Deep Six

levels.

“It may be a heavy conspiracy,” Emmett said finally, his tone vague. “We can’t take the chance the Secret Service is wrong.”

“They’ve been wrong before,” Miller said.

“Not on this one.”

Miller gave Emmett a curious look. “You’ve given out damned little information to work with. Why the great secrecy?”

Emmett didn’t answer, so Miller dropped the subject. He passed three file folders across the desk. “Here’s the latest data on PLO kidnapping operations, the Mexican Zapata Brigade’s hostage activities, and one I’m in the dark about.”

Emmett gave him a cold stare. “Can you be more explicit?”

“I doubt if there’s a connection, but since they acted strange—”

“Who are you talking about?” Emmett demanded, picking up the file and opening the cover.

“A Soviet representative to the United Nations, name of Aleksei Lugovoy—”

“A prominent psychologist,” Emmett noted as he read.

“Yes, he and several of his staff members on the World Health Assembly have gone missing.”

Emmett looked up. “We’ve lost them?”

Miller nodded. “Our United Nations surveillance agents report that the Russians left the building Friday night—”

“This is only Saturday morning,” Emmett interrupted. “You’re talking a few hours ago. What’s so suspicious about that?”

“They went to great lengths to shake our shadows. The special agent in charge of the New York bureau checked it out and discovered none of the Russians returned to their apartments or hotels. Collectively they dropped from sight.”

“Anything on Lugovoy?”

“All indications are he’s straight. He appears to steer clear of the Soviet mission’s KGB agents.”

“And his staff?”

“None of them have been observed engaging in espionage activities either.”

Emmett looked thoughtful for several moments. Ordinarily he might have brushed the report aside or at most ordered a routine follow-up. But he had a nagging doubt. The disappearance of the President and Lugovoy on the same night could be a mere coincidence. “I’d like your opinion, Don,” he said at last.

“Hard to second-guess this one,” Miller replied. “They may all show up at the United Nations on Monday as though nothing had happened. On the other hand, I’d have to suggest that the squeaky clean image Lugovoy and his staff have projected may be a screen.”

“For what purpose?”

Miller shrugged. “I haven’t a clue.”

Emmett closed the file. “Have the New York bureau stay on this. I want priority-one updates whenever they’re available.”

“The more I think about it,” Miller said, “the more it intrigues me.”

“How so?”

“What vital secrets could a bunch of Soviet psychologists want to steal?”

19

Successful shipping line magnates travel through the glittering waters of the international jet set in grand fashion. From exotic yachts to private airliners, from magnificent villas to resplendent hotel suites, they roam the world in an unending pursuit of power and wealth.

Min Koryo Bougainville cared nothing for a freewheeling lifestyle. She spent her waking hours in her office and her nights in small but elegant quarters on the floor above. She was frugal in most matters, her only weakness being a fondness for Chinese antiques.

When she was twelve, her father sold her to a Frenchman who operated a small shipping line consisting of three tramp steamers that plied the coastal ports between Pusan and Hong Kong. The line prospered and Min Koryo bore Rene Bougainville three sons. Then the war came and the Japanese overran China and Korea. Rene was killed in a bombing raid and the three sons were lost somewhere in the South Pacific, after being forced into the Imperial Japanese Army. Only Min Koryo and one grandson, Lee Tong, survived.

After Japan surrendered, she raised and salvaged one of her husband’s ships which had been sunk in Pusan harbor. Slowly she built up the Bougainville fleet, buying old surplus cargo ships, never paying more than their scrap value. Profits were few and far between, but she hung on until Lee Tong finished his master’s degree at the University of Pennsylvania’s Wharton School of Business and began running the day-to-day operation. Then, almost magically, the Bougainville Maritime Lines grew into one of the world’s largest fleet of ships. When their armada totaled 138 cargo ships and tankers, Lee Tong moved the principal offices to New York. In a ritual going back thirty years, he sat dutifully near her bedside in the evening discussing the current dealings of their far-flung financial empire.

Lee Tong wore the misleading look of a jolly Oriental peasant. His round brown face split in a perpetual smile that seemed chiseled in ivory. If the Justice Department and half the federal law-enforcement agencies had wanted to close the book on a backlog of unsolved maritime crimes, they would have hung him from the nearest streetlight, but, oddly, none had a file on him. He skirted in the shadow of his grandmother; he was not even listed as a director or an employee of Bougainville Maritime. Yet it was he, the anonymous member of the family, who handled the dirty-tricks department and built the base of the company.

Too systematic to place his faith in hired hands, he preferred to direct the highly profitable illicit operations from the front rank. His act often ran on blood. Lee Tong was not above murder to achieve a profit. He was equally at home during a business luncheon at the “21” Club or at a waterfront throat cutting.

He sat a respectful distance from Min Koryo’s bedside, a long silver cigarette holder planted between his uneven teeth. She disliked his smoking habit, but he clung to it, not so much as a pleasure but as a small measure of independence.

“By tomorrow the FBI will know how the President disappeared,” said Min Koryo.

“I doubt it,” Lee Tong said confidently. “The chemical analysis people are good, but not that good. I say closer to three days. And then a week to find the ship.”

“Enough time so no loose threads can be traced to us?”

“Enough time, aunumi,” said Lee Tong, addressing her in the Korean term for mother. “Rest assured, all threads lead to the grave.”

Min Koryo nodded. The inference was crystal clear: The handpicked team of seven men who had aided Lee Tong in the abduction had been murdered by his own hand.

“Still no news from Washington?” she asked.

“Not a word. The White House is acting as though nothing happened. In fact, they’re using a double for the President.”

She looked at him. “How did you learn that?”

“The six o’clock news. The TV cameras showed the President boarding Air Force One for a flight to his farm in New Mexico.”

“And the others?”

“They appear to have stand-ins too.”

Min Koryo sipped at a cup of tea. “Seems odd that we must depend on Secretary of State Oates and the President’s Cabinet to provide a successful masquerade until Lugovoy is ready.”

“The only road open to them,” said Lee Tong. “They won’t dare make any kind of an announcement until they know what happened to the President.”

Min Koryo stared at the tea leaves in the bottom of her cup. “Still, I must believe we may have taken too large a bite.”