The Patriot Threat (20 page)

She traced the outline of two triangles with her finger.

A six-pointed star.

“The Star of David,” she said. “Washington’s gift to Haym Salomon.”

He was amazed. “I’ve never noticed that before.”

“Few have. But once you see it, it’s hard to miss. Kind of like that arrow in the FedEx logo.”

She could see that he was fascinated. She had been, too, when first told. “I assume history was not one of your interests in school?”

“Hell, school was not an interest in school. Not my thing.”

“Paul Larks was investigating some sensitive matters for the Treasury secretary that dealt with Haym Salomon and the heirs’ claims for repayment. The president himself ordered that inquiry. Larks found some information but, unfortunately, the important stuff was purged by Andrew Mellon in 1925, when Congress was once again looking into authorizing repayment. A previous investigation, ordered in 1937 by FDR, confirmed that Mellon had probably taken the Salomon repayment documents.”

“Which proves the U.S. government now owes his heirs $330 billion?”

“Something like that.”

“I don’t get it. How could this interest a guy like Kim Yong Jin? Okay, we might owe somebody $330 billion, but that’s not an international incident.”

She needed this man to believe her.

Get those documents, Isabella.

She could not let her boss down again.

“Larks copied some confidential papers—”

“I get that. But you still have the originals. It’s not the end of the world.”

“Actually, it is. Those copies are important, particularly if you know what you’re looking at. We don’t want them floating around. And Anan Wayne Howell, for all his fanaticism, actually might know exactly what they mean.”

She wondered how long Luke Daniels had worked with the Magellan Billet. From what she knew, that agency only hired the best. Stephanie Nelle, its longtime head, bordered on legendary. She’d even once considered applying there herself. For a long time you had to be a lawyer to be a part, but in recent years that requirement had been waived. Perhaps Stephanie Nelle might take notice of her here. A move to international espionage would be good. She’d had a few tastes of that on several other assignments.

Daniels smiled at her. “You must really think me an idiot.”

She said nothing.

“I hear what you’re sayin’. But I also hear what you’re not sayin’. All this trouble for a bunch of copies? Bullshit. But I’m going to give you the benefit of allowing you to keep what you’re holdin’ back to yourself. At least for a while longer. ’Cause right now, it doesn’t really matter.”

She remained silent.

“Lockjaw?” he asked. “I get that myself sometimes. A word of advice. Don’t try this bullshit story with Pappy. He’s—”

A perplexed look came to her face, which he noticed.

“Malone. That’s Pappy. Me? I’m downright congenial compared with him. He has a zero bullshit-tolerance level. Don’t push him.”

“I’ll remember that.”

She watched as he studied the dollar bill again.

“That is pretty amazing, though, about the Star of David,” he said. “You almost had me with that one.”

“What I said about that is true. There are many amazing things about the dollar bill.” She decided to toss him one more tidbit. “In recent years the $10, $20, $50, and $100 bills have all been redesigned. Lots of bells and whistles have been added to make counterfeiting harder. Ever heard of the Omnibus Appropriations Act?”

He shook his head.

“Section 111 of that act expressly forbids Treasury or the Bureau of Engraving from using any funds appropriated by Congress for the redesign of the $1 bill.” She pointed at the money he held. “That has to stay exactly like it is.”

The look on his face asked why.

So she led him along.

“That
is
part of what we’re here to find out.”

TWENTY-NINE

A
DRIATIC
S
EA

Kim was enjoying his anonymity. Neither Howell nor the woman had a clue to his identity. The crowded room was full of strangers, except for one face, on the far side, sitting at a window table by himself.

Malone.

The American had managed not only to escape the trap set for him, but had also found his way here. He assumed Howell had led him, as there’d been no sign of Malone from their tail of the woman with the satchel.

Hana stood at a counter twenty meters away sipping a bottled water.

