Tomahawk (53 page)

“That's too sensitive to hang out there. We've been all over it with Naval Intelligence, and that's the consensus. Anyway, he's not going to go through it there in the airport. In fact, he won't get to open it at all. As soon as it's in his possession, we move in. It doesn't really matter what it is. It's the intent that counts in espionage charges.”

“I don't have a good feeling about this. Look, am I going to be armed? I've got a gun at home. I could run over there, get it, come back—”

“You don't need a gun. Counting NIS, Naval Intelligence, FBI, and the Agency, you're going to have twenty agents in a hundred-foot circle around you when you step up to that news counter.”

“That's a lot of cooks. If this soup gets spoiled—”

“Lay off,” said Attucks, and for just a moment, Dan saw contempt. “You're pulling the plug on the Navy. So why don't you just leave it to the counterintelligence professionals? And we'll get your part of it over with as fast and painlessly as we can.”

At 6:30 P.M., the arrival area at National was as full of cars and taxis and hurrying, overburdened human beings as Dan had ever seen a space. Planes pivoted and rolled on the far side of the outflung wings of the terminal.

He was working his way toward the main entrance when he thought he glimpsed a familiar face. He frowned, searching the crowd, but didn't catch it again in the stream
of humanity. He nearly ran over three women dragging luggage carts, stumbled, then recovered himself; and there she was. When she saw he'd seen her, she turned instantly away, letting him catch up from behind, as if she didn't want to be seen face-to-face with him. Taxis honked, drivers leaning out.

“Mei. I haven't seen you—you haven't been in class.”

She said rapidly, eyes averted, “I know where you're going. Listen. Turn around now. Go back to your office.”

“What do you mean?”

“Leave. Just trust me. Go back.”

“I have to—” he caught himself. He couldn't tell her about Kerry, about revenge, about the impending sting. She worked for them. “No. I'm going through with it.”

“Then listen. There's a man here who knows everything. Do you really need this money? Enough to risk your life?”

“I'm not risking anybody's life. A man who knows everything. You mean Li?”

“No. I don't know his name.” She pushed blue-black hair from a lowered face, then shot him one more swift sidelong glance before dropping her eyes again. “I just wanted to say I'm sorry. I didn't want to get you involved in this. It was not why I went out with you.”

“It's all right.”

“They wanted me to pretend something else—something that would make you more willing to work with them. But I wouldn't.”

He felt suddenly cold, felt his legs weaken under him as he understood. And because she hadn't, they'd decided to threaten him in another way. Set a gang waiting for a lone woman on a bicycle…. He mumbled, “I understand.”

“I won't be coming back to class. I am going back to China.”

“You are? You can't finish your—”

“They say I have to go. I have to obey. Someday that will change. But that is the way it is now. So be careful. And can I—”

Before he could respond, he found himself being hugged hard around the neck. Before his hands could
come up, she released him. Darting an apprehensive glance around, she signaled to the nearest cab, ducked into it. Then the crowd closed like a curtain and she was gone.

Li was sitting in the row of seats closest to the news counter, looking at a copy of
The Economist
When their eyes met, he closed it quickly and got up, picking up an umbrella. He was wearing the same light coat as he had in Balboa Park. Unbuttoned, it showed a mustard brown suit that looked as if it had been bought off the rack at a thrift shop.

“Mr. Lenson.” The pouchy, tired eyes creased in a quarter smile behind tinted glasses.

“How are you? How's Mr. Zhang?”

“Well. How was your cruise?”

“Okay.”

“I didn't expect to see you in uniform.”

“You took me by surprise. I don't keep civilian clothes at the office.”

“There are a lot of servicemen here.” Li looked around, a seemingly casual glance that Dan saw was actually a close scrutiny of those around them. He hoped whoever all these observers were, they were hanging back, with a long lens. Binoculars would be even better.

“Do you want this?” he asked the attaché.

Li didn't answer, didn't reach for the portfolio Dan held out.

