Beijing

Sitting in his office smoking cigarette after cigarette, Liu had thought long and hard about the consequences of Xiang’s seizure by the Americans for Operation New World Order. He was persuaded that having Xiang’s father call Xiang to let him know they were still alive would convince Xiang not to talk. However, regardless of what Xiang did, Liu was convinced everything could still proceed as planned. Xiang only knew the identity of the conduit, not the source, and Liu had a way to protect the source. Besides, they were already in the next phase, and he didn’t want to turn back.

Liu did have one problem, and that was President Yao. Though Yao only paid attention to the Chinese media, he would no doubt learn of the Dulles Airport incident and Xiang’s seizure. If he didn’t learn it from the media, the Chinese ambassador to Washington was scheduled to be in Beijing next week for a Party gathering. He might mention it to the president, who would be furious at Liu for not telling him. Still worse, in the kind of impulsive, irrational decision he sometimes made, Yao might shut down the operation. It would be far better for Liu to break the news to Yao himself. Then he would be able to add the appropriate spin. So with trepidation, he arranged a meeting with Yao at his office.

When Liu arrived, Yao was with his top science advisors reviewing plans for a space launch in two months to put Chinese men on the moon. Liu sat through the end of the meeting, noting how Yao was bursting with pride at what they hoped to achieve. Perhaps Yao would be less critical, Liu thought, since he was in such high spirits.

When the others had gone, Yao said, “You wanted to see me?”

“We’ve had a development in Operation New World Order.”

Yao frowned. “More bad news obviously.”

“The Americans have seized Xiang, who had been in charge of collecting the information missives from Andrew Martin.”

“Will Xiang tell the Americans about Martin?” Yao asked.

“I have taken steps to preclude that. Nevertheless, I can’t be positive.”

Yao closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. When he opened them, he said, “Won’t this put our entire operation at risk? Perhaps it’s better to call it off.”

“I don’t think so. We have made so much progress in the second phase.”

“Will our American agent be willing to continue and stick with what he has promised?”

“I’m sure of it,” Liu replied, presenting a confident veneer for which he had no basis.

Yao shook his head. He wasn’t buying. “You will meet with him to make sure he’s willing to continue,” Yao ordered.

Liu didn’t like that idea. Word of their meeting could leak out. He was trying to decide how to frame his response when Yao resumed speaking.

“Do you have any leverage over our source, so that he won’t walk away and he’ll do what he promised?” Yao asked.

Liu shook his head. “I am convinced of it from talking to him.”

“That’s not enough,” Yao snapped. “You need leverage. Figure out how to get it. You and the American have the most to lose if Operation New World Order fails. He will be sentenced to life in prison, and you will face a firing squad.” Yao spoke in a cold voice that cut through Liu like a knife.

“I’ve always found,” Yao continued, “that people perform better when they have an understanding of what is at stake for them.”

Charlottesville and Washington

From the time she had left Charlottesville, Kelly stayed in close contact with Rolfe, who briefed her several times a day. On the second day in the safe house, Xiang resumed eating.

Xiang wanted to walk on the trails in the woods that surrounded the safe house, which Kelly approved. Xiang would be followed by two armed agents, one of whom had a Doberman on a leash.

Meantime, Kelly caught up on other work, receiving reports on possible operations being run by China. She had lengthy conversations with people in the San Francisco office. However, she also worked a shorter day, from nine to five thirty, which meant she could walk Julie to school in the morning. With Julie’s help, Kelly also cooked dinner each evening.

On the weekends, she took Julie to the indoor pool at Kenwood Country Club, where her father was a member, and taught her how to dive. Her dad joined them on Sundays. After swimming, he rewarded Julie for her good diving with pizza, followed by a banana split at a local Bethesda Häagan-Dazs.

Kelly was trying to enjoy herself, but it was difficult. Each time Rolfe called, it increased her anxiety level. What if Xiang escaped? What if he decided not to talk as Farrell had predicted?

Calm down, she told herself. You’ve given him a month, and it’s only been two weeks. Unfortunately, Kelly wasn’t a patient person. She continually agonized over whether Xiang would talk. Each night she tossed in bed, imagining how awful she would feel putting Xiang on a plane back to China if he didn’t talk.

Kelly continued like this for another week, watching Farrell’s three week target pass. She was becoming increasingly depressed as she started to truly believe that Xiang would never break.

Then, on day twenty-five, Rolfe called her at her office at three in the afternoon. “Xiang wants to talk to you,” the agent said tersely.

“Good, I’m on my way.”

On the road in an unmarked FBI car, Kelly dared to hope Xiang would be willing to tell her what he knew and, most importantly, to identify the conduit. That was what Farrell had predicted would happen. She tried to tamp her excitement.

When she arrived, Xiang was sitting in a rocker on the verandah in the back of the house. Rolfe was there as well.

Kelly had a gun in her bag. She told Rolfe, “I can take over now.”

He went back into the house and she sat in a wooden chair facing Xiang. “You wanted to talk to me?” she said.

“Yes, first let me explain why.”

“Okay, I’m listening.”

“My father is a peasant,” Xiang began. “A simple man, without any education, but still wise. I never told him what I was doing in the United States, but somehow, he understood I was working for the State in security matters. He knows what the Party and its leaders are like. Mao is gone, but some things remain the same. He knows that anyone who works in the security area is always at great risk.”

Kelly had no idea where Xiang was going with this, but she didn’t interrupt.

“The last time I was home in January,” Xiang continued, “my father took me outside his apartment building where we could talk freely. He told me he understood the State had given him and my mother a comfortable apartment at no cost and a payment each month because they represented the State’s control over me. My father, who had never asked me for anything, made me promise that if I was ever faced with a choice between saving their lives or my own, I must choose my own. ‘For many years we have lived comfortably, thanks to you, my son,’ he told me, ‘in a style we could never have afforded. You have most of your life ahead of you, but ours is behind us. If you do not choose life for yourself, I will never forgive you.’”

Xiang paused, then said, “You no doubt wonder why I’m telling you this.”

“That’s right,” Kelly acknowledged.

“Because on the phone, when my father called me the last time you were here, he didn’t just tell me my mother was sick and they couldn’t come. He said, ‘Remember when you were here in January? I took you outside and told you about your mother’s health.’ In fact, we had never discussed my mother’s health. He was recalling the conversation we had in January to remind me of my promise. He was signaling that he and my mother were under Liu’s control, and I should honor my promise to him and save myself. It took me this past month to decide I should honor my promise. It is horrible for a child to accept that he will be sentencing his parents to death.”

Xiang wiped tears from his eyes. “In addition to my promise to my father,” he continued, “I am also aware that if you were to put me on a plane to Beijing, all three of our lives would be over. So now I’m ready.”

Kelly understood.

Xiang continued, “Tell me how your witness protection program works.”

Though she was pulsing with excitement, Kelly kept calm. “We give you a new identity—birth certificate, driver’s license, Social Security card. Credit cards, for which you have to pay the bills of course. Plastic surgery to touch up your face if you want it. And you pick the place. Anywhere in the US that you want to live, we’ll buy you a house there. It will be in your name, fully paid off, no mortgage. And we’ll give you some cash to get you started until you get a job. That’s pretty much it.”

“And what do I have to do in order to get all this?” Xiang asked.

“Tell me everything about the spy operations you’ve been involved with in the United States and identify the conduit in the newest operation.”

In silence, Xiang rocked his chair back and forth for a few minutes. Then he said, “I want this agreement in writing. I want it to include immunity from prosecution for any crime I may have committed up to this point, and I want it to be signed by a lawyer with the Department of Justice.” Xiang apparently knew how the American legal system worked.

“I can arrange that,” Kelly said with confidence. This was the deal Arthur Larkin had already approved in his office.

“Good. Do it. When I have the document in hand, I’ll talk to you.”

She called Paul and explained what she wanted. Fifteen minutes later, the document was faxed over with Paul’s signature. She handed it to Xiang, who read the document and nodded.

“Let’s go inside to talk,” Kelly said.

They sat down across from each other at the dining room table. Kelly took a recorder out of her bag and placed it on the table. She also took out her iPad to take notes.

For the next hour and a half, Xiang spoke, interrupted occasionally by Kelly. He began with his birth in a small town in Western China, then covered his recruitment by Liu.

“Liu directed me to apply to three American universities,” Xiang explained. “I was admitted to all three, and chose Carnegie Mellon. At CMU, Liu must have had someone watching me, maybe another student. That was probably how he found out about us. When I went back to China to visit my parents before joining you in New York, I was taken to Liu’s office. He said if I went back to the US, married you, and defected, he would kill my parents. I had no doubt he meant it. They were his hostages. Liu had made an investment in me, and he wasn’t about to lose it.”

He stopped talking and looked at her. “Believe me, Kelly, when I say I was very much in love with you. Breaking off our relationship was incredibly painful. It was the hardest thing I have ever done.”

She believed him. He had chosen his parents’ lives over his relationship with her. Could she blame him for that?

“Tell me about your operation with Senator Jasper,” Kelly said.

Xiang explained how Jasper had passed secret information to him that he had obtained as chairman of the Armed Services Committee. “The operation went awry when Vanessa threatened Jasper with the CD,” he said.

Xiang also told Kelly about his involvement with Allison leading up to Jasper’s murder. Kelly knew most of this, but it was still useful to let Xiang set forth the entirety of the operation.

“I killed Jasper in Rock Creek Park. I put the gun and Jasper’s wallet in a storage locker in the basement of our embassy.”

“What happened after that?” Kelly asked.

“I killed Jasper in November. I didn’t hear anything further from Minister Liu until January, two months later, when he asked me to fly to Beijing. He wanted me to play a critical role in a new operation in Washington, which was similar to the Jasper operation though somewhat different.”

“Different how?”

“This time I would not know the source of the intelligence, I would be getting it from a conduit. No dawn meetings in the park, instead I would be going to the office of an important Washington lawyer who did legal work for the embassy. It would be natural for me to be there, since my official title was assistant economic attaché. The lawyer would call me each time I was to come to his office, then when I arrived, he would hand me an unmarked envelope. I have no idea what was inside any of the envelopes. I took them to the embassy and placed them in the diplomatic pouch to be opened only by Minister Liu.”

“How many of these meetings did you have with this lawyer?”

“Eight all together.”

“Over what period of time?”

“The first was in January,” Xiang recalled. “The last was a week before the April incident over the East China Sea.

“And since then have you had any contact with this lawyer?”

“No.”

“What is the lawyer’s name?” Kelly asked, leaning forward in her chair.

Xiang looked over the document he had gotten from Paul. They had reached the moment of truth. Xiang no doubt recognized, Kelly thought, he was about to surrender the only chip he had left. She hoped he wasn’t having buyer’s remorse.

“Andrew Martin,” Xiang blurted out.

Kelly sat up with a start. Martin was not only one of the most prominent lawyers in Washington, but he had been heavily involved in the Jasper affair. With the Chinese government as his client, it made sense he would be the conduit.

But the disclosure was only valuable, Kelly realized, if she could use it to ascertain the mole. That was the information they really needed.

At ten o’clock the following morning, Kelly convened a meeting of the task force. Everyone came, even Wilkins, although he grumbled about the short notice.

While Kelly gave a detailed report of her discussion with Xiang, Wilkins frowned and Paul looked angry. She didn’t know whether it was at her for accusing Martin, or at Martin himself. Farrell, at least, was nodding with approval. The minute she finished, she had her answer.

“That dirty bastard, Martin,” Paul burst out. “He’s worse than I ever thought.”

Kelly was relieved to hear his words. “I want to arrest Martin,” she said. “Haul him down to jail. After he spends a night behind bars, he’ll identify the source of the info he was passing to Xiang.”

“Arrest him for what?” Wilkins asked.

“Espionage.”

Wilkins shook his head emphatically. “You have to be kidding. I’m no lawyer and even I know you don’t have a damn bit of evidence to justify that. All you have is the word of a spy and a murderer. Besides, Xiang has no idea what was in the envelopes he was receiving from Martin. Martin would blast our case out of the water in about three seconds. He’d never spend an hour in jail. He’d find a friendly judge to give him a hearing and then we’d end up with egg on our faces.”

Kelly felt like a kid whose balloon had just been punctured. “So what do you propose we do?” she asked.

Before Wilkins had a chance to respond, Paul said, “Well, I learned a lot practicing law with Martin. Now I want to use some of those lessons.”

“Like what?” Farrell asked.

“Anatole France, who Martin was always fond of, once wrote, ‘The best evidence is perjured evidence.’ Martin used to tell me if we don’t have either the facts or the law on our side, then we have to skew the facts—just enough to get the job done.”

“Could you please speak English instead of that legal gobbledygook?” Kelly requested.

“Okay,” Paul said. “Here’s what we should do. You and I go see Martin at his home this evening. You’ll be carrying a pair of handcuffs, telling Martin we’re here to arrest him for espionage.”

“Then what?”

“When Martin demands to know what evidence we have,” Paul continued, “I tell him that Xiang is prepared to testify that Martin handed him envelopes containing classified information, knowing full well that Xiang would pass them on to Minister Liu. Xiang opened the envelopes before putting them in the pouch to make sure they contained the information Liu wanted. Xiang told us that the last installment contained the memo from Camp David stating the US would not intervene on the side of Japan in a dispute over the islands.”

“You’d be willing to tell him that?” Kelly asked. “Knowing it’s not true?”

“Of course,” said Paul with a shrug. “I won’t be in a courtroom, I’ll be in his house. I can say anything I want as long as he believes me. And he will, because we know that top secret military material was in those envelopes he was passing to Xiang. It’s not like he was passing on a list of DC’s best restaurants.”

Farrell laughed.

“After the way Martin treated Allison and me in dealing with Vanessa’s murder,” Paul continued, “I don’t owe that prick a damn thing.”

“But where are you going with this?” Wilkins asked, sounding skeptical.

“I know Martin,” Paul replied, “he’ll never take the fall to save the Chinese government or Liu. Once he hears what I have to say, and he sees Kelly standing next to him with handcuffs, he’ll want to cut a deal. He’s the quintessential deal maker, and he’ll do what he has to in order to save his own ass.”

“What do you want to offer him,” Kelly asked, “in return for giving us the name of the mole?”

Paul thought about it for a minute, then said, “I had better talk to Arthur Larkin to see what we can offer him.”

Paul pulled out his phone and dialed Arthur’s number. Kelly heard him say, “This is Paul Maltoni. Can I speak to Attorney General Larkin? . . . Oh, okay . . . Yes, I understand.”

Paul put down the phone and said, “Bad news. Arthur is on his way home from Moscow. His plane arrives at 11:10 this evening, so we’ll have to wait until tomorrow morning.”

“I don’t want to wait,” Kelly said.

“Okay,” Paul told her. “You and I will confront Martin this evening. We’ll see what he’s seeking, then I’ll tell him that I’ll check with Arthur and get back to him in the morning.”

Wilkins stood and looked at Farrell, “Are you on board with this deceitful plan of Paul’s?”

“Absolutely,” Farrell affirmed.

“Well, for the record,” Wilkins said, “I’m opposed. I can’t believe the three of you want to do all this to Martin based on Xiang’s word. Talk about presuming somebody is guilty. Now I have to get back to the White House.”

When he was gone, Farrell said, “Has that guy ever supported anything we wanted to do?”

“I can’t think of one,” Kelly replied.

“Do you think Wilkins is the mole?” Paul asked.

“From observing his demeanor with us,” Farrell responded, “I would say it’s unlikely. But let’s keep peeling the onion. He may be at the rotten core.”

“I agree with that,” Kelly said.

“But meantime, I have a problem with the plan for Martin,” Farrell added.

“What’s that?” Paul asked.

“If Xiang’s right about Martin being the conduit for a Beijing spy operation, after you confront him, he might take off during the night, hop a plane to Beijing, and we’ll never see him again. That’s what Philby did.”

“To prevent that, we should take him into custody overnight,” Kelly said.

“I have a better idea,” Paul responded. “We put guards at his house overnight and we tell him that if he tries to leave the house, they’ll arrest him.”

“I don’t like it,” Kelly said.

“Why not?”

“Too risky. What’s wrong with putting him in jail overnight? It’ll be late. He’ll never get a judge to spring him.”

“I know Martin,” Paul said stubbornly. “We’ll have a much better chance of him cooperating if we leave him at home.”

Kelly still didn’t like it, but she reluctantly deferred to Paul. “Okay, we’ll do it your way. I just hope to hell we don’t lose him.”

“Don’t worry, we won’t,” Paul insisted.

Hong Kong

Liu had to create leverage over the American mole. That was what President Yao had demanded. After wracking his brain and coming up empty, Liu decided he needed help. He had only one place to turn: Andrei. That meant a trip to Hong Kong.

On the plane, Liu thought about Andrei Mikhailovich. The Russian was a former power in the KGB and then in the FSB until he had a falling out with President Fyodor Kuznov. Once he learned that Kuznov had directed a group of thugs to kill him, Andrei shifted all of the money he’d stolen from Russia to banks in Singapore, Switzerland, and Andorra. Then he bribed a pilot to fly him to Singapore. From there, he got to Macau, which was where he had arranged to meet Liu for the first time. Both men loved to gamble, and Andrei just happened to be at the craps table of the “invitation only” high rollers room in the back of the casino at the Mandarin Oriental Hotel when Liu was playing.

The deal they struck was simple: Liu agreed to give the Russian a secure hideaway to avoid the killers Kuznov had sent for him. Andrei, in turn, agreed to help Liu reshape China’s MSS along the lines of the KGB. He had also informed Liu about his past work and what he knew from friends in the FSB regarding what was inside Kuznov’s kimono. The hideaway Liu had prepared for Andrei was a walled compound in Hong Kong, formerly the residence of a powerful British industrialist during the days when Britain called the tune there. Though Andrei had escaped with billions from Russia’s treasury, Liu paid the expenses for the Hong Kong villa and supplied it with two gorgeous Chinese women, as Andrei had requested.

“Why two?” Liu had asked.

“One for three nights every week.”

“There are seven nights. You’re planning to rest on Sunday?”

The Russian had laughed. “No, I’ll have them both together on the Lord’s Day.”

“Whatever you want,” Liu had said. “I take care of my friends.”

Andrei had also promised always to be available if Liu wanted to talk. So when Liu had called earlier that day, Andrei had said, “What time does your plane get to Hong Kong?”

“Around 6:30 p.m.”

“Come right to Happy Valley. The first race is at 7:15. They have some outstanding horses running tonight. My box is 22. We can talk there in privacy and eat well. If we’re lucky, we’ll take home a little cash. What could be better?”

Liu liked that plan. He loved everything about Happy Valley Racecourse—the crowds, the skillful jockeys, the physical beauty of the location, and the magnificent horses. The only thing he didn’t like was that the track had been opened by the British in 1846. He hated the British and the humiliation they had inflicted on China. Well, that was over now. China was close to being the dominant world power and the British were on life support.

When Liu entered the box, which was closed off by glass walls and a wooden door, he saw Andrei holding a racing paper and studying the track below.

“The first race is about to begin,” Andrei said.

“Is there still time to bet?”

“Yeah, but you don’t want to. My rule is that I only bet on races where I know something the unwashed masses don’t.”

“Sounds like a strategy,” Liu remarked.

“Wait for the third race,” Andrei advised, “then bet the farm on Noble House. Meantime, let’s eat.”

“Good, I’m hungry.”

Andrei ordered lavishly. They had scallops, Peking duck, and a smoked pork dish with garlic shoots, all full of the bright, nuanced flavors and textures of Hong Kong cuisine. Then they washed everything down with cold Tsingtaos. After dinner, Liu lit up a cigarette.

Andrei told him, “You did a good job of putting down the protests in January. It’s been quiet since.”

“That’s what I hear,” said Liu.

“The only way to stop those people is with live ammunition. Nothing else works. I’m glad you realized that.”

They talked for a while about the long-term future of Hong Kong. “Now that Shanghai is a financial center, Hong Kong has become redundant,” Liu said.

Andrei agreed.

“Time to bet the third race,” the Russian said.

They each put up 100,000 RMB on Noble House to win. The horse went off at 8 to 1. Noble House started slow. Though Andrei had never let him down, Liu was feeling a bit anxious.

“Jockey’s holding him back,” Andrei said.

By the time they rounded the final turn, Noble House was coming up on the outside. Then he took the lead and never lost it, thundering down the track at the finish three lengths ahead of the second horse.

After the race, a young woman delivered their winnings.

“Thank you, Andrei,” Liu said.

Andrei nodded. “Okay, now let’s talk business. Why’d you want to see me?”

While Andrei sipped his beer, Liu spoke for half an hour, describing what had happened in Operation New World Order. Andrei was familiar with the operation, having approved it before Liu presented it to Yao. Liu also told Andrei about his latest meeting with Yao.

“The Americans snatching Xiang is an unfortunate complication,” Liu said.

“True, but you played it right with his parents,” said Andrei.

“I wanted to shoot them myself,” Liu seethed.

“Of course you did. Nevertheless, you were smart to keep them alive.”

“At this point, it seems to be working,” Liu acknowledged. “I haven’t heard anything to suggest Xiang has talked to the Americans.”

“Even if he does, I assume you have the firewall around Martin we discussed.”

“Correct, she’s in place. Still, I have the question of whether I meet with the mole again, as Yao suggested, or not. I want to know your opinion.”

Andrei thought about it for a few seconds, then said, “Yao is setting you up to take the fall if Operation New World goes bad. Meet with the American at some neutral site in Western Europe. It’s essential to protect yourself.”

Liu was puzzled. “How? I don’t understand.”

“If the mole is reluctant to continue after what happened to Xiang, you have to abort the operation.”

“Even if he is willing to continue now, he could still change his mind later on.”

“That’s where Yao’s suggestion is right on the mark,” said Andrei. “You need leverage over the mole to prevent him from walking away.”

“Tell me how to create that leverage.”

“Establish an account in a Caribbean bank in the mole’s name. Deposit ten million dollars, with the funds coming from a Chinese bank, preferably one controlled by the PLA. Don’t tell the American about it. Forge his signature electronically on the documents opening the account. Later, if you think he intends to turn on you or go back on your deal, threaten to disclose the existence of the account to the American media. If they discover it, they will conclude that he was accepting money from the Chinese government. No one will believe he didn’t know about the account. He’ll have to do what you want to avoid the disclosure.”

Liu thought the idea was brilliant, and he told Andrei that. A waitress brought them two more beers.

When she was gone, Andrei said, “You have another problem besides the American.”

“What’s that?”

“The blond woman directing the FBI investigation, the one who met with Xiang in the park and managed to snatch him away from your people—she’s a real threat. You have to go after her and block her investigation.”

Liu wasn’t surprised to hear Andrei’s advice. Intimidating and coercing prosecutors and investigators with brute force was a typical Russian move.

“I would prefer not to do that except as a last resort,” said Liu. “It raises political complications for Yao.”

“As you wish. But I’ve always found that if you want to stop a snake, it’s best to cut off its head.”

Liu nodded. Andrei, as usual, was right. He would go after Kelly.

As Liu was preparing to leave, Andrei said, “I have a little gift for you, something else to give you additional leverage over the American. This will make your trip to Hong Kong even more worthwhile.”

“What’s that?” Liu asked eagerly.

“I still keep in touch, very discretely of course, with one of my former KGB buddies who’s with the FSB now. He hates Kuznov as much as I do.”

“And?”

Andrei reached into his pocket and pulled out a picture of a gorgeous, buxom blond woman, completely naked, facing and posing for the camera. He handed it to Liu.

“Who is she?” Liu asked.

Andrei smiled as he began to explain.

Washington

At nine in the evening, Kelly drove to Martin’s house with Paul in the front seat. The skies had opened up an hour before they left, and the windshield wipers were working furiously in the blinding rainstorm. The prediction was for two days of hard rain in the Washington area.

Kelly had decided to let Paul take the lead in confronting Martin. He knew the man, and he was a lawyer. Late in the afternoon, Paul had suggested to Kelly that he call Martin’s secretary, Alice, to find out if Martin was in town and would be home that evening. Kelly vetoed the idea for fear of tipping off Martin and having him flee. “If he’s not home, we’ll park and wait near his house,” she said. “Sooner or later he’ll come home.”

She had been busy making sure everything was ready before they left the FBI for Martin’s house. Besides reporting to Forester, she had set up a tap on Martin’s house phone and a monitor for any call or email to or from the house. Out of an abundance of caution, she asked Rolfe and another agent to follow her to Martin’s house. They would monitor surveillance while she and Paul were in the house.

Driving north on Foxhall Road, its large stately homes set back from the road, they passed the Field School, then a museum housing the late David Lloyd Kreeger’s art collection. Kelly saw lights on both upstairs and on the ground floor as they approached Martin’s house. That told her someone was probably in the house. Hopefully, it was Martin. But she had to know before they went in.

She dialed Martin’s home phone. A man answered. She heard him say, “Yes?” in a terse voice.

“I’d like to speak with Andrew Martin.”

“I’m Andrew Martin.”

“I’m with a charity that—”

Click. The phone went down.

“Showtime, Paul. Let’s go.”

Paul led the way with Kelly following two steps behind, a gun holstered at her waist and handcuffs in the pocket of her raincoat. Following their script, Paul rang the bell.

“Who’s there?” Martin called from inside the house.

“Paul Maltoni.”

The door opened and Paul quickly entered, Kelly close behind. Looking around, she saw a table in the living room with a chessboard. On one side sat an Asian woman. Judging from the board, they were in the middle of a game.

“What are you doing here, Paul?” Martin asked. “And who’s she?”

Kelly pulled her FBI ID from her raincoat pocket and showed it to him. “Kelly Cameron, FBI, Mr. Martin.” She put it back into her pocket and pulled out the handcuffs. Following their script, she said, “We’re here to arrest you for espionage.”

