For a moment it didn’t look like the ambassador was going to cooperate. He thumbed the thick file of teletype messages as if to derive a decision from their bulk. He got up from his chair and stepped aside. “Help yourself.”
“What’s the coded communications turnaround time between here and Washington?”
“With the priority assigned to this matter, between twenty-five and thirty minutes. I’ll alert my code clerk.”
I was scribbling the last words of my two page message when the ambassador returned. His bow tie was undone, his shirt collar open. “We’re ready,” he advised me. “My code clerk has the current rotor settings fed into his crypto machines.” I handed him the two sheets and he left the office again.
Five minutes later a knock sounded on the door. It was opened immediately by a pistol-armed marine corporal bearing a tray holding coffee cups and a carafe. “Compliments of the ambassador,” he said, walking toward Willow. He placed the tray on the table in front of the leather sofa in which she sat.
I was on my second cup when Ambassador Cavendish rejoined us. He waved off an invitation from Willow to accept coffee. He came over to stand next to me and spoke in guarded tones. “Are you sure about Colonel Jeleff being involved with this scheme of General Martin’s? I’ve known Jeleff for some time. He seems levelheaded and dependable, not one to engage in villainous activities that defy authority.”
“Let me ask you a question: Did he see service in Vietnam?”
“Ah... yes, he did.”
“He was a prisoner of war, too Right?”
“No. You’re wrong there, Mr. Carter. But his younger brother was. He came home with both legs missing.”
I shook my head instead of swearing out loud. “Remember, Mr. Ambassador, you’re not to interfere.” He bobbed his head again with his favorite answer. “So I respectfully request that none of what we have discussed here becomes known to Colonel Jeleff, and especially that you take no action against him for what he has done. If any charges are brought against Jeleff for his part in this, they will originate in Washington.”
“I quite understand,” agreed Cavendish. He was going to say more, but his telephone rang. He picked it up, listened, said “Thank you.” He turned to me.
“Washington has responded to your message.”
It read as if Hawk had composed it.
APPREHENSION AND INTERROGATION M/SGT THOMAS LAYTON VERIFIES INFILTRATION ACTION ONE-MAN EFFORT. NO DEATHS OF PUBLIC FIGURES ON HIT LIST REPORTED LAST TWENTY-FOUR HOURS. INTERPRET THIS AS POSSIBLE CAPTURE KEITH MARTIN. NO OFFICIAL HANOI ANNOUNCEMENT ANTICIPATED UNTIL POLITICAL CONDITIONS ESTABLISHED TO MAXIMIZE IMPACT ON WORLD OPINION AS A U.S. SPONSORED VENDETTA. NO CURRENT MOVES IN THAT DIRECTION RESULTING IN NSC BELIEF MARTIN IS AT LARGE AND FREE TO ACT AGAIN. RELIABLE REPORTS FROM A-l SOURCE CONFIRM HANOI OFFICIALS AT LOSS TO IDENTIFY KILLER OR ESTABLISH COMMON LINK BETWEEN VICTIMS. PRESIDENT PREPARED TO RESPOND TO HANOI ACCUSATIONS IF CONFRONTATION DEVELOPS OVER DISCOVERY THAT U.S. GENERAL IN WHITE HOUSE AND VETERAN ORGANIZATIONS INVOLVED. DECISION HAD BEEN MADE TO INSTRUCT YOU TO MAKE THIS UNNECESSARY. DRASTIC KILLMASTER ACTIONS AUTHORIZED TO SALVAGE SITUATION. PROCEED UNDER ORIGINAL INSTRUCTIONS WITH ADDITIONAL ORDER TO USE ULTIMATE N3 MEANS TO ELIMINATE AND PERMANENTLY CONCEAL FACT THAT MARTIN EVER ENTERED COUNTRY. EXPECT NO SUPPORT OF THIS EFFORT OR LATER ACKNOWLEDGEMENT THAT YOU ARE ACTING IN OTHER THAN AN UNOFFICIAL REPEAT UNOFFICIAL CAPACITY AND IN DIRECT VIOLATION OF INTERNATIONAL LAW AND EXISTING POST-WAR AGREEMENTS. MOVE AT ONCE. EXPIDITE. ORDERS APPLY EQUALLY TO W. KANE. ACKNOWLEDGE.
