Dragonfly

FOUR

Washington, D.C.

When McAlister first arrived at the G Street apartment, David Canning was like a patch of barren earth: gray soil, ashes, broken twigs, cinders, and pebbles. The gray soil was his current uneventful career at the White House. The ashes were of his marriage. And the rest of it was the detritus of a day-to-day existence which held little excitement and no meaning. When he realized that McAlister had a new job for him, it was as if a green shoot had appeared in the barren earth. And now, a short while later, as McAlister began to explain the nature of the assignment, the shoot soared up and opened with leaves and budded and blossomed. Canning suddenly felt alive for the first time in years. “We've already alerted Peking,” McAlister said. He came back to the kitchen table and sat down across from Canning. “General Lin Shen Yang, head of their Internal Security Force, has ordered a thorough physical examination for every one of the five hundred and nine Chinese citizens who visited North America during January and February. We've told them that's the wrong approach. No physical examination is going to unmask Dragonfly. If it were that easy to defuse the operation, Olin Wilson wouldn't have bothered with it.”

“Have you given General Lin the names of the three agents we have in China?” Canning asked.

“Good Lord, no!” His blue eyes were big and round, like a pair of robin eggs. “Whether or not they're Committeemen, we can't let our men be grilled by Chinese intelligence experts. They'd find out who Dragonfly is — but they'd also learn everything worth knowing about our operations within their borders. No matter how tough an agent is, he can be broken if the interrogator uses a combination of extreme torture and drugs.”

“Of course.”

“Our entire Chinese network would be blown to pieces.”

Canning nodded agreement. “And any Chinese citizens who have been cooperating with our agents would be rounded up and imprisoned. 'Reeducated' to better serve the People's Republic.”

“Exactly. And we'd probably suffer damage to our primary networks in most of Asia. Furthermore, if one of these three men is a Committeeman, and if he knows about some of these other things I've alluded to… Well, just imagine what the Chinese could do with that sort of information.”

Rubbing one hand over his long and bony jaw, fingering the vague dimple in his chin, Canning thought for a moment and then said, “So you have to send a man to Peking to help General Lin find the Committeeman and, through him, Dragonfly.”

“Yes.”

“And I'm the man.”

“As I've said, you're the only one I can trust.”

“The Chinese are expecting me?”

“They're expecting someone. Right now, I'm the only one who knows it'll be you. They won't get your name until they absolutely have to have it. The longer I can play this close to my vest, the longer it will take The Committee to find out just how much I know and what I'm going to do about it.”

“What happens when I get to Peking? How close to the vest do I play it?”

McAlister took his pipe out of his pocket again. He didn't fill and light it this time. He just kept turning it over and over in his hands. “You'll know the names of the three agents we have in China, but you won't reveal them all at once to General Lin. Instead, you'll provide him with one name at a tune.”

“So he'll still need me.”

“Yes.”

“After I've given him a name?”

“You will accompany him when he takes the operative into custody. You will see that he brings that man directly to the United States consulate. There, with General Lin participating only as an observer, you will question our operative, using a sophisticated polygraph which is already security-sealed and on a plane en route to our consul in Peking. If the agent is not a Committeeman, if the polygraph shows that he knows nothing whatsoever about Dragonfly, then you will see that he is held under armed guard within the diplomatic compound until he can be flown back to Washington. Under no circumstances must the Chinese get their hands on him. Then you will move on to the next agent on the list. In each case, even when you discover the Committeeman, you will not permit Lin to be alone with our man, and you will see that the agent is whisked out of China on the first available flight of any United States government aircraft. If the first agent you interrogate happens to be the Committeeman, the trigger man for Dragonfly, you will not reveal any more names to General Lin, of course.”

File drawers opened and dozens of phantom secretaries moved busily back and forth across the ethereal office in Canning's mind. “The Chinese are going to go along with this? They aren't going to seize the opportunity to discover which of their own people have been passing information to us?”

“They have no choice but to handle it our way.”

“I'll be on their turf.”

“Yes, but we could always just leave them to find Dragonfly on their own — which they simply cannot do.”

“That's a bluff.”

“It is,” McAlister admitted.

“And they'll know it's a bluff.”

McAlister shook his head no. “Regardless of what the newspapers may print about it, the great detente between the United States and the People's Republic of China is quite fragile. Oh, sure, most of the Chinese people want peace. They really aren't all that imperialistic. They want open trade with us. But the great majority of the Party leaders don't trust us. Not the least bit. God knows, they have good reason. But with most government officials, the distrust has grown into paranoia. They wouldn't find it hard to believe that we'd let Dragonfly strike, because they're certain that we'd like to split their country between ourselves and the Russians.”

“They actually think we're all wild-eyed reactionaries?”

“They suspect that we are. And for most of them, suspicion is as good as proof. If he believes you're capable of committing the most despicable acts against China, General Lin won't push you too far. He'll believe your threats if you have to make them.”

“But don't threaten him lightly?”

“Yes. Diplomacy is always best.”

Canning's eyes were a crystalline shade of gray. Ordinarily they contained a sharp cold edge that most men could not meet directly. At the moment, however, his eyes were like pools of molten metal: warm, glistening, mercurial. “When do I leave?”

“Four o'clock this afternoon.”

“Straight to Peking?”

“No. You'll catch a domestic flight to Los Angeles.” McAlister took a folder of airplane tickets from an inner jacket pocket and laid it on the table. “From L.A. you'll take another flight to Tokyo. There's only a one-hour layover in Los Angeles. It's an exhausting trip. But tomorrow night you'll rest up in Tokyo. Friday morning you'll board a jet belonging to a French corporation, and that'll take you secretly to Peking.”

Canning shook his head as if he were having trouble with his hearing. “I don't understand. Why not a government plane direct to Peking?”

“For one thing, I'd have to go through the usual channels to get you a seat. Or the President could go through them for me, with no need to explain anything to anyone. But either way, The Committee would learn about it. And if they knew… Well, I'm not so sure you would ever get to Peking.”

“I can handle myself,” Canning said, not boasting at all, just stating a fact.

“I know you can. But can you handle a bomb explosion aboard your airplane while it's over the middle of the ocean, hundreds of miles from land? Remember Berlinson?”

“Your informer?”

Jagged lightning, like a dynamite blast in a bus-terminal locker, slammed across the purplish sky. The stroboscopic effect pierced the window and filled the kitchen with leaping shadows and knife-blade light. The crack