“You’re what?” a startled Martin asked.

She repeated, “We’re here to arrest you for espionage.”

Martin looked at the terrified woman sitting next to the chessboard and said, “Huan, why don’t you go upstairs? These people have made a mistake. It’s nothing. I’ll sort it out with them.”

The woman got up and left, climbing the staircase rapidly.

Martin turned back to Kelly and Paul. “Why don’t the two of you take off your coats and sit down. We can talk about this. And for God’s sake, put away those handcuffs. You certainly won’t need them.”

Standing in the living room, Kelly and Paul took off their coats, but Kelly kept the handcuffs in her grasp. She unbuttoned the jacket of her pantsuit to reveal the gun holstered at her hip.

“You two want a drink?” Martin asked. “Maybe a glass of wine, Paul? Some of that Saint-Joseph you like?”

He’s smooth, Kelly thought, just as Paul had warned her. That was, no doubt, how he had gained Allison’s confidence.

“Listen, Andrew,” Paul said forcefully, “this isn’t a social visit.”

“Then why are you here?” Martin asked.

“As Kelly said, to arrest you for espionage.”

Martin looked bewildered. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Look, Andrew,” Paul said. “Don’t play games with us. We have a witness, Xiang Shen, who’s prepared to testify that on eight separate occasions you called and asked him to come to your office. There, you gave him an envelope to forward to Liu Guan, the Chinese minister of state security. Before sending the envelopes, Xiang examined the contents. Inside were copies of classified US defense documents. The last one contained a memo from a Camp David gathering at which a decision was made not to respond militarily if China should attack Japan over the islands in the East China Sea. This is enough evidence to arrest you for espionage. We will now be taking you into custody. Kelly, you won’t need the handcuffs. Andrew, get your coat, you’re coming with us.”

Through the corner of her eye, Kelly noticed the Asian woman, mostly concealed, crouched near the top of the stairs, no doubt listening. Kelly made eye contact with her, and she quickly disappeared from Kelly’s sight.

“Don’t be in such a hurry,” Martin said. “Let’s sit down and talk about this.”

Kelly thought about Paul’s words this afternoon. Martin was “the quintessential deal maker.” So far, it was playing out exactly as Paul had predicted. He knew Martin well.

“I’m getting a scotch,” Martin said. “You two sure you don’t want a drink?”

They both shook their heads.

Martin fixed a scotch from the cart, pointed to chairs in the living room, and the three sat down.

“Now, Paul, let’s talk about this like a couple of lawyers,” Martin said. “You don’t really have a case based on what this fellow Xiang told you.”

“Why not?”

“For starters, he’s a member of the Chinese diplomatic corps in the US and has diplomatic immunity. He could easily leave the country and you couldn’t stop him. If he wanted to stay and testify, the Chinese could persuade the State Department to release him into their custody and they would send him back to China. I know Jane Prosser, the secretary of state, very well. That’s what she’ll do. Then, poof, your case is gone.”

“I disagree,” Paul said firmly. “These charges are so serious that Prosser would never sweep them under the rug. Jane Prosser may have once been a friend of yours, but I’ll bet she’s not too wild about you after you lied to her to get her to call off the DC police when Allison was attacked in the DuPont Circle Metro Station in November. And neither President Braddock nor Arthur Larkin is a big supporter of yours.”

Kelly saw Martin cringe. It was definitely a break in the veneer. Paul charged ahead. “This isn’t some small matter like a scuffle at the DuPont Circle Metro. That time you could persuade Prosser to do what you wanted, but not anymore.”

“I never—” Martin started.

“C’mon, Andrew,” Paul cut in. “Don’t try to bullshit me. Besides espionage, we will be charging you with conspiracy in the murder of Senator Jasper.”

“Are you crazy?” Martin sputtered. “Wes was one of my best friends.”

“He may have been, but Allison Boyd is prepared to testify that before Jasper was murdered, she gave you the CD her sister had made of Liu’s conversation with Jasper. You destroyed it, and we have enough circumstantial evidence to prove you tipped off the Chinese about the CD, which led to Jasper’s murder. You’re going down for that as well, Andrew. Two trials, two convictions.”

Watching Martin’s face as Paul had been pouring it on, Kelly thought that Martin was shaken. His bravado was gone. She understood why Paul was a good lawyer. He spoke clearly, forcefully, and persuasively.

“Perhaps, we can work something out,” Martin said.

“I’m listening,” Paul replied.

“I don’t want this to be recorded.”

“It isn’t being recorded,” Kelly said.

“If you give me your word on that, Paul, I’ll accept it,” said Martin.

“You have my word.”

“All right.” Martin took a deep breath. “What you really want is the name of the US official who provided me with the envelopes I turned over to Xiang, correct?”

“That’s right,” Paul acknowledged.

“I’ll give you his name. In return, I get immunity from prosecution for espionage as well as the events surrounding Jasper’s murder.”

His words were music to Kelly’s ears. She didn’t care squat about Martin. All she cared about was the identity of the mole. She would have grabbed the deal in a second, but Paul had one big constraint: he needed Arthur Larkin’s approval.

“That’s a ridiculous opening position,” Paul said.

“It’s not an opening position, it’s the only deal I’ll make,” Martin replied.

“You’re asking for a lot.”

“And giving even more in return.”

“It’s not my decision.”

“I’m aware of that,” said Martin. “I’m happy to meet with Arthur and present it to him myself.”

Paul shook his head. “That’s my job.”

“I understand Arthur has issues with me,” Martin remarked.

“You can’t blame him,” said Paul with a shrug.

“Will you recommend it to Arthur?”

Paul looked at Kelly. She nodded.

“Yes, I will,” he said. “I should have an answer for you in the morning.”

“You’ll spend tonight in jail,” Kelly said. “You’ll have your own private cell.”

She realized she was going back on the arrangement she and Paul had made, but she didn’t trust Martin. This lawyer was too slick. He could still have something else up his sleeve. Even as she said the words, she realized Paul had the final word. It was a legal issue.

Martin shot to his feet. “Screw that! The deal is off. You can prove your case in court, Paul.”

Paul glanced at her, then turned back to Martin. “We’ll strike a compromise,” he said. “You turn over your passport, and we’ll have agents watching your house until we get back in the morning. If you try to leave before we return, they’ll arrest you. That’s what we’ll do.”

Kelly bit her tongue and didn’t say a word.

Martin said to Kelly, “I’m going into the study to get my passport. You want to follow me?”

“Yes.” And she did.

When they left Martin’s house, the heavy rain was still falling. She got into the back of Rolfe’s car and told the two agents what they had agreed on. “If Martin leaves the house before I return, arrest him,” Kelly instructed. “Sorry to do this to you in the rain, but one of you will have to watch the back entrance to the house. The other one can watch the front of the house from the car.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll take turns,” Rolfe said.

“You want me to get a second team?” Kelly asked.

“We can handle it.”

She got into her own car. Paul was already there.

“I thought we agreed we wouldn’t arrest Martin tonight,” he said. “You went back on that.”

“I don’t trust him.”

“You made your point. It’s my ass on the line.” He sounded angry. She chalked it up to the tension and what they had at stake.

“Where do you want me to drop you?” she asked.

“My house in Georgetown, so I can pick up my car. When you were talking to Rolfe, I called Arthur’s house. His wife is expecting him home around midnight. As soon as I told her that I needed to speak with him about an urgent matter, she told me to come over and wait for him at the house.”

“Okay. I’ll take you to your place. Call me when you’re finished with Arthur, no matter how late.”

“Will do.”

Kelly suddenly felt weary. The adrenalin rush she had experienced in Martin’s house had dissipated. She was uncomfortable leaving Martin at home overnight. In her gut, she believed they had made a mistake, and that they should have taken him to jail. But she didn’t argue with Paul anymore. It would be futile. Besides, it was done. She just hoped that it wouldn’t come back to bite them.

Washington

As Martin closed the door behind Kelly and Paul, he realized he was in deep trouble. However, he was confident he could cut a deal. If Paul couldn’t get Arthur to agree, Martin would do it himself. But it wouldn’t be easy. On the other hand, he had something they desperately wanted: the identity of the mole.

That was only one of Martin’s problems. The other was Huan. After he had told her to go upstairs, he had seen her peeking out to listen. That, in addition to the suspicious phone call she had made when General Cartwright had been there to watch the primary, had him worried.

But he didn’t want to be paranoid. Perhaps she had been listening because serious charges had been made against a man she cared for deeply. Still, it was far more likely in Martin’s mind that she was Liu’s plant. He had to know for sure.

Martin called upstairs to Huan, “They’re gone now, you can come down.”

When she returned to the living room, she looked worried. “Are you okay, Andrew? Those people accused you of a serious crime.”

“It was all a mistake,” he said smoothly. “They apologized. No cause for concern. They mixed me up with another Washington lawyer.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear that.”

“Enough about all this nonsense. You know what I’d like?”

“No. Tell me.”

“You make the most incredible soufflés, and that’s really an art. Last week your Grand Marnier was fabulous. Would you do that again?”

“Now?” Huan asked.

“Sure, it’s still early. And I’ll open up a half bottle of Château d’Yquem Sauterne, the nectar of the gods. That will go perfectly with the soufflé. What do you think?”

“Sure.”

“Great. You get the soufflé ready and I’ll go up and shower.”

Once Martin heard her busy in the kitchen, he went up the stairs.

Though they slept together in the master bedroom, she kept her clothes and other things in another bedroom and bath down the hall. Moving quickly, he looked through the drawers she used, then the closet. He didn’t find anything suspicious.

He then went into her bathroom. She had showered before Paul and Kelly had come, and the floor was wet. He didn’t see anything unusual on the sink. In the closet, he saw a black Tumi bag.

Martin took it out, placed it on the sink, and opened it. It had cosmetics, lotions, soaps, creams, and perfumes. That made sense, he thought.

Then he reached around inside the bag. At the bottom, he felt a zipper. Martin pushed aside the cosmetics and opened the bottom compartment. To his horror, he saw a syringe and a clear liquid in a small, unmarked bottle. Martin unscrewed the top, reached his finger inside, moistened it slightly, and touched it to his tongue. It tasted salty. Potassium chloride, he guessed, used to cause a heart attack when injected with a syringe.

He reached into the bottom compartment again and found a small bottle with three pills. Martin opened it and held it up to his nose. He detected the unmistakable odor of cyanide. Everything now fell into place. There was no doubt about it. Huan was Liu’s plant.

Beijing

When his encrypted phone rang and Liu saw that Huan was calling, he quickly left a meeting with top military officers and went outside the conference room to the corridor.

“Yes?” he said.

“Xiang gave them Martin,” she told him tersely.

“Will Martin cooperate with the American government?”

“He’s willing to negotiate for immunity. It’s unclear whether he will succeed.”

Liu cursed under his breath. “I see.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Get rid of him. Call and tell me when it’s done. Then get on the first plane to China.”

“It will be done,” she said. “I will call you in exactly one hour to report.”

Huan was intelligent and tough. Liu had selected her carefully, and he fully expected her to succeed.

Washington

Staring at Huan’s bag, Martin realized he had behaved stupidly with her. It should have been obvious to him that she was Liu’s plant. From the moment she called to say she was coming to Washington, he should have had nothing to do with her. Unfortunately, he had been ruled by his libido.

“What are you doing, Andrew?”

Andrew whipped his head around and saw Huan standing in the doorway. He had been so absorbed by his discovery that he hadn’t heard her coming up the stairs.

“Discovering why you’re really here,” Martin said, his voice quavering.

Huan had a terrifying, menacing look on her face. Martin clutched the Tumi bag as she moved toward him. She’s going to kill me, he thought. She lifts weights, and she’s strong.

Before she could act, he swung the bag at her face with all the force he could muster. It smashed against her nose and knocked her off balance. She fell to her knees on the wet floor.

Martin dropped the bag and tried to get out of the small bathroom, but she was blocking his way. She staggered to her feet and reached for his neck, as if to strangle him.

Before she could get a hold, he shoved both of his hands against her chest with all of his might, pushing her away. She slipped backwards and fell, her head smacking hard on the side of the bathtub.

Her body shook once, then it went still.

For a full two minutes, Martin was paralyzed. He stood staring at her, unable to move.

Then he walked over and checked her pulse.

She was dead!

Martin was shaking so badly that he could barely stand. What should he do now? He felt completely unglued, as though his mind were unraveling.

He thought about going outside to the FBI agents and telling them what had happened. Or calling 911. But he couldn’t bring himself to do either of those things. It was as if his mind were frozen. He just wanted it all to go away.

He left the bathroom and closed the door, as if in a trance. Then he staggered down the stairs and went into the den. Grabbing a bottle of scotch, he collapsed on the floor against the couch, nursing the bottle as though it were his last chance for salvation.

Beijing

Still meeting with the generals, Liu checked his watch. Huan should have called five minutes ago. He had to assume she was either dead or that she had been taken into custody. He couldn’t risk calling her for fear that her encrypted phone had fallen into the hands of the Americans. He wasn’t worried that they would learn about earlier calls, since all info was deleted after the calls were concluded and could not be recovered. He also had to assume Martin would cut a deal with the Americans.

He remembered what Andrei had said. It was time to cut off the head of the snake, but not until after his Paris meeting. Only then would he know whether Operation New World Order was still viable. Still, he could take one action now. As soon as this meeting ended, he would call one of his aides and give him the order: Kill Xiang’s parents.

Washington

Paul was dozing on a couch in the living room of Arthur Larkin’s house on Tracy Place in the luxurious Kalorama area. Arthur’s wife had gone to bed shortly after Paul arrived at 11 p.m.

Paul woke with a start as he heard the front door open. He sprang to his feet as Arthur walked in, disheveled after his long flight from Moscow. His hair was messy, his shirt open at the neck, and his shirttail hanging out in the back. He looked exhausted.

When he saw Paul, he did a double take. “Just what I was hoping to see when I got home,” he said sarcastically.

“Well, sir, I wouldn’t have come if it weren’t urgent.”

“I don’t imagine you would have. Did your FBI friend Kelly pick the lock to let you in?”

“No, sir. Mrs. Larkin very graciously did.”

“And this couldn’t have waited until morning?” he said gruffly.

“I don’t think so.”

Arthur sighed. Then he took off his suit jacket and tossed it onto a chair. “I should be hospitable and offer you a drink.”

“No thanks. Mrs. Larkin already did. I’ll tell you what I came for and then go home and let you get some sleep.”

“That would be considerate.”

Arthur led Paul into his study. Once they were both seated and Arthur had a cognac, he asked Paul, “Okay. What’s this about?”

“I suggest you take a good belt of that drink and grab the arms of your chair tightly,” said Paul.

Arthur complied. “Go ahead.”

“Remember how we hoped Xiang would identify the conduit for us?”

“Of course I remember, I don’t have dementia. Not yet, at least. Although if I work with you a little longer, I might lose my mind. Who the hell is the conduit?”

“You ready for this? It’s your old tennis buddy Andrew Martin.”

Arthur stood up and flung the glass into the fireplace where it shattered into a myriad of pieces. “It wasn’t bad enough that he made me look like a fool with Braddock last year when he was being considered for chief justice. Now you’re telling me he’s a spy for the Chinese?”

“Correct.”

“We’ll throw the book at Andrew Martin,” Arthur seethed. “He’ll go to jail for life. No possibility of parole. I’ll argue at the sentencing hearing myself.”

“With all due respect, sir, I don’t think we should do that,” reasoned Paul.

“Why the hell not?”

Paul repeated the same explanation he had given Kelly and Farrell that afternoon as to why they didn’t have a case against Martin.

Arthur was shaking his head. “I’m not buying what you’re saying.”

“With all due respect, sir—”

“Stop staying that,” Arthur cut in.

“Okay. The fact is we’ll never be able to make a case against Martin.”

“If you don’t think you can prove the case, I’ll give it to another lawyer.”

Paul hesitated for a second, then took a deep breath as if he were preparing to plunge off a high diving board, or more accurately, get himself fired. Still, he had an obligation to tell the attorney general of the United States what he thought. “Sorry, sir but . . . I think your anger at Martin for what he did to you last November is clouding your judgment.”

Arthur pointed a thick finger at Paul. “I don’t give a shit what you think. Here’s what you’re going to do. Tomorrow morning at nine, you and Kelly will drive to Martin’s house. You will arrest Andrew Martin and the two of you will take him to the courthouse. Time your arrival for ten o’clock. Once you call and tell me you’ve arrested him, I’ll notify the press that I have an announcement. When you arrive at the courthouse, I will be standing in front with reporters and television cameras. They won’t know why they’ve been summoned. As you lead Martin into the courthouse, they will film him and I will make a statement. That’s what’s going to happen.”

“But it’s more important we learn the name of the source leaking information to Martin,” Paul protested. “And Martin’s willing to give us that. I know Martin. If we arrest him, he’ll never tell us.”

“Oh don’t worry, Paul,” Arthur assured him. “He’ll divulge the name of the mole after he’s sat in jail without bail for a couple of days. Lest you think I’m being motivated solely by vindictiveness, let me tell you that I intend to cut a better deal with him than what he no doubt offered that you snapped up. I’ll get the name out of Martin in return for a plea bargain with him doing a minimum of five years’ jail time to avoid a life sentence for espionage.”

When Paul didn’t respond, Arthur added, “I am old, tired, angry, and vindictive. Nevertheless, this is still a better result for the United States and more satisfying for Arthur Larkin. Now go home and get some sleep. We don’t want you to have bags under your eyes in front of the TV cameras.”

“I have another idea,” Paul said.

“I hope this is better than the last one.”

“Well, here it is. You give Martin only conditional immunity.”

“Conditional?”

“Yeah. He only gets it if he not only gives us the name of the mole, but helps us build a tight case against that individual, too. Meantime, we keep him under house arrest.”

Paul could tell Arthur was considering his new proposal. He decided to push. “Believe me Arthur, I’m not trying to help Martin. I loathe the guy after the way he treated me and Allison. I just honestly don’t think we have a strong case against him. To bring it and lose before a jury would be a disaster. And you know juries.”

“Okay, okay. Enough,” said Arthur, waving his hand. “Tell you what, I’m reserving judgment. I’ll meet you and Kelly at Martin’s house tomorrow morning at eight. I want to confront the bastard myself. Then I’ll decide what to do.”

Miami

Despite meeting with supporters until midnight, plus another hour in a hotel bar with a couple of reporters, General Cartwright was up at 5:30 in the morning. After a glass of orange juice and a cup of black coffee, he put on running clothes and met Chris Mallory for a run along the trail that paralleled the ocean.

Cartwright loved his early morning runs with Mallory and tried not to miss a day. Mallory, a former Air Force captain and pilot, had been Cartwright’s aide when the general had been chairman of the Joint Chiefs. When Cartwright had resigned from the military to run for president, Mallory had resigned as well to serve Cartwright in his new role. Mallory was also Cartwright’s private pilot, flying the plane Cartwright used for the campaign.

Cartwright particularly enjoyed running with Mallory because his thirty-three-year-old aide didn’t talk unless Cartwright addressed him. That meant Cartwright could use the hour they ran as time for reflection on the campaign and what he was doing.

That morning, Cartwright was euphoric. Last night’s speech at the Fontainebleau Hotel to two hundred Latino businessmen had been a huge success. Cartwright had addressed them in Spanish, recounting how he had always treated every Latino officer with whom he had served with respect and dignity.

“I won’t make sweeping promises,” Cartwright had said. “I will tell you, however, that I want to forge a new inclusion coalition for the Republican Party, and I want the Latino community to be a critical part of that new coalition.”

His speech had received a standing ovation. Florida’s governor had attended and, following the speech, had announced his support for Cartwright.

On the path by the ocean, Cartwright and Mallory passed a couple of runners heading in the other direction. “We’re with you, General Cartwright,” one called.

“God bless you,” the other one said.

When they returned to the hotel, Cartwright and Mallory split up. Mallory had to shower and head to the airport to prepare the plane for a morning flight to Charlotte.

Back in his hotel suite, Cartwright showered and drank some coffee, then took out his phone. He wanted to report to Andrew Martin on developments in Florida, particularly how well last night’s speech had gone and the governor’s endorsement.

Despite Martin’s congratulations, Cartwright thought the Washington lawyer sounded strained, as though he were not really concentrating. Cartwright asked about the status of the white paper on immigration, but Martin didn’t seem to know what he was talking about. He was obviously preoccupied, but Cartwright could forgive him after all he had done for the campaign. They talked a little about the day’s schedule, and then Cartwright clicked off.

In a few minutes waiters would be wheeling in a table for breakfast and Juan Lopez, the Republican Senator from Florida, would be arriving for what Cartwright expected to be a contentious breakfast meeting. Juan wanted Cartwright to pledge that if elected, he would reimpose the US trade embargo against Cuba until the government changed its policy on human rights.

Cartwright’s expectation about the meeting with Lopez proved to be correct. Before Cartwright had a chance to eat any of the gorgeous melon he had selected from the breakfast table, Lopez said, “Let me be perfectly blunt, General. Our opening to Cuba has been a disaster, and it hasn’t done squat for the political rights or economic well-being of the Cuban people. Unless you clearly and unequivocally announce your support for reinstituting the embargo, you will not receive my endorsement, nor will you receive the backing of the Latino community or Florida’s votes for president.”

Cartwright took a deep breath and replied, “Let me be equally blunt, Senator. The Cuba embargo was bad policy. It achieved nothing for the Cuban American community or the Cuban people. Our only hope for political change in Cuba, which we all want, is by engaging the government and helping them on the path toward prosperity, which will in turn lead to political change. I agree not much has happened along those lines yet, but we have to give it time.”

Growing red in the face, Lopez took the linen napkin from his lap and tossed it onto the table. “If you announce this position, General, I—and the Cuban American community—will bury you.”

Rather than responding angrily, Cartwright calmly said, “Unfortunately, Senator, your views are passé. You follow the antiquated ideas of the older members of your community. I have seen surveys and conducted polls among young voters, and they overwhelmingly support my position.” Cartwright was confident in what he said. Also, with the endorsement he had received last evening from Florida’s governor, he expected to carry the state.

“Show me the surveys,” Lopez said defiantly.

Cartwright walked over to the desk, removed a file, and handed it to Lopez. “I commissioned these surveys to be taken by the University of Miami Public Affairs Group. Their credibility cannot be questioned.”

Lopez looked through the materials and grimaced.

“My train is leaving the station,” Cartwright said. “Either you get on, or you get left behind.”

“I have to think about it,” Lopez replied reluctantly.

“Don’t take too long. You face a tough reelection battle in November. I’m sure you’ll want my support and you’ll want me to come down here and speak when I’m the Republican candidate for president.”

“I’ll let you know.”

“Good. Now let’s eat some breakfast.”

While they ate, they discussed other topics, including economic and environmental issues, on which they were in agreement, and Lopez’s mood improved. By the time the senator left, Cartwright was confident he would receive his endorsement.

After breakfast, Cartwright dressed, then a car took him to the airport. Waiting for him on the tarmac was Dale Scott, the Wall Street Journal reporter whose interview with Cartwright had launched his campaign. On the flight to North Carolina, Cartwright planned to give Scott his views on the Middle East for publication in the Journal.

Once the plane took off, Scott moved up to the table across from Cartwright with his pen and reporter’s pad in hand. Cartwright had told Scott this interview would be on the record.

“How do you view the conflicts in the Middle East and what the United States should be doing?” Scott inquired.

“First of all, Dale,” Cartwright began, “let me say that Israel is our strong ally and a democratic nation, the only one in the region. They deserve our unqualified support. Unfortunately, Israel’s conflict with the Palestinians is only a minor sideshow in the Middle East.”

“What is the main event, to use your metaphor?”

“The conflict between Shiites and Sunnis, which has been raging since the death of Mohammad fourteen hundred years ago. We can no more stop this conflict than we can halt the tides in the ocean. As a military man, I am familiar with the horrors of war. If I become president, I will not send our men and women off to the Middle East to die and be wounded in a centuries-old conflict we cannot end.”

“What about using air power?”

“To some extent that may be possible, but again, from my experience and reading of history, I am aware of its limitations.”

Scott looked squarely at Cartwright. “It sounds to me as if you are calling for a new isolationism. Is that correct?”

The general smiled. “I am calling for a new pragmatic foreign policy. Let’s be realistic about the Middle East. We are blessed with an abundance of oil and natural gas here at home. We no longer need the Arabs’ oil to preserve our way of life. That’s what has changed. We cannot be the world’s policeman, and we no longer have to be the arbiter between Sunnis and Shiites. We must reshape our foreign policy around what is important and what we can achieve. Our position in the world is not what it was sixty years ago, though we might wish it were. It’s time to modify our thinking and policy to accommodate that.”

Scott put down his pencil. “When this appears in the paper, you may get a strong reaction from hawks in your own party.”

“That’s okay,” said Cartwright. “I’m running for president to do what’s in the best interests of the United States, even if others don’t agree. I love this country. Never forget that.”

Washington

Kelly arrived outside of Martin’s house before Paul or Arthur got there. Fortunately, the rain had decided to take a hiatus.

She saw Rolfe sitting in the car and walked over and climbed inside. “Where’s Clarence?” she asked.

“In the back of the house.”

“Anything happen last night?”

“Not a thing,” said Rolfe. “All quiet. Are you going to arrest Martin?”

“I don’t know, it’s the AG’s call. When we go into the house, I want you to stand at the front door, just in case.”

“Will do.”

Ten minutes later, Paul and Arthur arrived. She expected the AG to step in front of her and lead the way to the door, and she was right. Paul fell in behind his boss, with Kelly pulling up the rear. The lawyers had taken charge.

As Arthur had asked, her jacket was unbuttoned, her holstered gun visible, and she carried a pair of handcuffs conspicuously. Her prediction, which she wasn’t sharing with anyone, was that sleazy Martin would find a way to wiggle out of this unscathed.

