They don’t have this job.” “No,” Klein said, chewing on the mouthpiece of his empty pipe. “They don’t. You said something’s happened.” He removed the pipe long enough to drink.
Castilla took a defiant gulp. “The Chinese have upped the ante. This time they’ve sent force, not words — one of their submarines to chase the Crowe.”
Klein’s eyebrows rose above his wire-rimmed glasses. “But they haven’t attacked?”
“No, and neither have we.”
Klein took out his pipe and turned it in his hands, ignoring the coffee.
“Where did they get the sub, Mr. President? Where did it come from so quickly? Not the Taiwan Strait, or Hong Kong, or even Hainan Island.
That’s too much distance from the Crowe. The sub had to have been on station in the Indian Ocean, more likely the Arabian Sea itself.”
The president straightened. He swore. “You’re right. They must have subs watching the Fifth Fleet.”
Klein nodded. “And now, one’s been sent to let us know someone in Beijing wants to crank up the confrontation, escalate the threat.”
“Agreed. My take is that it’s a power struggle inside the walls of Zhongnhai.”
“Makes sense. But is it the whole Standing Committee? Maybe even the Politburo itself?”
“It’d help to know.”
“Nothing any Covert-One associate or asset has turned up indicates it,” Klein said. “Of course, the Chinese are keeping the situation under wraps, just as we are. There hasn’t been a mention of the Empress by their press.”
“So is your advice to prod, watch, and wait? Continue our threat and pretend theirs isn’t there?”
“For now, yes. Later, you’ll have the proof, or you’ll have my resignation.”
The president’s eyes grew icy. “That’s not good enough, Fred. What progress have your people made?”
“Sorry, Mr. President. Must be getting old. This one’s wearing me down.
Too many intangibles.” Klein crossed his arms, the stem of his pipe sticking out from his fist. “First, we’re certain the Belgian co-owner of the Empress knows there’s contraband in the cargo. Second and probably even more important” —he paused to make certain the president saw that he saw how important this was—“the Belgian company is wholly owned by the Altman Group. It looks as if their chair and CEO, Ralph Mcdermid, might have his fingers stuck deep into the affair.”
“Ralph Mcdermid again?” The president’s voice rose. “Mcdermid isn’t just chair and CEO, he is the Altman Group. He founded it, built it into one of the largest financial empires the earth’s seen, and he did it in less than two decades. My God, he’s got one of my predecessors working for him plus cabinet secretaries from the last four administrations, former FBI and CIA directors, congressmen, senators, and a few ex-governors.”
Klein knew all of this. He controlled his patience until the president finished. “Yes, sir. You said ‘.’ Is Mcdermid involved in something else?”
The president took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose as if fighting off a headache. “The White House leaks.” He repeated Arlene Debo’s report about the secret meeting in Manila between Mcdermid and Secretary of the Army Jasper Kott. “You think there may be a connection between the leaks and the Empress situation?”
“We’d better find out. What I don’t understand is why Mcdermid would involve himself in something like the Empress’s cargo. He’s making a fortune already. His company’s filthy rich. So why risk so much for one shipment of chemicals? He’ll make an obscene profit, but that’s nothing new. It makes damn little sense to me.”
“One load of contraband hardly seems worth it,” the president agreed.
“Maybe Mcdermid’s been conducting various illegal operations for a while. He could be one of those types who’s always looking for the next thrill, and the more outside the law he goes, the higher the emotional payoff.”
“Or maybe some of his companies are in trouble, and he’s figured out a way to ease debt by backing illegal ventures like the Empress. He sure won’t have to pay taxes on it.”
They sat in worried silence, trying to see an answer. Finally, the president decided, “I don’t recall any company that approaches Altman’s success in the wholesale conversion of former high government rank to gigantic profits. But then, business and politics have always gone hand in hand. Throw in the military, and doesn’t that remind you of Dwight Eisenhower’s warning about allowing the military-industrial complex to grow too influential, that there was a danger it’d run amok?”
“It reminds me, yes, and not happily,” Klein agreed. “A former Altman employee told my researcher that the company’s code is: Mix business and politics correctly, and they pay exceptionally well”
“Sounds like an understatement. But maybe that’s the answer. That could be what Mcdermid’s up to. For him, there’s no ceiling to wealth. He can never have enough. He’ll make a quick financial killing on the Empress and go looking for his next conquest.”
Randi Russell told the taxi driver to circle the block, and when they again drew abreast of the entrance to the Conrad International, she told the driver in fluent Mandarin, “Stop here.” Jon had been looking all around casually, as if checking for a tail or stakeout. As she watched, he turned on his heel, apparently satisfied he was clean, and walked into the hotel’s glittering lobby. She continued to survey the area until she spotted the Chinese street vendor standing behind his cart in a shadow, a cell phone in his hands, speaking urgently as he, too, observed Jon disappear. Just what she had suspected. Mcdermid’s troops were continuing to surveille Jon. She did not believe Jon’s story for a second, but at least he was out of her way for the night. As she told the driver to take her back to the building that housed the Altman offices, she dialed her cell. “Savage,” the voice answered. “Did you pick up Mcdermid?” she asked, her hand cupped around the cell’s mouthpiece. “Sure did. Tailed him around the daisy chain and right back to his office building. He’s gone up to the penthouse.”
“Is our team in place?”
“Affirmative.”
“I’m on my way.” When they reached it, she paid the driver and walked up to a black Buick sedan, carrying her conical hat. She opened the door and dropped into the front passenger seat. “I’ll take it from here, Allan. You get indoors and watch for Mcdermid’s chief shark. When you see him, tail him.” Short and heavyset, Allan Savage was no one’s image of a CIA agent, but that was to his advantage. He nodded, climbed out of the car, and crossed the traffic to the high-rise. Randi slid over and settled behind the wheel to wait. Her phone beeped. It was Allan.
“Already?” she asked. “Mcdermid must’ve forgotten something. He’s on his way back out.” Randi clicked off and watched as the CEO hurried from the building. As he arrived at the curb, so did his black limousine. The chauffeur ran around to open the rear door. As the limo drove away, Randi made sure she and the Buick were close behind.
The limo wound up into the dark hills toward Victoria Peak. Here the houses were large and impressive, and the city’s lights spread out below in a shimmering minuet across the great harbor, the outlying islands, and the dazzling Kowloon peninsula. The glitter dimmed farther north in the New Territories but continued even into mainland China, where Guangzhou glowed on the horizon.
The limo pulled into the driveway of an older, Chinese-style mansion that overlooked Repulse Bay. As Randi watched, Ralph Mcdermid dismissed the limo, and a slim young woman ran out of the mansion to greet him.
Arm in arm, they strolled into the house.
Randi clicked on her cell phone. “Looks as if he’s gone to roost. If we’re lucky, we’ve got a couple of hours. Put Berger on. Ham, you have the equipment?”
“In our hot little black bags,” electronics expert Hamilton Berger said cheerfully. “As soon as the honcho assistant trots away, we’re in the phone-bug-planting business.”
“Be careful. We’re not dealing with some dumb embassy this time.”
“He’ll never find a thing.”
“Good. I’ll hang on to Mcdermid. He’s a busy boy.”
“Call you when the bug’s in, and we’re out.”
“Can’t wait.” Randi ended the call and took a thoroughly American turkey-and-cheese sandwich from inside her clothes. As shadows did a ballet of lust on the other side of Mcdermid’s drawn drapes, she ate and wondered what Jon really wanted from Mcdermid.