The little man with the mustache started walking instead. Dan hesitated, then tucked it under his arm and followed. They threaded the crowd down the south wing and into a corridor lined with stores. In front of Olssen's, Li stopped. He put his hands in his coat pockets. “I'm angry with you.”

“With me? Why?”

“I told you we don't meet face-to-face like this. It's not safe. And I don't like being jerked around.”

“I'm not jerking you around!”

“Telling me to hurry; telling me that if I don't, you'll destroy the material. That's jerking me around.”

“I thought you wanted it. That's what you said, wasn't
it? I have something you need. And you have something I need.”

Li studied him. Again he slid his eyes over the crowd. Finally, he said, “Follow me.”

By the Delta ticket counter, a solid line of people waiting to check in screened them from the open area of the terminal as effectively as yards of concrete. Dan switched the envelope from one hand to the other, but Li made no move to take it. Instead, he said, “Now. What did you say you had that was so important?”

“A selection. Some things you might find interesting.”

“You mentioned material on TERCOM?”

“That's part of it.”

“You seem nervous.”

“Hey, I'm betraying my fucking country. They catch me, I go to Leavenworth till I'm eighty. How laid back do you expect me to be?”

Li perused the corridor. He even looked straight up at the ceiling.

He murmured, “Of course, I know you've gone to your security agencies.” His pouchy eyes studied Dan without expression.

“What are you talking about? I haven't told anyone.”

“Oh, really? You haven't arranged with them to pass faked documents?”

Dan realized suddenly there was no way Attucks could be backing him up here. There were people all around them, immobile in the check-in lines, and Li had been leading the way. They couldn't have agents in every line, yet anyone following them would have been immediately obvious. All the attaché had to do was take his hand out of his coat pocket, shoot or stab him, pick up the package, and stroll off into the crowd.

He forced himself to keep slouching. Li was bluffing, testing him. Dan told him, “Hey, here it is. Take a look at it. That's the real McCoy.” But he was hoping desperately that Li wouldn't. Though maybe, if you weren't a missile engineer, what was in there might be enough to fool you, at least for a hurried glance.

“Is there any software there?”

Dan felt sweat rolling down his back. He should have
supervised putting the package together. Now he had to improvise and lie, and hope he wasn't contradicting what he'd said before, which he barely remembered. His mind seemed to be hanging up, like a computer running out of programming. “I told you, some. Hard-copy printouts of new patches.”

“Not the complete guidance package?”

“No. Patches are pieces of code that fix areas with bugs.”

“I see. Well, we very much would like the complete package. I've discussed this with Colonel Zhang. If you could get the latest version for us, we could pay you up to … let's say forty thousand dollars.”

“Uh, I'll see. That kind of stuffs not easy to get. Do you want this or not?” He offered it again.

But instead of taking it, the diminutive man in the scruffy coat turned away again. He breasted the incoming current, heading out into the open air through the automatic door. Dan followed him, dodging Pakistanis and barking his shin against a baggage cart. The son of a bitch wasn't making this easy. If he'd just take the damn thing … No, he had to take it within range of the cameras, of witnesses. Or it was no good, a failed bust.

Li stood at the curb, hands in his pockets, umbrella tucked under his arm. Dan stepped up beside him. Getting angry, he said, “Do you want this or not?”

“I'm not sure I do.” Li didn't look at him directly. He was scanning the line of taxis and limos and cars. Dan staggered as someone jostled him from behind, almost knocking him into the roadway. He clutched at the portfolio. It was covered now with damp marks where his fingers had clutched it. “I'm not sure I trust you entirely.”

“The feeling's mutual. Look, let's get this over with.” He spotted a trash receptacle a few feet away. “See that shitcan? If you don't want this, that's where it's going. Make up your mind.”

The cab in front of them eased out, and another car cut in from the outer lane to take its place. Something large and black, a Caddy or a Lincoln. The driver it cut off leaned on his horn. Someone jostled Dan again.