Arthur rang the bell, but nothing happened. Impatiently, he rang it again. Finally, Martin opened the door.

Martin looked like hell!

The usually well-dressed, dapper, and groomed Washington lawyer was disheveled, his hair uncombed, shirt buttoned improperly, and his eyes puffy and red. He was clutching a mostly empty bottle of scotch. It appeared as though he’d had quite a night.

As soon as he stepped into the house, Arthur said, “What happened to you?”

“She tried to kill me,” Martin blurted out.

“Who tried to kill you?”

“Huan, the Chinese woman living with me. She was a plant by Liu. Once she heard what Paul and Kelly said last evening, she knew I was blown. She must have had orders to kill me if that happened.”

Kelly was convinced Martin was telling the truth.

Arthur said, “What kind of bullshit story is this?”

Kelly couldn’t tell whether Arthur was serious or just posturing. With the AG, you never knew.

Martin collapsed into a chair, “I killed her first. I had to save myself.”

Kelly stepped forward, “Where’s Huan’s body?”

“It was an accident, I swear.” His breath was coming in short spurts and he sounded panicked. “We struggled, and I pushed her. She slipped and hit her head. It happened upstairs in one of the bathrooms. I closed the door and stayed down here all night.” He was looking at Kelly. “I’m no killer, I had to save my life.”

Kelly sat down in a chair, close to Martin, pulled out a recorder and said, “Why don’t you tell us in detail what happened.”

Martin described how he had gotten suspicious of Huan, what he had found in her black bag, and how they had struggled in the bathroom. At the end, Martin said, “It was a clear case of self-defense.”

Kelly couldn’t help but crack a small smile. Martin was always the lawyer.

“That’s for a court to decide,” Arthur interjected.

“Let’s go upstairs,” Kelly told Martin. “Show me the body.”

“No way,” said Martin, shaking his head emphatically. “Top of the stairs and turn left. You can’t miss it.”

“I’ll go up myself.” She turned to Paul. “Keep your eye on Martin.”

“I’m going with you,” Arthur said.

In the bathroom, Kelly looked at Huan’s still, lifeless body. The black bag was close to her on the floor. Kelly didn’t touch a thing. It all seemed consistent with Martin’s story.

Arthur looked pale. She led him out of the bathroom and into a bedroom down the hall. “I’ll get a forensic team out here,” she said, “and an ambulance to take the body away.”

“Arrange for them to pull the ambulance into the garage and use unmarked cars. If we’re going to make a deal with Martin, we can’t let this turn into a media circus. Happily, there’s a lot of space between the houses and the rain has started again. I doubt if anybody will be out walking the dog and become nosey.”

“Will do.”

“Good. We’ll wait to talk to Martin about the mole until they’ve taken the woman’s body away.”

An hour later, the forensic team was wrapping up. Kelly went to tell Arthur. He was in the study with Martin. She hoped that the AG wasn’t cutting a deal himself. Eavesdropping, she heard Arthur say, “I won’t discuss what we do with you until I have Paul and Kelly with me.”

“I understand.”

“I’m glad you understand something, Andrew, because I can’t comprehend a damn thing about you.”

“What do you mean?” she heard Martin inquire.

“How someone with all you had going for you at the pinnacle of the legal profession could have fallen so far, so fast. Seven months ago you were admired by everyone. Now you’re a spy, your wife’s gone, and you killed your mistress.”

“She wanted to kill me.”

“That’s irrelevant to my point. If somebody wanted to be kind to you, they would say it’s sad. I just think what you’ve done is stupid. You used poor judgment making that call to Anguilla for Jasper, and then you kept compounding your error. I have no sympathy for you.”

“Shit happens.”

“Don’t you dare say that. You did it all to yourself. Nobody did it to you.”

Still listening, Kelly was anxious to hear how Martin responded.

After a few moments of silence, Martin said, “You’re right, Arthur. I’ve been a fool. Now I’ve hit rock bottom.” Kelly thought he sounded contrite. “If you give me a chance, I’ll do what I can to help you. I want to work my way back up.”

“We’ll see about that,” the AG said. “Now wait here. I’ll let you know when we’re ready to talk to you.”

Kelly moved quickly away. She didn’t want Arthur to know she had been listening.

Fifteen minutes later, they sat down at the dining room table, Martin and Arthur at the ends, Kelly and Paul across from each other.

Arthur pointed to Kelly. “Tell Andrew where you are in your investigation and what you need from him.”

She coughed and cleared her throat. “We’ve established that you received, on eight separate occasions, secret military and political information from a high-level government official. Each time, it came to you in a brown envelope. We also know you passed those on to this man.”

She showed him Xiang’s picture. “His name is Xiang Shen, and he’s an assistant economic attaché at the Chinese embassy. We have him in custody and he’s cooperating. One of the pieces of information you passed is the memo from Camp David regarding the islands in the East China Sea.”

“In other words,” Arthur said, “we have an ironclad case against you for espionage.”

Martin shook his head. “That’s what I like about you, Arthur. You always puff up your case. What can you really prove? That I passed sealed envelopes. You won’t be able to prove I knew what was in them. And in fact, I did not. Besides, your whole case depends on Xiang. At the end of the day, the Chinese will find a way to snatch him away from you. Wilkins will no doubt convince Braddock to trade Xiang for something more important we want from the Chinese.”

Kelly feared Martin was right about Wilkins. She decided to step in and help Arthur out. “You were also involved in Jasper’s murder.”

“That whole business is so complicated even the great lawyer Paul Maltoni could never convince a jury of that.”

Looking angry, Paul shot to his feet. Arthur waved him down.

“And we also have a charge against you for killing the Chinese woman.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“We’ll see what a jury decides.”

Martin didn’t reply.

“If you tell us,” Arthur said, “who gave you those eight envelopes, I’m prepared to recommend a minimum sentence for you. Five to ten years.”

Martin laughed, but Kelly thought it seemed forced. “You’re not even close,” he replied. “What I have is huge—the identity of a spy at the top of the American government. Only I can give it to you. Here’s what I want.”

“Go ahead,” Arthur said.

“Complete immunity for espionage and the Jasper murder. In return, I’ll not only name the spy, but do everything I can to help you build your case against him.”

Kelly looked at Arthur. She had no idea how the AG would react. Her best guess was that he would come down hard on Martin and say, “No way.”

But she was wrong.

“Listen, Andrew,” Arthur said, “let’s not waste a lot of time posturing. I’ll cut right to my bottom line.”

“Which is?”

“You give us the name of the spy and you get conditional immunity for both espionage and Jasper’s murder.”

“What do you mean conditional?”

“You not only give us a name, but you agree to cooperate with us to build a bulletproof case against that individual as you proposed a minute ago. Once we have that case, your immunity becomes effective.”

“Why do you want that?” Martin asked.

“To make sure you identify the correct individual.”

“You don’t trust me?”

“You have that correct, and there’s more.” The AG sounded firm and self-confident. “Until we have that bulletproof case, you’re under house arrest. Here in this house. We’ll have an FBI agent in the house at all times. You can’t leave. You’ll have to tell people that you have a bad stomach virus. Phones and email will be controlled and monitored.”

Martin looked angry. “Why the hell do you need that?”

“I’ll give you three reasons. One, I don’t want you tipping off the Chinese. Two, I don’t want you skipping out on us. And three, I don’t want you to end up like Huan. Those are my terms, and they are nonnegotiable.”

Kelly listened intently for the next half hour while Martin tried to persuade Arthur to back off the house arrest, but the AG didn’t budge. Not one inch. While this was happening, Kelly noticed Paul was working on his iPad.

Finally, Martin folded. “I want the deal in writing.”

Paul spoke up. “I’ve already drafted it,” he said pointing to his iPad.

“Let me see it,” Arthur said.

Paul carried it around the table and handed it to the AG to read.

When he was finished, Arthur said, “You do good work, Paul.”

“Who do you think trained him?” Martin said.

Ignoring Martin’s comment, Paul said, “I can send it to the printer here in the house.”

“Do it.”

Minutes later, Arthur and Martin had signed the document.

“Now give us the name,” Arthur said.

“Can I pee first?”

“Sure, but Paul goes with you.”

“Do you really think I would pop one of those cyanide pills Huan had?”

“I no longer have any idea what you would do.”

After Martin and Paul left for the bathroom, Arthur headed toward the kitchen, asking Kelly to accompany him.

“Espresso?” he asked.

“Sure, thanks.”

He fixed them each one. While the machine was brewing, he said, “What do you think?”

“You did a good job of negotiating. I’m glad you hung tough.”

“I’m still worried.”

“About what?”

“I don’t trust Martin, he could give us a phony name. His moral compass is so fucked up, anything is possible. So you and Paul will have to build the bulletproof case against whoever Martin fingers. If you find out he’s lying, we’ll go back to Martin and try again.”

“How will you get him to break then?”

“Ever hear of waterboarding?”

Kelly didn’t know whether the AG was serious.

He smiled. “I had you there, didn’t I?”

Kelly gulped down her espresso and followed Arthur back to the dining room where Paul and Martin were seated.

“Nice of you to help yourself to my coffee,” Martin said. “You could have at least offered me some.”

“Okay, stop screwing around,” said Arthur. “Who’s the Chinese spy?”

For thirty seconds, Martin didn’t respond, letting the suspense build. Finally, as if he were pulling the pin out of a grenade and placing it on the table, he said softly, “General Cartwright.”

“Oh my god,” Arthur blurted out.

Kelly had the same reaction. She couldn’t believe that this famous American military man, and the likely Republican presidential nominee, was a Chinese mole.

Arthur recovered quickly. The trial lawyer was on his feet, ready to interrogate the witness. “Tell us what you know about Cartwright’s involvement.”

“In January I was summoned to Hong Kong. I met there with Justice Minister Jiang, followed by a meeting with Liu Guan, the minister of MSS. Liu wanted me to pass sealed envelopes from Cartwright to Xiang from time to time.”

“And you agreed?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“They sharply increased my law firm’s retainer.”

“C’mon, Andrew, don’t bullshit me. You didn’t do it for the money. You’ve banked much more from law practice than you could ever spend.”

Martin hesitated.

Arthur moved up close to him. “What really made you do it?” he insisted.

“If I didn’t agree, Liu threatened to disclose my involvement in Jasper’s murder to the American authorities. I had no choice.”

“How did this work? The exchange of information?”

“General Cartwright called and arranged a meeting at my office. He delivered a sealed envelope to me. I called Xiang, asked him to come to my office, and gave him the sealed envelope. I had no idea what was in any of the envelopes.”

“How often did you do this?”

“Eight times altogether. General Cartwright delivered seven of the envelopes. Once, he had a last minute summons to the White House so he sent his aide, Captain Mallory, with the envelope.”

“I need proof of all of this. Do you have records of these handoffs?”

Martin shook his head. “No, of course not.”

Paul spoke up. “Do you have any other evidence to establish that Cartwright was the spy?”

“Just my word. That’s plenty.”

Paul turned to Arthur. “You, Kelly, and I have to talk.”

“There’s a patio in the back, under cover. Let’s go out there,” Kelly suggested. “I’ll get Rolfe in the house to watch Martin.”

When they reached the patio, Arthur said to Paul. “What’s bothering you?”

“I think that sleazebag Martin is conning us with Cartwright. He hasn’t given us any real evidence it’s Cartwright. He must have had scores of meetings with Cartwright about the general’s candidacy even before he announced it. Martin’s trying to link those to his eight Xiang meetings.”

“Suppose each Xiang meeting occurred immediately after a Cartwright meeting?” Kelly said. “The next day, for example. That would be powerful circumstantial evidence to prove Cartwright was the spy.”

“I agree,” Paul said, raising his voice and sounding emotional. “But we don’t have the evidence.”

Arthur lifted his hands in a time-out signal. “Listen, Paul. When I was in private practice, my secretary kept careful logs of every call or meeting I had, and I was damn glad she did. They saved my ass more than once in billing disputes. You worked for Martin at his firm. Do you know whether his secretary did something similar?”

Paul shook his head. “I have no idea.”

“How well do you know Martin’s secretary?” Kelly asked.

“Alice Taylor is her name. I liked her. We ended up chatting from time to time while I waited for Martin to finish up a call or a meeting so I could talk to him. We always got along well.”

“Could you visit Alice at home this evening and ask her if she has logs like this and to forward them to you electronically if so?” inquired Arthur.

“Sure, but why not ask Martin to have her get them for us?” Paul asked.

Kelly saw a smile on Arthur’s face. She realized he viewed Paul’s question as a lob to the net. He was about to put it away. “Because I don’t trust Martin either,” he said. “If there’s a name other than Cartwright’s linked with the Xiang visits, and Martin knows we’re focused on the logs, he might delete that name before we obtain them.”

Listening to Arthur, Kelly decided on her own next moves. She had to brief Forester. Unfortunately, he was in Phoenix that day. She could see him first thing the following morning.

She also planned to wait until then to brief Wilkins and Farrell at a task force meeting. Expecting Wilkins to be a problem, she wanted to find out whether Martin’s secretary kept logs and to have Paul’s analysis of them before that meeting.

Paul decided not to call Alice, merely to show up at her house and hope she would talk to him. Having delivered documents to her house for Martin about a year ago, he remembered that Alice lived alone, or at least she had at the time.

Driving to Alice’s house at seven in the evening, Paul thought about how much the neighborhood called Logan Circle had changed. Ten years ago, the sturdy red brick row houses, built to endure for decades, had been predominantly inhabited by African Americans like Alice. Now, the neighborhood was mostly white. “Gentrification,” it was called, with white professionals moving in to displace the African Americans and driving up real estate values. It was all part of the shifting racial composition of the District of Columbia, which had decades ago been overwhelmingly African American. Soon, whites would be the majority.

When Alice opened the door for Paul, she had a startled expression, but he had expected that.

“Paul Maltoni, what in the world are you doing here?” she asked.

“I hate to bother you,” he said, “but I have a confidential government matter to talk to you about.”

“That sounds serious.”

“I’m afraid it is.”

“Well c’mon in. Would you like something to drink?”

“No thanks, I’m fine.”

She invited Paul into the living room and they both sat down.

“I was very sorry you left the firm,” said Alice. “Everybody liked you.”

“Thanks a lot,” Paul acknowledged.

“I’ve been following your career since you left,” she added. “I hear you’re involved with national security issues at the Justice Department now.”

“That’s right.”

“I’m actually glad you came this evening,” she remarked.

It was an odd comment, Paul thought. It sounded as if she had something she wanted to tell Paul. He decided to let her begin. He could ask about the logs when she was finished. “Please tell me why.”

“Well, you know I have always been very loyal to Mr. Martin, and I’ve always kept his secrets to myself.”

“Of course, I understand that.”

“However, my country means even more to me than Mr. Martin,” she continued. “My husband was career army until his death two years ago, and we both shared a love for this great country.”

Paul wondered where Alice was going with this.

“I’ve been troubled about some things and didn’t know who to tell,” she said. “Since you now work in national security matters, I’m afraid you won the lottery.”

He smiled. “I’m glad you selected me. Why don’t you tell me what’s bothering you?”

“Well, as you know, Mr. Martin always kept the door to his office open when he had meetings with other firm lawyers or even clients, including company CEOs. Since he was at the end of the hall in a corner office, no one except me could hear what was said.”

Paul nodded, recalling that in the years he had worked with Martin, the senior partner had closed the door only when he was at a critical point in dealing with the Jasper affair.

“But in the last three months,” Alice continued, “Mr. Martin has had eight meetings with a man by the name of Xiang, an economic attaché at the Chinese embassy. As you know, Mr. Martin represents the Chinese government. Each time Xiang came, Mr. Martin shut his door.”

“Did he close it for anyone else?”

“Once, when this Chinese woman called Huan came. She’s the woman he’s now living with. It’s too bad about his personal life. I liked Francis, and this strumpet was younger than his daughters. I’m sorry to digress. Anyhow, once when she came, she shut the door. Now, I’m no prude, but they were both straightening their clothes when they opened the door and left to go to dinner. I couldn’t believe it. Well, anyhow, that’s one thing that bothered me. Here’s another.”

“Please tell me.”

“In January, after Francis left him, Mr. Martin suddenly, with no advance notice, flew to Hong Kong for business. After that, he started having secret meetings with this man Xiang. Then that woman moved into his house. Today he called and told me he’d be out for a few days with a bad stomach virus. He didn’t sound convincing. I figured he might be slipping off for another meeting with these Chinese people and that he didn’t want me to know about it.” She paused. “If you think I’m reading too many spy stories, let me know.”

“Unfortunately, you’re not,” said Paul. “Martin is mixed up in some serious matters, and we’re watching him very closely. I can’t tell you more than that, I’m afraid.”

“That’s too bad,” Alice replied. “I’m sorry to hear it. Until this business with Senator Jasper, he was on top of the world. When the mighty fall, they sure fall hard.”

For an instant, Paul thought she might cry. But she pulled herself together and said, “What can I do to help you?”

“Do you keep logs of Martin’s meetings on a daily basis?”

“Absolutely. Every meeting and phone call. It’s been useful for billing purposes. Until a few years ago, it was paper entries. Now it’s all electronic.”

“Do you have a computer here?” Paul asked.

She pointed toward the next room. “In my study.”

“Can you access those logs from here?”

She smiled. “I’m the only secretary in the firm who can access firm records remotely. It’s a perk of working for the boss.”

Paul gave her the relevant time period and she pulled up the logs of all of Martin’s meetings, printed them, and put them in a folder for Paul.

Then he thanked her and left.

Washington and Bethesda, Maryland

Three hours later, Paul, working in his office at the DOJ, had analyzed the logs. They corroborated Martin’s story. Paul listed each of the eight dates Martin met with Xiang. For seven of them, General Cartwright had met with Martin the day before. For the eighth, Captain Mallory had met with Martin the previous day. Paul carefully scrutinized the logs to determine whether Martin had meetings with any other individuals on the days immediately before his eight Xiang meetings. There was no one.

As he made a chart of the meetings, he was convinced this couldn’t be a coincidence. It was confirmation that General Cartwright was the mole.

Paul noted that Martin had plenty of other Cartwright meetings unrelated to Xiang meetings, but that didn’t trouble him. Martin was a key advisor to General Cartwright’s campaign.

Paul placed his analysis and the supporting logs in his briefcase and called Kelly. “Where are you?” he asked.

“At home.”

“I want to show you something.”

She gave him the address and twenty-five minutes later Paul walked into Kelly’s house, clutching his briefcase.

“Wait ’til you see this,” he exclaimed.

She raised a finger to her lips. “Julie just got to sleep. She was having nightmares.”

She led him into the den where he spread out the papers and went through his analysis.

At the end, he said, “Complete confirmation. Cartwright is our mole.”

“Listen, Paul, let’s take this slowly.”

“You were convinced this morning. Now you’re sounding hesitant. What happened?”

“I still think that’s the conclusion, but General Cartwright is the closest thing this country has to a war hero. That’s bad enough. Blowing up a presidential election is even worse. We have more work to do.”

“The evidence is clear,” Paul insisted.

“And very circumstantial,” countered Kelly. “I accept your conclusion, but we have to be realistic. It’s not the bulletproof case the AG wanted.”

“What do you think we should we do next?” Paul asked.

“I’m calling a task force meeting for eleven tomorrow morning. I have to brief Forester before then, and I urge you to report to Arthur about the logs. You and I are about to climb out on a very long limb, and we need whatever protection was can get.”

Washington

After Paul had left Kelly’s house the previous evening, she had called her dad. “You running tomorrow morning?” she asked.

“Five thirty sharp. Starting at Candy Cane City.”

To preserve his knees and hips, her dad had stopped running on pavement and confined himself to a dirt track which circled a grassy area in Rock Creek Park near ball fields, tennis courts, and a children’s play area known as Candy Cane City.

“Good. I’ll be there,” she said.

When she arrived, her dad was stretching next to his parked car. She pulled in beside him.

“Glad you called,” he said. “We haven’t run together in a long time.”

“Yeah, that’s true. I have to warn you, though, this isn’t for father-daughter bonding.”

“You have a problem?”

“A big one.”

They jogged over to the track, which was deserted. Once they began running side by side, he said, “Tell me about it.”

And she did.

When she was finished explaining about Martin, Xiang, and Cartwright, the first words out of his mouth were, “Holy shit.”

“Meaning what?” she asked.

“I’m surprised as hell. I really like Cartwright. I would have never guessed it.”

“Do you think there could be another explanation? That we’re missing something?”

For a full minute her father didn’t answer. Then he said, “It’s conceivable that Martin got the information he gave to Xiang outside of the office and that his Cartwright meetings were only about the campaign.”

“Look at the timing on eight meetings. That would be a helluva coincidence.”

“You’re right,” he conceded. “Cartwright has to be the mole.”

Kelly was breathing hard. She hated to admit it, but the old man was in better shape than she was. “Can we reduce the pace a little?”

“Sure.” He glanced at her. “With Cartwright as the likely Republican presidential nominee, this is huge.”

“That’s an understatement.”

“Make sure you keep Forester in the loop.”

“Damn right. That’s where I’m going from here.”

She recalled her testimony before Senator Dorsey’s subcommittee. Either that pompous ass or someone else in Congress would skewer her if she were wrong about this.

Her father suddenly stopped running and clutched her arm. “Listen, Kelly, you like to grab a ball and run with it, which is usually good. I’m all for being aggressive. I also always believed in doing what I thought in my gut was right, even if my bosses in Langley didn’t agree. Despite all of that, this time I’m telling you to go slow. You’ve already had one dustup in this operation over Peterson and that Saint Michaels business. You were going after a little fish then. Now you’re about to challenge the biggest shark in the sea. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

FBI Director Forester was a good listener. Kelly guessed that had made him an excellent US district judge. While sitting in front of his desk, she told him about what had happened with Martin. Then she told him about the logs Paul had acquired from Alice.

Forester jotted notes while she spoke without saying a word. When she was finished, he said, “Your conclusion that Cartwright is the spy seems right, but you’re a long way from having a case for espionage against him. We need more evidence.”

“I agree. Any suggestions about where we go next?”

“Mallory. Get his background ASAP and arrange an interview. You and Paul should do it together, and in a way that Cartwright won’t find out.”

“What do we hope to learn from Mallory?” Kelly asked.

“For starters, find out what he knows about the reason for his one meeting with Martin. Then see where it goes. Let Paul take the lead, he’ll know how to do the interrogation. And do not, I repeat, do not under any circumstances confront Cartwright until we have pulled together all of the evidence against him.”

“I understand.”

“And I want you to keep me informed.”

“For sure.” She stood up to leave.

“Let me tell you one other thing, Kelly,” said Forester.

“Yes, sir?”

“I don’t play the ‘cover your ass’ game like so many people in Washington. I’m right with you on this.”

“I appreciate that.”

“If we hang, we hang together,” he said.

Forester’s words were jarring for Kelly. She wished the director hadn’t used that metaphor.

When Kelly entered the task force conference room, Paul was already there. Farrell and Wilkins had yet to arrive.

She told Paul what Forester had said, then added, “I’ve asked our research people to prepare a profile on Mallory ASAP.”

“That’s good.”

“What happened with Larkin?”

“I told him about my analysis of the logs Alice turned over. He said, ‘Full steam ahead and keep me in the loop.’ I asked him if he planned to brief the president.”

“What’d he say?”

“It was pure Arthur Larkin. In that gruff tone, he said, ‘You do your job. I’ll do mine.’ I interpreted that to mean he wants Braddock to be able to say he didn’t know we were moving up on Cartwright, even if Arthur does tell him, because then no one would be able to contradict him except Arthur himself. He’s prepared to take the bullet to protect his president.”

“Sounds like Watergate with John Mitchell as the AG.”

“Don’t you love these Washington games?”

“I think they stink,” said Kelly, “but that’s the way it goes. It’s the same in every administration—Democrats or Republicans. Only the names are different.”

Farrell entered the room and sat down next to Paul across from Kelly. Wilkins was right behind him. He took a chair at the head of the table.

“My time’s tight,” Wilkins said. “The president wants me back for a noon meeting with a congressional delegation about Middle East policy.”

“We’ll talk fast,” Kelly said. “I don’t think you’ll want to miss this.”

“What’s so important?”

She turned to Paul. “You tell them what we learned from Andrew Martin and from Alice. Then I’ll describe our next step.”

She put her iPad on the table, wanting to see the profile on Mallory as soon as the research department sent it. She was planning to jump in if Paul missed anything, but it wasn’t necessary.

The instant Paul was finished, Wilkins pounced. “The charge that General Cartwright, one of the most courageous and heroic American warriors, is a Chinese spy is the most absurd and ludicrous thing I’ve ever heard in my life.”

Paul was ready to defend their conclusion. “Eight meetings cannot be a coincidence.”

“That’s ridiculous,” said Wilkins, raising his voice now. “I’m sure Cartwright was meeting with Martin a lot more than those eight times. Martin is the top advisor for Cartwright’s presidential campaign.”

“We know that,” said Paul, “but the eight all occurred before Cartwright announced for presidency.”

“So what? They were no doubt planning for the announcement and campaign. Candidates always do lots of prep work before they announce.”

“What seals it for me,” said Paul, “is that no other individual met with Martin with regularity around the time of the Xiang meetings.”

Wilkins turned to Kelly. “Are you buying this bullshit Maltoni is selling?” he asked in a surly tone.

“Absolutely,” Kelly replied. “He’s right.”

“What about you?” Wilkins asked Farrell.

“It may not be definitive. On the other hand, it sure sounds plausible.”

Wilkins pounded the palm of his hand on the table. “I’m going over your heads to Forester and to Larkin.”

“We’ve briefed both of them,” Kelly replied. “They told us to pursue it.”

“Well at least you should give General Cartwright a chance to explain about these meetings before you do anything else.”

