Sea of Lies: An Espionage Thriller (56 page)

There didn’t seem to be a lot of middle ground. He flossed away. He’d read on the flight that flossing added two years to your life expectancy. His gums bled like hell, unused to the waxed white string. He spat a bloody mouthful into the sink, rinsed and spat again. He had to stop living only day to day and make longer-term plans.

*  *  *  *  *

An email marked
Urgent
hit Constantine’s cell as his driver raced to Changi Airport. Bertrand N. Nolan, age 22, was wanted for assaulting federal officers in Washington State. With the help of an accomplice, he’d hospitalized two FBI agents and fled with their weapons, mobile phones and radios. State and federal authorities were cooperating in the manhunt. Did Constantine have any thoughts as to where they might be headed?

The entire Nolan family was full of criminals: bad genes and upbringing passed down father to offspring. They were all descendants of Cain, Constantine concluded.

*  *  *  *  *

Lloyd Matthews crossed the aisle to look for seat 12G. Singapore Airlines Flight 12 to Tokyo’s Narita Airport should take about six hours, putting them on the ground at just after 5 p.m. local time. That would give him ample opportunity to prepare answers to the most likely lines of after-dinner questioning. He sat down with the Asia edition of the
Wall Street Journal
while he waited for those flying cattle class to board. His concentration wavered as he wondered what had happened to Teller. All he knew was that the old junkie Charlie Meursault had aborted the landing, and had emailed a blurred photo of a burning vehicle on its side and what looked to be scattered bodies. Robin Teller was remarkably hard to kill. Matthews needed to be absolutely sure Teller was dead if he hoped to get a solid night’s sleep ever again.

He recognized a voice—
that
voice. There he stood, unshaven, unkempt and grinning like a monkey: the DEA’s
Uber
flunky.  Hecker’s grin disappeared when he spotted Matthews. Hecker made his way back three rows behind and took his seat in the middle section. But even Matthews’s presence couldn’t ruin his mood. Robin Teller was dead and Lloyd Matthews was on his last journey as chief of station.

Slightly breathless, the final passenger in the business class cabin boarded with only a laptop and briefcase. Dick Constantine headed to the back of business class.

“Hello, Sam.”

“Hi, Dick. Pull up a chair.”

“What are you smiling at? You can’t be that happy to see me.”

“Certainly not, but with Robin Teller dead, the world is a better place today.”

Constantine acted surprised. There was no need to tip Hecker that he’d already read the transcript of Hecker’s call to Barling.

Matthews breathed a sigh of relief, pulled out his phone and texted Burns.

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

PARTY PLANNING

FRIDAY MARCH 14, KUNUNURRA, WESTERN AUSTRALIA; COLOMBO; GUANGZHOU, CHINA

Johnson piled a power drill, nail gun, side-cutting pliers, vice grips, blunt nose pliers, machete, ice pick, a dozen D-cell batteries, acrylic goggles, veterinarian’s full-length rubber sleeves, and two pairs of work gloves on the counter of Red Sun Hardware.

“Crikey! I might close early today,” said the proprietor. “How do you blokes want to pay for this kit?”

Johnson shrugged, deferring to his older companion.

“Cash,” said Frank Coulter. “We’ll pay in cash.”

*  *  *  *  *

Nolan jumped when Kaili touched his arm. He’d spent the last few hours in that in-between land where restful sleep was out of reach, replaced by an endless cycle of the same bad dream replayed through semi-consciousness. She stroked his upper arm. “Do you want breakfast?” she asked.

The plan for the exchange was now set, for better or worse. He had to think of a way off the island that didn’t involve driving back to the airport and attempting to board the Gulfstream. Food was far from his mind. “No thanks,” he said. “Is your embassy cell secure?”

“Certainly. Why, don’t you trust your phones now?”

“Not any longer. The CIA knows where we are. They’re waiting until Watermen arrives before they pounce. The NSA will be trying like hell to tap everything coming out of the Racquets Club, so they’re likely to have a drone up right now acting as a phony cell site to capture all the mobile traffic in the vicinity. If your phone encrypts voice and data, presumably it decrypts only when received by a paired device?”

“I’m not free to discuss that,” she said coyly, rubbing the top of his cropped head while he fumbled for his glasses on the bedside table. “But assume for the moment that you’re right.”

