The Italian Divide (39 page)

“I thought of that,” Zhou said. “We could station a couple my men at each of the two Milan airports and Zurich. We could give them Barry Gorman’s picture and tell them to wait for him near the exit for customs.”

“I’ll arrange it,” Qing said.

“Only for tomorrow and Wednesday during the day. I want them back here Wednesday by midnight. We’ll need everybody here to carry out our attack on Thursday morning.”

“Understood.”

“Also, tomorrow and Wednesday I want the other two men at the house at all times—one in front and one in back. You’ll accompany me to all events at the conference, armed at all times.”

Qing was holding up a picture of Barry Gorman and staring at it.

“Does he look familiar?” Zhou asked.

“On Italian television, I saw a man who looked exactly like Barry Gorman.”

“Who was he?”

“An Italian race car driver named Enrico Marino.”

Zhou gave a long low whistle. “Check your computer. Find out how long Enrico Marino has been racing.”

Qing dutifully complied. After a moment, he said, “The earliest article in which Enrico Marino was mentioned was published a little over a year ago in connection with a race in Southern France.”

Zhou now understood how Page had spent his time after disappearing. First plastic surgery. Then rebirth as Enrico Marino, a racecar driver. Now death in Ascona.

Washington

M
onday afternoon, Craig flew from North Carolina back to Washington to brief Betty. When he arrived at CIA headquarters, she said, “No sense doing it twice. President Worth wants to hear all of the details straight from you. The chopper is waiting.”

Craig was surprised. He would have expected Worth to rely on Betty for a briefing. He was also surprised when he spoke in the Oval Office an hour later. Worth asked probing questions getting into the minutia of the operation. He even wanted to know where the boat would be waiting for Zhou.

Craig decided that as long as Worth had ultimate responsibility he had to know what he was authorizing. And after all, Switzerland was an ally and China was the second most powerful nation in the world.

“What about the risk of civilian casualties in Zhou’s house?” Worth asked.

“It’s a small place. Zhou told me he would be taking it over.”

“There may be local people. Maids. Cooks. That sort of thing.”

“Correct.”

“Minimal at 3 a.m. We’ll be careful.”

“How are you careful with tear gas?” Betty interjected.

“I mean we’ll only fire our weapons at enemy combatants.”

“Be realistic, Craig. In the fog of tear gas, it will be chaotic. Civilians are likely to be hit.”

No sense fighting against the obvious. “You’re right, Betty. As in many other operations, civilian casualties are a risk.”

Worth was tapping his fingers on the edge of his chair.

“And that’s not your only problem,” the president said.

“What else?”

“You’ll have the Swiss police to deal with.”

“We’ll get in and out before they arrive.”

“And after that?”

“The ambulance will help. I really think we can avoid a confrontation with them.”

President Worth stood up and paced around the office. The moment of truth had arrived. Would he sign off on the operation?

As Worth paced, Betty fiddled with a package of cigarettes.

Finally, Worth said, “You’re good to go. Remember, both of you, what I told you said at the last meeting. Craig, you must keep Betty informed of everything in real time. And Betty, you’ll have to do the same for me. I want to be able to abort until the last moment. Are you both clear on that?”

“Yes, Mr. President,” they replied together.

“You did a good job interrogating Tyler,” the president said. “I’m furious at him. When this is all over, I’ll discuss with the AG what steps we should take. He’s endangered your life.”

“At least I know about it. I’ll act accordingly.”

“Then I guess we’re finished. How are you getting to Ascona?”

“There’s a late evening plane on United into Zurich. It’ll get there midmorning tomorrow. I’ll drive down to Ascona from Zurich.”

Betty was shaking her head.

“What’s wrong?”

“Too risky. Suppose Zhou wanted to take you out in a preemptive strike. Which airports would he be watching?”

Craig thought about it for a minute before saying, “The two in Milan and also Zurich.”

“Correct.”

“So what do you recommend?”

