ships. In response, China had moved forward its newest submarines and had increased fighter patrols. Already the Chinese pilots were reporting increased contacts with American and Taiwanese jets.
“Our pilots are aware of the delicacy of the situation,” Li said. “We don’t expect any offensive contact, but if the Americans attack we’ll respond. Does anyone have questions?”
For a moment, the room was silent. Then Zhang spoke. “Defense Minister, the American reaction to our announcement concerns me. Didn’t you promise that the United States wouldn’t act against us?”
“So far they’ve done nothing but talk,” Li said, as he had that morning to Cao.
“But what if that changes? The Americans have discovered that we betrayed them to North Korea. They said so at their meeting with the reporters.” Zhang was almost shouting across the table at Li, a bit of theater to show his anger. “You told us they wouldn’t find out about that. Obviously they have, thanks to that traitor Wen Shubai. One of your men, Minister Li.”
In turn, Li spoke quietly, without raising his voice. Let Zhang yell, he thought.
“Minister Zhang, I fear you’re correct. I curse Wen. He’s a treacherous snake. But the Americans can’t prove anything. Anyway, they aren’t children. They know we’ve used North Korea against them for many years. They won’t go to war over this.”
“Not this alone, but in combination with what we’ve announced with Iran—”
Li turned to Xu, the committee’s nominal leader, subtly cutting Zhang out of the discussion. “General Secretary, what do you think?”
Li knew that in asking Xu, he was taking a chance. Xu might cut him down, say that he too was worried by the American response. But Xu had smiled and nodded throughout his presentation. Li thought the old man wanted a little excitement. And maybe Xu was tired of having Zhang order him around.
Now Xu nodded. “I think… Comrade Li is correct. So far the American hegemonists have done nothing but talk. And I think it’s time we taught the Americans a lesson. It’s no longer up to them to control who has the special weapons.”
“Are you certain, General Secretary?” Zhang said. “At our breakfast this morning, you expressed concerns about whether a fight with the Americans might hurt our economy.”
Zhang had just blundered, Li thought. Like all old lions, Xu hated to be embarrassed publicly. Sure enough, Xu swiped Zhang down.
“I’ve expressed my opinion. Comrade Li has done a fine job. And trade isn’t the only measure of national pride, Comrade Zhang.”
“Thank you, General Secretary,” Li said. “Now, there’s something else. Besides help with the special weapons, the Iranians have asked us to provide delivery systems.”
“Missiles? No.” Zhang sat up in his chair. “This is madness. We have too many problems at home to invite more anger from America. Our economy is too uncertain.”
“How strange, Minister Zhang,” Li said. “All these months you’ve told us our economy is a glorious and strong wall. Did the wall fall down while none of us were looking?”
“Of course not. But—” Zhang stopped, trying to figure out how to explain the contradiction in a way that wouldn’t sound foolish.
“We don’t have to do anything. It’s enough that the Americans know that we’re considering the request, that they haven’t frightened us.”
Xu stepped in. “Minister Li, please continue your discussions with the Iranians. Let’s make sure the American hegemonists know that their ships won’t stop us from acting in the interest of the Chinese people.”
“Thank you, General Secretary.” Li smiled. Across the table, Zhang’s black eyes flashed with anger, and something else. He knew he was losing control, Li thought. Of course, desperation could make Zhang more dangerous. But it might also lead him to make mistakes, like his effort to browbeat Xu. Either way, the fear in Zhang’s eyes told Li that he was on the verge of success.
25
THE MOLE SET HIS ALARM FOR 5:15, wanting to be sure he’d make his meeting with George in plenty of time. But when he opened his eyes in the blackness, Janice snoring lightly beside him, the radio’s display told him it was 3:47 A.M. Insomnia had its advantages. Tonight he’d woken like a spring uncoiling, immediately clear- headed, though he’d been asleep three hours at most.
He ran his hand down Janice’s back, resting his fingers on her soft, fleshy ass. She turned sideways, shifted one leg forward and the other back, an unconscious invitation. Before he could wake her, he pulled his hand away. His marital duties would have to wait. She grumbled softly but didn’t wake.
In the basement he collected his Smith & Wesson, slipping the revolver into a little shoulder holster. Fortunately the morning was cool, so he could wear a windbreaker without attracting attention. He’d never fully trusted the Chinese, and part of him worried that they would shuck him now that the heat was on.
He shaved in the basement bathroom, nicking himself under his chin. The cut didn’t hurt, but blood covered his neck, matching his bloodshot eyes. He dabbed at the cut with toilet paper until finally the blood stopped flowing. Then he lifted the bathroom mirror off the wall and spun the dials on the black safe behind it until the heavy steel door clicked open.
For the last couple of weeks, he’d pulled cash out of his bank accounts, $2,000 or so a day. Now he had $45,000 in the safe, neatly organized into blocks of hundreds and twenties, along with two Rolex watches and loose diamonds in a little Tupperware box. He riffed through the cash, then stacked it in two plastic Priority Mail envelopes.
In another envelope were two passports, one American, one Canadian, both very good quality. He’d picked them up in Panama a couple of years ago. Ten thousand dollars went a long way down there. Now he flipped through them carefully, checking the laminated photographs, examining the tiny hexagonal holographs on the American passport. For the Canadian, he’d dyed his hair black and worn glasses. The dye and glasses were in the safe too.
Real as they looked, the passports wouldn’t get him into the United States, not anymore, not with the new scanners that the Department of Homeland Security was using. But they’d be good enough to get him out, to Mexico or Jamaica or some other third-world hothouse with soft borders and no visa rules. And getting out was what counted. If he left, he wouldn’t be back anytime soon.
THE MOON WAS STILL GLOWING in the sky when the mole reached Wakefield Park. As far as he could tell, he was the only creature moving. Even the deer and the raccoons were asleep. It was 4:45 A.M. The sun wouldn’t rise for another hour. Under his windbreaker, his.357 itched in its holster and he had a mad urge to pop off a couple of rounds in the dark.
He sat on a stump by the granite outcropping where he would meet George. Then he reconsidered and walked up the hill behind the rock to a stand of beech trees. He pushed between the trees and settled himself behind a low hummock of dirt. From here he could glimpse the outcropping without being seen by anyone below. If everything looked fine when George showed up, he would brush himself off, stroll down the hill, and say hi. If not… well, they’d have to find him.
As he waited, his consciousness drifted. Suddenly he was in the Washington Hilton with Evie, the stripper. She smirked at him as she propped herself upside down against the hotel room’s door, naked, spreading her legs—
He bit his lip to stay awake. 5:25. Dammit. He’d been snoozing for half an hour. Ironic that after these months of insomnia he was overwhelmingly tired, just when he most needed to be awake. He heard birds waking, the first faint chirps of the morning.
Then something else. Footsteps moving north from the park’s main entrance. He waited. The footsteps crackled closer. Then he spotted the men. Two, both Chinese. He’d never seen either one. The first was small, wearing binoculars around his neck, like some kind of birdwatcher. The second man was tall and thick, a body- guard type, wearing a sweatshirt and jeans. The mole was suddenly conscious of his pulse thumping through his head,
