Dancing with the Dragon (2002) (11 page)

A senior official at the Air Traffic Flow Management Center in Fukuoka, Japan, who spoke on condition of anonymity, said the AWACS reported being harassed by an unidentified object moments before communications were lost with the early-warning airplane.

The crew of a trawler operating in the Sea of Japan reported seeing a strange, fast moving bluish-white light in the night sky prior to observing a bright, loud explosion high over their position. The trawler crew, who reported no survivors from the AWACS plane, recovered two bodies and several small pieces of debris from the crash site.

"Well," Scott said, "I guess we can eliminate the Japanese from the likely list of suspects."

Finished with the article, she looked up. "I wouldn't be too sure." "Why not?"

"It could be a ruse to cast doubt elsewhere."

"You have to be kidding."

"No, I'm not kidding--they're very clever people."

Scott chuckled as he reached for his juice. "Almost a half-billion dollars to create a smokescreen?"

"What better way to develop an illusion?"

"How about downing three or four less expensive airplanes?" "That would look like--"

From the window ledge, Jackie's satellite phone interrupted their conversation. She answered while Scott downed his glass of juice and reached for the Post.

"No, it's perfectly okay," she said to the caller. "I've been up for nearly an hour and a half."

She listened intently.

When he saw Jackie frown, Scott stopped eating and placed his fork on his plate. While he listened to the one-sided conversation, Jackie reached for a pen and a scratch pad. She wrote the name Merrick and shoved the note toward Scott. He glanced at it and then addressed his eggs.

"I understand. Please listen carefully to me. Don't go near your car. Leave it where it is. Go to the hotel lobby and stay there until we can make arrangements to have the FBI pick you up and take you to a safe place."

Jackie switched the phone to her other ear. "Yes, we have the authority--trust me. In fact, I'll be talking to the director of the FBI as soon as we hang up. The closest field office is in Los Angeles, so it may take a while. Pack your belongings and head for the lobby--call us when you're settled in."

After she hung up, Jackie stared at the phone.

"What's going on?"

"Cliff Earlywine is dead."

Scott was stunned. "What?"

"He's been killed."

"How did he die?"

"Merrick saw a report on television about Earlywine dying in a traffic accident last evening near Oceanside, California. The commentator said Cliff was a well-known newspaper reporter who had broken a number of big stories and was apparently working on a major story at the time of his death."

"Where is she, and what's with the FBI?"

"She's at the Rancho Santa Barbara Marriott. After we talked to her yesterday, she met some people who invited her to join them for an afternoon tour of the wineries in the region."

"Were they Orientals?"

"I didn't ask--damn," she said, reaching for Scott's phone directory. "I'll call information."

"Yeah, we need to find out."

"At any rate, when they got back from the tour, they went out for a late dinner. Afterward her friends brought her back to the hotel and she went to bed. She couldn't go to sleep, so around three o'clock she switched on the television to get a news update. When she heard Cliff's name, she sat up in shock, then called us."

"What's her frame of mind now?"

"From the sound of her voice, she seems pretty concerned." "Good--she needs to stay alert."

Jackie gave him a stern look. "She can take care of herself." "Okay, okay." He extended his palms toward Jackie. "Lighten up; try relaxing for a change."

"I am relaxed."

"Good," he said with a smile. "How about calling Merrick's hotel, and I'll use my home phone to call Jim Ebersole?"

"Will do."

The director of the FBI answered on the third ring. The urgent request was quickly forwarded to the senior agent in Los Angeles. Scott gave Jackie the high sign and she told Merrick that help was on the way.

"Her friends were not Oriental," Jackie said, placing the satellite phone on the table.

"That's a relief."

"Earlywine didn't have an accident." She pushed her plate aside. "He was killed and we both know it."

"Yes, we'd better ask the FBI to investigate."

"I'll take care of it."

He could see the sadness in her eyes. "I don't know about you, but I've lost my appetite."

"Same here."

Scott folded his napkin and caught her eye. "Let's load the dishwasher and head for the airport."

She rose from her chair. "There's something very wrong with this picture, something sinister."

"Why don't you fly this morning--concentrate on other things." "Yeah, good therapy."

Chapter
8.

Rancho Santa Barbara Marriott

Entering the empty lobby of the hotel, Merrick felt a gnawing sense of uneasiness as she walked to the counter to check out. Glancing at her wristwatch, she was surprised to see it was almost 4:00 A. M.

"Is there something wrong, Miss Hamilton?" the desk clerk asked.

"No, there's nothing wrong. I've thoroughly enjoyed my stay, but my plans have changed."

"Well, we hope you'll visit us again."

"I'm looking forward to it."

Nervously alert, Merrick checked the accuracy of her hotel account. Satisfied, she folded the statement and slid it into a side pocket of one of her bags. A sudden flash of headlights caught her attention when a maroon Mercury Grand Marquis pulled into the drive.

The car stopped a few yards past the entrance to the lobby and two men got out. Assuming they were FBI agents, Merrick picked up her luggage and walked outside to greet them. As they approached, Merrick had a sudden feeling that something was wrong.

"Are you Miss 'amilton?" the man with the pencil-thin mustache and impish grin asked.

"Yes."

The middle-aged man and his partner, an Oriental man, flashed their official-looking badges.

"Chauncey 'arrington, FBI. We 'ave been instructed to escort you to our district 'eadquarters."

This doesn't feel right, Merrick told herself. The revelation dawned with gut-wrenching clarity when she glanced at their Mercury and noticed the rental-car sticker on the back bumper. Don't panic, for God's sake. These guys are imposters, probably the same ones who caused Earlywine's death. Think before you do anything

"May we 'elp with your luggage, ma'am?" The mischievous smile remained the same--cheesy and insincere.