Then, before he could react or register what was happening,
he was being body-blocked from behind, shoved off the curb. He stumbled and flailed his free arm. A hand smashed down on his cap, bending him into an involuntary crouch. A door slammed open, and he was shoved again, propelling him into a gray leather interior. Bodies surged in after him. He kicked, but got a savage blow to his kidney in return. The pain was so sudden and overwhelming that he screamed. It was cut off by the sound of a heavy door slamming.

He lay on the floor, panting, till the pain ebbed. Then pushed himself to his knees, and looked around.

He was in the passenger compartment of a limousine. The windows were opaque, dark glass. Li sat across from him, hands on his knees. Two other men, much larger than the colonel, sat above Dan in dark suits. One was Chinese and the other was black.

The cabbie's horn sounded again, faintly, from outside. The limo surged into motion, rocking him back, then settled into a smooth cruise.

“What the hell is this?” he said, but not very loudly.

Li said* “Get up, Dan. Take a seat.” The two large men sat motionless, watching him. “I'm sorry my sergeant had to hit you. But if you think for a moment, you'll understand. We can't just take whatever you give us and hand over cash. I have the money ready. This isn't a sham. But we have to know if this is the real stuff.”

He couldn't think of anything to say. The enclosed space swung from side to side and he felt a surge of acceleration. Moving out of the National approaches onto one of the highways, Glebe, or Arlington Boulevard, or Columbia Pike, but he couldn't tell which. Or which direction they were going.

He was pretty sure Attucks hadn't planned for this.

He was fitting his still-painful back into the cushioned bench seat when a motor hummed. The partition slid open, and he caught a glimpse of the back of the driver's head, of traffic riding serenely through the gathering dark beyond. Four lanes of it. The partition hummed closed before he could see anything else.

Li reached forward and dusted off his trousers. It was the first time he'd touched Dan. His touch was surprisingly
gentle. He said, “Now, let's see what we have.”

He took the portfolio at last from Dan's unresisting fingers, produced a penknife, and slit the plastic. He slit the envelope, too, and slid out the documents.

Dan glanced at the door handles. He couldn't tell if they were locked or not. Even if they weren't, he figured by that one glimpse past the driver, and the purr of the engine, they had to be going at least fifty. Go out the door, he'd have about three seconds to tumble and break his bones before the next vehicle behind went over him. Across from him, the large men regarded him silently.

“Can you tell me what this is?” said Li, holding out a page. Dan rubbed his forehead, feeling how wet it was. He said, “I think that's the radar altimeter.”

Li tipped down his glasses, regarding him. He kept the page extended for a moment more, then, when Dan added nothing, leaned back and tapped on the partition.

It slid open again, and this time, through the slightly wider opening, Dan saw the side of a young Asian face, male, unfamiliar; beside it, he glimpsed the edge of an arm and shoulder in a pinstriped shirt. Li said something in Chinese and passed the page through, hesitated, then passed the rest of the sheaf after it. The partition slid closed, and again they rode in a taut silence.

“Smoke?” said Li, extending a pack of Camels.

“No thanks.”

“That's right, you don't. I ought to quit. One of these days.”

Li lit up. Dan visualized lemons, trying to work up some spittle. His mouth was dry as dust. With four people breathing the enclosed air, and now Li puffing away, the atmosphere was suffocating. “Can we get some more air in here? Crack a window or something?”

The black man looked at Li; the attaché nodded. A moment later, cool air hissed. The smoke whirled, thinned, sucked out through invisible vents. Dan dragged his hand across his forehead again. Shit, shit, shit. Why hadn't he listened to Mei? Or to his own judgment, and brought the gun?

The partition slid open. The Asian turned in his seat and began a colloquy with Li. Past him, Dan saw the
striped shirt again. A hand came up, holding one of the pages, passing it back to the Chinese. The hand was pale-skinned and freckled. Not Asian. European, Caucasian.

His sight focused on it, glued to it. To it, and to an edge of red-orange suspender and the back of a reddish blond head that moved into his field of view for a moment, then out again.

The partition hummed closed. The attaché set the documents gently on the seat beside him. He sat smoking, apparently lost in thought. Dan sat sweating, awaiting the inevitable.