“Director Forester does not want to do that.”

Wilkins said, “Humph. What will you do next?”

“Talk to Captain Mallory. See what he has to say about his meeting with Martin.” She glanced at her iPad. “I just received a bio on Mallory.”

“What’s it say?” Wilkins asked. He checked his watch. “And talk fast, I have to get to the White House.”

“Christopher Mallory is fourth generation military. Very distinguished record at the Air Force Academy and as an Air Force pilot. Cartwright served with Mallory’s father. Mallory was Cartwright’s assistant when he was chairman of the Joint Chiefs. When Cartwright left the military to run for president, Mallory resigned to be Cartwright’s aide and private pilot.”

Wilkins was shaking his head. “Everything’s going to hit the fan when Cartwright finds out why you’re talking to Mallory. This is Washington, everything sees the light of day.” Wilkins pointed a bony finger at Kelly. “To quote John Mitchell, you’re gonna get your tit caught in a wringer.”

Kelly was planning a sharp retort, but before she had a chance to deliver it, Wilkins was on his feet, heading out of the door.

“What’s his problem?” Paul said, shaking his head.

“He’s probably friends with Cartwright,” Farrell said. “He doesn’t want to believe his good buddy can be a Chinese spy.”

“Forget about Wilkins,” Kelly said. “Time to move up on Mallory. Anybody have a connection at DOD?”

“Let me check out the lawyers at the Pentagon,” Paul said, picking up his iPad. After a few moments, he said, “The Air Force GC is Carol Bailey. She went to Yale Law about ten years before me. We can start there.”

Paul took out his cell and called her. After introducing himself, he said, “Kelly Cameron from the FBI and I would like to talk to you about a confidential matter.”

“Sure, I’m free now.”

“We’re on our way. We’ll be there in about twenty minutes.”

Carol Bailey was a tough looking woman with short gray hair and wire-framed glasses. She was dressed in a navy pantsuit. Paul remembered meeting her once, but he couldn’t recall where or when until she said, “Hey Paul, about five years ago, didn’t I meet you at a reception for the Yale Law School dean at Andrew Martin’s house up on Foxhall? You were working with Martin at the time.”

“Yeah, that’s right.”

“A shame about Martin and the Supreme Court appointment.”

“He seems to be carrying on.” Paul was unwilling to tell her that what they were doing there related to Martin.

After introducing herself to Kelly, Carol asked them to take a seat.

“From your title, Paul, I assume this is a national security matter,” Carol said, cutting to the chase.

“Correct.”

“And you probably can’t tell me what it’s about.”

“Correct again.”

“I understand,” she said. “I’ve been in this job for five years now, and that’s been par for the course. How can I help you?”

“We’d like to interview Christopher Mallory, recently resigned from the Air Force.”

“You mean General Cartwright’s assistant?”

“You know him?” Paul asked.

“I know of him. Cartwright was a presence here, and Mallory was close to the general. The Air Force hated losing them both.”

“We’d like to interview Mallory without him tipping off Cartwright.”

She nodded. “I get the picture. Let me see what info we have for Mallory in the system.”

She checked her computer. “I have a cell number and email. I could contact Mallory and ask him to come down here to sign some papers related to his benefits. How’s that sound?”

“Perfect.”

“I’ll try his cell. When do you want to meet with him?”

“As soon as possible.”

She picked up the phone and dialed.

Paul listened to her telling Mallory what they had agreed on. A few seconds later, she said, “Okay, call me when you get back to Washington.”

She put down the phone. “This afternoon Mallory is flying Cartwright to Paris in his private plane. He’s not sure when they’ll be back, but he thinks it’ll only be a couple of days. He’ll call me when they return.”

Paul thanked Carol, and they drove back to Washington.

In the car, Kelly said, “Don’t you think that’s odd?”

“What’s odd?” asked Paul.

“Cartwright taking off for Paris in the middle of his campaign.”

Paul thought about it for a minute. “Yeah, it is. Let’s see what Mallory has to say about it.”

Paris

At seven in the evening, Cartwright got out of a limousine and walked into the Bristol Hotel. Mallory was two steps behind.

Both were dressed in civilian clothes.

Before leaving Washington, Cartwright had arranged their accommodations: a suite for himself on the sixth floor, and a room for Mallory on the second.

Once they had checked in, they headed toward the glass door elevator.

Cartwright told Mallory, “You have the evening off. Enjoy Paris. We’ll leave here tomorrow morning at eight to go back to the airport. Then we’re flying home. Let the people at Orly know.”

“Yes, sir,” Mallory replied.

On the second floor, Mallory exited the elevator. As he left, Cartwright said, “Don’t get into trouble with those French women.”

The sixth floor suite was large with a view of the center courtyard. Cartwright checked his Rolex. The call was scheduled to come at eight. With time to kill, he took a long shower, then fixed a scotch from the mini bar.

Sipping it, Cartwright thought about his one previous meeting with Minister Liu, which had occurred in Singapore at the Raffles Hotel six months previously. That had been a secret meeting, too. Only Mallory, his pilot, had known that Cartwright was going to Singapore.

Cartwright had initiated the Singapore meeting following an incident in the South China Sea. A Chinese fighter jet had brought one of its wingtips within twenty feet of a US patrol aircraft. Cartwright was fearful incidents like this would lead to war. He had asked President Braddock to call the Chinese president and seek an immediate meeting, but the president had refused to do anything more than file a formal complaint. From their discussions following the incident, Cartwright had concluded that Braddock, who had been the governor of New York, might be adept at dealing with domestic issues, but he was naïve and totally in over his head in matters of foreign policy. Cartwright, who had studied world and military history in depth for decades, was convinced that many of the wars resulting in the deaths of millions were avoidable. They occurred because civilian leaders, like Braddock, kept kicking the can down the road, and never faced the difficult choices they had to make until a confrontation broke out. At that point, it was too late.

Cartwright loved the United States, and he was determined to do what he could to avoid having it dragged into a horrendously destructive war with China. Enraged by Braddock’s passivity in response to the near miss between the US and Chinese planes, Cartwright had decided to arrange a secret meeting with General Piao, the head of the People’s Liberation Army. Piao had selected Raffles Hotel in Singapore for the meeting.

Cartwright had decided to conceal the meeting from Braddock; only Mallory, who would fly Cartwright to Singapore in an Air Force plane, would know that Cartwright was going to Singapore. Then Cartwright had dismissed Mallory so he could meet Piao alone. He and Piao had spoken for about an hour, comparing their backgrounds, what they had each done to serve their countries, and finding many similarities in their careers. At the end of their discussion, Cartwright and Piao had agreed that their two great nations had to find a way to get along. Piao had then left the room, returning a few minutes later with Liu Guan, the minister of state security. After introducing Liu, Piao had withdrawn.

Liu had begun by explaining to Cartwright how China had only in the last twenty years emerged from two nightmares: first, a century of humiliation by the Western powers; second, the outrageous and stifling rule of Mao. At the end, Liu had said, “Our nation has come too far economically and as a world power in these last two decades to risk losing it all in a mutually destructive war with the United States.”

“We share that goal,” Cartwright had said. “That’s why I’m here. I’m a student of history, and it sounds as if you are as well.”

“Absolutely,” Liu had agreed.

“Then I’m sure you will agree that wars are never inevitable.”

“Correct, they can always be avoided. And I have a plan for avoiding a war between the US and China.”

“I would like to hear it.”

“At the end of the Second World War, the US and Britain met with Russia at Yalta and reached an agreement to carve up Europe into spheres of influence in a way that would avoid a war between them. Under that agreement, Russia emerged with control over Central and Eastern Europe, and the Soviets agreed not to threaten the Western European nations. That agreement was successful. It produced forty years of peace in Europe. In 1989, it had outlived its usefulness and the Berlin wall came down. Since then, there has been no agreement with Russia. Kuznov threatens his neighbors, and a conflict between Russia and Western Europe is again a real possibility.”

Cartwright agreed with everything Liu had said, but he wondered where Liu was going with this.

“What I am suggesting,” Liu continued, “is that it’s time for the creation of a new world order in which China and the US divide up the world into spheres of influence to avoid a war with each other. The US would stay out of Asia, and in return China would avoid becoming involved politically or militarily in Europe or the Western Hemisphere.”

“What about Africa and the Middle East?”

“Those are miserable and chaotic places. I would hope that with our broader agreement we could cooperate there.”

Cartwright had stood up and begun pacing with his hands in his pockets as he thought about what Liu had said. In concept, it made sense; however, if Liu thought that Cartwright could influence Braddock to agree with this approach, he was sadly mistaken. The two men intensely disliked each other. Cartwright realized it was impossible for Braddock to accept any proposal of Cartwright’s, and the same was true in reverse.

Cartwright stopped pacing and turned around. Still on his feet, he stared at Liu. “I assume you are speaking for the Chinese president.”

“Correct.”

“Well, your proposal has merit, and I’m flattered you presented it to me. Unfortunately, I am not the US president, and I don’t have the clout to persuade Braddock to accept it. In fact, to be perfectly honest, my support would doom your proposal.”

“I’m aware of that.” Liu paused for a moment then continued, “On the other hand, you could become the US president.”

Cartwright had laughed. “I’m no politician, and I’ve never even considered it.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Liu had replied. “Other US military leaders have made the transition to president—Washington, Jackson, and Eisenhower, for example. The point is that the American people will embrace a military hero in troubled times, and that’s what these are.”

“Even if I wanted to run, the timing is unfortunate. As I’m sure you’re aware, the election is in November. I’m a Republican and my party’s campaign is already in full swing.”

“However, it’s still wide open,” Liu had countered. “You and I both know your elections are decided by money. Suppose I were to guarantee you an unlimited amount of money for your campaign—and it would all be perfectly legal. What would you say?”

Cartwright sat back down. “I’m listening,” he said.

“You’ve no doubt heard of the wealthy American businessman Carl Dickerson, who is based in Los Angeles.”

“Of course.”

“Dickerson is very interested in geopolitical issues. He also has many investments and businesses in China and throughout Asia. He would be willing to provide you with all the funding you would want for your campaign, and it would be legal under US campaign finance laws.”

Cartwright could guess at Dickerson’s motive. A war between the States and China would damage his business interests. Beyond that, Liu might have offered Dickerson incentives relating to his future operations in China in order to secure his support.

“You seem to have considered everything,” Cartwright noted.

“Well, what do you think?”

Cartwright had closed his eyes and pondered the offer. It was enticing. Through the years, he had often thought he could do a better job as president than the incumbent. Now he was being given a chance. He thought of the movie The Manchurian Candidate. He would be the Beijing candidate. Nobody would ever know.

Before Cartwright responded, Liu added, “In return for my arranging with Dickerson to provide you with unlimited funds for your election campaign, I would like an expression of good faith on your part.”

“What’s that?”

“Until you launch your campaign, I would like you to supply me with confidential military information concerning US involvement in Asia.”

“You mean become a spy for China?”

“I wouldn’t express it that way.”

“Then how would you?”

“It will be the beginning of our cooperation, the means to avoid a war between our two great nations. You wouldn’t have to worry about being caught. You will be passing the information to a well-respected Washington lawyer, Andrew Martin, who represents my government in Washington. Then later, when you announce your candidacy for president, you can employ Martin as an adviser.”

Cartwright had asked Liu for an hour to think about the proposal. He had then gone back to his room where he listed pros and cons on a sheet of paper. At the top of the positive reasons was: “good chance to be president of the US” followed by “avoiding a war with China.”

For the cons, he listed: “could get caught and charged with treason; might not be elected president.”

He weighed them carefully, then tore up the paper and flushed it down the toilet. Then he had returned to Liu’s room.

“I’m in,” he had told the head of MSS. In doing so, Cartwright did not view himself as a traitor to the United States. Rather, he saw himself as helping to create a new world order in which China and the US could find a way to coexist peacefully.

“I will talk to Dickerson,” Liu said, “and have him reach out to you without indicating that the funding has been arranged. This will help establish an alibi in case anyone ever questions the legality of his funding you. My involvement, of course, cannot be known, so when you meet with him it would be best to act accordingly and assume your every move is being watched.”

The next day, Mallory flew Cartwright from Singapore back to Washington. Cartwright was confident that no one other than Mallory knew he had gone to Singapore.

Now, six months later, Cartwright sat in his Bristol Hotel room finishing up his first scotch as he thought about pouring another. He decided against it. He had to be sharp for his upcoming meeting.

When it approached eight o’clock, Cartwright nervously eyed the phone in the room. Precisely at eight, it rang. Cartwright grabbed it. He heard, “Room 724,” in a voice unmistakably Liu’s. Then the phone went dead.

Cartwright put on his tie and jacket and left his room. He rode the elevator up to the seventh floor, then stepped out, looking around anxiously. The corridor was deserted except for a Chinese man sitting outside one of the doors. Cartwright figured that had to be Liu’s room; the man was probably part of Liu’s security detail. Approaching the man, Cartwright saw a bulge under his jacket confirming Cartwright’s assessment. He remembered seeing a similar guard outside of the hotel room in Singapore.

As Cartwright came closer, the guard stood and tapped on the door of room 724. It opened from inside and the guard gestured for Cartwright to enter. As he did, the door quickly closed behind him.

Liu was waiting for him in the center of the suite’s living room. “Cognac?” he asked in a curt voice, a snifter in his hand filled with amber liquid. There were no greetings or pleasantries from the Chinese spymaster, but Cartwright was expecting that. He had behaved the same way in Singapore. Cartwright responded in kind, not saying a word. He walked over to the bottle of Remy Martin on a table and poured himself a glass.

Once they were seated, Liu said, “We’ve had a complication.”

“What happened?” Cartwright asked.

Liu explained about Xiang, and how Kelly Cameron had turned him. “She now knows that Andrew Martin was the conduit to pass envelopes to Xiang,” Liu continued. “However, I have no idea whether Martin has identified you as the official who provided him with the envelopes.”

“I strongly doubt that Andrew would turn on me.”

“I hope you’re right.”

Cartwright could tell that Liu wasn’t convinced.

“I’m confident of it,” Cartwright said. “I know Andrew Martin. And even if I’m wrong, they couldn’t build a case on his testimony. He never would have opened those envelopes, so he would have no idea what was in them.”

“I agree with that,” Liu replied, nodding. “Still I had to tell you what happened. You have a choice.”

“What’s that?” Cartwright inquired.

“Either continue with our joint operation, or terminate it. Of course, I hope you will continue.”

As Cartwright processed the information, he realized this wasn’t much of a choice. Even if he were to drop out of the presidential race, the FBI would no doubt continue their search for the mole in the US government. Indeed, he would be even more exposed. As a candidate, he at least had a chance that the gutless Braddock would call off the dogs to avoid charges that this was all politically motivated. More than that, he genuinely believed in what he was doing. He decided to reiterate that for Liu.

“Let’s go back to basics,” said Cartwright. “I joined with you in our project because I am terrified for my country, and the world, that the US and China could end up in a cataclysmic war that no one wants and no one would win. I see our working together as a way—the only way—of avoiding that. So I’m still in to the end.”

Liu nodded with approval. “Good. How do you assess your chances of being elected?”

“Excellent. My campaign is going well. I know you like to gamble, so I will tell you Las Vegas has me as the favorite—ahead of Braddock.”

Liu cracked a tiny smile that surprised Cartwright. He’d never seen the grim-looking Liu smile before.

“That’s good,” Liu said. “I want you to know I have eliminated one possible obstacle to your campaign.”

“What’s that?”

Liu reached into his pocket and removed a photo of a naked blond woman. He handed it to Cartwright, who immediately recognized Helena from that unfortunate night in Prague when she had ended up in bed with him after he had too much to drink. Cartwright turned pale.

“This was given to me by a close friend in Russian intelligence,” Liu explained. “Once he saw we were clashing with the US over the East China Sea, he told me what had happened between you and Helena in Prague, how Helena had broken into your computer and forwarded sensitive emails to Moscow. He thought I might want some leverage over you. I told him positively not, and that I didn’t want anything to happen which would embarrass you. He owes me a favor so he promised that Helena would be relocated to Siberia. You do not have to worry about any of your political opponents coming forward with this.”

“That’s good to know,” Cartwright said weakly.

Liu handed him the photo. “I have no need for this. Now let’s talk about Kelly Cameron. We can’t underestimate her. We have to take certain precautions.”

“What kind of precautions?”

“First of all, if you sense that Kelly Cameron is getting close, or you have to get a message to me for any other reason, I want you to call Mario’s Pizza in Washington.” Liu handed Cartwright a slip of paper with a phone number written on it. “Ask for Mario and tell him you would like a pizza with Chinese spices from the Szechuan province. A delivery man will come an hour later. He will be a member of my staff. Tell him what you’d like passed on to me verbally. Understood?”

“Yes,” agreed Cartwright as he committed the phone number to memory.

Liu walked across the room to a brown leather Berluti bag. He pulled out an envelope and handed it to Cartwright.

“Open it,” Liu commanded.

Inside, Cartwright found a Hong Kong passport, credit cards, and a driver’s license for someone named Virgil MacMillan. Opening the passport and staring at the driver’s license, Cartwright noted that MacMillan did not look like him. He pointed this out to Liu. In response, Liu reached into his pocket and took out a piece of paper. He handed it to Cartwright. It contained an email address and a phone number.

“This is for a Chinese woman in New York City. She calls herself Melody. She’s a theatrical makeup artist. If you contact her and tell her where you are, she’ll drop everything and get to you as soon as possible. She will make you look like Virgil MacMillan. Then get yourself on a plane to Hong Kong. Victoria Bank will have twenty million dollars in an account for Virgil MacMillan.”

“I’m not doing this for the money.”

“I understand. Nevertheless, if you have to escape, I want you to live comfortably. I take care of my friends.”

Cartwright was convinced Liu’s motive wasn’t altruism. Liu would prefer that Cartwright not remain in the United States where he could tell the authorities about Liu and his program.

“You’ll turn me into a modern day Philby,” Cartwright remarked.

Liu sat up straight, grimaced, and said, “Would you prefer being dead or in a prison for life?”

Liu’s words hung in the room, a blunt reminder of what Cartwright had at stake.

Cartwright took the elevator to the lobby of the Bristol, exited the hotel through the front door, then turned right. As he walked along Rue St. Honore, he stopped from time to time to look into shop windows, making certain he wasn’t being followed. He took out his phone and dialed a number from memory. “Agnes,” he said. “I’m in Paris. I’ll be there in another two hours or so.”

“I’ll be waiting for you.”

Fifteen minutes later, on Rue Artois, he entered the majestic gray stone chateau that housed Restaurant Apicius, one of the premier dining establishments in Paris.

“I’m meeting Mr. Dickerson,” he explained to the tuxedo clad maître d’ who greeted him.

“This way, please.”

Carl Dickerson was seated at a table facing the garden in the center room. He stood as Cartwright approached. Cartwright had known that Dickerson and Liu had a close relationship, so he wasn’t surprised when Dickerson had invited him out for dinner once his meeting in Paris with Liu had been set. Still, Cartwright wondered why Dickerson wanted to meet with him.

Now that Cartwright’s presidential campaign had taken off, thanks to Dickerson’s funding, Cartwright expected Dickerson to seek the promise of an appointment from him should he win. Perhaps he wanted to be secretary of the Treasury. Cartwright would never agree to that. He’d need someone from Wall Street who was in banking for that post. Secretary of commerce would be okay. Dickerson couldn’t get into trouble at the Department of Commerce. He hoped he wouldn’t end up in a conflict with Dickerson on the issue.

During dinner—an outstanding crab dish followed by rack of lamb and accompanied by a 2000 Latour—Dickerson asked Cartwright about his military career. He listened in admiration as Cartwright spoke before confessing that he had dodged the draft during the Vietnam War so he could play baseball in the Yankees farm system. As far as he ever got was AAA. Eventually, he hung up his cleats and joined his father’s business importing consumer products from Asia. Dickerson seemed to be mesmerized by Cartwright’s discussion of what happened in the first and second Iraqi wars, as well as in Afghanistan.

At the end, Cartwright said, “One of the primary lessons I learned is to recognize the limits of outside military intervention in places where conflicts have spanned centuries.”

“Is that why you were willing to work with our mutual friend?” Dickerson asked in a soft voice.

Cartwright paused to sip some wine, then he replied, “That’s a large part of it.”

“I’m very pleased at how well your campaign is going.”

“Thanks to your support, which I appreciate.” Cartwright decided to take the bull by the horns. “If I win,” he continued, “I’d like you to be secretary of commerce in my administration.”

Dickerson smiled. “I would never try for any position requiring Senate confirmation. That would mean exposing every business deal I ever made to congressional scrutiny. Not in a million years.”

Cartwright was relieved to hear that.

Dickerson added, “I’ll tell you what I would like.”

Cartwright’s stomach tightened. “What’s that?” he asked.

“A bedroom at the White House.”

Cartwright’s head snapped back. “What’s that mean?”

“Access. A chance to talk with you when I’m in Washington.”

“You’ve got it. I’ll always be available for you.”

“I won’t come or call often,” Dickerson continued. “What I’ll really gain from your presidency is a chance to grow my business in Asia. War is a destabilizer and very bad for a business like mine.”

“It also kills people,” said Cartwright. “Often for no good reason.”

By the time coffee came, Cartwright was getting antsy. All he could think about was Agnes in her apartment, naked between the silk sheets, waiting for him. Finally, Dickerson called for the check.

After they parted ways, Cartwright took a cab to Agnes’s apartment. On the street in front, he saw a trash bin. Reaching into his pocket, he took out the photo of Helena that Liu had given him and tore it into a myriad of little pieces, then tossed them into the can.

The whole Helena business Liu had raised was troublesome. Liu had pretended to be helping Cartwright, but the general realized Liu was doing something else entirely. He was letting Cartwright know he held a card that could damage Cartwright immeasurably. If Cartwright didn’t follow the plan and do Liu’s bidding, he would play that card. And it would be easy to do. Liu undoubtedly had another copy of that photo. Even worse, Helena was probably still alive. If she had been sent to Siberia—which was questionable—the Russians could bring her back at any time and display her in front of television cameras to tell the story of her Prague adventure.

Also troublesome, Cartwright thought, was that if the Chinese had been able to find out about Helena, would someone in the US media or a political opponent learn about her as well, notwithstanding the promise of the CIA director?

Cartwright felt vulnerable. Nevertheless, he had to continue in his quest for the presidency. He was getting close enough to touch the ultimate gold ring. There was no turning back now.

Arlington, Virginia

Kelly was behind the wheel of an unmarked black SUV on the way from the FBI building to the Pentagon to interview Captain Mallory. Seated beside her was Paul, glancing at a notepad and reading through the questions he planned to ask Mallory. They had decided that Paul would take the lead for what was, in essence, a witness interview.

Kelly crossed the 14th Street Bridge, then took the exit ramp. It was ten in the morning. Rush hour was over; traffic was light. She slowed to merge into traffic on the parkway.

Off to the right, just ahead on the side of the road, she spotted a battered dump truck loaded with debris. The driver had his turn signal on, indicating he was planning to enter the parkway. Kelly reduced her speed to let the truck pull in ahead of her SUV, but the truck didn’t do that. Instead, the driver turned sharply to the left, coming right at Kelly’s vehicle.

“Hey, you—what the hell!” she cried out as, at the last possible second, she cut the wheel sharply to the right, hoping to avoid a collision. She almost succeeded, but as the truck barreled towards her, it hit the front driver’s side of the SUV. The sudden impact turned the car on its side, the momentum rolling it over into a grassy area along the side of the road. Kelly gripped the wheel hard as the car spun, until it finally lurching to a stop on its right side. The airbags had failed to open, and Paul was pinned against the door. Kelly could tell that he wasn’t moving.

Dazed, she struggled to unfasten her seatbelt. Groping along the floor, she got a hand on her bag, reached in, and pulled out her phone. She called the FBI agent emergency line and said, “This is Agent Kelly Cameron. My car was hit on the GW Parkway, coming off the 14th Street Bridge. My partner is pinned in the car.”

“We’ll get someone right there,” said the voice on the other end.

After hanging up, Kelly continued struggling. Finally, she managed to get the door open and climb out. Her whole body ached and her hands were scratched. She looked at the road in both directions. There was no sign of the dump truck.

She turned back to the SUV. Paul still wasn’t moving. She briefly thought about trying to get him out of the vehicle, but ultimately decided against it. She might make his condition worse—if he was even still alive. No, she had to wait for help.

Five minutes later, two Virginia State troopers arrived, followed soon after by a tow truck and an emergency medical unit in an ambulance. Red lights flashed and sirens blared as she directed the two EMTs to Paul. He was now stirring and calling out for help. Thank God, he was alive, Kelly thought.

While the mechanics and medical people worked on freeing Paul, Kelly showed one of the troopers her FBI ID. “My colleague pinned in the SUV is Paul Maltoni. He’s a lawyer with DOJ.”

“What happened?” the trooper asked.

“A dump truck swerved into our vehicle, and then took off.”

“Intentional?”

She wasn’t willing to involve the state police—the task force work was too confidential—so she lied. “I have no reason to believe that,” she replied.

“Where were you going?”

“The Pentagon.”

“Did you get a license number on the truck?” the trooped asked.

Kelly shook her head. “It all happened too fast.”

“Description?”

“Gray, dirty, filled with debris.”

“That’s not much to go on,” said the trooper. “You think the truck was banged up from the collision?”

“Hard to say, but if so I doubt very much.”

“I’m not optimistic,” the trooper told her, pulling out a phone, “but I’ll put out an alert.”

Kelly nodded. “Let’s see how my partner is doing,” she said, moving closer to the SUV. They were extracting Paul with great care as he rubbed his head, blinking his eyes slowly. His face and arms were scratched and bleeding.

“I’m okay,” he said, catching sight of Kelly.

