Sea of Lies: An Espionage Thriller (61 page)

*  *  *  *  *

Gonzalez wore a huge grin as he sat in Zaw’s makeshift command center at the same medical clinic Nolan and Kyaw had driven past on Saturday night. The major was polishing his sunglasses as an inch of cigarette ash dangled from the butt hanging from his lips.

“I walked over and sat down next to him and asked, ‘What’s your name?’ The old guy croaked out, ‘Peter, Peter Mullen.’ I said, ‘Peter Mullen, if you wish to avoid eternal hellfire and damnation, you will confess your sins to me here and now. Let us ask for our Lord Jesus Christ’s blessing and pray together. Then I’ll read you the last rites, as the doctor told me you’re dying.’ Can you believe Mullen started out in 1960 when he petted his high school prom date? I had to say, ‘I’m not interested in fifty-year-old sin. Tell me what you’ve done the last two weeks.’

“For an old guy, he sure has a detailed memory. I hit the record app on my Blackberry and have a solid thirty minutes of nonstop confession to mass murder and hijacking.”

Zaw looked up at him and said, “Do we need this man alive?”

“Yes, as a witness.”

“But you have recording, yes?”

“Right here on this phone.”

“You leave now for embassy. Stay there for protection.”

“I-I don’t understand,” Gonzalez stammered.

“Toffer’s men coming,” Zaw said, looking at his stainless steel Rolex, “in few hours to kill old man. You need to go.”

“And you and your men are going to fight them?”

Zaw laughed. “No, we leave after you drive away. Why get killed for no reason?”

*  *  *  *  *

Ambassador Stiles issued another order. “Have Allen photograph and fingerprint the dead man in scrubs on the beach and forward everything to you for identification. It’s probably Watermen, though Nolan dyed his hair brown or black, so it might be him instead.”

Doyle’s tone was measured. “I just told you, Agent Allen is not answering his phone.” Doyle’s cell phone rang and she turned her head away from Stiles as she answered.

“
Gospodin
Gregoriev, what can you tell me? Three of your men are dead and one badly injured. Is that Director Chumakov? He’s on a helicopter with his bodyguard? Yes, yes, I understand. No . . . no, we didn’t find any drives or disks at the scene. I was hoping your team recovered those.

“Of course the US didn’t have anything to do with this tragedy. I have no idea who fired, but it was two snipers in opposition, one up in the Grand Hyatt construction site and one from the Racquets Club. Nolan would have been controlling one of the shooters. The other . . . China?
China?
Look, I don’t have time to speculate. We are in pursuit of Nolan. No, we don’t know where he is, but he won’t be hard to find. No, there won’t be any interference from the United States in respect to the repatriation of Russian citizens involved, wounded or not. Yes, yes, let’s do that. Next week, then. Keep us abreast. Thank you, Vladimir.”

Doyle turned to Stiles and the assembled team. “That was the SVR
rezident
, Vladimir Gregoriev. The man Peter Allen had in custody—the big Russian—knocked him unconscious with what Gregoriev described as ‘a deliberately sublethal blow to the head.’ As Chumakov needed critical medical care, the Russian felt he had no other choice but to escape custody. It seems their man coldcocked Allen, took back their weapons and commandeered a medical helicopter. It landed at the Russia embassy, and just took off again with Chumakov and his bodyguard on board.

“That chopper has to be headed to Lankan Hospital, as they have the only helipad in the country.” Turning away from the ambassador, she shouted out to her deputy, “Get two men over to Lankan Hospital. Put one on the roof at the helipad, and one in the ER.”

“Chief, we don’t have any spare officers. Allen’s down and three are watching the Gulfstream, plus Long’s dead—”

“What about our men at the hotel site?”

“On their way back to the embassy. They evaded the police.”

“Use them. Send them straight to the hospital. Don’t detain anyone. Observe and discreetly photograph. Try to get mikes in the OR, the recovery room, and Chumakov’s hospital room. Get over there yourself. You’ll have to work fast.” Her assistant dashed out of the room, Doyle’s last instruction trailing behind.

Sheila Stiles stood up. “I’d better get on the phone to the secretary of state. The way this situation has unfolded, he’ll want to hear it firsthand.”

“Good luck finding a secure line to make a call. Everything’s down and has been for the last two hours. You don’t seem to be in the loop, Madam Ambassador.  You also have a press conference to host about now, do you not?”