For him, knowing the lay of the land, and the players in a room, came from living in an autocratic society where no one trusted anyone. Keeping everyone off guard was the most effective mechanism in retaining control. His family, occupying the apex of the political pyramid, had always enjoyed the luxury of only looking for trouble beneath them, never above. But that didn’t mean you ignored your family. His father had executed his own father’s brother, branding his great-uncle an enemy of the state. As a younger man, he’d never understood that. But as he’d grown older, the idea that family might pose the greatest threat had become a much clearer reality.

His half brother was living proof.

His own immediate family, though, remained benign. His children were all grown, all of them except Hana married. None to his knowledge had any interest in politics. His sons were businessmen, his daughters either mothers or teachers, living in North Korea. He hadn’t spoken to any of them since he’d left. It seemed that his fall from power had also included losing his children. Hana alone remained loyal, never judging, always there. She so reminded him of her mother. They’d not been married. Instead, she’d been one of many mistresses he once maintained. On that score he and his father and grandfather were much alike. He couldn’t help it. Women were a weakness. He’d met Hana’s mother twenty-five years ago when he was still in favor, drawn by her beauty. His wife had never minded his dalliances, content with the wealth and privilege that being married to the heir apparent had provided. But she, too, left him after the fall, remaining in North Korea when he fled to Macao. Which he hadn’t really minded. The marriage had turned depressing, draining from him much-needed talents and energy.

As he studied Howell and the woman Parks had said was named Jelena it was obvious they were connected. Their light touches and casual conversation seemed proof of a close relationship. They seemed utterly at ease with each other, content that everything had worked as planned. So what should he do next? He could proceed a number of ways.

But Jelena made the decision for him.

She stood, kissed Howell lightly on the lips, and walked away, leaving the satchel on the table. Perhaps she was visiting the restroom? Or headed somewhere else? Didn’t really matter. They were now separated and he caught Hana’s eyes with his own.

And he saw she knew exactly what to do.

*   *   *

Malone studied Kim Yong Jin, who was clearly interested in Howell and the woman. He had to assume Kim knew both his and Howell’s identity—as who else on board that cruise ship would have set him up for Paul Larks’ death.

So what now?

The answer came as the woman with the satchel left Howell and bounded off toward the restrooms.

Kim immediately walked to Howell’s table and sat in the empty chair.

*   *   *

“Mr. Howell, you and I have never met personally. But we do know each other. I am Peter From Europe.”

It took a moment, then Kim saw that Howell seemed to register the identity.

“We’ve emailed,” Howell said. “What are you doing here?”

“I’ve been looking for you.”

Howell looked much like his photo on the website. Mid-thirties, trim build, thinning black hair. The bio from the site had also noted a degree in political science. No work experience had been referenced and Kim doubted this man had accomplished much, besides stumbling onto what may be the cleverest weapon of mass destruction ever devised.

“How did you find me?” Howell asked, concern in his voice.

“Paul Larks facilitated that. I assume from him you know me as
the Korean
.”

He caught the surprise on Howell’s face as the American reached for the satchel and started to leave.

“That would not be wise.”

“Go screw yourself.”

Howell lifted the bag.

“I have Jelena.”

Howell froze.

“She is my prisoner.”

Howell’s gaze raked the room in the direction the woman had gone.

“Quite right. She just left. But my associates have her hidden away. Her life is now in your hands.”

He kept his voice low, directing both his words and gaze straight at his intended audience. The use of Jelena’s name sent a further message that he was also informed. But he hadn’t forgotten about Malone, across the room, who was certainly watching.

Howell sat.

“Much better,” he said.

He allowed Howell a moment of composure.

“I have to say, I’m disappointed in both you and Larks. I paid for you and him to come here, the idea being that I wanted to meet with you both. I thought we shared the same ideals. But then I learn that you considered me
un
trustworthy. A foreigner.”

“This doesn’t concern you. I’m not a traitor.”

“You’re just a man who thinks the rules do not apply to him.”

“They don’t apply to anyone.”

“Are you right, Mr. Howell? Is what you say true? That’s what I came to find out. We do share the same ideals. I want to believe what you say.”