“Go into Munich. Then drive to Ascona.”

“Good idea. Thanks. Also, the Chinese are great at hacking into online computers. So if we’re really playing it safe, I better not fly as Barry Gorman. How about getting me a false ID?”

“That’s easy enough to do.”

Two hours later, when Craig and Betty were ready to separate in her office, she gave Craig a hug—something she had never done before. “Be careful, Craig. We’ve been through a lot together. I don’t want to lose you.”

“You’re working too hard. You don’t have to worry. You’ll have me to deal with for a long time.”

“I don’t have a good feeling about this one.”

Ascona

T
uesday morning, Elizabeth decided to attend the plenary session at which Jane Peterson, the Chairman of the Federal Reserve would be talking about interest rates.

The Global economic conference was being held at the Monte Verita conference center on top of a mountain on the outskirts of Ascona. Usually Elizabeth ran in the morning to stay in shape, but when she was in Ascona, she found another way to work out—the ultimate stress test—climbing the one hundred thirty-eight steps from via Borgo in the heart of the shopping area to the top of Mount Verita and the convention center. And they weren’t straight up the mountain. Instead, the stairs had lots of bends and turns.

At eight in the morning following breakfast, dressed in shorts and a tee shirt and carrying a duffel bag with a change of clothes, her iPad, reporter’s steno pad, and pens, Elizabeth set off from the Eden Roc.

Fortunately, there was cloud cover when she started the climb. Midway up the mountain, the sun was beating down on her. Crossing the road that ran from the town below up to the conference center, she was tempted for an instant to take the road the rest of the way up. Instead, she took a couple of deep breaths and quickly banished that thought.

By the time she reached the top, sweat dotted Elizabeth’s forehead and her shirt was soaked. When she first attended the conference two years ago, she made friends with the director of the conference center who also operated a sixty-room hotel on the site. He let her use a hotel room to shower and change clothes.

The morning session was scheduled to start at ten in the auditorium with Jane Peterson’s speech. Before that, Elizabeth walked around, talking to finance people she knew while keeping an eye out for Zhou Yun. No sign of him.

At ten minutes to ten, she entered the auditorium, which resembled a large classroom with rows of desks gradually elevated until the last row had a steep view of the speakers below. The press table was in the first row on the left side facing the podium. Elizabeth greeted a couple of her press colleagues and sat down facing the stage and podium.

*     *     *

At five minutes before ten, Zhou Yun and Qing, who crossed the parking lot from the car Qing had driven up the mountain, entered the conference center. Qing remained outside the auditorium while Zhou took a seat reserved for him in the last row on the right side facing the stage.

The Finance Minister of Russia approached Zhou, said hello, and sat down next to him. The auditorium doors closed and the conference director introduced Jane Peterson.

In her speech, Peterson began, “The Federal Reserve is facing an dilemma. We can keep interest rates low in an effort to stimulate the economy; but we risk creating asset bubbles, which in the long run could endanger prosperity. We’re trying to walk a tight rope and …”

Zhou looked around the auditorium. From his vantage point, he could see most of the others in the room.

There were so many familiar faces from the world of finance who had come to meet him in Beijing, hoping to gain Chinese investment in their countries.

As he looked at the press table, he could hardly believe his eyes.

She had to know Zhou was here. After the attack on her in Paris, she was foolish, even reckless to be here.

Or more likely, it was something else. When Craig intended to kill Zhou Thursday morning, she might be planning to help him.

For Zhou, her being here was a stroke of good fortune. Qing could grab her and take her back to the house on via Delta. Zhou would be able to use her as bait in luring Craig and make it easier for Zhou to kill Craig.

Zhou had to tell Qing what to do but he didn’t want to leave the auditorium for fear this would cause a commotion, and Elizabeth would spot him.

