The Italian Mission (26 page)

Jill leaned between the two front seats spurring the driver on. “Hurry. That explosion wasn’t far up the road. What would make a noise like that?”

Pio, the Italian contractor, rubbed his stubbly chin, “Sounded like military ordnance. Mortar, grenade launcher, mine, could be anything.”

“Nothing you can buy in a store though,” Lad added.

“No,” the Italian agreed. “This is a civilized country.”

Pio threw the Alfa into a four-wheel drift around a gravelly corner. Fifty yards ahead they saw the downed tree and the gutted Mercedes, doors wide open, in the middle of the road. He slammed on the brakes and skidded to a stop, enveloped in a cloud of dust.

42.

Beijing, Saturday Evening

“May I get you some tea, Mr. Wang?” The petite young woman poked her head around the half-open door, keeping her eyes fixed on the carpet a few feet in front of her.

“No! Shut the door!” Wang perched on the edge of his massive leather chair and cracked his knuckles, one at a time. Things were going well, but many things still could go wrong. He was expecting a call from General Hsu who ran the foreign intelligence department of the Ministry of State Security. Unfortunately, Hsu was Leong’s nephew, but there was nothing he could do about that. After he had consolidated his power, this sort of nepotism would stop. Now all he needed was for Hsu to acknowledge that Wang would be adding the foreign intelligence portfolio to his PLA responsibilities. He didn’t care what Hsu’s feelings in the matter might be. But the damn phone remained silent.

He couldn’t wait. He reached into his coat pocket for his private mobile and dialed a familiar number. Matthis answered. “Yeah?”

Wang shook off his irritation at the man’s familiarity. “Do you have him yet?”

“We’re close. Our friends in Sicily have the quarry cornered. I’m on my way there myself as soon as the copter arrives. We’ll finish the job when the final payment shows up in the Zurich account.”

“I told you I need to see proof before I send the money,” Wang almost shouted into the phone, then, with difficulty, calmed himself.

“I never agreed to that. Nothing on credit in this business. Transfer the money and you’ll get your picture.”

Wang gritted his teeth. If these people were Chinese, he would crush them for such insolence. But they weren’t. “Where is he?”

“The location doesn’t matter. In the mountains. Leave that to me.”

The intercom light on Wang’s desk lit up. He held the mobile to his chest and barked at this assistant. “Who is it?”

“General Hsu.”

“Tell him I’ll be right with him.” Wang spoke into the mobile, “I’ll call you back.” He terminated the call without waiting for a response from Matthis, then picked up the receiver of his desk phone and hit the blinking light.

“Hsu. It has been some time since we met. At the last party Congress, wasn’t it? How is your beautiful wife?”

“She is fine, Comrade Wang. I understand you will soon be in charge some Ministry functions. I look forward to working with you, although, of course, we will miss Uncle Leong’s steady guidance. When would it be convenient to brief you on the status of departmental matters? I am at your disposal.”

“As to that, check with my assistant. She knows my schedule. But there is an urgent matter I need to speak to you about now. It concerns the so-called Panchen Lama. I understand that you still do not have him in custody.”

“It has proved to be a challenge. There are forces in play that we do not fully understand. At first, it was the Americans. But we believe that they are no longer protecting the young man. Someone else is responsible for kidnapping him and evading our agents. We are making progress. We are using satellite surveillance to trace the vehicle that we believe is carrying him. Our personnel in the area should intercept it very soon. They will then escort the vehicle to the American Embassy in Palermo where we have arranged for the young man to be returned to us.”

Wang’s tone switched from polite to hostile. “We have no more time to waste. Do you realize how serious the internal situation has become? Three Chinese soldiers were shot in Lhasa this morning.”

“Yes, of course I understand, comrade. As I said, we have been …”

“Whatever you have been doing, it isn’t working. Unlike your uncle, I am not a patient man. Surely, you’ve seen the phony Lama’s latest counter-revolutionary message. It is a provocation not only to the Tibetan revolutionaries, but to ethnic agitators in all parts of the country. He must be silenced!”

“But, comrade, our orders from the Steering Committee are to pick up the Lama at Palermo and return him to China on the assumption that, once in custody, he will be persuaded to retract his inflammatory statements and calm the situation.”

Wang growled, “The situation has become too explosive for half measures. His followers must be made to understand that their uprising has no leader.”

“What are you suggesting?” asked General Hsu, his voice lowered almost to a whisper.

“What do you think? Take some initiative. Resolve this issue now.”

“With all respect, Comrade Wang, written orders from the Ministry can only be superceded by new written orders. I believe you will find that directive in our departmental regulations. It is my understanding that Comrade Leong is still the Minister, despite his illness.”

Wang controlled his anger with great effort and said calmly with only a slight undertone of malice, “You will have new orders soon enough. In the meantime, you might want to start looking for a new job.”

43.

Conti leaned the Panchen Lama up against a large oak tree and caught his breath. He took the young man’s pulse, then raised one of his eyelids and peered inside. In the excitement, the concussion he’d suffered in the crash must have been aggravated. Conti let the eyelid slide shut, but it immediately popped open again. A groggy voice rumbled from deep in the Lama’s throat, “Where are we?”