One of the EMTs said to Paul, “We’ll take you to the hospital in the ambulance.”

“No way, I’m fine,” he protested. “Just give me a couple of Band-Aids.”

“Listen, mister, you undoubtedly suffered a concussion. You have to get checked out.”

“I told you I’m okay.”

The medical official turned to Kelly. “Can you talk to him?”

“Listen, Paul, I think he’s right,” she said.

“It’s my decision, and I’m not doing it.”

“You could have a serious head injury.”

“I’m all right. We have a meeting to get to.”

“Don’t be a fool,” said Kelly.

“I’ve made up my mind,” Paul replied, raising his voice now. “Stop telling me what to do. I hate it when people tell me what to do.”

She realized arguing with Paul was hopeless. While the EMS personnel cleaned him up, she approached one of the police officers. “Can you give us a ride to the Pentagon?” she asked.

“If that’s what you want to do,” the officer responded.

Over the continued protests of the EMS personnel, they climbed into the back of a police car for the ride to the Pentagon, Paul sporting a bandage on his forehead. Kelly called Carol Bailey. “We had a problem,” she told her. “We’ll be a little late.”

When they got out of the car in front of the Pentagon, Kelly asked Paul, “You sure you’re okay?”

“Absolutely.”

“You could have fooled me,” Kelly retorted. “You look like hell.”

“I wouldn’t miss this for the world. Let’s go.”

“Wait a minute. You and I have to talk first.”

She led Paul into a snack bar where they sat in a deserted corner.

“Are you okay to do this interview?” Kelly asked.

“Absolutely. Test me.”

She held up three fingers. “How many fingers up?” she asked.

“Sixteen,” said Paul, rolling his eyes.

“Okay, smartass,” said Kelly, clearly annoyed. “You realize that was no accident. Either Liu or Cartwright just tried to kill us. You were probably looking at your notes and didn’t see what was happening, but that truck was coming right at us. It was intentional.”

“You’re right, I didn’t,” Paul acknowledged.

“Trust me, this was attempted murder. They didn’t want us to talk to Mallory.”

“How’d they know where we were going?”

“Did you make the arrangements with Carol Baily by cell phone?”

“Yeah.”

“My guess is they’ve hacked into your cell. Mine is encrypted, and tough to break into.”

“I just have an ordinary iPhone. What should I do?”

“Put it in your desk drawer and leave it there,” said Kelly. “I’ll give you one of ours. Meantime, I have something else to do.”

After the attempt on their life, Kelly’s reasoning kicked into high gear. If they were unable to take Kelly and Paul out immediately, it was possible they would also implement a backup plan. Kelly’s first guess was that they would try to get collateral in the form of an important bargaining chip—and the most effective candidate for that was incredibly vulnerable. She took out her phone and called her father.

“Where are you?” she asked.

“Fourth green at Kenwood.”

“Listen, Dad, someone in a dump truck just tried to kill me and Paul near the Pentagon.”

“Are you okay?” he asked, alarmed.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Paul is banged up. I want you to get Julie and keep her in your house until this is all over. Don’t let her out.”

“Of course. Where is she?”

Kelly’s mind was still foggy. She thought about it for a moment, then said, “In school. I’ll call and let them know you’re coming for her.”

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

“Will she be okay at your house?” Kelly asked, the worry in her voice tangible.

“I have enough weapons for a small army,” he replied. “Julie will be safe. You worry about yourself until this is over.”

“Don’t say anything that will alarm her.”

“Why do children always think their parents are morons?”

“Thank you, Dad.”

When Paul and Kelly entered Carol Bailey’s office, Carol asked Paul, “What happened to you?”

“He ran into a door,” Kelly said before he could answer.

Carol smiled. “You should be more careful.”

“Yeah,” said Paul. “I’ve always been awkward.”

“You want to have one of our doctors out here look at you?”

“Thanks,” he replied, “but I’ve already been checked out.”

Carol led them to a small conference room with a view of the parking lot, then departed. Mallory was waiting at a table, dressed in a suit and tie. He could have come from central casting, Paul thought. He had a sandy brown crew cut and was sitting ramrod straight, looking directly ahead. As soon as they entered the room, Mallory stood up.

Paul thought Mallory looked tense. He wondered how the former Air Force officer would respond when he realized he’d been hauled to a meeting under false pretenses and was being questioned about his former commanding officer, a man he admired enough to leave the military for. From Paul’s own relationship and disillusionment with Andrew Martin, Paul could sympathize with Mallory.

“I’m Paul Maltoni,” he said, reaching out a hand to shake Mallory’s, “a Justice Department lawyer. This is Kelly Cameron, from the FBI.”

“This isn’t about my benefits, is it?” Mallory said, looking worried.

“No, it’s not,” Paul agreed. “We want to ask you some questions about General Cartwright. We can’t compel you to talk to us, however, we hope you will.”

“Yes, sir,” Mallory replied. He didn’t seem surprised.

How odd, Paul thought. In the next few minutes, Paul expected to find out why.

“Please sit down,” said Paul

Mallory took a chair on one side of the table, and Kelly and Paul sat across from him. Paul picked up his legal pad, bent and battered from the crash, and a pen. Before he asked his first question, Mallory said, “Let me be clear about one thing. I have a great deal of respect and admiration for General Cartwright. However, I have an even greater love for my country.”

Paul concealed his surprise. “Do you have reason to believe the two are inconsistent?” he asked.

Mallory hesitated for a moment, then said, “I do have some concerns, and didn’t know who to talk to. So this meeting is in some ways a relief.”

“We appreciate your candor,” said Paul. “Do you mind if Kelly takes notes on her iPad?”

“No, not at all.”

“Why don’t you begin by telling us about your concerns.”

Without any hesitation, Mallory responded, “Are you familiar with the Wall Street Journal article the day after the incident in the East China Sea?”

“Yes, we both read it,” said Paul with a nod.

“In my opinion, what General Cartwright said was inappropriate. President Braddock is our commander in chief.”

“Even after his interview, you still decided to leave the military and to work for General Cartwright in his campaign?” Paul inquired.

“Yes, sir,” Mallory replied. Then, after a pause, he added, “I had given General Cartwright my commitment to join with him about twelve or so hours before the article appeared. I thought about reversing that decision, but I didn’t think it would be right to go back on my word. Since then, I’ve seen some very troubling things.”

“Please tell us about them.”

“Two days ago, I flew General Cartwright to Paris on a secret trip. He told me it related to the campaign. He also told me I wouldn’t be attending meetings with him. That was unusual. He had only done it once before in November, six months ago, when we took a trip to Singapore. Usually, I attend meetings and take notes. General Cartwright had also been acting strangely in the few days before we went to Paris.”

“Strange how?” Kelly interjected.

“Nervous. Anxious. That wasn’t like him.”

Paul resumed the questioning. “What happened in Paris?”

“We arrived at the Bristol Hotel at about seven o’clock in the evening and checked in. I was given a room on the second floor. Cartwright was on the sixth. Before we went to our rooms, he dismissed me, telling me to enjoy an evening in Paris.”

“And?”

For an instant, Mallory looked away from Paul. Then he turned back, “I did something I shouldn’t have,” he said, sounding defensive.

“What was that?”

“I was concerned about General Cartwright, so I climbed up to the sixth floor using an inside staircase. I hid in the staircase with the door open a crack, watching General Cartwright’s room. I’ve never done anything like that before.”

“What happened then?”

“About an hour later, General Cartwright left his room. He looked around suspiciously, then walked to the elevator. When he got inside, I ran down the corridor to see where the elevator was going. It went to the seventh floor. I raced up the inside stairs and looked out. At that moment, I saw General Cartwright go into a room with an armed Chinese guard in front. From the layout of the floors, I believe it was room 724, sir.”

“What did you do then?”

“This will sound ridiculous.”

“Go ahead.”

“I was so upset that I went to a local bistro. I could barely eat, however I drank almost two bottles of wine. After leaving the bistro, I threw up in the gutter along the street. Back at the hotel, I collapsed into my bed. I was sick from what I saw. I haven’t told anyone about it until now.”

“Any idea who Cartwright was meeting or why?” Paul asked.

Mallory shook his head. “But obviously you think he’s doing something wrong or you wouldn’t be here.”

Before Paul could respond, Kelly said, “Tell us about the Singapore trip.”

“This was also top secret,” Mallory replied. “Last year on November 20th, General Cartwright had a confidential meeting at the hotel we were staying at, the Raffles Hotels. Again, I was excluded. I don’t know who he met with.”

Paul turned the focus to Mallory’s meeting with Martin. “On one occasion, you met with a Washington lawyer named Andrew Martin in his office on Pennsylvania Avenue.”

“Yes, sir.”

“What was that about?”

“General Cartwright had to attend a meeting with the president at the White House. He asked me to deliver an envelope to Andrew Martin.”

“What did it look like?”

“Standard brown, eight and a half by eleven. It was sealed and had Andrew Martin’s name on the front. No other markings.”

“Do you have any idea of the contents?”

“No, sir. General Cartwright asked me to deliver it personally to Andrew Martin, not to a secretary.”

“And did you do that?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did you speak to Martin?”

“Only to introduce myself as General Cartwright’s aide. Mr. Martin seemed busy. He thanked me and I left.”

Paul looked at Kelly.

“Are you aware,” she said, “of any other meetings General Cartwright had with Chinese officials?”

“No, ma’am, I’m not.”

“What about newspaper interviews or speeches he gave that dealt specifically with China?”

Mallory thought about it for a moment, then said, “Last year, November 5th, General Cartwright gave a speech at West Point to the senior class and the faculty. I was in the audience, but the press was not invited. In his speech, he said it was imperative that the United States find a way of dealing with China’s rising military power.”

“Do you have a copy of the speech?” Kelly asked.

“It’s in my computer. He wrote it himself, but he asked me to review his draft and make suggestions.”

“Did you?” she inquired.

“Only minor ones.”

“Could you forward it to me?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Kelly turned to Paul. “Do you have anything else to ask Captain Mallory?”

“Nothing, I just want to thank you,” Paul said. “This has been very helpful. Please don’t discuss this interview or what we said with anyone else.”

“Of course not.”

Kelly gave Mallory a card with her encrypted cell number and the email address where he could forward the West Point speech. He promised she would have it within the hour.

“If you recall anything else you think we might like to know,” said Kelly, “please call me any hour of the day.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

When Mallory left the room, Kelly turned to Paul. “I want to check hotel records for confirmation of Mallory’s statements, however I think it’s clear that General Cartwright is our mole.”

“No doubt about it,” Paul agreed.

“This is a horrible situation. Cartwright is very popular and the likely Republican presidential candidate. We’ll take a lot of heat over this. People always like to shoot the messenger.”

“You can start with Wilkins. He’s a big buddy of Cartwright’s.”

“He may be,” said Kelly, “but he’ll have to accept the fact that Cartwright is guilty. We’ll give Wilkins the news at a task force meeting tomorrow morning at ten.”

“Better wear your Kevlar vest.”

“Good idea. I’m staying at my dad’s house tonight. I’m sure he’ll have one. Also, I would like to set up security at your house.”

“Do you think that’s necessary?” Before she had a chance to respond, he added, “Okay, do it.”

At Kelly’s request, Carol Bailey arranged for a car and driver to take them to their offices in Washington. The whole way, she kept her hand on her gun, but nothing happened.

Washington

Back at FBI headquarters, Kelly briefed Forester on the crash and the interview.

Alarmed, he told her, “You need more protection. What do you want?”

“I’m okay for now.”

“Don’t be foolish. I’ll authorize whatever you need.”

“I understand. Thank you.”

As soon as Kelly got to her office, she checked her computer. Mallory had forwarded Cartwright’s speech. It was titled, “The United States and China: Is War Inevitable?” Kelly began reading.

“The single greatest challenge our nation faces is the rising economic and military power of the People’s Republic of China. Nothing else—not the Middle East or Russia—poses an existential threat to the United States. Somehow, we must find a way of reaching an accommodation with Beijing. There is much about the regime in Beijing that is reprehensible. For example, their record on human rights and free speech and their intimidation of neighboring countries. However, we cannot permit the world’s two superpowers to drift into a destructive war with horrific casualties on both sides. Nor can we let this occur by a miscalculation in Beijing or in Washington.

“Ever since the end of the Second World War, the United States has called the shots in establishing international order. But that is changing with rising Chinese power. In many respects, the situation is similar to the rise of Germany after 1870 that challenged the British-led world order. Those nations did not reach an accommodation, and their failure to do so was one of the leading causes of the First World War.

“We must meet with the leaders in Beijing and structure an agreement that will eliminate the threat of war. We have a useful precedent—we were able to reach such an agreement with Russia at the end of the Second World War. As a result of the courage of our leaders then, and their willingness to compromise, we were able to avoid a costly nuclear war with Russia, which at the time seemed inevitable. That compromise, which ceded control over Central Europe and Eastern Europe to Russia, was met with enormous criticism from many Americans. But in retrospect, it was clearly the correct decision.

“Unfortunately, I am not optimistic that our current leaders have the same courage, wisdom, and foresight to make the necessary compromises with China. Let me be clear: I am not urging surrender to China. Instead, I want us to reach accommodations, and those will mean making concessions.”

The remainder of Cartwright’s speech followed the same approach. When Kelly finished reading it, she felt sick. She was now entirely convinced that General Cartwright had been spying for China. In his hubris, he believed he was wiser than President Braddock, the man the American people had elected. And in his view, that superior wisdom entitled him to usurp the role of the president, as he had done in the East China Sea incident. And that same rationale permitted him to accept campaign money arranged by Beijing in order to capture the American presidency and to impose his accommodations with China on the country.

The reality, Kelly realized, was that Cartwright might get away with it. It was also possible, she thought, that their task force was the only thing that could stop him.

Beijing and Countryside

To implement Andrei’s idea of establishing a Caribbean bank account for $10 million in General Cartwright’s name, Liu enlisted the assistance of Yue Choi, the director of China’s Latin American investments.

Yue, who had thick glasses and a scholarly look, seemed frightened when he entered Liu’s office. “You can relax,” Liu told him. “No one is questioning your actions.” That made Yue smile.

The spymaster disclosed as little as possible about what he was doing. “For reasons I will not explain,” he began, “I want to open a bank account on a Caribbean island in which we have significant investments, one where we will be able to find a cooperative bank.”

Without hesitating, Yue replied, “That’s an easy decision. Trinidad is the place.”

“Tell me why,” Liu commanded.

“Trinidad is industrial, not a beach resort for rich Americans,” Yue explained. “It has significant oil deposits, and we’ve entered into long-term contracts to acquire much of that oil. Trinidad is also close to Venezuela, where we now have a strong presence.”

“Do you have a bank you’ve worked with particularly in Trinidad?”

“The National Bank of Trinidad and Tobago. Its CEO is Alistair Singh.”

“Can you trust him?”

“About as well as you can trust anybody in that part of the world.”

Liu snarled. “Fine,” he said. “Here’s what I want you to do. Establish an account at that bank in the name of an American, Darrell Cartwright. Then transfer in ten million dollars from NRW bank in Shanghai.”

“Singh will need a card on file electronically with an address and signature for Cartwright.”

“List his address as Washington, DC. I assume Singh will accept that?”

“If I tell him to. What about the signature?”

Liu thought about it for a moment, then recalled that Cartwright had signed a document forwarded by Xiang in one of the eight envelopes. He could have one of his handwriting experts forge the signature from that. “I’ll send it to you electronically.”

“That should be sufficient. I’ll forward it to Singh.”

“Give Singh one other instruction,” said Liu.

“What’s that?”

“He shouldn’t disclose when the account was opened or the source of the funds to anyone unless you expressly authorize it. Is that clear?”

“Absolutely.”

Later that day, Liu went to see President Yao, who had left the heat and smog of Beijing behind for his house in the mountains.

They walked along a lake near the president’s house, security guards trailing behind—close enough to provide protection, but far enough so they couldn’t overhear what was said.

“We now have leverage over General Cartwright,” Liu told President Yao.

“How? Tell me.”

Liu explained about the Trinidad bank account.

Yao immediately understood. “So if Cartwright would like to drop out of the presidential race, or if he is elected and intends to renege on his commitments to you, then you can threaten to disclose the Trinidad account to the American media. Knowing that would destroy him, Cartwright would have to do your bidding.”

“Precisely.”

“Excellent,” Yao said.

That was the most complimentary thing Yao had ever said to Liu. “Wait, there’s more,” said Liu as he reached into his pocket. He pulled out a picture of Helena and showed it to Yao. “She was a Russian girl Cartwright slept with in Prague. That night, she gained access to his computer and forwarded emails to Moscow. Disclosure of that, too, would destroy him.”

“Without any doubt,” agreed Yao. “You have done well. Now we have total control over him—this man who is likely to be the future president of the United States.”

Chevy Chase and Washington

The night after the attack was uneventful for Kelly. As a result of her father’s CIA work, he had installed an extensive security system in and around his house, including an invisible electronic fence at the perimeter. Forester also stationed two agents in a car in front of the house. Kelly felt secure sleeping in her old room with Julie next door.

Kelly was up at 5:30 the following morning. After making a pot of coffee, she was on the computer. Working with the IT people at FBI headquarters, she was hacking into hotel computers. By seven o’clock, she had established that Minister Liu had been registered in room 724 at the Bristol the night that Cartwright and Mallory had stayed there.

Mallory had told her that he and Cartwright had stayed at Raffles Hotel in Singapore on November 20th. Hacking into the Raffles computer system was difficult, but Kelly kept going until she got what she wanted. Minister Liu had also stayed there that night.

The case against Cartwright was getting stronger.

“Good luck,” her father told her when she left the house at seven. Julie was still sleeping.

“Thanks,” she said. “I’ll need it.”

At ten, she started the task force meeting. Kelly began by presenting the evidence she and Paul had assembled.

Farrell quickly agreed with them. “Cartwright is our mole, no doubt about it,” he said.

But not Wilkins. As she had anticipated, the national security adviser was furious. “You’re slandering an innocent man, a military hero of the United States.”

“Look at the evidence,” Kelly insisted.

Red-faced and raising his voice, Wilkins pointed to Paul. “You’re the damn lawyer. Explain to her that if you presented this evidence to a judge, he’d toss out your case.”

Before Paul had a chance to respond, Farrell’s phone rang. He glanced at it and said, “It’s the CIA director’s secretary. I better take it.”

He moved into a corner with the phone. Kelly heard him say, “Yes, sir, I’ll be there in thirty minutes.” He put away the phone and turned to Kelly. “Director Harrison wants a briefing about the task force and what we’ve done. I’ll have to tell him about Cartwright.”

“Absolutely,” said Kelly. “Go do it.”

Once Farrell was gone, Wilkins bore in on Paul. “You know I’m right. All you have is circumstantial evidence, at best.”

“It’s strong,” Paul said. “The eight meetings with Martin, and then Xiang comes the next day to pick up the envelopes.”

“Cartwright must have had scores of meetings with Martin.”

“The Bristol Hotel meeting with Liu,” Paul continued.

“You have no idea what was said,” Wilkins retorted.

“I doubt they were discussing the Olympics.”

“Oh, bullshit. You don’t have nearly enough to prove a case beyond a reasonable doubt, and you know damn well I’m right.”

When Paul didn’t respond, Wilkins pressed on. “Arthur Larkin couldn’t possibly be ready to go for an indictment.”

“I was waiting until after this meeting to present it to him.”

“I’m sure you were. You’d like to gain some support for this absurd conclusion so the AG doesn’t toss you out of his office.”

Kelly watched Paul beginning to wither. They had to get more evidence.

“Fine,” she said. “We’ll apply the old Washington adage. Follow the money.”

“What do you mean?” Wilkins asked.

“We know from press accounts that Carl Dickerson, an LA businessman, has been giving Cartwright tens of millions of dollars for his campaign through super PACs. Paul and I will fly out to LA and meet with Dickerson.”

“For what reason?” Wilkins asked.

“To prove that some of this is Chinese money, or that the Chinese are leaning on Dickerson to give money to Cartwright. It’s all part of a conspiracy to commit espionage.”

“Yeah, right,” Wilkins said. “To me, it sounds like a waste of time and taxpayer money.”

He looked at this watch. “Sorry. I have to get back to the White House.”

“It’s been swell,” Kelly mumbled under her breath.

When Wilkins was gone, Kelly said to Paul, “I intend to do one other thing. I’ll ask Joanne Moore at the Treasury to canvass offshore banks and determine whether Cartwright has an account funded by the Chinese. That would really help nail down our case.”

For his campaign headquarters, Cartwright had taken over a suite of offices on the top floor of a new building in the Penn Quarter, Washington’s hottest downtown real estate, having ousted Gucci Gulch on K Street for that designation. It was only a couple blocks from Andrew Martin’s office at Eighth and Pennsylvania, which had been a factor in Cartwright’s choice.

That morning, Cartwright was in a meeting with his chief pollster, Kenny Thornton. All of the news was good. Cartwright was surging in the polls.

“Bottom line,” Kenny said, “is that if you got the nomination and the election were held today, you’d beat Braddock by 55 percent to 41 percent, with 4 percent undecided. That’s a huge lead.”

“There’s still a long way to go,” Cartwright noted.

“True. But wouldn’t you rather be ahead than behind?”

“For sure. However, we can’t let up, we have to keep pushing.”

Cartwright’s phone rang. He saw that the call came from a blocked number. “Hang on a minute,” he said to Kenny. “I have to take this.”

As soon as Cartwright heard Wilkins voice, he asked Kenny to leave the room.

“Yes, George,” Cartwright said.

“We have to talk.”

“Sure. I can come to your office, unless you prefer mine.”

“A remote location would be better.”

Cartwright quickly understood that Wilkins had something highly confidential to tell him. When he had begun his campaign, he realized that meetings like this would occur, so he had arranged with Senator Haywood, a second-term Republican from South Carolina, to use the senator’s Georgetown house whenever he needed a venue for secret meetings. No one would raise an eyebrow if Cartwright or Wilkins went to the senator’s house. The powerful always mingled in Washington. Also, Haywood’s frequent entertaining, including his lavish dinner parties, were a mainstay of the capital social scene. Guests regularly came from across the political spectrum.

“Meet me at Senator Haywood’s house in Georgetown, this evening at seven,” Cartwright said.

“I’ll be there.”

Senator Haywood greeted Cartwright when he arrived at the house at 6:30 that evening.

“The polls look great,” Haywood said. “You are definitely on a roll, my friend.”

“I can’t lose momentum.”

“Don’t worry, you won’t. Now let’s talk about this evening. Lance, my congressional aide, said you wanted to schedule a meeting here, which is of course fine with me. How many people?”

“Just one and myself.” Cartwright hoped Haywood wouldn’t ask who was coming.

“I’m going out in a few minutes,” said Haywood. “Make yourself comfortable in the study. Joseph will bring you a drink and lead in your visitor when he arrives.”

“Perfect. Thanks, Senator.”

“My pleasure. I said I’d do anything to help your campaign, and I meant it.”

Wilkins arrived promptly at seven. Cartwright thought he looked frazzled and distraught. He asked Joseph for a bourbon and water, which the butler prepared from the bar located along one side of the room. He also topped off Cartwright’s drink with some additional liquor. Then he quickly departed, closing the door behind him.

Wilkins took a gulp. “I have the damnedest thing to tell you.”

“Okay, I’m listening.”

“Immediately after the incident in the East China Sea,” Wilkins began in a halting voice, “the Japanese prime minister convinced Braddock that the Chinese have a mole planted at the top of the American government.”

Cartwright cautioned himself that it was critical to pretend he had no idea of any effort the government had made to uncover the mole. His only source of information had been Liu, who had told him about Kelly Cameron.

“What evidence do the Japanese or Braddock have for that supposition?” Cartwright asked, sounding surprised.

“A voice intercept of a conversation between two Chinese pilots that didn’t justify the conclusion. However, Braddock appointed a secret task force with Kelly Cameron, a hard-driving FBI agent, a real ballbreaker, in charge of this witch hunt.”

“Who else is on it?”

“Paul Maltoni from DOJ, Lance Farrell from the CIA, and me.”

Cartwright leaned forward in his chair. “Has your task force identified the mole?”

Wilkins coughed, cleared his throat, and took another gulp of scotch. “You’re never going to believe this.”

“Try me.”

“Kelly, Paul, and Farrell are convinced it’s you.”

As soon as Wilkins words were out, Cartwright shot to his feet. “What?” He raised his voice, sounding indignant. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“I wish I were. I argued against them, telling them they were slandering a patriotic and loyal American. But I’ve gotten nowhere. That’s why I had to tell you.”

“What do they base this absurd conclusion on?”

“They have circumstantial evidence.”

“What evidence?”

Wilkins hesitated for a moment, then spit it out. “They arrested Xiang, a Chinese embassy official who was on the receiving end of the material being passed. He said he received his information from Andrew Martin. They’ve established from Martin’s secretary’s records that you had meetings with Martin right before Martin passed the info to Xiang.”

Cartwright snarled. “That proves nothing. I’ve had lots of meetings with Andrew Martin for months. He’s my top campaign advisor.”

“Precisely what I said.”

“What else do they have?”

“Kelly and Paul talked to Mallory, your pilot. He told them about a secret trip you took to Paris a few days ago. There, according to Mallory, you met with someone in the Bristol Hotel who had a Chinese guard in front of his suite.”

Cartwright kept his anger against Mallory in check. “That’s total and utter bullshit.”

“You mean you didn’t go to Paris?”

“I went and I did meet with a top Chinese official. There was absolutely nothing improper in that meeting. Now that I have a good chance of being president, I’ve begun an outreach to the Chinese. They’re the second most powerful nation in the world, and I’m a military man. I didn’t want them to be alarmed. I want to assure them that our great nations can work together cooperatively. I know you’ll agree that engagement makes sense.”

