The thin, knowing smile returned. ‘You wish to meet with your uncle before the exchange is made.’
‘Yes,’ Moy replied with a nod.
‘This request was anticipated. Prior to your next data transfer with the American government, you will contact me with the date and the access codes. In return, I will instruct you where to go, to meet your uncle, on the day of the exchange. You will both be held until the cipher information is acquired. If my clients are not successful in acquiring the information they desire, you both will be killed. When you call, give yourself plenty of time; you will be meeting your uncle outside this country.’
‘Not in the PRC, I hope?’ Moy asked.
‘No, for you to travel there would rouse the suspicions of the American government.’ Kang deliberately took a sip of his tea, leaving Moy waiting uncomfortably. ‘You will meet your uncle in a country that shares unrestricted travel with the United States. At that time, you will also bring a cashier’s check in the amount of one hundred thousand dollars, my fee for brokering this transaction. When U.S. Immigration asks how your uncle obtained an exit visa from the PRC, you can explain that you greased a few palms. I am certain that you will have no trouble getting Moy Huian admitted into the United States on humanitarian grounds.’
Kang reached into the breast pocket of his blazer and pulled out a business card, which he handed to Moy. ‘The phone number on the back is where you can reach me. We will not meet again until the day of the exchange. Follow these instructions fully and we will have no problems. Are you clear on the conditions of this transaction, Mr Moy?’
‘I understand you perfectly,’ Moy said, thinking to himself, you son of a bitch.
Kang stood up and straightened his double-breasted blazer. ‘Then let us inform the others of the good news. Moy Huian will soon be reunited with his family.’
Moy followed Deng out from the study, choking down the foul taste that this meeting left in his mouth. Long ago, Moy had vowed never to work with Beijing until the Communists were thrown out of power. I won’t trade freely with your masters, Deng Cho-Nam, Moy thought while smiling politely, and I most certainly won’t commit treason for them.
LANGLEY, VIRGINIA
Jackson Barnett was working late again, one of the many tireless servants of the state. Two of the former Soviet republics seemed poised to go to war with each other and the White House needed answers, not that they’d read any of the previous briefings he’d sent over the past few months, when this situation first appeared on the horizon. None of that mattered, though, and the information Barnett’s people assembled would aid the President in deciding how to deal with the crisis. The world was a different place from ten years ago, but intelligence work was still the same.
Sally Kirsch had left him with a stack of intelligence assessments and a fresh pot of coffee, knowing that he would be putting in another long day. Barnett had just kicked his shoes off and loosened his tie when the phone rang. The double ring told him it was a direct call on his private line. ‘Barnett here,’ he answered, cradling the receiver against his shoulder as he sat down.
‘Jackson, it’s Phillip Moy. We need to talk.’
The strained sound in Moy’s voice told Barnett that this wasn’t a social call. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘I just received a visit from a man who claimed that he could get my uncle out of China.’
‘Another charlatan no doubt.’
‘I don’t think so. He brought a letter and a recent photograph that my father positively identified. This material came out of a Chinese labor camp. He also delivered Beijing’s conditions for the release. Are you sitting down?’
Barnett listened, taking notes as Moy described the scene and answered Barnett’s more detailed questions. Barnett knew the story of Moy’s father, and the brother who had stayed behind.
‘Did he ever come out and admit that he was Chinese Intelligence?’
‘No, he seemed to be trying very hard to distance himself from the PRC government. He tried to leave me with the impression that he was nothing more than a well-connected broker who could reunite my family for a fee. At the conclusion of our meeting, he gave his card and a number to call once the next file transfer is scheduled. He used the name Deng Cho-Nam.’
‘Phillip, could you repeat that name for me again?’
‘Certainly, Deng Cho-Nam. You’ve heard of this man?’
‘I’m afraid I have. I received word recently that a Chinese agent was traveling to the United States under the alias of Deng Cho-Nam. The FBI lost him up in New York, and we had no idea where he went. It looks like he went to visit you.’
29
April 19
The Northwest flight into Frankfurt landed in the early morning, which meant that it was still sometime the previous night by Cal Mosley’s watch, but months of following leads had finally paid off. Cross-referencing the sketchy records from the dive ship with Dominican Immigration’s tourist data, Mosley finally located the woman who dove with the Cole impostor.
Petra Spanhaur taught art history at a secondary school just outside of Frankfurt. She lived in a modest apartment with her husband and a pair of cats. They welcomed Mosley into their home, though they seemed wary of him. Mosley took a chair while Spanhaur and her husband sat on the couch.
‘Thank you for seeing me on such short notice,’ Mosley said in fluent German.
‘It was no trouble, Herr Mosley. How can I help you in your investigation?’
Mosley could see from the look on her face that the incident still troubled her. ‘As I said on the phone, I’m investigating the death of Michael Cole. We have reason to believe that it was not accidental.’
‘You don’t think my wife killed this man?’ Spanhaur’’s husband objected.
‘Absolutely not,’ Mosley replied. ‘No one believes that your wife had any responsibility for this man’s death. She is, however, a witness to what happened. Frau Spanhaur, could you please describe to me the events surrounding that day?’
‘Ja. Last Christmas, my husband and I were on holiday in the Dominican Republic. It was beautiful.’
As Spanhaur began her narrative, Mosley could tell that she’d relived it every day since. He felt sympathy for the woman, who was still visibly shaken by her experience. Holding her husband’s hand, she spoke of the wonderful time they had had in the Caribbean.
‘On the night before the dive, my husband ate something that made him quite ill. The next morning, he felt better, but not well enough to dive with me. I had just earned my dive card and he encouraged me to go on without him. The dive master was very helpful, and he paired me up with Herr Cole. The reef was spectacular-I had never seen such colors before, and the light was indescribable. I was having a wonderful time, but then I noticed that Cole was acting strange.’
‘How so?’ Mosley asked.
‘He was swimming erratically, bumping into things, turning abruptly for no reason. When I tried to assist him, he lashed out at me. The look in his eyes was crazy-he was a madman. He tore my mask off, and that was the last I saw of him. I was unable to find my mask, so I made a controlled ascent to the surface. I told the dive master what had happened, and the rest of the divers searched for Cole, but they never found the poor man.’
‘My wife did everything she could. For a novice diver, she performed admirably. I have been diving for many years, and I have seen what she’s described happen to other divers. It could have been nitrogen narcosis or drugs or any number of things.’
‘Could you describe the man you dove with?’
‘I can do better than that, I have a picture.’ Spanhaur retrieved a photo album from the bookshelf and flipped through the last few pages. ‘Here it is. My husband took this just before we dove.’