Stiles rose and stormed out of the room.

*  *  *  *  *

The Harcourt charter jet sat at the southwest corner of the Ratmalana runway, ready to take off were it not for the fire engine blocking its path. Nishimoto called Kaili. “Where are you?” both asked simultaneously.

“Safely on the ground at the far end of the runway at Ratmalana. Turn south when you drive in, we’re about a half mile from the gate. You can’t miss us because we’re hemmed in by emergency vehicles.”

“We have just pulled up to the entrance. We will see you soon.” Kaili hung up.

The SBS commando was at the sentry gate arguing their case. Chanakya idly revved the engine while they waited. Nolan’s forearm was killing him, and his chest was on fire. He turned to Kaili and said, “I’m asking you one last time to make that call to ISD. You’re the new head of station. Richard Lum can pull strings with whoever is responsible for Changi Airport security. You tell him two Singapore nationals are on that flight from Guangzhou, and they’ve been kidnapped. ISD can assist Singapore citizens in distress without causing an incident. This is a goodwill gesture from the MSS to the ISD. Also, you should alert Lum to expect the CIA to put in a claim on the same two individuals, but they’ve committed no crime.”

“That is stepping way beyond my authority. There will be repercussions.”

“Have you figured out yet that the sniper team was from China? That it was targeting Mark and me, and probably you, too?”

“I thought you said the snipers were Americans?”

“That was for the commando’s consumption, as we need him to get us aboard the plane. China is Sri Lanka’s biggest ally, so I didn’t want to antagonize him. The US-Russia plan called for the FSB or SVR to snatch Watermen and me, and hand us over to the US. And China’s play was to kill Watermen and me, though I don’t know why I’m on the list. I think the Chinese may have shot you, too, since you’re a loose end right now. Any trouble back at head office these days? Anyone out to get you? Your life depends on what you do next.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“If you don’t call Inspector Lum, get out of the car now and take your chances. And if you try to kill me, you may succeed, but the commando I just gave ten thousand dollars to will cut you down. If you come with me, at a minimum you’ll find out what happened to MH370. But it will be dangerous. Where we’re headed, diplomatic immunity doesn’t necessarily offer protection.”

“How long have you been waiting to tell me this?”

“Longer than you want to know.”

“Give me the number, I’ll make the call.” Kaili’s phone buzzed with another message from the embassy:
confirm when Nolan is dead.

CHAPTER FIFTY

FREEDOM

FRIDAY MARCH 14, SINGAPORE, COLOMBO

Joanie was antsy. The return flight was reboarding. They hadn’t been permitted to deplane with the other Singapore-bound passengers, and now an hour later it looked like she and Mei Ling were headed back to China and prison. Bert was still hiding in Canada and Bob was on the run in Sri Lanka, helping Mark. What on earth was happening to her family?

Mei Ling fell into a deep sleep. After being so vigilant the last few days, she was exhausted. Joanie heard a scuffle in the forward cabin. Muffled voices in Mandarin became louder as they neared. She heard her name among the babble and cried out in Mandarin and English, “I’m here! Back in row 56!” Mei Ling was now awake, out of the aisle seat next to her. Their mainland guard leapt up as well and barked for Mei Ling to sit. She adopted a fighting posture and squared off against a surprised opponent who realized he was on the brink of an ass-kicking. Two beret-wearing Police Task Force members carrying stubby submachineguns rushed down the aisle. Mei Ling’s captor backed away in a mixture of relief and concern, and whipped out his cell phone which a PTF officer promptly confiscated, ordering the man to retake his seat, put his seatbelt on and keep his hands visible at all times.

“Mei Ling Nolan? Lam Shao Yin?” asked the first PTF officer.

“Yes, yes!” came their voices in unison.

“Welcome home! Take your personal belongings and follow us.”

“But that man has our passports.” Mei Ling pointed at their MSS minder, who reached inside his jacket pocket and surrendered their travel documents to the second, glowering Police Task Force officer.

“Come on, Mom. Let’s get out of here.”

“I’ll say,” said Joanie. “I can’t tell you how good our own beds are going to feel.”

*  *  *  *  *

“Say that again.” Doyle was excited. “Allen found a 64GB thumb drive in a plastic bag taped to a cricket ball? And the drive appears to be intact? Bring it here immediately. Great work!”