“Good question,” Conti answered as he unbuttoned the top of the young man’s shirt. “In a ravine somewhere in the mountains of Sicily. Just north of a town called
Agrigento
. I think. But where we’re heading is more to the point — to the CIA office in Palermo where you’ll be safe.”

“So why are we sitting here …” he let his arm fall onto the ground, “… in the dirt?”

“We’ve run into an obstacle, so we’ve got to stay here until our friends have dealt with the people who blocked the road.”

“Do these people still want to kill me?”

Conti sat back against a rock and wiped the dirt from his forehead with his sleeve. “Well, it’s not a social call. But we’re not going to let them get to you. That’s why I’m here. To make sure you’re O.K.”

“Who are they?”

“Local mafia — hired by the people who sprung you from China in the first place.”

“Mafia?”

“Yes.” Conti smiled in spite of himself. “Don’t worry. We have our own
Mafioso
protecting us.” As he spoke another burst of automatic weapons fire came from the road above them.

“I do not understand.” With some effort, the young Lama raised his hand and rubbed his temple. “If these people helped me escape from China, why do they want to kill me now?”

“A very good question. Apparently, someone, somewhere, changed his mind. But it doesn’t really matter. Our job is to get you to Palermo where, I hope, we’ll get some answers. Do you think you can walk on your own? We should put some distance between us and these maniacs.”

“Yes. But
,
Mr. Conti?”

“Yes.”

“If these people want to kill me, they must fear that … that the Tibetan people would follow me.”

“That’s exactly …” Conti began, but was interrupted by a rustling in the bushes across the stream at the bottom of the hill. “Shit! They’ve circled around below us. Lie flat and be quiet.”

Two Italians bounded out of the bushes, waded through the stream, and started scrambling up the slope. They carried assault rifles. Every few steps, they stopped and fired randomly up the hill. Conti moved in front of the Lama and tried to keep the broad trunk of the oak between himself and the attackers. Scanning the hillside above them, he saw no way to reach better cover without giving the Torrentino soldiers a clear shot. Still, he had to try. If they stayed put, they’d be sitting ducks. He stood up, draped the slight young man over his shoulders like a sheep, and began to scramble up the loose rocks toward the road, murmuring a prayer to St. Francis as he went.

A spray of bullets hit the ground behind him throwing up dust and pebbles. One chance. If he could climb a few more feet, he could dive over the shoulder of the hill and up onto the road surface, out of the line of fire. He sucked in as much air as his lungs would hold and sprang forward, aiming for a flat rock that would give him purchase to reach the road. But he hadn’t figured on the Lama’s extra weight. His boot fell short of the rock by inches. He fell flat, the dead weight of the Lama grinding his face into the scree. Bullets whizzed over their heads.

He shrugged off the Lama and rolled over. It seemed that the bullets were coming from both directions — a gunfight was raging over his head. Had Eyepatch come to their rescue? Whoever was up on the road had some serious hardware. As he watched, the attackers below retreated back down into the brush at the bottom of the ravine. A whooshing sound cut through the air above him as a projectile shot forward out of a small cloud of smoke. Memories of Afghanistan flooded his brain and the corners of his lips twitched upward. Before the smile could form, a grenade ploughed into the trees where the Torrentinos had hidden and exploded, throwing up dirt, leaves, and pieces of clothing.

As he struggled to process this, Jill came sliding down the hill on her backside. “Are you alive? Are you two O.K.?”

“Yes to the first question. As to the second, not particularly. Someone has been holding my face against a power sander.”

“God! What a mess” She reached into her pocket, pulled out a packet of Kleenex and began dabbing at the blood beading up through his scraped face.”

“You, on the other hand, look great. Never saw a more welcome sight.”

“Flatterer.” She pried her eyes from his face and looked over at the Panchen Lama, lying curled up beside them. “How’s he doing?”

“Groggy. Still concussed from the crash. He’s slowly coming around, I think. We need to get him to a doctor.”

“There’ll be one at our office in Palermo. Should be there in about an hour.” She yelled up the hill. “Lad! Let’s get these guys into the car.”

The CIA agent scrambled down the hill, picked up the Panchen Lama with one arm, and took two long steps up to the road.

“Jesus!” Conti watched, eyes wide. “When did we start hiring weightlifters?”

“Not a weightlifter, a linebacker.” Jill helped Conti to his feet, and together they made their way up to the road, where Lad was stowing the Panchen Lama in the back seat of the car. Random shots came from the direction of the roadblock.

“Who’s still shooting?” Jill asked.

“Long story,” Conti answered. “The Fortunato and the Torrentino crime families have been feuding for a hundred years. Our presence provided them an opportunity to have a go at each other again. Remind me to send a few cases of
Proseco
to the Fortunatos.”

Pio, who was sitting the driver’s seat listening to their conversation, offered, “They’d rather have
Nero d’Avola
. Good strong Sicilian wine, not that sissy bubbly stuff.”

Conti nodded. “Whatever they want. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

They all piled into the car with exception of Lad, who rummaged in the trunk, putting weapons and ammo into a backpack. He slammed the lid down and said, “O.K., got what I need. You guys take off.”