bacterial Meningitis. She died a few days later.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Thanks. Well, anyhow, from that point on it was just Francesca and me. We became very close, as you might imagine. In our shared grief.”
He recalled how he put his career on hold for two years, insisting that the CIA transfer him back to Langley until she finished high school in the United States and began college. Then he returned to the Middle East to become Chief of Operations.
“Francesca was a great kid. Smart. Athletic. Beautiful. I was so proud of her. She wanted to join the CIA, too, but I wouldn’t let her. So she went to Northwestern and majored in journalism. She got a job as a foreign reporter with the
New York Tribune.
Elizabeth was her boss.
“When she had been there a couple of years, she was working on a huge story. She had learned that General Zhou, then head of the Chinese armed forces, had entered into an agreement with Iran to cut off the flow of imported oil to the United States.”
“I never knew that.”
“After President Brewster convinced Chinese President Li to cancel the agreement, we kept it extremely secret. Francesca had been in Calgary, Canada interviewing General Zhou’s brother, an industrialist, who was in it up to his eyeballs. When he told General Zhou that Francesca was close to exposing the agreement, General Zhou planned her murder. Francesca was driving to Calgary airport to fly out with her story in a heavy snowstorm. General Zhou had arranged to have a big rig crash into her car and kill her.”
“Any chance it could have been an accident?”
Craig shook his head. “I talked to one of the members of the Chinese delegation who had been in Calgary. He confirmed that General Zhou was responsible. The Canadian police concluded it was a homicide. An intentional hit and run. They never located the driver.”
Craig felt tears in he eyes. “General Zhou killed my only child. My Francesca.”
Jacques didn’t say anything. He sat still and looked down at his hands while nodding his head.
“So you were right,” Craig finally said. “General Zhou and I do have some serious history. And I have to repay him for what he did … though it won’t bring Francesca back.”
“And that’s how you hooked up with Elizabeth. Through the
New York Tribune
connection?”
“Yeah. She was a close friend of Francesca, as well as her editor at the paper. Elizabeth helped me uncover General Zhou’s agreement with the Iranians and take it to Brewster.”
Jacques tore off a piece of bread and chewed it. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am for you. Truly. I had no idea. I’m with you now. I want to nail General Zhou, too. But I’m trying to figure out how to justify the request for surveillance. When I complete the paperwork and it asks me the basis, I can’t write: ‘A hope and a prayer.’”
“C’mon Jacques. He might lead us to Musa. Or we might be able
to obtain information about Musa’s next attack, which could be in France.”
“’Might’ is the operative word.”
“It’s a chance to hit pay dirt.”
“Or come up empty.”
“Look at it the other way. What do you lose if we’re wrong?”
“You think I enjoy getting hammered by the Minister?”
“You received lots of praise for thwarting the Dalton assassination in October. You owe me for that.”
Jacques sighed loudly. Craig figured he was coming around and remained silent.
“OK. I’ll do it. Hopefully, I won’t get skewered over this.”
“You won’t. I guarantee it.”
“That makes me feel better,” Jacques said glumly.