“Absolutely. Who did you meet with?”

“Jiang, their justice minister. He was there as a representative of President Yao.” Cartwright was certain Wilkins would never check with Jiang. He added, “I’m telling you this because you’re my friend. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t share it with anyone else, even on the task force. In this witch hunt atmosphere, they could take it out of context.”

“Of course, I won’t. My advice as a friend is that you defer further meetings with Chinese leaders until after the election.”

“For sure. I had no idea any of this was occurring.”

“I knew there had to be a good explanation.”

“What other so-called evidence does this Kelly Cameron have?”

“That’s all at this point. However, Kelly and Paul Maltoni are going out to Los Angeles tomorrow to meet with Dickerson, your big contributor.”

“What the hell for?”

“They want to establish a link between Dickerson and the Chinese. They hope to prove Dickerson’s money is Chinese money.”

“They won’t find a damn thing, because there is nothing.”

“I didn’t think so.” Wilkins took a deep breath and exhaled. “Now you know the whole story. I have so much respect and admiration for you, General Cartwright. That’s why I had to warn you that these people are gunning for you.”

“Thanks, I really appreciate it. And please arrange another meeting with me if you have anything else to share.”

“Oh, I will. In my job as head of the NSC, I’m not political. I’d be as comfortable working in your administration as Braddock’s. Even more so, because our views are so closely aligned.”

Wilkins’ blatant pitch for a job in the Cartwright administration confirmed that he was the front-runner.

“I’m glad you told me that,” said Cartwright. “I’ll bear it in mind.”

Ten minutes after Wilkins left, Cartwright thanked Joseph and left the senator’s house. Cartwright’s car and driver were waiting outside.

“Take me home,” Cartwright said.

In the back of the car on the way to Arlington, Cartwright replayed in his mind what Wilkins had told him. He was particularly outraged by Mallory’s perfidy. His instinctive reaction was to fire him, but he quickly rejected that. It might tip his hand to others that he knew Mallory had spoken to Kelly and Paul. Besides, now that he knew Mallory was a traitor, he might be able to use him to his own advantage.

Cartwright’s bottom line assessment was that Kelly and Paul didn’t have enough evidence to charge him. Without a solid case, they didn’t dare file charges. If they did, the Republicans and many in the media would scream this was all politically motivated by Braddock, who was behind in the polls.

That’s where matters stood now. However, the meeting Kelly and Paul were having tomorrow with Dickerson worried Cartwright. If Dickerson had violated campaign funding laws, which were complex as hell, they might be able to induce Dickerson to cut a deal in return for immunity. Cartwright couldn’t let that happen without giving Liu a chance to shore up Dickerson.

As soon as Cartwright walked into his house, he picked up the phone and dialed Mario’s pizza.

“Please deliver one pizza to me with Chinese spices from Szechuan,” he asked.

“Address?”

Cartwright gave it.

“Pizza will be there in an hour.”

For most of the hour, Cartwright paced in the living room. Finally, the doorbell rang.

“Pizza delivery,” Cartwright heard through the closed door.

When Cartwright opened it, a Chinese man entered and handed him a box with pizza.

“You have a message for me,” the delivery man said.

“Yes, the message is that Kelly Cameron and Paul Maltoni are flying to Los Angeles to meet with Dickerson tomorrow.”

Beijing

Liu was disturbed but not upset when Wu called from Washington to relay the message from Cartwright. He had been furious at Wu for failing to take out Kelly and Paul when they were en route to their interview with Mallory. By now, he knew Kelly well enough to realize that a failed attempt on her life would never get her to back off. He had to go after her with all possible weapons.

He told Wu, “Kelly Cameron has a daughter, Julie. She’s eight years old. I want you to kidnap her.”

“I already thought of that. It won’t work.”

“Why not?”

“Kelly stashed the girl with her father, a former big shot in the CIA. He has his house fortified like a military base. We’d never succeed, and we’d get some awful press if we tried and were caught.”

“Have your people keep watching that house. Sooner or later you’ll get a chance.” Meantime, Liu had to shift his focus to Dickerson and Los Angeles. He told Wu, “Stand by the phone. I’ll get back to you.”

Liu reached Dickerson in his Los Angeles office on an encrypted phone. “I heard you’re having some visitors from Washington.”

“That’s right. Tomorrow at two. Paul Maltoni from DOJ and Kelly Cameron from the FBI are coming out. We’re meeting in my office. My guess is they’ll press me about my contributions to Cartwright’s campaign. I intend to have my LA lawyer, Ken Norton, there. This shouldn’t be a big deal. I’m clean. One of Andrew Martin’s partners who specializes in political contributions set it up. Norton understands the structure, and he confirmed it’s perfectly legal. I’m only giving my own money to Cartwright, not company money. They’re barking up the wrong tree.”

“To continue your metaphor,” said Liu, “these are attack dogs. They’ll try to intimidate you—force you on the defensive about your relationship with Chinese governmental officials.”

“They won’t get anywhere. I’ll enjoy slapping them down.”

Liu hoped Dickerson wasn’t getting too self-confident. “Don’t underestimate these two, particularly Kelly Cameron.”

“I won’t, believe me. You don’t have to worry.”

But Liu was worried as he put down the phone. Dickerson was a weak link in his plan. He had to know how weak. He called Jiang, the justice minister.

“We have to talk,” Liu said.

Indicative of the relative power between security and justice in the Chinese government, Jiang didn’t suggest that Liu come to his office. “I’m on my way to you,” Jiang said.

Liu explained the situation to Jiang. “You went to law school in the US and you understand their system. How much of a problem can Dickerson be for us?”

“Under US laws, foreigners cannot contribute to US elections.”

“I haven’t given any money. It all came from Dickerson. He’s an American citizen.”

“Did you have meetings with Dickerson in which you discussed him contributing to Cartwright’s campaign?” When Liu didn’t respond, Jiang said, “I won’t repeat what you tell me.”

“The answer is yes.”

“And you promised Dickerson benefits for his business in China if he contributed to Cartwright’s campaign?”

“Not in those precise terms.”

“Nevertheless, he understood that, didn’t he?”

“I suppose so.”

Jiang rubbed his forehead as if that could help frame his judgment. After a few moments, he said, “The American prosecutors could argue that Dickerson was your agent and his contributions to Cartwright’s campaign were, in effect, Chinese contributions.”

That would blow up my entire operation, Liu thought. He couldn’t let that happen. But how to stop it? Going after Dickerson wasn’t an option. He had only one possible action.

As soon as Jiang left, he called Wu back in Washington. “Listen carefully,” he said. “Kelly Cameron and Paul Maltoni have a meeting in Beverly Hills tomorrow at the office of Carl Dickerson. I want you to fly to Los Angeles as soon as possible. Here’s what I want you to do . . . .”

Los Angeles

The headquarters of CDI, Carl Dickerson Industries, occupied an entire eight-story building on the corner of Wilshire and Beverly in Beverly Hills. Wanting to keep the work of the task force secret, Kelly decided that rather than having a team of agents shepherd her and Paul around, which would have meant lots of explanations and filling out paperwork, she and Paul would fly commercial and rent a car at the Los Angeles airport when they arrived Friday at noon. They would enter the city under the radar, quietly get in, have their meeting with Dickerson, and get out.

Once they had arrived, they parked their rental across the street from CDI and walked into the building. A guard in the lobby directed them to the eighth floor. When they stepped out of the elevator, Anna, a smartly dressed young Chinese woman, met them and escorted them to Dickerson’s corner office.

Dickerson was waiting with Ken Norton, his lawyer. Both men were dressed in white shirts, ties, and suits, which Kelly guessed cost more than all the clothes in her closet.

“We’ve met before,” Norton said to Paul.

Paul stared at Norton, then said, “That’s right. About two years ago when I was with Martin and Glass, I was assisting Andrew Martin, who was retained by Universal in an antitrust litigation. You were Universal’s regular outside counsel. We had one meeting with you at the beginning of the case.”

“Good memory. You and Martin did an outstanding job for Universal.”

Kelly hated it when her lawyer became chummy with the lawyer on the other side. She didn’t want Paul to drop his guard.

“That was in my former life,” he said tersely.

“Let’s get started,” Norton said, taking charge. He pointed them to an octagonal table in one corner of the office.

As they sat down, Anna reappeared, offering coffee, tea, or water. Paul seemed like he’d accept, but Kelly responded first. “We’re not here to socialize. This is all business.”

Following their script, Paul began, “We want to talk to you, Mr. Dickerson, about your massive spending on Cartwright’s presidential campaign.”

“For what reason?” Norton responded.

“We want to determine whether there have been violations of campaign finance laws.”

“Mr. Dickerson is under no obligation to talk to you.”

“We can do it here or down at the courthouse.”

“That’s ridiculous. My client—”

Dickerson waved his hand and cut off Norton. “I’m happy to talk to these people, Ken. I have nothing to hide. I’m merely exercising the First Amendment rights I have under Supreme Court decisions relating to presidential campaign financing.”

Norton came back in. “In case you’re not familiar with those decisions, Mr. Maltoni,” he said in a condescending voice, “they permit an American a citizen to give unlimited amounts to a super PAC to fund advertising for a presidential election. That is precisely what my client has been doing.”

“Thank you for explaining the law to me,” Paul said in a voice dripping with sarcasm.

Kelly was happy to hear that Paul wouldn’t be steamrolled by Dickerson’s high-priced lawyer.

“Are we finished then?” Norton asked.

“Of course not,” said Paul. “The Supreme Court cases don’t permit an American citizen to pass through funds from a foreign government.”

“That’s not relevant to this situation,” said Norton.

“We think it is,” Paul returned.

“Which government do you have in mind?”

“The People’s Republic of China.”

Dickerson was smiling. He looked amused. “Sorry, Mr. Maltoni,” he said, “you’re way off the mark. Every dollar I’ve given to General Cartwright’s campaign came from a personal account of mine at Wells Fargo. My accountant and an officer at Wells Fargo will confirm that and provide you with documentation.”

Paul let Dickerson’s words hang in the air for a few moments. Then he said, “Well, let me ask you this, Mr. Dickerson. You do a great deal of business in China, don’t you?”

“Of course I do, Mr. Maltoni. I also do business in Japan, Singapore, Korea, and many other countries throughout the world. All of that’s a matter of public record.”

“Did any Chinese official urge you to make these contributions to the Cartwright campaign?”

Norton reached out and put his hand on Dickerson’s arm. Dickerson pushed it away.

“Absolutely not,” Dickerson said.

Kelly was watching Dickerson’s face as he delivered those words. The self-confident swagger was gone. His expression had tightened. From his face, she was confident he was lying.

Paul pressed on. “Did they promise you additional business if you made the contributions?”

“Absolutely not.”

Another lie, Kelly decided.

Kelly broke in. “Would you submit to a polygraph, Mr. Dickerson, for these last two questions?”

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Norton said.

This time, Dickerson didn’t overrule his lawyer.

Paul pulled a pad from his briefcase and glanced at it. “Please identify for me all of the Chinese government officials you met with in the last year.”

Norton responded, “You’re asking my client to provide you with sensitive business information that’s not relevant to your inquiry.”

“I disagree. It was at those meetings that Chinese officials urged Mr. Dickerson to contribute to General Cartwright’s campaign.”

“He already told you no one asked him to do that.”

“Then tell us who he met with.”

“Irrelevant.”

“I could get a court order to compel him to answer,” said Paul.

“I doubt that.”

“We could convene a grand jury and force him to answer.”

“Attorney General Larkin would never authorize it,” Norton countered. “Even if he did, the press would see this for what it is: a lynch mob going after the likely Republican nominee who’s leading Braddock in the polls. You people are desperate. Have you ever heard of Watergate? This is another campaign dirty trick.”

Paul looked at Kelly to see if she had any more questions. She shook her head.

“Okay, we’re finished,” Paul said.

“I’ll buzz for Anna,” Dickerson said. “She’ll show you out.”

When they were alone in the elevator, Paul told Kelly, “He was lying through his teeth.”

“Wait until we’re outside.”

Once they were on the sidewalk on Wilshire Boulevard, Paul repeated himself. “He was lying through his teeth.”

As they crossed Beverly to get to their car, Kelly said, “I agree, but we’ll never be able to prove it. And I don’t know how you’ll break him.”

Once they were almost at their car, Kelly took the keys out of her bag and pressed the unlock button. After doing so, she suddenly looked up. Across the street, on the roof of Dickerson’s building, she spotted a Chinese man holding a cell phone and preparing to push a button.

Paul said, “There has to be a way for us to—”

On instinct, Kelly reacted. She shouted, “Paul, move quick,” pointing to the open door of a nearby building.

When the lawyer didn’t move, she grabbed him by the arm and pulled him away from the car toward the doorway. Just as they passed the threshold, their car exploded. A fireball shot into the air. As glass debris flew in their direction, Kelly ducked, shielding her face with her arms. People on the sidewalk were screaming—it was pandemonium.

Kelly desperately wanted to chase the man who had detonated the bomb, but she was afraid to leave Paul. He was in shock and bleeding from his face, arms, and abdomen. She only had minor scratches. She called for an ambulance and remained with Paul.

Minutes later, it arrived. Kelly flashed her FBI ID and climbed into the back with Paul. Fortunately, they were close to Cedar Sinai Hospital. When they reached the hospital, Paul was rushed into the emergency room. Kelly was furious at herself for not arranging maximum security for her and Paul. Stupid, stupid, stupid, she chided herself.

Well, better late than never. With a few phone calls, she arranged for her and Paul to have protection 24–7, for as long as they were in LA, on the plane back, and then in Washington. She also beefed up protection at her father’s house where Julie was staying. After that, she called Forester to tell him what had occurred.

“I’ll mobilize law enforcement in LA,” he said. “We’ll get right on trying to find out who’s responsible. Also, I’ll tell Arthur Larkin. Call and let me know Paul’s situation.”

“Yes, sir. Will do.”

An hour later, she got the prognosis on Paul. He was now fully cognizant. He had multiple cuts and bruises, which had been stitched up, and a concussion. The doctor said that he should remain in the hospital overnight. As she walked into Paul’s hospital room, she was startled by his appearance. He had bandages on his face, arm, and chest.

“I’m so sorry,” Kelly said. “Really, I am, Paul. I blame myself for not arranging protection for us in LA.”

“Don’t,” he said. “I could have suggested it. My fault as well.”

When Kelly told him she’d be taking the red-eye to Washington, and he’d be flying back tomorrow, Paul shouted, “No way, I’m fine. I’m going back with you.”

“C’mon Paul, don’t be ridiculous. You were already banged up once when that truck hit our SUV. Now this makes two. You have to rest and let them check you.”

“No fucking way. I have to get even with the bastards who did this to us.”

Paul was a grown man. Neither she nor the hospital could keep him against his will, so they compromised. He would rest in the hospital until nine that evening when the two of them would leave for the airport. But the doctor made it clear that Paul was flying against her advice.

While Paul rested, Kelly sat alone in the office she had commandeered at the hospital, drinking coffee and trying to evaluate what had occurred. The more she thought about it, the more convinced she became that there was a leak in the task force. The Chinese who were running the Cartwright operation must have known she and Paul were coming to LA. Farrell didn’t even know about this trip, because he had left the meeting before they had discussed it. That meant it had to be Wilkins.

The conclusion was clear: Wilkins had told someone about their trip to Los Angeles. Cartwright, Dickerson, or Liu? But why? What was Wilkins’ motive? Did he genuinely believe Cartwright was innocent, and he wanted to help Cartwright? Or was Wilkins in bed with the Chinese as well as Cartwright? She didn’t know, but she had to find out.

Kelly recalled at one of the first task force meetings that Wilkins had supported Cartwright’s version of what occurred in the White House Situation Room involving the incident in the East China Sea. He reaffirmed the story that Cartwright had told the Wall Street Journal reporter, which made Braddock look weak and frightened. She wondered whether it had really occurred this way, or whether it was another instance of Wilkins backing Cartwright.

She recalled that in addition to the president, Cartwright, and Wilkins, one other person had been in the Situation Room that day: the president’s chief of staff, Chad Vernon. She called Vernon and arranged a meeting with him for the following morning at the FBI.

Washington

The plane carrying Kelly and Paul, accompanied by two FBI agents from the LA field office, landed at Dulles at 6:20 on Saturday morning. Passing a newsstand, she saw that the Los Angeles explosion had made the front page of the Post, Times, and Wall Street Journal. She grabbed copies of all three. Then she insisted that Paul, accompanied by one of the security men, go home to sleep for a few hours while she went to her office to meet with Vernon.

In the car on the way to FBI headquarters, she read the papers. Her and Paul’s names had been withheld, and the explosion was described as possibly gang related.

When the president’s chief of staff heard she wanted to talk about the meeting in the Situation Room, his face lit up. “I’m damn glad somebody finally wants to hear about that.”

Vernon’s reaction took her by surprise. “Why, what happened?” Kelly asked.

“The story Cartwright told the Wall Street Journal was not only horribly insulting to the president, it was also a pack of lies.”

“In what respect?”

“Cartwright said the president was indecisive, shaking, and perspiring, that he was panicked by having to make a decision. Nothing could be further from the truth. In fact, the president was very calm and cool.”

Kelly wasn’t sure she believed Vernon. She was concerned he might be trying to defend his boss. She told Vernon that Wilkins had corroborated Cartwright’s account in a task force meeting.

“Then Wilkins was lying as well.”

“Why should I believe you against both of them?” she asked.

He pulled a phone from his pocket. “Because I have proof I’m right.”

“What proof?”

“I recorded the discussion in the Situation Room on my phone. I’ll play it for you now.”

“Go ahead.”

Listening to the recording, Kelly realized Vernon was correct. Braddock did sound calm and cool. Initially, the president had wanted to repudiate the Camp David decision and engage the Chinese. In response to the president’s proposed action, Cartwright was shouting in an emotional tone, “These fucking pieces of rock aren’t even islands. Going to war with China over them would be the height of stupidity.” At the last minute, Braddock yielded to Cartwright. He reverted to the Camp David decision and ordered the US pilots to break off from engaging the Chinese pilots.

When the tape was finished, Vernon said, “I certainly don’t want to impugn General Cartwright’s patriotism. However, you have to admit, Kelly, that the general did a good job of representing Chinese interests on this issue.”

Kelly couldn’t argue with Vernon. She was happy to have the recording, because it was further corroboration that Cartwright was in bed with the Chinese.

“Is President Braddock aware of this recording?” Kelly asked.

“I played it for him as soon as the Wall Street Journal article appeared. I pleaded with him to let me release it to at least one reporter, but Braddock refused. He claimed it would be viewed as a political act against Cartwright, and people might not understand the nuances. Also, he felt that if we released the tape, it would keep the whole incident alive. This way he hoped it would die down quickly.”

“Can I have the recording?”

“For sure. I’ll send it to you electronically right now.”

“Don’t you have to check with Braddock?”

“He already told me to cooperate fully with your task force investigation. If you need anything else, call me any hour of the day or night. In my job, I never sleep—as my wife often reminds me. She’s working on a book, The Nonexistent Sex Life of a Presidential Chief of Staff.”

When Kelly didn’t respond, he said, “You were supposed to laugh.”

“Sorry,” she said, cracking a smile. “I had a tough day in LA yesterday followed by a red-eye. I’m afraid I’ve lost my sense of humor.”

Once Vernon had gone, Kelly pondered what to do about Wilkins. Some government people were fond of saying, “That’s above my GS level.” These words summarized Kelly’s situation. She couldn’t deal with Wilkins on her own. It was a matter for Forester.

She took out her phone and called upstairs. The director’s secretary said, “Director Forester had a meeting outside of the office this morning. He’ll be able to see you at two in his office.”

“I’ll be there,” Kelly replied.

Kelly, accompanied by a heavily bandaged Paul at her side, walked into Forester’s office at two o’clock on the dot.

“We had no success finding the man who detonated the bomb,” the FBI director said.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Kelly told him. “We have another problem.”

“What’s that?”

She explained the basis for her conclusion that Wilkins had leaked word of their LA trip.

An initially perplexed and then irate Forester rolled his hand into a fist and pounded on the top of his desk. “I’m going to call Wilkins over here and confront him.”

Forester picked up the phone. Kelly heard him say, “I don’t care how busy you are, either you get your ass over here right now, or I’ll send two agents to the White House to arrest you for treason.” Forester slammed down the phone. “Wilkins is on his way.”

Ten minutes later he arrived. Kelly and Paul were sitting in front of Forester’s desk, facing the director. A third chair for Wilkins was off to one side.

“There must be some mistake,” Wilkins said, entering the room. He was pale and looked flustered, his usual arrogance gone.

“There is no mistake,” Forester said in a booming voice. “Thanks to you, Kelly and Paul were almost killed yesterday in Los Angeles.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You saw the news stories about the bomb that went off in Beverly Hills.”

“Yeah, it was gang related.”

“Wrong. That was the story I gave the press. A Chinese man standing on the roof of Dickerson’s office building detonated a powerful bomb in the car Kelly and Paul had been using. It’s a miracle the two of them weren’t killed.”

Wilkins collapsed into the empty chair. “Did you catch the person who set off the bomb?” he asked.

“Not yet. So far, we’ve established that you,” he paused to point a finger at Wilkins, “leaked the information of their Los Angeles meeting with Dickerson to the Chinese.”

“I did no such thing.” Wilkins sounded indignant.

“Don’t you lie to me. You and I were the only ones who knew Kelly and Paul were going to LA to meet with Dickerson. I sure as hell didn’t leak that information to anyone.”

Wilkins raised his right hand. “I swear that I didn’t tell the Chinese about the meeting.”

Before Forester had a chance to respond, Kelly figured it out. “You told Cartwright we were going to meet with Dickerson, didn’t you?” she said.

As Wilkins sat mute, Forester went back on the attack. “That’s treason, Wilkins, I could arrest you for that.”

“I never thought there would be any danger to Kelly or Paul,” he replied weakly.

“That’s absurd. You’ve been on this task force from the beginning. You know they’ve built a solid case against Cartwright for being a Chinese spy.”

“I never believed that. General Cartwright is a military hero. He’s spent his life defending the United States. I rejected their conclusion because I thought it was wrong.”

“Are you a Chinese spy, too?” Forester asked.

Wilkins shot to his feet. “Absolutely not.” He threw up his hands for emphasis. “That’s ridiculous. I’m no spy.”

“Sit down and cut the histrionics,” Forester said.

Wilkins returned to his chair.

“This is the second time we were attacked,” Kelly said. “The first was when we were going to the Pentagon to interview Mallory. Did you tip Cartwright off about that, too?”

“Positively not.”

“But you did tell Cartwright about the Dickerson meeting,” Forester said.

“I thought an innocent and courageous American was being railroaded.”

“And that gave you the right to tip off Cartwright about their trip,” said Forester.

Kelly interjected, “You’ve been a pain for us in the task force from the beginning. You fought against everything we wanted to do.”

“That’s not right,” Wilkins protested.

“You always thought you knew better.”

“If you’re not a Chinese spy,” Forester said, “then why did you tell Cartwright? Is it because you thought you were smarter than Kelly and Paul, even with all the evidence they had assembled against Cartwright?”

Wilkins screwed up his face, but didn’t respond.

Forester shook his head. “No, that’s not it. I know why you did it.”

Everyone was looking at Forester, waiting for him to continue.

“You think Cartwright will defeat Braddock and become the next president. You want a big job in Cartwright’s administration, maybe secretary of state. That’s it, isn’t it?”

Wilkins still remained silent.

“You’re pathetic,” Forester hissed.

Kelly thought Wilkins would break into tears.

“Get out of my sight,” said Forester.

Wilkins sprang to his feet and raced to the door. He had to be relieved he wasn’t being sent to jail, Kelly thought.

After Wilkins left, Forester asked Kelly, “What do you think we should do to him?”

Before she had a chance to respond, Paul said, “We should string him up by the ankles and pull out his fingernails. Then we’ll find out if he’s been spying for the Chinese.”

Paul sounded serious. Kelly could hardly believe he meant it, but obviously he had gone through a lot because of Wilkins’ indiscretion.

“What about you, Kelly?” Forester asked.

“I believe him when he says he’s not a Chinese spy.”

“Agreed,” Forester said.

“We should toss him off the task force,” Kelly continued. “Also, I recommend that you tell Arthur Larkin and President Braddock about what Wilkins did. Let them devise the punishment.”

The director was shaking his head. “I don’t want to do that.”

“Why not?” Paul asked. He sounded incredulous.

“Because we’re nearing the end game with Cartwright. For now, we’re better off leaving Wilkins in place with surveillance. If I tell Braddock and Larkin, they’re likely to take some immediate action against Wilkins. Cartwright will undoubtedly find out. He might hop on a plane and fly to China ala Kim Philby. I don’t want that to happen.”

“What do we do about Wilkins in the meantime?” Kelly asked.

“Freeze him out. Let Wilkins think he convinced us. Don’t give him any more information. When this ends, which will be soon, there will be plenty of time to punish him.”

Paul opened his mouth to protest, but Kelly cut him off. “That makes good sense to me.”

Her phone rang. She looked at her caller ID and saw that it was Joanne Moore at the Treasury. Kelly had given Joanne an assignment to try and find an offshore account in Cartwright’s name, funded by the Chinese government.

“We found something,” Joanne said.

“Go ahead, tell me.” Kelly held her breath.

“Cartwright has an account in a Trinidad bank, the National Bank of Trinidad and Tobago, with ten million dollars.”

“When was it opened?” she asked.

“I couldn’t find out.”

“Source of the funds?”

“Ditto for that. The bank president refused to tell me. When we hacked in, we hit a firewall for that account.”

“Do you have any agents in Trinidad?”