He reached into his pocket for his phone to send Qing a text message. A break was scheduled for 11:15. Delegates typically left the hall for coffee and to mingle. There was an exit close to Elizabeth’s seat at the stage level. She would undoubtedly leave through that door. It might be tricky, but Qing was resourceful. He would follow her and snatch her. Zhou told all of that to Qing in his text message. He couldn’t wait for 11:15.

*     *     *

As the Federal Reserve Chairman neared the end of the question and answer session following her talk at twelve minutes past eleven, Elizabeth was writing furiously on her steno pad, not wanting to miss a word.

In a concluding sentence, Jane Peterson said, “We at the Federal Reserve are well aware of the enormous repercussions for the world’s economy of the actions we take on interest rates. You can be sure we will do everything possible to act prudently. Thank you for your attention and for your thoughtful questions.”

The audience stood and applauded the Federal Reserve Chairman. On her feet, Elizabeth looked around the auditorium. Up the rows on the right side at the top was Zhou Yun.

He was staring at her
.

Their eyes locked. She saw him pressing keys on his phone. She guessed what he was doing: alerting one of his men outside the hall to seize her at the break.

This was precisely what Craig had warned her might happen, and she had brushed that off. She had been kidnapped by Zhou’s brother in Paris, and that had ruined everything for Craig. She couldn’t let that happen again. She had to find a way to elude Zhou’s men and get out of the convention center.

While the audience was still clapping and the conference director was thanking the Federal Reserve Chairman, Elizabeth knew what she had to do. It was likely that whomever Zhou sent to grab her would be waiting outside the door closest to her on the lower level.

For a few more seconds the center aisle consisting of stairs leading up to the doors in the back of the hall were still clear while people were applauding and before they began heading toward the exodus. That was her best chance to get away.

She stuffed her iPad into her duffel and bolted for the aisle and up the stairs. She made it to the top just as the exit began from the auditorium. She hoped that by moving fast, Zhou would never have a chance to alert whomever he had sent to grab her.

She rushed through the front door of the hall and out into the air. The skies had opened and a summer shower erupted. She tore down the driveway. Then she took off her low beige heels, placed them in the duffel, and raced barefoot down the steep one hundred thirty-eight stone steps, cutting through the woods.

The steps lacked a railing, and they weren’t straight. From time to time, they turned ninety-degree corners. Rain-slickened, they were treacherous. Elizabeth had to watch her footing to avoid slipping

After going down about twenty steps, she thought she was alone and safe, but then she heard footsteps racing behind her.

A quick glance over her shoulder confirmed it was Qing—the Chinese man who had been in Parelli’s suite in Venice.

She picked up the pace running as fast as she could. It wasn’t good enough. Qing was gaining. If she could get to the road midway down the stairs, she might be able to flag down a passing vehicle. It was a good idea, but at this rate, she’d never make it.

She saw a sharp turn to the left approaching. Elizabeth made the turn, then ducked down and moved in close to the wall so the approaching Qing couldn’t see her.

The instant Qing passed her step, she sprang up, swung her duffel, and smacked him in the back of his head. The blow knocked Qing off balance. He fell against the side of the low wall, over it and into the bushes.

He was dazed but still conscious. She ignored him and continued running, realizing she only had a couple minutes head start until he resumed his chase.

Her feet were hurting, but she kept going. At last she reached the road. The rain had stopped. The sun was shining.

She spotted a white van coming down from the conference center. She ran into the center of the road and waved her hands. The van stopped. Something indicating “Eco Friendly Products” was painted on the side. Only a driver was in the van. Well, we’ll see if these environmentalists have any compassion for a human being, she thought.

The driver rolled down his window and called to her, “Do you need help?”

No, I’m out here, getting a sun tan, she thought. What do you think? “Oh, please help me,” she cried out. “I need a ride into town.”

“Climb in,” he said.

Those were the most wonderful words she’d ever heard.

As he pulled away, the driver asked, “What happened to you?”

“Fight with my boyfriend.”

That shut him up. He dropped her at the end of the promenade, two blocks from the Eden Roc. She had no intention of telling Craig what had happened.