Chargé d’affaires
Tom Malaki entered her office. “Here’s what we have on the Russians. Anatoly Chumakov, director of surveillance for the FSB, was the one wounded by a grenade. He’d flown in last night with Watermen and was supervising the trade-and-snatch op when it went bad. He has shrapnel in the brain. He may live, but he’ll need more sophisticated surgery than they can perform locally. They’re stabilizing him and hope he will survive the flight. The Russia ambassador asked to borrow an air ambulance to fly Chumakov to Singapore, as they don’t have anything in the region. I was looking for Ambassador Stiles, but she’s not on premises. What do you think?”

“Hell, you’re in the State Department, not me. With our secure comms down, and given how high a priority was assigned to the hands-off edict on Nolan, I’d say we’re trying to be buddies with Russia. So let’s fly the plane in from Singapore and give them a ride.”

“The air ambulance arrived last night. It’s out at Ratmalana Airport. Someone was expecting trouble and prepositioned it.”

“I’ll be damned.”

“One other thing,” Malaki said. “The body on the beach missing its face is likely Watermen’s. We’ll have fingerprint confirmation soon, but he had a full head of brown hair whereas Nolan has a black crew-cut. The body is younger and a lot thinner than Nolan’s based on his file. How do we play this with the media?”

“I don’t know. Give that one to Madam Ambassador. Press relations and PR seem to be up her alley.”

After Malaki left she picked up a one-time pad and began coding an
Eyes-Only
message for Burns. It had been twenty years since she last did one, but Mark Watermen’s death and the NSA files back in US hands were big news. Bob Nolan was still at large, but they’d remedy that shortly.

*  *  *  *  *

On the runway, the black Audi turbo diesel was up to one hundred twenty-five miles an hour by the time they were a third of a mile inside the main gate. The corporal recounted with taciturn pride how he’d invoked the first family’s name to coerce the security guard into putting him on the phone with the base commander. His story was that Nolan was a wounded advisor to President Abeysuriya requiring an urgent medevac, accompanied by a senior official from the China embassy. The gate security guard corroborated Nolan’s wounds and Kaili’s ethnicity to the big boss, and he gave the go-ahead. Chanakya made damned sure they reached the plane before the base commander changed his mind.

Nolan had time to think as the car decelerated to a hard stop, and they waited for Jenkins to lower the stairs. These nick-of-time escapes were becoming almost routine: Hawaii in May 2013, Rangoon last Sunday night, Singapore a couple of nights ago, and now Sri Lanka. However, he was at peace; Mei Ling had texted him twice. She and Joanie were out of Changi Airport and headed home. Their Singapore PTF and ISD escorts had thwarted the mainland Chinese on the plane, and later the CIA in the arrivals hall.

Naveen guided a shaky Nolan out of the back seat and up the steps behind Kaili. Once he was on board, the corporal shook his hand and said, “You must promise that you will avenge my brother’s death.” His unblinking brown eyes met Nolan’s gaze.

“You can come with us and make it happen,” Nolan said in reply.

“I have to look after my brother’s wife and small children. And I have to explain the last three days and protect the other people who helped us. It will be complicated. But you must swear that you will punish the killers.”

“I swear on my children,” said Nolan. Naveen stood tall, gave him a snap salute and left the jet after bending down to have a quiet word with Kaili. Jenkins hoisted the stairs up and sealed the door. Nishimoto started the engines and they began to roll. Out the window he saw the Audi in front, running interference in case anyone wanted to play hero and ram the plane prior to takeoff. Chanakya might not be very smart, but he had balls of steel.

Nishimoto punched the throttle, and the Gulfstream 550 shot down the runway before leaping up at a steep angle and banking out to sea. The captain’s deep voice resonated over the PA, “We have thirty-seven hundred miles before reaching our destination, Truscott Field on the Mitchell Plateau, Western Australia. Flying time this afternoon and tonight will be approximately nine hours. You’ll find that we’ve supplied a variety of duty free beverages as well as Sri Lanka culinary delights. So sit back, relax and wait for a fighter escort at some point over international waters. We also have a medical kit for those of you suffering from shrapnel or gunshot wounds.”

Kaili said, “Will you really kill the people behind the hijacking?”

“I may not have a choice, or else they’ll kill us. But right now, I think I’m just going to pass out.”