“A Treasury investigator by the name of Chas Cohen. We’ve been worried about drug money finding its way into the Trinidad banks, so we sent him down. Chas spent twenty years in Special Forces before he joined Treasury. We need somebody like that because the drug lords play rough.”

Kelly was getting an idea. “How would Chas like a visitor from Washington?” she asked.

“I’m sure he’d love it,” said Joanne. “It gets lonely with the hot sun beating down on your head all year long. Let me know who’s going down and when.”

“Will do,” said Kelly, putting down the phone and reporting the discussion to Forester and Paul.

“You okay with me going?” she asked Forester.

“It could be risky.”

“We have to find out when the account was opened and the source of the funds. That info could establish beyond any doubt Cartwright’s involvement with the Chinese. Tomorrow’s Sunday, but I could fly down Monday morning when the bank is open.”

Forester thought about it for a minute. Finally, he said, “Okay. Do it.”

“I’m going with her,” Paul said.

“No way,” she replied. “You had a concussion in LA, and probably one before that from the crash on the parkway. You’re staying in Washington to rest. If you fight me on this, I’ll lock you up in one of those jail cells we have downstairs.”

Forester looked at Paul. “The lady plays rough, and I think she means it. Those cells downstairs aren’t too comfortable. If I were you, I’d go along with what she’s asking.”

“All right,” Paul grumbled.

Forester turned to Kelly. “You can use my plane,” he said. “You want to take security with you?”

“Coming in a private plane, I can bring a gun with me. Chas Cohen will no doubt be armed. With his Special Forces background, we should be okay.”

“You’re taking a helluva chance.”

“On the other hand,” said Kelly, “if I come in with a whole entourage, the locals may circle the wagons around the bank.”

“Okay, do it your way. But make sure you keep the plane fueled in Trinidad and ready for a quick escape.”

The cell phone in Kelly’s bag rang. Taking it out, she saw that the call was coming from her father’s cell.

“Yes, Dad.”

“It’s Julie, they grabbed her,” came her father’s horrified voice.

Panicked, Kelly shot to her feet. “What happened? Who grabbed her?”

“We went to the movie theater, and—”

“Goddammit, I told you to keep her in the house!”

“She really wanted to go, and I thought I could protect her.”

Kelly had to get a hold of herself and find out quickly what had happened. “Then what?” she probed.

“We were in line to get popcorn when she said that she had to go to the bathroom. Since I had a clear view of the path to the ladies room, I let her go. I was watching her walk away when I felt a pinprick on the back of my neck. It must have been a powerful sedative. When I came to, emergency medics were helping me, and Julie was gone.”

“Did you see anyone suspicious behind you in line?”

“Nothing, everything was normal.”

“What about the guards who had been at your house?”

“Two came with me to the theater. They were waiting outside on the street, right in front. I don’t know how they missed her.”

“How could you have let this happen?” Kelly screamed.

“I’m so sorry, Kelly. But at least I know where Julie is.”

“What do you mean?”

“Before we left the house, I attached a tiny tracking device to one of her sneakers. The receiver shows she’s at a location in Rockville.”

“Unless, of course, they found the device and tossed away the sneaker.”

“Unlikely. It was concealed.”

Kelly detected the uncertainty in his voice. He had to realize the sneaker might have been abandoned. Whoever had done this with the pinprick sedative would be sophisticated enough to detect a tracking device. If they had, Julie could be anywhere. And Kelly had no idea where to begin looking. This was her worst nightmare.

But even smart perps make mistakes, she had learned. She had to hope that the kidnapper had, and that Julie was still wearing the sneaker.

“What’s the location?”

“216 Elm Street.”

“Okay, I’ll tell Forester. They have people trained to deal with situations like this.”

“What can I do to help?”

“Nothing, you’ve already done enough damage. Just stay away from the area.”

Kelly put the phone down. Struggling to keep her emotions under control, she explained the situation to Forester. The instant she finished, he picked up his office phone.

“Listen, Bill,” he said, “I want you to set up a hostage rescue right now. It’s the eight-year-old daughter of Kelly Cameron.”

After Forester provided all the details, he put down the phone. Narrowing his eyes, he looked straight at Kelly. “That was Bill Pierson who heads up hostage situations,” he said. “I know how difficult this is for you, so against my better judgment, I’ll let you watch from a distance. But I don’t want you to play any part in this operation.”

“I understand.”

“And you’ll comply?”

“And I’ll comply,” she said reluctantly.

“I’m serious, Kelly.”

“Yes, sir, I know you are.”

Rockville, Maryland

An hour later, the FBI hostage rescue team, headed by Bill Pierson was in place. Four heavily armed men, along with Kelly, were in an unmarked van with one-way glass parked half a block away from 216 Elm Street. It was a shabby, rundown house with a for sale sign in the front. The small front yard was overgrown with weeds. Mixed in with them were a couple of beer cans. Pierson had called the broker on the sign and learned that the house was deserted, the owner having moved to California a month ago.

Another van was parked half a block away in the alley behind the house. One man in each van was watching the house through binoculars, but the curtains were drawn. Neither agent could see inside the house. The plan was to wait another thirty minutes, hoping the kidnappers would bring Julie out. If not, they would break into the house from the front and back. Per Forester’s orders, Kelly would remain in the van.

What kept running through her mind was the possibility that the kidnappers had taken Julie to this house, then found the sneaker, left it behind, and taken off with her.

She raised that with Pierson, a grizzled veteran of thirty years with the FBI. “Let’s take it one step at a time,” he said.

That was certainly reassuring.

She couldn’t believe this was happening. It was horrible—truly her worst nightmare. She kept looking at the cell phone in her bag, expecting it to ring with the kidnappers’ demands. She tried to guess what they would want. The likeliest scenario was that they would offer to trade Julie for Xiang. She had no idea how Forester would react.

When her phone remained silent, she thought of another, worse scenario: the kidnappers didn’t want to deal; their plan was to kill Julie, expecting that to sideline Kelly from the investigation. Surely, they had to realize others in the FBI would pick it up, but there would be a delay and time might be critical for them.

Ten more minutes until Pierson and his men would move. Suddenly, a brown Washington Gas truck drove down the street and parked in front of 216 Elm. A man in a Washington Gas uniform and cap sprang out of the van and quickly climbed the three crumbling stone steps to the front door.

“What the hell,” Pierson blurted out. “This idiot could wreck everything.”

Kelly grabbed a pair of binoculars and focused on the man approaching the front door. She felt a chill run down her spine. From her vantage point, it was difficult to see his face. Oh no! It couldn’t be. It was. It was her father.

She wanted to yell at him to get away from the house. But he’d never hear. Even if he did, he wouldn’t obey. The kidnappers would surely kill Julie if they were in the house with her. How could he be so stupid?

Horrified, she watched him smash his shoulder against the door, blasting it open. Then, he pulled a pistol from a chest holster. Gun in hand, he went into the house.

“Move now,” Pierson told his men in the two vans. As she watched, holding her breath, Pierson and the other three climbed out of the van and ran toward the house.

Only Kelly was left in the van. She grabbed her own gun and jumped out of the van, then stood next to it and watched the house. She wanted to be ready in case the kidnappers slipped out with Julie.

Please God let her be safe.

Ten minutes later, the longest ten minutes of Kelly’s life, her father emerged from the house holding Julie in his arms. The girl looked terrified.

Kelly ran toward them.

“She’s perfectly okay,” her father said. “They didn’t harm her.”

“Thank God for that.”

He handed Julie to Kelly. Julie was crying. “I was so scared, Mommy.”

“I know you were. It’s all over. You’re safe now,” Kelly said, hugging her tightly.

“What happened to the people in the house with her?” Kelly asked her dad.

“Nobody was in there besides Julie. Your FBI friends are collecting evidence. The kidnappers blindfolded her and locked her in a closet downstairs, then they left the house.”

Kelly had to control her shaking. The kidnappers had figured no one would find Julie. “Bastards,” Kelly blurted out. They had planned to kill her, letting her suffocate or die of starvation. Days from now, they would have called to tell Kelly where to find Julie’s body, or maybe not even that.

Pierson approached them. “You may be the girl’s grandfather and a former CIA agent,” he said, “but I should arrest you for what you did.”

“I don’t think so,” Charles Cameron said.

Calmly, he walked back to the Washington Gas truck and drove away.

Anger directed at Liu, who she knew must have masterminded Julie’s kidnapping, surged through Kelly’s body. She rolled her hands into fists. She was even more determined than ever to wreck Liu’s operation.

Trinidad

Monday morning, with Kelly as the sole passenger, Forester’s sleek jet approached Piarco Airport. She had spent Sunday with Julie at her father’s house. Two armed men were in front, and another two in the back, around the clock. All was quiet, and Julie didn’t seem to be suffering any ill effects from her ordeal. Kelly had made her father swear on two Bibles that he wouldn’t take or let Julie out of the house until this was all over.

The airport was on the northwest corner of Trinidad, which along with Tobago, formed the twin island nation off the coast of Venezuela. The capital, Port of Spain, was twelve miles from the airport. The previous evening she had done a little research about the Caribbean island republic and learned that it had been a British territory until it had been granted independence in 1962. Trinidad was the largest island in this republic, with a Creole culture and a diverse African, Indian, and European population totaling 1.3 million.

From the air, Kelly saw oil and gas drilling rigs. Those commodities had made Trinidad one of the wealthiest places in the Caribbean. According to a CIA report Joanne had forwarded, oil and gas reserves had made Trinidad a target for Chinese government investments. Beijing, with extensive oil investments in neighboring Venezuela, had been pushing hard to lock up the oil and gas in Trinidad and gain a foothold in the Caribbean, close to the United States. That report also said that with the plunge in oil prices, hard times had set in and crime had escalated.

Kelly walked off the plane into bright sunlight and intense heat. A slight breeze was blowing off the ocean.

Once she had cleared customs, she saw a man with a shaved head and wire-framed glasses dressed in a suit and tie. She immediately recognized Chas Cohen from the picture on the bio Joanne had forwarded the day before.

After a no-nonsense cursory greeting, Chas led her to his black Range Rover. Kelly climbed into the front seat next to Chas.

As they exited the parking lot with Chas driving, he said, “Joanne wouldn’t give me much information about the purpose of your trip down here. She said you’d explain.”

Kelly laid it out for Chas, then added, “The good news is Joanne arranged a meeting for me with Alistair Singh, the President of the National Bank of Trinidad and Tobago at his office in Port of Spain. The bad news, Joanne told me, is that I’ll have an uphill battle to get Alistair to talk to me.”

“She’s right about that.”

“How well do you know Alistair?”

“His family came here from India four generations ago. He was educated at the London School of Economics. He’s extremely intelligent. At the same time, he’s venal and corrupt. That makes him a good partner for Mexican drug lords and—” Chas abruptly stopped talking and made a sharp left turn. “Hmm,” he said.

“What’s wrong?”

“I think we have company. A gray Toyota has been following us since we left the airport. I have binoculars in the glove compartment. Grab them and get a line on our friends.”

As Kelly did, she noticed they were climbing a steep hill. Once she had located the binoculars, she looked through the window in the back. “Two Chinese men in the gray Toyota.”

“That’s what I was afraid of. My guess is they’ll try to prevent you from getting to your meeting with Alistair.”

“What do you want to do?”

“Are you armed?”

“I’ve got a gun in my bag.”

“Good. Grab it.”

“Maybe they’re just following us,” Kelly suggested.

“I know the territory. Trinidad is a great island with lots of wonderful people, but it also has some real thugs. I promised Joanne I’d take care of you, so stop talking and get ready.”

Pulling out her gun, she said, “What will you do?”

“I’ll take a detour away from town along a narrow road that runs up into the hills. You climb over the seat into the back and roll down both back windows. Let’s wait for them to commit. We’ll have an advantage with the more substantial vehicle. Make sure you get off the first shot.”

“Will do.”

Ten minutes later, they were almost at the top of a steep hill. Chas cut his speed to a crawl, hugging the road on the left. That was when the Toyota made its move, acting as if it intended to pass the Range Rover on the right.

When the Toyota was alongside the Range Rover, Kelly saw the man on the passenger side raise a gun and point it directly at Chas.

“Now!” Chas screamed.

Before the man in the Toyota had a chance to shoot, Kelly opened fire, hitting him square in the chest. Next, she shot the driver, who lost control of the Toyota. It veered off the road, flew over the cliff, and down the hill.

Chas put on the brakes and they sprang out of the car. They watched as the Toyota became airborne, hit a rock, and exploded, sending flames high into the air.

“You don’t have to worry about them any longer,” Chas said.

“What do we do we do now?” Kelly asked.

“We’ll go see Police Chief Kasim and tell him what happened.”

“Won’t I be in trouble?”

“Not at all. Kasim is a friend of mine. He’ll believe my story. Besides, Kasim has a Creole background. He figures this is his island, and he hates the Chinese. He thinks they’re trying to take over Trinidad’s oil and gas through a combination of money and intimidation. I’m hoping Kasim will help you convince Alistair to talk.”

Despite what Chas had said, Kelly was more than a little nervous when he turned around, drove into Port of Spain, and pulled up in front of police headquarters. It might not go as smoothly as Chas thought. After all, she had just killed two people. She didn’t want to torpedo this Trinidad mission before it got off the ground.

Kelly followed Chas inside the gray cinderblock building where he introduced her to Kasim as “an FBI agent from Washington.” Kasim stuck out a large hand. Shaking it, Kelly felt as if her hand was in a powerful vice.

Chas said, “Kelly has a meeting with Alistair Singh, but a couple of our local Chinese friends didn’t think she should keep it. They tried to force us off the road and ended up losing control of their car and crashing down the hill. It’s a real shame they weren’t better drivers.”

Kasim smiled. “I heard about an exploding car. Thanks for the explanation.” Turning to Kelly he said, “I’m sorry about that. This is a friendly island. What happened to you isn’t the usual way we treat visitors.”

“Thank you. I didn’t think so.”

“I assume Alistair knew you were coming.”

“Right. We have an appointment.”

“So we have to assume he tipped off the Chinese,” Kasim said.

“That’s what I was thinking,” Kelly agreed.

“I don’t want you to have any more problems, Ms. Cameron. As a result, I’d like personally to accompany you to your meeting with Alistair. That okay with you?”

“Absolutely.”

“Good. I might even be able to assist you if Alistair isn’t cooperative, which sometimes happens. Then I’ll be forced to invoke Trinidad rules. I’ll bet you don’t know what those are.”

“I have no idea,” said Kelly.

“Well, you’re in for an education,” said Kasim. “Let’s go. We can all ride in my car.”

Kelly was relieved there were no repercussions from the incident on the road, and delighted to receive Kasim’s help.

As Kasim navigated through heavy traffic in the frenetic, noisy capital city, he waved and shouted greetings to people.

After fifteen minutes, the three of them climbed the steps to the National Bank of Trinidad and Tobago. Once they were inside the building, Kasim pushed his way past the receptionist to the elevator, Kelly and Chas following behind.

Kelly understood that Kasim was one of those people who never stopped for red lights, which was okay if you’re the police chief. With Kasim in the lead, the three of them barreled past Alistair’s secretary without saying a word. Kasim opened a closed door, and they entered the banker’s office.

Startled, Alistair Singh, who was on a phone call, quickly hung up and shot to his feet. Short and squat, Alistair reminded Kelly of a tank. He was wearing a shirt and tie, but no jacket.

“Have you ever heard of knocking?” the banker asked.

“You’re just lucky Kelly Cameron wasn’t murdered on her way to meet with you,” Kasim said.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Alistair came over and held out his hand to Kelly. “Happy to meet you, Ms. Cameron.”

She refused to shake his hand and left it hanging in the air.

Once they were seated—Alistair behind his desk and the other three in front—Kelly began. “What I want is real simple. You have an account in the name of Darrell Cartwright, which has ten million dollars in it. I want to know when it was opened and the source of the funds.”

Alistair shook his head. “I’m very sorry, Ms. Cameron. Information about our customers is maintained in the strictest confidence. I think you can understand that.”

Chas was scowling. “Don’t play games with us. We’re very close to blacklisting your bank because of drug money laundering. Failure to cooperate with us will push you over the edge. Blacklisting means no US bank will be able to do any business with you. You might as well shut down your bank at that point. Is that what you want?”

Despite the comfortably air-conditioned room, Kelly noticed moisture forming under Alistair’s arms. When he didn’t answer, Kelly imagined he was weighing in his mind who could hurt him more, the US Treasury Department or the Chinese government.

After a minute of silence, Kasim turned to Kelly and said, “Remember when I told you I might have to invoke Trinidad rules?”

“I sure do.”

Without saying another word, Kasim flew out of his chair and over the desk. He forced the startled Alistair in his chair back against the credenza behind the desk. Then he grabbed the terrified banker’s throat with both hands.

“Tell her what she wants to know,” Kasim commanded.

“All right,” Alistair choked out, gagging for air. “All right, I’ll tell her. Just get your hands off me!”

Kasim released Alistair and returned to his chair.

The banker turned to his computer and began punching keys. After a minute, he said, “The account was opened three days ago.” He turned around the computer. “Here’s the card opening the account signed by Cartwright.”

“Does that mean he was here?”

“It was done by remote, electronically.”

“I want a copy of that card.”

Alistair hesitated for a moment, then hit print. He wheeled around to the printer on the credenza to hand it to her.

“Source of the funds?” Kelly asked.

“NRW Bank in Shanghai.”

Chas winced. “Are you sure of that?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

Kelly glanced at the computer screen again. It confirmed what Alistair had told them.

“Do you want to know anything else?” Kasim asked Kelly.

“No, I have it all.”

When they reached the street, Kasim asked Kelly, “Where can I take you?”

“The airport, if it’s not too much trouble.”

“No, of course not.”

The three of them climbed back into the police chief’s car. The ride to the airport went by without incident. She thanked Kasim, and Chas walked her to Forester’s waiting plane.

“You were surprised to hear it was NRW Bank in Shanghai,” Kelly remarked to Chas. “Why?”

“Because that bank is controlled by PLA, the Chinese People’s Liberation Army.”

“Meaning that?”

Chas completed the sentence for Kelly: “Cartwright is clearly on the take from the Chinese government.”

Chas’s conclusion made sense, but as the plane took off, knifing through the clouds, Kelly was troubled. If the Chinese had wanted to transfer funds secretly to Cartwright, they would have done so by employing a bank that couldn’t be linked to them. Using a bank owned by the PLA made no sense at all. It was as if they wanted anyone who checked to reach the conclusion Chas had. But why?

No matter how hard Kelly thought about the issue, she couldn’t come up with another explanation.

Washington

As Kelly reported on her trip to Trinidad to Forester and Paul in the director’s office, she expressed her misgivings regarding Chas’s conclusion that Cartwright was on the take from the Chinese. “There has to be another explanation,” she said. “We’re dealing with sophisticated people—both Cartwright and Liu. This is too clumsy.”

The director was shaking his head. “It always amazes me how smart people sometimes do really stupid things that lead to their getting caught. I’ve seen it over and over again,” he said, dismissing Kelly’s concerns.

“Get your handcuffs, Kelly,” said Paul. “It’s time to arrest Cartwright.”

“Not so fast,” Forester replied. “We’re not arresting Cartwright without explicit approval from the attorney general.”

As the director picked up the phone, Kelly wondered how it would go. She heard him say, “It’s Forester. I have to speak to Arthur.” After a pause, the director said, “Listen, Arthur, the task force is ready to make an arrest. They need your approval . . . Sure, we’ll be right over.”

Arthur looked grim, Kelly thought, as they walked into his office. He must have had a premonition of what they were about to tell him.

Staring at the bandaged Paul, he said, “I’m sorry this happened to you, Paul. Why don’t you take some time off?”

“No, sir. I have to see this through.”

After they were seated around the conference table, Forester said, “Kelly, why don’t you summarize what you and Paul have learned in the last couple of days?”

Kelly was pleased to hear him say this. She had been afraid he might ask Paul to brief his boss, and she didn’t think Paul was firing on all cylinders.

She took the AG through it in detail. At the end, Kelly said, “We’re here for your approval to arrest General Cartwright.”

Arthur stood up and paced around the office, one hand in his pocket, the other ruffling his hair. When he didn’t reply, the director added, “We clearly have enough evidence against Cartwright to make the arrest.”

“Of course you do,” said Arthur, “but this is Washington. Politics comes above everything else.” Arthur continued in a somber voice, “A presidential campaign is going full blast. You’re asking the attorney general, close friend, and confidante of one of the two leading candidates, to order the arrest of the other one. Cartwright’s supporters will claim I’m worse than John Mitchell.”

“Surely,” the director said, “you’re not suggesting we excuse Cartwright’s espionage.”

“Of course not. What I’m saying is the decision on arresting Cartwright has to be made by President Braddock.”

“I disagree,” the director replied forcefully, “you are this country’s top legal officer. The decision is yours.”

Kelly was happy to hear Forester’s words. Arthur was trying to play the old Washington game of CYA, cover your ass, and she was glad the director wouldn’t let him get away with it.

Arthur turned to Forester. “You have been both a successful lawyer and a federal judge. Normally I would never disagree with you, Jim. However, as I said, this is not a legal matter.”

The director was ready to fire back. It was as if they were the only two in the room. “Have you considered that you might not be doing your friend Braddock a favor by dropping this hot potato into his lap?”

“That thought has been running through my mind. I’m sure pundits and historians will debate it. For me, the decisive factor is if I were Braddock, I would want to know about it before the arrest were made. Also, let’s face it, after hearing about the issue, Braddock may want to make a decision on arresting Cartwright, but pretend he didn’t know about it. He’ll tell the press I did it on my own. That’s his prerogative as president, and I’ll be happy to take the heat. I’m giving him a chance to do that.”

Forester made a couple more efforts to move Arthur, but the AG wouldn’t budge. Finally, Arthur called Braddock.

After the call, he reported back to them. “The president agreed to cancel a meeting with the Treasury secretary over fiscal policy. He’ll see us in an hour. I told him the four of us would be coming, and to have Vernon there, but not Wilkins.”

Walking into the Oval Office, Kelly couldn’t believe how much had happened in the three months since she had last been in this room for the ceremony honoring her and the members of her team who had thwarted the terrorist attack at Walter Reed.

In the car on the way to the White House, Arthur had told her, “Braddock selected you to be chairman of the task force, so I want you to summarize everything the task force has done and all the evidence against Cartwright. Then end with your recommendation that you arrest Cartwright. We’ll hear Braddock’s reaction.”

Kelly felt like a calf being led off to slaughter. Stay calm, she told herself. As she looked around, she was struck by the simplicity and dignity of the office. The deep blue oval shaped carpet had the presidential seal in the center. Most imposing was the dark wooden desk with thick legs that curled at the bottom, which had been used by several other presidents, including Franklin Roosevelt. Two black leather chairs were in front of it. Behind, there was a credenza flanked by an American flag with pictures of the president’s family—two married sons and one granddaughter—just in front of the three floor-to-ceiling bulletproof windows facing the south lawn. Off to one side was an informal meeting area with an upholstered sofa, four chairs, a coffee table, and a couple of end tables with lamps.

When they were all seated, Kelly followed Arthur’s script, telling the president in chronological order how their investigation had unfolded. She laid out all the evidence establishing that Cartwright was a spy for China, beginning with the eight meetings Martin had with Cartwright and Mallory followed by meetings with Xiang. She talked about Xiang’s story. Then she summarized what Mallory had told them, reporting on Cartwright’s meeting with Liu in Paris and in Singapore. She told him about their meeting with Dickerson, and how she and Paul had been attacked in Los Angeles because of Wilkins.

Braddock had been listening in stony silence, his face showing no emotion, until she got to Wilkins. Then he turned beet red. “Do you think George is also a spy for the Chinese?” Braddock asked Kelly.

“I don’t know whether he’s a spy or just taken in by Cartwright, Mr. President,” Kelly replied.

Forester spoke up. “Regardless of whether Wilkins is a spy or not, what he did is reprehensible.”

“Well, when this is over,” Braddock said, “I intend to fire Wilkins. And I hope Arthur can come up with some charge that will let me arrest him.”

“I’ll look into that, Mr. President.”

Kelly resumed talking, and finished her report with the ten million dollar bank account in Trinidad, explaining that she had a copy of the signature card opening the account. At the end, she said, “I’m prepared to arrest Cartwright for espionage if you give me that order, Mr. President.”

Braddock turned to Arthur. “How strong do you think the legal case is against Cartwright?”

“Persuasive, but like most, it’s not bulletproof.”

Thanks, Arthur, Kelly thought.

“What’s been worrying me,” Braddock said, “about Kelly’s excellent report, is that all the evidence seems to be sound, yet there’s no smoking gun. There’s nothing to grab the public.”

“How about the ten million dollars in a Trinidad account which came from the Chinese?” Forester said.

“That’s true. However, I’d like a little more.”

Here was another gutless politician. Kelly was ready to scream.

Arthur turned to Vernon. “Where is Cartwright today?”

“I know from press people covering his campaign that he’s in New York City today and this evening. This morning he flew into Teterboro in his private plane with his pilot Mallory. He’s speaking at the Waldorf this evening at eight, and he’ll be staying at the St. Regis tonight. Tomorrow, he’s flying out of Teterboro at noon for Chicago and several Midwest campaign appearances.

“All right, I have an idea,” Arthur said.

All eyes were on the attorney general.

“What would nail down the case against Cartwright,” Arthur said, talking slowly, selecting each word carefully, “is if we had a recording of Cartwright giving an order to his pilot to fly him to China to avoid being arrested. People would then unequivocally understand he was a traitor. Everybody knows about Kim Philby. That’s what he did, secretly flew off to Russia.”

“That’s an excellent idea, Arthur,” Braddock said with enthusiasm. “How do you propose to make that happen?”

Arthur smiled. “I have no idea. That would take a younger and more supple, agile mind. I’ll bet Kelly will be able to devise a plan.”