He thought appealing to this man’s ego might work. People like Howell, who’d convinced themselves of the righteousness of their cause, were easily swayed by sympathetic ears. That same tactic worked every day across North Korea.

“Are you an American citizen?” Howell asked. “Do you really pay taxes? Are you subject to our laws?”

He shook his head. “None of the above. I lied about my predicament. But only because I truly want to understand what it is you know.”

“Why does this concern you?”

“It seems that anyone who is willing to aid your cause should be viewed as a friend. I doubt you have many allies. From what I know, you are a convicted criminal, a fugitive from American justice. Yet you judge my motives?”

The younger man leaned forward and whispered, “I’m not telling you a damn thing.”

Howell had seemed to calm himself. His nerve had returned, along with the boldness that had surely guided him in exile.

He made his position clear. “Then she will die.”

“I’ll get help from the crew. Turn you in.”

“And I will do the same to you. Except that you will then be available for arrest and extradition back to the United States, and Jelena will be at the bottom of the Adriatic, her body weighted, sunk to the depths.”

He could see that Howell was beginning to realize this was serious.

“What do you want?”

He pointed to the satchel. “To read what’s in there. After that, you and I will speak again.”

The ferry continued its smooth path east across calm water.

He did not have the time for Howell’s obvious agony of indecision. So he made the call for him, reaching for the case and saying, “Wait here.”

THIRTY

V
IRGINIA

Stephanie felt better now that her agents were apprised of the danger potential. She’d meant what she’d said to Joe Levy. Never had she taken unnecessary chances with her people’s lives. After ending the call to Cotton she’d called Luke, who’d just made contact with Treasury’s eyes and ears, a female agent named Isabella Schaefer.

“I should have Treasury recall her,” the president said.

They were still sitting alone in Ed Tipton’s den. Dawn was not far away. She was tired and needed sleep, but she knew how to run on adrenaline. The president was a notorious night owl.

“Let’s not,” she said. “That agent has a ten-day head start on us. We could use her knowledge.”

He did not argue or object. Instead he sat silent, as if weighing the emergence of a new idea. She’d made both of her calls using Tipton’s landline. Danny had assured her that their host had said it was okay. But she was beginning to get the idea. “The Chinese now know I’m in the game.”

“Which means they’ll be watching
and
listening to you.”

That meant, be careful with mobile phones. There was nothing secure about them.

“It’s that damn FDR,” he said. “This is all his fault. He was the luckiest bastard in the world.”

“He was crippled.”

“Which didn’t stop him. His greatest successes came after the polio. Before that he was just another spoiled rich kid, an only child, a mama’s boy. All he ever did his whole life was exactly what he wanted. He didn’t know the meaning of the word
no
.”

She knew a little about Roosevelt. His father died when he was eighteen and his mother had indeed become an overriding influence. As a young man he was attractive, clever, and ambitious, using family money and connections to steadily climb the political ladder. But there was nothing wrong with that, anybody in the same position would have done the same. Still, he lost two elections prior to contracting polio in 1921. After that he went 6–0. Two terms as governor of New York. Four terms as president of the United States.

“I’ve read a lot about dear ol’ FDR,” Danny said. “I never realized, but he wasn’t all that bright and never amounted to much of anything at school. He talked more than he listened, and was not opposed to stretching the truth when it suited him. Teachers did not speak highly of him. He knew little to nothing about either money or economics. Why would he? His family on both sides were rich. Everything was always provided for him. His grandfather, on his mother’s side, sold opium to China. Can you imagine what the press would do with that today?”

She wondered about the rant, which seemed a bit out of character.

“His first two terms as president were a failure,” he said. “Unemployment in 1939, after six years of Roosevelt, was worse than in 1931, before he was ever elected. Stock values had also plummeted to new lows. And the national debt? That’s his greatest gift. It grew more in the 1930s than in the previous 150 years. All he did was print money, spend it, then print more. If it hadn’t been for World War Two he would have been a two-termer, gone and forgotten. War saved this country, not FDR.”