Glasses in place, the world came into sharper focus. Even with her hair mussed, she was still perfect. She moved her hand down and caressed his cheek. He lightly grasped her wrist, enjoying the feeling of her palm on his jaw.

“Once this exchange takes place, I have to leave Sri Lanka very quickly. You’re welcome to come, but the Gulfstream will be crawling with CIA.”

“Come with me to China. You can stay for as long as you like. Be reunited with your family. I can have MSS people safely take us from the Cinnamon Grand Hotel to the embassy, and out on a military flight later today. The Americans can’t touch you in Sri Lanka, certainly not if you’re under China’s protection.”

“That doesn’t work on several levels, starting with I have zero interest in being interrogated by your friends for the next couple of years. The only things I like about China are the women and some of the food. The other reason is those Gulfstream pilots know how to fly to Truscott Field, somewhere in the Australian Outback. That’s
where the MH370 mystery will be solved. The people who came off that plane are being interrogated there. If you want, come with me. You’ll be a national hero if we can figure out what happened, assuming we get out of there alive.

“What I really need is a secure way to call Nishimoto or Jenkins, and your encrypted phone is the only option. Next door are the clothes Balendra bought yesterday that we’re wearing this morning. You won’t like it, but I had him purchase identical outfits for the three of us.”

“Wonderful. That way the snipers have to shoot all of us to ensure they get Watermen.”

“Well, I’m assuming it’s either a China or US sniper team. Presumably your side doesn’t want to shoot you, and my side would prefer not to shoot me. So we’re pursuing the safety in numbers approach.”

“For a logical man, you just made the most illogical statement.”

“Kaili, if someone wants all three of us dead, once Watermen’s with us, they’ll set off a bomb or throw a grenade and be done with it.”

“Ah, perhaps you are right. As for grenades, what do you expect me to do with the one from last night?”

“Chumakov is likely to have at least two men with him. I don’t know what his play is, but it doesn’t include letting us walk away. I have a gun hidden where the exchange will take place. I have a shooter who will take out one FSB man. I’ll get the second. The third gunman will kill us, unless you or I use that grenade or my sniper gets lucky.”

“What, you want me to detonate a grenade in a hotel lobby? It will kill us all.”

“We’re not meeting in the Cinnamon Grand Hotel any longer. We’ll be downstairs by the pool here at the Racquets Club. Now, before you go into the bathroom and text your embassy, have them send one of your fancy encrypted phones to Nishimoto and ask him to call you. Please hurry. We don’t have much time.” She stepped inside the bathroom and shut the door.

Since the Chinese were now in the loop, better let the other players know the new drill. He dialed Chumakov’s local cell number. It answered on the first ring. “There’s been a change in plans. We’re meeting at ten o’clock in the lobby of the Colombo Racquets Club. Watermen must be present or there’s no deal. No more than two men with you, or no deal. I will be with a Chinese woman who is senior in the MSS. Neither of us will be armed. We’ll have coffee and make the exchange. You authenticate the files and leave. If you try anything else, proof of your corruption will be in every newspaper and news website in the world. Any questions?”

“Robert, if you cross me, I swear I will kill your children.”

“No, you won’t. I’ll see you at ten.” Nolan hung up. He was shaking, but at least that exchange had removed all doubt as to what had to be done. Time to go next door and fetch those scrubs. And maybe he should get some breakfast after all. You never knew where your next meal was coming from.

Chumakov called Gregoriev and passed on the new location before requesting a complete layout and briefing to be ready before they departed at 9:45.

*  *  *  *  *

Chief of Station Gretchen Doyle didn’t like Ambassador Stiles, but it had nothing to do with them both being strong-willed women. Sheila Stiles routinely made it clear that, after a twenty-five-year career as a Foreign Service officer, she was destined for higher office than ambassador to a third-rate country. Doyle most often sent the Station 2IC to the ambassador’s daily intelligence briefing, but with Pat Long’s murder and the latest bizarre plot twist—the Russians were handing over Watermen and Nolan
—
she had to be here in person. Given the sensitivity of what they were discussing, the room was nearly empty.