Forester said, “Kelly, would you like to strangle Arthur, or would you prefer I do it?”

Everybody in the room laughed except for Kelly. Her mind was racing. She was grateful to the director for his humorous comment. It gave her a few additional seconds to come up with a plan.

Now all eyes shifted to Kelly.

“Here is my proposal,” she said.

The room was deathly still.

“Andrew Martin is obligated to help us build the case against Cartwright to gain his immunity, and Cartwright has great confidence in Martin. I will meet with Martin and tell him to inform his buddy Cartwright that Arthur Larkin just called him and laid out the case against Cartwright. Martin can summarize that case. He can also tell Cartwright the president has given the order to arrest him. However, the president doesn’t want it done until 4:00 p.m. tomorrow, because Braddock wants to ensure he has time to set it up for maximum publicity. Sound good so far?”

Forester was nodding.

“You think you can trust Martin to deliver that message?” Braddock asked.

“I believe he’ll do whatever it takes to redeem himself. In any event, I will be standing next to him, gun in hand, when he makes that call.”

“Okay. What’s next?” the president asked impatiently.

“I will work with Mallory, Cartwright’s pilot, to install a recording device on Mallory’s phone and also on Cartwright’s plane,” Kelly continued. “Any discussions between Cartwright and Mallory will be broadcast to a van at Teterboro. What I’m hoping is that after Cartwright hears from Martin, he will give Mallory an order to fly to China or somewhere else in Asia. Once Cartwright gives that order, we’ll block his plane from taking off. Then we’ll move in and arrest Cartwright.”

“Suppose Cartwright doesn’t give that order and he tells Mallory to fly to Chicago, as planned,” Braddock said. “What will you do at 4:00 p.m. tomorrow?”

“Mr. President, I would recommend arresting Cartwright with the evidence we now have.”

“I’m not ready to make that decision,” Braddock said, shaking his head. “We’ll discuss it tomorrow at 3:30.”

Here was another famous Washington tactic, Kelly thought. Next to CYA, it was one of the most popular in Washington, referred to as “kicking the can down the road.”

“What do the rest of you think?” Braddock asked.

“I like it,” Forester said.

“Arthur?” Braddock asked.

“I see only one possible downside.”

“What’s that?” Kelly asked.

“I’m worried that Cartwright will escape after he hears from Martin. You may not be able to arrest him.”

“We’ll have agents watching Cartwright and his hotel around the clock.”

“Nothing’s foolproof,” Arthur pointed out.

Kelly was getting a sick feeling in her stomach. Would Arthur, and perhaps even Braddock, prefer that Cartwright escape to avoid the PR and legal nightmare they would have if Cartwright were arrested? Would they even help him escape? She hoped she was wrong. They couldn’t be that cynical. However, she didn’t know either of them well enough to decide if that was what they were thinking.

After the meeting, she raised it with Forester. He didn’t dismiss her suspicions. “It’s a troubling possibility,” he told her. “As an alternative to escape, no doubt Braddock and Arthur would prefer that Cartwright took his own life. If he were dead, they wouldn’t have to deal with the consequences.”

Kelly didn’t articulate what was running through her mind. Would Braddock and Arthur arrange to murder Cartwright and make it look like suicide?

Kelly took Paul with her to Martin’s house.

“What happened to you?” Martin asked the bandaged Paul as they walked in.

“Let’s just say that the woman who wanted to kill you had some friends.”

Kelly doubted that Martin felt sorry for Paul.

“To what do I owe the honor of this visit?” Martin asked.

“We’re moving into the endgame,” Kelly said. “Here’s your chance to seal your immunity deal.”

“What do I have to do?” he asked.

“Lie,” said Kelly. “That shouldn’t be too hard for you.”

“That wasn’t justified,” Martin replied, raising his voice. “I’ve changed. I’ve come over to your side. I’m one of the good guys now.”

“Save the posturing and listen carefully. You’re going to make a call to your friend Cartwright. I’ll give you the script, and I’ll be standing next to you, gun in hand, to make sure you follow it. You make one tiny departure, and you’re on the way to jail. It’s real simple. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, here’s what you’re going to say.” Kelly handed Martin the written script. She had decided not to elaborate on what they hoped to achieve with this call to Cartwright, although Martin might be able to figure it out by himself. Still, she wanted to minimize the chance of him tipping off the general.

Fifteen minutes later, they were all set. With Kelly standing next to him, Martin placed the call on a landline in his house. Paul was listening in on an extension in the next room. If Martin tried to tip off Cartwright, Kelly would immediately grab the phone from his hand.

New York

Cartwright was alone in the back of a limo traveling from the St. Regis to the Waldorf for a campaign speech when his phone rang. He saw from caller the ID that it was Andrew Martin.

Cartwright asked the driver to slide up the glass partition separating him from the driver. Once it was raised, he answered the phone.

“Can you talk?” Martin sounded upset.

“Sure, go ahead.”

“I just came from a meeting with Arthur Larkin, the attorney general. Arthur and I have been good friends for a long time. Arthur told me the most incredible thing.”

“What’s that?” Cartwright asked.

“Braddock is out to get you and to destroy your campaign. He’s had the FBI come up with phony evidence that you’re a Chinese spy, and that the Chinese are paying you off.”

“You have to be kidding.”

“I wish I were.”

“What’s their supposed evidence?”

“Xiang from the Chinese embassy told them the envelopes you passed through me contained military secrets. And your pilot, Mallory, claims you met with Chinese spymaster Liu on your recent trip to Paris.”

Mallory’s perfidy infuriated Cartwright. He swallowed hard and said, “Mallory is lying.”

“And finally,” Martin continued, “they claim you have a ten million dollar account in a Trinidad bank with funds that came from a Chinese bank run by the People’s Liberation Army.”

“That’s total and utter bullshit.” Cartwright was shouting now. “Braddock must have directed his people to open the account and make it look like Chinese money.”

“They have your signature card.”

“They could have forged it.”

“The president has given the FBI an order to arrest you at four o’clock tomorrow afternoon.”

“Why is he waiting until tomorrow?” Cartwright asked.

“They want to make their case airtight and maximize publicity.”

“You don’t have to worry, Andrew. I’ll fight those bastards and their phony evidence every step of the way.”

“I’ll be right there with you, leading your defense.”

“Thanks. I know I can count on you.”

When he put down the phone, Cartwright replayed the conversation in his mind. He had to admit, it all made sense except for one thing: the bank account in Trinidad. Liu had never said anything about setting up a bank account for Cartwright, and the general would never have agreed to it. Not only was there great risk of it being discovered, but Cartwright wasn’t in this for the money. And he never had been, as he had repeatedly told Liu. Dickerson’s money went directly to Cartwright’s presidential campaign. Not a cent flowed to the general personally.

The Trinidad account, Cartwright decided, must have been set up by Braddock’s people to frame him. Here was another presidential campaign dirty trick like Watergate. Without it, they only had a circumstantial case.

Regardless of all that, Cartwright realized Braddock was still the president. He could commence espionage proceedings against Cartwright, which would be difficult to defend. He had no choice. Cartwright had to activate his escape plan.

He picked up his phone and called Dickerson. “I need your help.”

New Jersey

Kelly had to admit that Martin was convincing in the call with Cartwright. He had fulfilled his end of the bargain. Following the call between Martin and Cartwright, Paul reported to the AG, who agreed that Martin’s immunity deal was final. Martin seemed enormously relieved when Paul told him.

“However,” Paul said, “we want you to remain under house arrest until Cartwright is taken into custody.”

Martin didn’t argue.

Kelly, with Paul in tow, left Martin’s house. On the street, she phoned Mallory. “Where are you?” she asked the pilot.

“A motel near Teterboro Airport in New Jersey.”

“What’s your departure time?”

“Noon tomorrow for Chicago.”

“Can you meet me in the private plane terminal at Teterboro in an hour, maybe less? I’m heading out to Reagan to take a private plane there.”

“I’ll be here waiting for you.”

When she told Paul, he said, “You better go up alone. I don’t want to slow you down. I’ll stay here and rest, then join you at Teterboro in the morning.”

Moments after her arrival, Kelly found Mallory sitting in the lounge area sipping a can of Coke.

“Let’s go out to your plane to talk,” she said.

She signaled to the two techies who had flown up with her to accompany them.

Once the four were in the plane, Kelly said, “Here’s what I want to do.”

Mallory raised his hand. “Time out. I have some new news about our plans.”

“Go ahead.”

“A little while after you called me, Cartwright phoned. He told me that tomorrow morning I should make sure the plane is fully fueled. ‘We’re not going to Chicago,’ he said. ‘We’re going to an international destination. I’ll tell you where after I board the plane at noon tomorrow.’”

Kelly was ready to scream with joy. Cartwright had taken the bait. Her plan was working. Once Cartwright got on the plane tomorrow at noon, he would give Mallory the order to fly him to China. His words would be recorded. They would move in and block the plane from taking off, then arrest Cartwright.

She explained to Mallory that they would be hooking up a concealed recording system on the plane, as well as a recording device on his phone. Mallory didn’t ask why she was doing it. He was smart. He had probably pieced it together—or, being a good military man, he didn’t question orders.

While the techies were wiring the plane, Kelly arranged for New York field agents, armed with Cartwright’s picture, to watch all three New York airports in case he slipped away from her. She had people at headquarters checking manifests for all flights out of New York, but there was no reservation for Cartwright.

Once the plane was wired, Kelly told Mallory he could go back to his motel. Then she took over an empty office in the terminal building and installed a cot. That’s where she planned to spend the night, gun in one hand, phone in the other.

In the meantime, she checked with Felix, her lead agent in Manhattan from the FBI’s New York field office.

Felix told her, “Target is speaking now in the Waldorf ballroom. I have men on the floor watching him. Others will follow him when he leaves the Waldorf.”

An hour and ten minutes later, Felix called back. “Target is leaving the Waldorf in a limo. We’re following.”

“Good. Stay on the line with me.”

Fifteen minutes later, Felix said, “Target’s car pulled up in front of St. Regis . . . Target is shaking hands with well-wishers in front of the hotel . . . Entering hotel, and . . . Hold on for a minute. My man in the lobby reports that he took the elevator to the fifteenth floor. His suite is 1501. Looks like he’s calling it a night.”

“Good. What are your assets in the hotel?”

“I have one man inside the lobby. He’ll be replaced in five hours by a woman. Nobody abandons their post, not even for an instant.”

“What about outside the hotel?”

“We have a car parked on 55th Street in front of the main entrance and another midway down the block at the employee entrance. If the target leaves, they’ll let me know and follow him. I’ll report to you.”

“I want those men replaced in five hours as well.”

“They’re two of my best. They would never abandon their position.”

“Don’t argue,” she said sharply. The tension was getting to her. “Just replace them. My ass is on the line, and now yours is as well. We can’t let the target escape.”

New York

In his suite, Cartwright waited until 11:30 in the evening to take out his phone and call the theatrical makeup specialist whose contact info Liu had given him.

“Is this Melody?” he asked.

A woman replied in English with a Chinese accent. “Yes. Where are you?”

“St. Regis hotel.”

“I know where it is. Room number?” she asked.

“1501.”

When Cartwright had returned to the St. Regis from the Waldorf, he observed a man sitting in the lobby who was no doubt FBI. Even though Cartwright had seen many Chinese guests in the hotel, that agent would be sure to look at which floor the elevator stopped if a Chinese woman got on. So Cartwright added, “Take the elevator to the twelfth floor and walk up the last three flights.”

“I’ll be there in thirty minutes,” she said before hanging up.

Exactly thirty minutes later, Cartwright heard a knock on the door.

He opened it and admitted a young, bespectacled Chinese woman carrying a briefcase. He hung the “Do Not Disturb” sign on the knob before shutting the door.

“Did anyone in the lobby notice you?” he asked.

“No. Fortunately two Chinese women and one man came into the hotel right after me. I tried to blend in with them.”

“Good.”

“It’s time to go to work,” she said. “Strip down to your briefs, I don’t want to leave any residue on your clothes.”

Cartwright did what she said, then went into the bathroom where she was setting up. She directed him to a chair in front of a small table with a mirror above it. Then she took out a picture of a grayhaired man with glasses, which was identical to the Virgil MacMillan on the passport Liu had given Cartwright in Paris. She taped it up on the mirror.

Working slowly and carefully, she changed Cartwright’s facial appearance, his hair, and his eyes. She was a perfectionist, working for nearly an hour. When she was finished, she carefully cleaned up everything with her own towels, then put them back into her bag. He thanked her and told her to walk down three flights before taking the elevator back to the lobby.

Alone again in the suite, Cartwright sat down at the desk in the living room. He turned on his iPad and checked the Amtrak schedule. Seeing a 9:00 a.m. express train to Montreal from Penn Station, he made a reservation for a first-class seat for Virgil MacMillan, which he paid for with a Virgil MacMillan credit card. When the transaction was complete, Amtrak gave him a confirmation code to use in picking up his ticket. He jotted the confirmation code on a small St. Regis notepad on the desk, tore it off, and put it into his pocket.

Cartwright decided to wait until 4:00 a.m. to leave the St. Regis. Until then, he sat in the still room, staring at the ceiling. As he did, the enormity of what he was doing came driving home and hit him hard. He had no close family in the United States—his wife had died a year ago, and they had no children. Still, he loved the United States. He had spent his life serving his country. And now he would be remembered as a traitor, not a hero.

All of that was true. However, Cartwright believed he had pursued a path that was best for his country, and he had almost succeeded. In his view, the world was divided into those who had the courage to do what they believed in, and those who talked about it. Cartwright was a doer. He had courage. In war, he had taken risks. Most of the time, he had succeeded. Sometimes, he had failed. In his new life, he hoped Liu and his Chinese colleagues would listen to Cartwright’s pleas not to risk war with the United States, but he wasn’t confident of that.

At ten minutes to four, he used the bathroom and washed his hands. His eye itched from the makeup, so he wiped it gently with the corner of a towel. He put his cash, along with the Virgil MacMillan passport, credit cards, and a small pistol in his pocket. Leaving the “Do Not Disturb” sign on the door and carrying only his iPad in his hand, Cartwright exited the room.

He walked confidently along the deserted corridor to the staircase, climbed down four flights, then took the elevator to the lobby. Calmly, he exited through the revolving door and down three stairs to 55th Street, not paying attention to the car parked in front with two men inside.

Melody had done a good job. No one stopped him.

On the sidewalk, he turned right. Coolly, with even, measured steps, he walked to the corner of Madison, never looking over this shoulder. Then he turned right and walked south on Madison for twenty-two blocks before turning west on 33rd Street and walking until he reached Penn Station.

Inside the station, he found an isolated area and sat on a wooden bench, waiting until the ticket windows opened at five o’clock. Then he provided his confirmation code to the agent, who gave him his train ticket. Once shops opened, he purchased two cell phones and a small wheelie suitcase so he would look like a traveler. He then used one of the phones to call Air China and purchase a first-class seat on their flight from Montreal to Hong Kong later that evening in the name of Virgil MacMillan. He also purchased several newspapers.

Back on the bench, Cartwright held up a newspaper close to his face, pretending to read. As soon as the train was available for boarding, he went down to the track.

He was safe. Kelly Cameron would never catch him.

New Jersey and Connecticut

Kelly slept sporadically, a total of an hour, she guessed, on the cot. Paul arrived at Teterboro at 9:30 in the morning. “I had to be here when you arrested Cartwright,” he told Kelly.

“The general hasn’t left the St. Regis yet,” she said to Paul. “He told Mallory they’d be flying out at noon, so I don’t think he’ll be here until a little before that.”

Kelly was calculating time. With traffic from Manhattan to Teterboro, he’d have to leave the St. Regis no later than 11:00 a.m.

She called Felix. “Let me know the instant the target leaves the St. Regis,” she instructed.

“Will do.”

At 10:30, Felix called and told Kelly, “Cartwright’s limo just arrived. It’s waiting in front of the hotel.”

So far so good, she thought.

At 11:15 she became worried. Mallory hadn’t heard from Cartwright. She called Felix, who checked with his agent in the lobby. “No sign of Cartwright at checkout.”

At 11:30 she called Forester to report. “I want your authorization to have Felix go in with a couple of agents and arrest Cartwright.”

“He may have taken his own life,” the director said.

“I hope not. I want to arrest the bastard.”

“Wait fifteen more minutes,” Forester said. “Then do it.”

The hotel management was cooperative, so at 11:45, Kelly told Felix to have a bellman open the door. “And keep me on the line for real-time reports.”

As soon as Felix and two of his agents were inside Cartwright’s suite, Kelly heard Felix shout, “Son of a bitch!”

“What the hell does that mean?” she asked.

“Cartwright’s not in the suite. He left all his clothes behind.”

She kicked a nearby wall so hard her foot throbbed. Paul was holding his head in his hands. Kelly was furious. She couldn’t let Cartwright get away.

“Get all your people into that suite,” Kelly said to Felix. “Check it with a fine-tooth comb for any hints about where he might have gone. Meantime, I’ll increase our vigilance at New York airports.”

Kelly also checked with Terry, the head of travel at FBI headquarters. Cartwright’s name wasn’t on any airplane reservations or manifests anywhere in the United States.

He couldn’t have vanished into thin air.

Kelly thought about taking a chopper to the St. Regis, but ultimately rejected the idea. She was better off at this command center. Fifteen minutes later, Felix called back.

“I have a couple of things for you,” he reported. He sounded excited.

“Go ahead.”

“One of my guys noticed indentations on a St. Regis notepad. It seemed as if something had been written on the page above and torn off. They worked hard on the pad.”

“And?” she asked, holding her breath.

“Somebody wrote K32PZ7R.”

Kelly scribbled it on a piece of paper.

Felix cautioned, “We don’t know it was Cartwright. It may have been a prior guest.”

“What else do you have?”

“This is a little more speculative.”

“Tell me.”

“Jennifer Coughlin, one of my agents, is confident that there was a smudge of makeup on a hand towel. She also claims she detected the odor of hair spray. However, none of my guys can smell a thing.”

Kelly was sure this meant that Cartwright had changed his appearance, explaining how he had departed the hotel undetected. “Give Jennifer a big thank-you for me,” she said before putting down the phone. She stared at the piece of paper on the table. K32PZ7R. She showed it to Paul. “Perhaps it’s a code to access Chinese help,” he mused.

That didn’t seem right to her. It could be an online confirmation code. She called Terry in travel at the FBI and read her the number.

“Amtrak confirmation,” Terry immediately said.

“You sure?”

“Positive.”

“Can you get passenger details from Amtrak?”

“Stay on the line, I’ll have it for you in two minutes or less.”

Waiting for Terry to come back on, Kelly tried to think of where Cartwright could be going on Amtrak. One answer leapt into her mind: Montreal. It was the closest and easiest foreign destination to reach by train from New York. In Canada, he would be outside of the FBI’s jurisdiction. And from Montreal, he could fly to China or any other country.

Then Terry was back. “It’s a reservation for a first-class seat for Virgil MacMillan on Amtrak train 271—a train to Montreal that left Penn Station at 9:00 a.m. He’s a resident of Hong Kong traveling on a Chinese passport.”

Now that Kelly had the alias Cartwright was using, she asked Terry to check all flights to Hong Kong, Shanghai, and Beijing from Montreal to see if they had a reservation for Virgil MacMillan. If not, she would ask Terry to check other destinations. Meantime, Kelly frantically pulled up the Amtrak schedule on her iPad. The train should be crossing the border into Canada in about ten minutes. She couldn’t let that happen. The Canadians could be sticky in complying with US extradition requests, especially when China, now their biggest oil customer, was involved.

She used another phone to call Forester and give him a report. Before she had a chance to tell him what she wanted, he said, “I’ll get a hold of Amtrak and stop that train. Stand by.”

Terry was on the other phone. “Virgil MacMillan is on Air China this evening from Montreal to Hong Kong.”

Seconds later, Forester was back. “Amtrak will stop the train on the US side of the border. They’ll tell the passengers there’s a mechanical problem.”

“Perfect.”

“Are you still at Teterboro?”

“Yes, sir. And I have a chopper on hold.”

“I know you want to be there to arrest Cartwright,” Forester said. “Take that chopper up to the train along with Paul and as many agents as you can get inside. I’ll send up another chopper or two from the New York field office with more agents. We won’t let Cartwright get away.”

Walking to the chopper to explain the plan to the pilot, Kelly’s euphoria about catching Cartwright gave way to a sickly feeling. It was all too easy. The indentation on the notepad, the reservations on Amtrak and Air China. She was afraid Cartwright had left her a false trail. If this really was his escape plan, he was too smart to make it so obvious. He didn’t have to write down the Amtrak confirmation on the notepad. He didn’t even need an advance reservation a few hours ahead. He could have gotten his ticket in person at Penn Station. Even if he made it to Canada, he couldn’t be sure the Canadians wouldn’t extradite him to the US.

She tried to put herself into Cartwright’s mind. How best for him to escape the US and get to China? She pondered the question for a moment and recalled that Cartwright was a top Air Force pilot. He could fly a plane himself out of the US to China.

Once inside the chopper, she told the pilot to hold. “We’re not going anywhere yet.” Then she called Forester. “Cartwright won’t be on that train,” she said with confidence.

“What do you mean?”

She explained her analysis.

“Let’s confirm,” the FBI director said. “I’ll get the Amtrak conductor from the first-class car on the phone. You hold.”

While she waited for Forester to come back on, she tried to think of where Cartwright might get a plane. One of his Air Force buddies? Unlikely. A rental? Tough on short notice for long range. But Cartwright’s big supporter, Dickerson, no doubt had a fleet of long-range aircraft. Cartwright wouldn’t be flying commercial to Asia.

Forester was back. “You were right. Cartwright left the train at Poughkeepsie. I have somebody checking car rental companies near that station. Also, the conductor gave me a description of Virgil MacMillan.”

“Good. Can you have someone from our civil aviation branch check the status and location of Dickerson’s planes?”

“Good thinking. I’ll get back to you.”

Kelly pulled up a map of the Eastern United States on her iPad, focusing on cities close to Poughkeepsie. Her theory was that Cartwright would be driving to the airport he intended to use, and it would have to be large enough for a big plane to take off. He wouldn’t choose JFK, LaGuardia, or Newark, because he’d want to get out of the New York area and FBI surveillance. But it couldn’t be too far from the point at which he left the train, or the driving time would be too long.

Forester called to say Cartwright had rented from Hertz, but they had no way of tracking the car. She glanced at her watch. Time was her enemy in view of Cartwright’s head start. She quickly narrowed the possibilities to Hartford and Philadelphia. Hartford was closer and an easier drive. It was also a smaller airport, and less likely to have delays on flight takeoff.

Without waiting to hear back from Forester, she told the chopper pilot, “We’re going to Bradley Airport outside of Hartford. Right now.”

“Roger that.”

Fortunately, the day was crystal clear with a robin egg blue sky. When they were twenty miles from the airport, Forester called Kelly again.

“One of Dickerson’s planes, a Boeing 767, arrived at Bradley Airport at six this morning,” he said. “The plane was fueled a few minutes ago and is heading toward the runway right now. The pilot is General Cartwright. He must be confident we’ll never catch him.”

“He’s certainly sticking it to us by using his own name.”

“Cartwright filed a phony flight plan for Miami. I asked the tower to order him back to the gate.”

“He’ll never comply.”

“Agreed. I’ll have the Air Force scramble a couple of jets to bring him down once he’s airborne.”

“Good idea. But you may not need them. I’m only ten minutes out.”

“Way to go, Kelly. If Cartwright doesn’t return to the gate, you have my approval to stop him from getting airborne. Do whatever it takes.”

As she approached the airfield, Kelly immediately sized up the situation. Only one plane was near the runway. It was a sleek Boeing 767 with Dickerson Industries painted in large blue letters against a white background. All the other planes had moved to the side of the airfield. Fire trucks and emergency medical ambulances were on standby adjacent to the terminal.

Cartwright’s plane was taxiing toward the runway. He hadn’t complied with orders from the tower. She asked the tower to patch her through to the cockpit.

“General Cartwright,” she said, “this is Kelly Cameron with the FBI. I’m in a chopper closing in on the airfield. I’ve been ordered by FBI Director Forester to block your takeoff. Even if you manage to get airborne, two Air Force jets have been directed to bring you down. Your game is over. Stop now and turn yourself in.”

When he didn’t respond, she looked at the runway. Cartwright’s answer was there. His plane was positioned for takeoff. She directed the helicopter pilot to move in close to the runway and hold. One shot is all I’ll get, she told herself. It better be good. She heard the roar of the engines on Cartwright’s plane. As it thundered along the runway, she took aim at one of its engines. Yes. Now. Fire. She pulled the trigger and held her breath. It was a direct hit. The plane skidded off the runway and burst into flames.

Fire trucks and mechanics with movable stairs raced across the airfield to the plane. The door opened from the inside. Stairs were pulled up alongside the burning plane, and Kelly watched Cartwright stagger down them, disguised as Virgil MacMillan. She held a pair of handcuffs in her left hand and a Glock in her right. As soon as he reached the ground, Cartwright pulled a pistol from his pocket.

“You’re under arrest, General Cartwright,” Kelly called out. “Drop the gun.”

He looked at Kelly and raised the pistol in his right hand, aiming at her. Kelly’s finger was on the trigger. There was no way she would let him get off the first shot. And this time, she’d hit him in the right shoulder. She wouldn’t make the mistake she had at Walter Reed.

Suddenly, Cartwright rotated his arm and held the pistol against the side of his head. Kelly couldn’t let him shoot himself.

“Drop it,” she cried out. She aimed for his right hand, but before she had a chance to pull the trigger, he tossed the gun away.

“I have nothing to be ashamed of,” he said. “I’m no traitor. Everything I did was in the best interests of the United States.”

“A court will decide that.”