The message had no signature. There were two meaningful groups of characters tacked on. One was RENAVSUBC, the other CONFREMB. These were codes indicating standby procedures for emergency evacuation and assistance. They were the only glimmers of light in the entire text. They told me that the president hadn’t written me off too. These letter groups meant that — assuming survival — I had a way out.
Even so, the message ended too abruptly to suit me.
I was left with a cold, empty feeling.
I had questions, but none about what had to do. In order to avert a crisis, Martin must be stopped at any cost. The cost to Martin for having taken the role of instigator and executioner was his own life. I was to be the instrument of death.
The presidential edict was both right and wrong.
When weighed in the balance, I could understand how the decision could only go one way.
Thirteen
For a while I toyed with the idea of bringing Colonel Jeleff in on the problem. Willow spoke out against it at once. Offsetting the aid that Jeleff’s underground railroad could provide was the question of his loyalty to Martin. It wasn’t Willow’s disapproval that changed my mind. She countered with a most practical alternative endorsed by Bu Chen. I became mildly enthusiastic as the plan evolved with Bu Chen becoming a major contributor to its success.
To get it underway, Ambassador Cavendish turned over to us an inconspicuous automobile maintained by Colonel Jeleff for his clandestine activities. He also emptied his office safe of banded stacks of paper bills in three national currencies, explaining that instructions received previously had given him the task of assembling money for our use. He made me sign a receipt for the lot.
Bu Chen drove the black, unmarked sedan through narrow back alleys and fingers of fog reaching inland from the harbor. The odor of sea salt and drying fish nets hung in the air. Bu Chen came to a halt next to a paint-scarred firedoor in a high, windowless brick wall. A dim, bare bulb glowed above the door. Bu Chen got out of the car and rapped on the door. He hunched his shoulders against the foggy chill and waited. A full minute passed. He used his knuckles again.
The door finally opened a crack. Bu Chen spoke rapidly, using a dialect that sounded like western Cantonese. The door opening widened and Bu Chen slipped inside. Willow pushed against me in the rear seat and shivered. I took her hand in mine and squeezed it.
Willow and I got out of the car. She stood close to me, shivering in the damp chill. I put my arm around her slim waist. She pressed against me. “We can do it, Nick,” she said. “I know we can.”
Bu Chen stuck his head out and beckoned for us to enter. We stepped inside. The huge, open space before me was a jungle growth of hanging ropes, dangling sandbags, curtains of canvas, spotlight rigging, ladders and catwalks. We were in the wings of a darkened theater looking out onto the stage. It was spooky. Left-on red footlights gave the cavernous space an eerie, satanical appearance. A heavy smell of burned incense intermixed with grease paint permeated the atmosphere. “It’s a kubuki theater,” whispered Willow identifying it immediately.
The centuries-old-looking Chinese man in a long, black garment standing next to Bu Chen bowed slowly from the waist when introduced to us. Willow returned the bow respectfully and addressed him as “grandfather.” His stoic face cracked into a snaggle-toothed smile upon hearing that and Willow’s Chinese name. The frail Oriental gentleman’s face immediately returned to it’s spiderwebbed, wrinkled state after the formal greeting. His eyes remained bright and twinkling in the red glow of the footlights. He kept his hands tucked inside the ends of his wide-cuffed sleeves madarin-fashion.
“I will leave you to Hong See,” Bu Chen said. “In the meantime, I will make the other arrangements. I will need money... any kind. I have ways of converting it to gold. Without gold, we have little hope of making any deals quickly.” I gave him the bundles from Ambassador Cavendish’s safe. Willow knew I had slight misgivings, but I was forced to put my trust in him. Bu Chen eased himself out into the alley. Willow threw the lock bolt on the door behind him.