“Madam Ambassador, last night after midnight, COS Singapore Dick Constantine forwarded a
Top Secret/SCI
brief, then called me to discuss. We have had a team on duty at the embassy since 06:00 hours this morning, and we’ll keep them here until either the SVR brings in Watermen and Nolan, or we abort the operation. We remain under orders to keep our hands off Nolan and his mainland China female accomplice. It seems almost certain that he’s consorting with Yu Kaili, until recently the deputy head of Counter Intelligence for the Ministry of State Security.”

“Yes, I’m looking at her file photo.” Setting that picture aside, she pulled up Nolan’s Agency ID picture. “They certainly make for an odd couple.”

“Yes, they do. It is uncertain what role China is playing in all of this. Right now it’s not our intention to do anything more than positively identify Nolan’s companion. If it is Yu, we’ll release her.” Doyle maintained her professional dispassion while silently wondering if Stiles’s main interest was whether those two were sleeping together.

“Be certain you do. We can’t afford an international incident with China. Not when the US is almost out of the game in Sri Lanka. China submarines may start docking in Colombo, and there are whispers that China wants to base an Indian Ocean acoustical tracking station here as well. Needless to say, State’s number one objective is to ensure that these things don’t happen.

“Furthermore, I think corralling Watermen here in Colombo could be quite a feather in our caps.”

“What do you mean by that, Madam Ambassador?”

“We demonstrate to both Sri Lanka and China that we can run a sting operation on the most-wanted man in the world. He gets apprehended in the lobby of a luxury hotel in the heart of the city, and brought to the embassy before being flown elsewhere for interrogation, prosecution and incarceration.”

“Respectfully, Madam Ambassador, this isn’t our operation. The exchange seems to be something Bob Nolan negotiated directly with the Russians while the snatch is an SVR operation. My people are only observing.”

“Bob Nolan’s CIA, isn’t he?”

“He’s gone rogue, or worse. We don’t know if he’s a double or a triple at this point.”

“Thank you, Chief Doyle. I think that should suffice for now.”

Doyle gathered her papers and left the room at such a pace that there was little doubt about what she thought of the person at the head of the table.

Stiles turned to Tom Malaki, the embassy
chargé d’affaires
, who had been watching this round in the never-ending Stiles vs. Doyle heavyweight bout
.
“Do be a dear and put in a quiet word with a few of the quality journalists. No details, just that a huge event is happening today, and there will be a press briefing at the US embassy as early as noon. Something like that.”

Malaki could see this angle a mile away. The ambassador holding forth with manacled prisoners, Watermen and Nolan, on their knees at her feet in a production worthy of Cecil B. DeMille. And embassy colleagues wondered why in January he put in for a transfer to a vacant Papua New Guinea post.

*  *  *  *  *

Nolan and Kaili thumbed through
Ocean of Deceit
, agreeing on a set of book code mnemonics. Kaili’s cell rang; it was Captain Nishimoto. She put the phone on speaker and handed it to Bob. Even in surgical scrubs and a turquoise hairnet, she was sexy.

“Thanks for calling. I hope this isn’t inconvenient.”

“Not at all. I was finished with breakfast when an Asian gentleman approached me and asked me to use his phone to call Adam Birch on this number. Just so I know it’s you, can you please tell me the name of the bank you deposited the money and the sum you left on the airplane?”

“Bank Suisse Privé Asia and $127,200.”

“Thank you. So, Mr. Birch, what can I do for you?”

“Robin Teller is dead. He was decapitated yesterday in Northern Burma by Wa tribesman. Do you have any thoughts?”

“Robin Teller? Rob Teller the Ranger and CIA merc in the Delta in the early seventies?”

“Yes, that’s the one. It seems you two knew each other.”

“Teller was a psychopathic killer, borderline alcoholic and the best combat leader I ever saw. We used to be friends, but Rob was wacko by the end. He started dealing weapons out of Bangkok. I read that it went bust, and then he disappeared. He’s been gone for something like thirty years. I thought he was dead. Why are you interested?”

“I thought you might be working with Teller. You see, Rob and some of my current and former CIA colleagues hijacked MH370, that Malaysia Airlines—”

“Yes, yes, I know all about MH370. The chief financial officer of Eagle Claw semiconductors was on that plane. His name is Tom Nishimoto. He’s my brother’s son, my only nephew.”