Merrick could feel the palms of her hands turning sweaty. Who are these people?"That's okay," she said, remembering that Jackie had specifically told her not to go near her car. Well, I have to take a chance. "I'll just throw them in my car and follow you to your, ah, office."

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but we 'ave strict orders to-drive you to our headquarters. It's standard policy, you understand."

Merrick was afraid to make a move. How did they know? There must have been a wiretap, a bug in my room. "I can't leave my car here."

The Oriental opened his suit jacket just enough to expose the handgun in his shoulder holster. There was no way out. The hotel parking lot was completely deserted.

I have to do something, but I have to pick the right time. With her heart in her throat, she silently prayed. Dear God, I need some help. "Would one of you gentlemen be kind enough to drive my car?"

"Of course." Harrington looked at his partner and nodded. "If you'll 'and us the keys, we'll be on our merry way."

If I try to run, they could easily shoot me.

"Ma'am, the keys," Harrington said.

With a great sense of trepidation, Merrick fished her keys out of her handbag. She handed them to the silent man and then picked up her two leather bags. With Harrington on one side of her and the other man slightly behind her, Merrick waited for an opportunity to draw attention. Harrington opened the back door of the Mercury and stepped aside as Merrick tossed her bags in the backseat and got in.

"Don't you want to know which car is mine?" Merrick asked, feeling a surge of adrenaline stab her heart.

Harrington's smile faded but quickly reappeared. "Indeed, that would be quite 'elpful, now, wouldn' it?"

"The gray Chevy Cavalier next to the end of the first row." With a wave of his hand, Harrington directed his partner toward Merrick's rental car.

She knew what to do, but it would take some luck. They knew which car was mine.

Harrington got in and started the Mercury. The other man retrieved Merrick's car and drew up behind the Grand Marquis. Leading the way down Highway 101 toward the Santa Ynez Mountains, Harrington remained quiet while Merrick nervously looked for a police car. She had to cause a commotion, anything to draw attention to her plight.

Nearing Santa Barbara, Merrick felt a pain in her chest. She reached inside one of her bags beside her on the backseat. A weight lifter and marathon runner, she would have to use her physical conditioning to escape. "What do you think of your new director of the FBI--what's his name?"

"Don't know--'aven't 'ad the opportunity to meet the gentleman."

Merrick began to ease her hand out of her bag. Wait for the right opportunity. You need to draw attention, not get yourself killed.

The Mercury rounded the curve northwest of the Amtrak train station. Out of the dark, a California Highway Patrol cruiser appeared from behind and accelerated past the two cars. It was time to act. She tightly gripped each end of a sturdy braided belt and flipped it over Harrington's head, then yanked as hard as she could.

He gasped and struggled like a man who knew he was about to die. His feet alternately mashed the accelerator and the brake, resulting in a lurching and swaying ride. Releasing the steering wheel to use both hands to claw at the belt, Harrington choked and gagged. Merrick pulled as hard as she could. Without warning, she felt something snap and he went limp. The Grand Marquis ran off the right side of the highway, dangerously swerving and swaying.

Merrick shoved Harrington toward the passenger side, at the same time desperately grabbing the steering wheel to get the car under control. The Mercury careened back on the highway and lurched to the right again. Merrick struggled to climb over the seat and Harrington's tangled legs. Take control!

An instant later, the cruiser's flashing lights came on. The officer began slowing the car and easing toward the shoulder of the highway. Afraid that he might be rear-ended, he kept moving while the Mercury driver was steering in such an erratic manner.

With one leg twisted behind her, Merrick swerved to miss the cruiser and smashed into her smaller rental car. The Oriental driver made an attempt to pass her and they collided again. Both cars sprayed glass and twisted parts on the highway as the drivers fought for control. The man floorboarded the Cavalier and continued driving, passing the Mercury and the CHP cruiser.

Shocked by the collisions, Merrick stomped on the brakes. She brought the Grand Marquis to a screeching, smoking stop on the right side of the highway. The patrol car pulled in behind the battered Mercury and stopped. The officer radioed a description of the gray Chevy to headquarters, while he kept an eye on the driver of the Grand Marquis.

Feeling the effects of the adrenaline boost, Merrick finally opened the door and stumbled out. Her knees were shaking as she turned toward the patrolman. He must think I'm falling-down drunk.

In the process of running the Grand Marquis's license plate, the officer opened his door. He stepped out of the cruiser and put his hand on his weapon. "Ma'am, step to the back of your vehicle and place your hands on the trunk."

Merrick complied and turned her head toward the patrolman. "Officer, the car I collided with is my rental car."

" Your rental car?"

"That's right."

"Well, after eighteen years on the job, that's a new one."

She looked straight ahead. "It might be a good idea to radio a description of the stolen vehicle--this isn't it."

More curious than concerned for his safety, the patrolman ignored her suggestion. "Ma'am, do you have any weapons on you?" "No, but the FBI impostor lying in the front seat has a handgun." "FBI impostor, huh?"

"That's right."

"Well, that's another first."

The trooper cautiously walked toward the driver's door. "Ma'am, have you been drinking?"

"Yes, I have, if you count one glass of wine with dinner about nine-thirty last night."

The officer shone his flashlight on Harrington for a long moment. "Has your passenger been drinking?"

"He was the driver until I saw you, and then I overpowered him. I think he may be dead."

"Overpowered him?"

"Pardon me, but do we have to go over everything twice?"

The patrolman slowly shook his head and cautiously walked to the front passenger door. He kept his light on Harrington while he checked his vital signs, then stepped back.