Ever since he returned to his penthouse office, Ralph Mcdermid had been alternately worried and angry. As he worked on a new agreement to acquire a troubled Asian investment firm in Hong Kong, his mind returned to the
morning’s debacle with Jon Smith and the woman. He was angry with himself for allowing the woman, who might not have been Russian after all, certainly not someone looking for a business deal, to play him so easily, and at Feng Dun, for underestimating Smith.
Still, the situation was hardly lost. It was true the pair was on the loose, and Jon Smith was dangerous, but little harm had actually been done. Smith still had no way to prove the Empress carried illicit chemicals. Feng would eventually find and kill him — he had the resources, even here in Hong Kong.
These thoughts reassured him. When his phone rang, he answered with his usual well-honed civility. “Yes, Lawrence?”
“A lady, sir. On line two. She sounds rather young, and … ah … attractive.”
“A lady? And possibly attractive? Well, well.” He was expecting no calls from any “lady,” and this made him feel even more optimistic. “Put her on, Lawrence. Put her on.”
He was straightening his tie as if she could see him when her voice appeared in his ear in slightly stilted English. “You’re Ralph Mcdermid?”
“Guilty as charged, my dear. Do we know each other?”
“Perhaps. You’re chairman and CEO of the Altman Group?”
“Yes, yes. That I am.”
“Your corporation is the owner of Donk & Lapierre?”
“We’re a financial group, and we hold many companies. But what—?”
“We’ve never met, Mr. Mcdermid, but I believe we’ll soon have occasion for that. At least figuratively.”
Mcdermid felt his bad temper returning. This sounded like no woman suggesting a tryst. “If this is business, madame, you’ll need to call my office, state what that business is, and make an appointment. If your concern is with Donk & Lapierre, I suggest you call them directly. Good day to you?”
“Our business is with The Dowager Empress, Mr. Mcdermid.
Believe me, you are wise to deal with us directly.” Mcdermid’s eyebrows rose. “What?”
“The Empress is a ship, in case you’ve forgotten. A Chinese cargo vessel en route to Basra. Its cargo is, we believe, of great interest to the Americans. Possibly to the Chinese also.”
“Tell me what you want, and we might be able to benefit both of us.”
“We’re delighted you’re ready to talk of mutual benefit.” He lost his temper. “Stop speaking in riddles! You’ll have to tell me far more to convince me I need to listen. Otherwise, stop wasting my time!” Attack, as he had learned personally over the years, was often the best defense.
“The Empress sailed from Shanghai in early September for Basra. In its holds are many tons of thiodiglycol for Iraq to produce blister weapons as well as thionyl chloride to produce both blister and nerve weapons.”
The woman’s quiet voice took on a sinister edge. “Is that sufficient, Mr. Ralph Mcdermid, CEO, founder of the Altman Group?”
Mcdermid found it difficult to speak. He pressed the recording button on the phone, signaled for Lawrence, and said carefully, “Precisely whom do you represent, and what do you want?”
“We represent only ourselves. Are you ready to hear our price and terms?” Lawrence entered the office. Mcdermid gestured for him to have the call traced. At the end of his patience, he snapped, “Who the hell are you, and why shouldn’t I hang up immediately?”
“My name is Li Kuonyi, Mr. Mcdermid. My husband is Yu Yongfu. As you no doubt recall, he’s the president and chairman of Flying Dragon Enterprises. He’s an intelligent man. So intelligent and farseeing, in fact, that he saved his company’s copy of the Empress’s invoice manifest. We have it with us.”
In the CIA safe house, the exclamation burst from Jon before he could stop himself, “Holy hell!”
All eyes turned to look.
Randi said, “Jon? You know what this is about?”
“Later,” he said, waving his hand. “Quiet. Listen.”
Mcdermid’s shocked silence had ended. He’d had enough. “Your husband burned the manifest and committed suicide. A tragedy, as we say. I
don’t know what your game is, but?” “You were told my husband had killed himself to save his family on the orders of my father and those far higher politically. You were also told he burned the manifest and shot himself in the head and fell into the river. All of that’s a lie. He burned a useless paper and fired his pistol, yes. He fell into the river, yes. But the bullets in the weapon weren’t real. What Feng saw was a charade. I know, because I staged it.”
“Impossible!”
“Has the body of my husband been found?”
“Many bodies are never found in the Yangtze delta.”
“Do you know my husband’s voice, Mr. Mcdermid?”
“No.”
“Feng Dun does.”
“He isn’t here.”
“You are, of course, recording this conversation?”
There was a pause. “Yes.”
“Then listen.”
A male voice came onto the line. “I’m Yu Yongfu, Mcdermid. Tell that traitor Feng that the last time we spoke I offered him a bonus. He told me of the death of the American spy, Mondragon, on Liuchiu Island and about a second American who escaped and was seen in Shanghai. Tell him that, unfortunately for him, my wife is my business partner, and I never withhold information from her. Never. It was she who advised me to keep the manifest safe, and she’s the one who orchestrated my ‘.”
Everyone believes she’s the smarter of us in all ways, but that’s not true. I’m rather intelligent myself — after all, I convinced her to marry me.”
Then the man was gone, and the woman returned. “Play that for Feng. Now you and I need to talk business.”
“Why doesn’t your husband do the talking, madame?”
“Because he knows that in this area, I am smarter and stronger.”
Mcdermid appeared to think about that. “Or he’s dead, and you played a recording.”
“You know better than that. Still, in the end, does it matter? I have the manifest, and you want it.”
“And what do you want, Madame Li?”
“Money for a new life far from China for my children, my husband, and myself, but not such an enormous amount that it would sting you more than a mosquito bite. I’m reasonable. Two million American dollars should be good for all of us.”
“That’s it?” He let sarcasm fill his voice.
She ignored it. “We’ll need travel and identity papers, as well as an exit visa. The best papers.”
He paused, rethinking his objections. “For that I get the manifest?” “That’s what I said.”
“And if you don’t get what you want?”
“The Americans and Chinese will receive the manifest instead. I’ll arrange for it to be put into their hands myself, just as I arranged Yongfu’s ‘.’ The original will go to Washington, and a copy will be sent to Beijing.”
Mcdermid laughed. “If Yu Yongfu is truly alive, he will know that’s impossible. It can’t happen. If by some chance it did happen, he’d be dead, and so would you.”
There was no humor in the woman’s steady tones. “That’s a risk we’re willing to take. Are you willing to risk the White House and Zhongnanhai receiving the manifest and what we know of the entire Empress story?”
Again Mcdermid hesitated. Life was full of surprises, many of them unpleasant. This was such a surprise and fraught with so many dangerous repercussions that he could not afford to dismiss this woman, whoever she might be. “And how do you propose we consummate this negotiation?”
“You or your representative will bring the money and the identity papers to us. We’ll give the manifest to you in return, once we have our payment.”
Mcdermid laughed again. “You think I’m a fool, Madame Li? What guarantee do I have the manifest will
