Sea of Lies: An Espionage Thriller (69 page)

“At a minimum, we need two things.” Coulter slowed his cadence and counted on the fingers of the hand holding the beer can. “One, confirmation as to which of the sites identified on my maps are central to Iran’s current program. And two, enough information about their nuclear weapons progress to convince those who author our National Intelligence Estimates that it’s still not too late to destroy it via conventional munitions. Better to fight the Iranians now than find ourselves in a nuclear showdown in three years’ time. Or worse, awake one morning to find that Israel no longer exists, or a suitcase nuke obliterated Beverly Hills.”

Johnson decided sympathy was in order. “Sounds like you’ve spent the better part of ten years on this operation.”

Wollam returned to the campfire and spoke up. “Oh, mate, you have no idea. Deputy Dog has been smarting about Iran for nigh on thirty years. Go ahead, Frank, tell us about how Iran-Contra set your career back a decade. ADDCO Coulter has had a special place in his heart for our Persian brothers for a long time.”

Coulter stretched and flexed his upper body. “I’m off to bed now and will set the alarm for 02:00 hours. Don’t start without me. I know what’s going on in several places on the marked map I passed across earlier today. What he has to say about these various sites will be very informative. For our Iranian friend’s sake, he’d better talk straight.”

Johnson said, “I could use a couple of hours of downtime as well.”

Wollam said, “Don’t you two sleeping beauties worry. I’ll sort out the midnight force-feeding and a sunrise wake-up call for our new friends up on the Mitchell Plateau. It seems that none other than Bob Nolan has hijacked the same Harcourt Aviation jet that put down here early Monday. Our lives just got simpler. Goodnight, all.”

*  *  *  *  *

“I don’t know what happens next any more than I did when we were on the way here,” Nolan said. Nishimoto and Jenkins dropped their jackets and took off their shoes. It was warm in the cabin despite the midnight hour.

“Why didn’t the F-18s force us down in Singapore?” Jenkins asked.

From the look on Nishimoto’s face, Nolan knew the captain had answered this one already. Everyone was blood-tired and bone-weary. Nolan reiterated his earlier theory. “Since the US let us fly past, either the CIA is involved at the highest levels and wants us here, where we can easily be made to disappear, or there are honest people in the Agency who are trying to find out what’s really happening. They let us go to track us to this spot, and then they’ll come in.”

“And how will we know which version is true?” Kaili asked.

“Tomorrow morning, if Australia Army, drug enforcement or regular police units arrive at Truscott, it will be good news. If it’s the interrogation center staff or their counterparts in the ASIS, or even the ASIO, that’s bad for me.”

Looking at Kaili, Nolan continued, “Regardless of who shows up, you claim diplomatic immunity and ask for the embassy. I assume your call earlier was along those lines.” Kaili remained silent, but flushed and looked away to give him a left profile and some curves.

“What in the hell is out here?” asked Nishimoto.

“I can tell you that in the thousands of pages of classified materials I’ve seen over thirty years, the two most secretive places in the CIA canon are the Midwest Depot and the Lizard Cage. The Midwest Depot holds the weapons trove that our covert community uses to fuel rebellions against adversaries. Those unmarked AK-47s, RPGs and 7.62 ammo boxes have to be stored somewhere, and that’s the Midwest Depot. Where it is, I don’t know, but I have my suspicions.

“The Lizard Cage dates from the late 1960s. It’s where the CIA processed the highest-value detainees captured as part of the Phoenix Program and its successor. The Lizard Cage officially closed when the US folded the Saigon tent in 1974. I joined the CIA in 1981 and had
Top Secret
clearance by 1985. Right away I saw references to the Lizard Cage, so it was still chugging along. Right now it may be the last operational post-9/11 off-the-books interrogation center. Maybe it was decommissioned officially, and recently resurrected by whoever ran the MH370 hijacking. The Lizard Cage is either underground here at Truscott Field, or it’s nearby.”

Nolan was so tired he’d developed mild vertigo. He focused on Nishimoto’s face and soldiered on. “We landed over an hour ago, and no one knocked. I think the captain is right and it’s a short chopper flight from here. The Lizard Cage is where the person or people who came off MH370 are being questioned. Everyone else who was on that plane is dead.”

He shifted his view and held Nishimoto’s gaze. “If you didn’t land the G550 in Burma on Saturday night, where did you pick up the people and cargo?”

“At dusk Saturday night, we landed at Krabi island, just north of Phuket, Thailand. Around six on Sunday morning, a white Citation with a gold elephant’s head on the vertical stabilizer landed. Two men deplaned, one hooded and cuffed. The other was Chinese, wearing a suit. He led the other man onto my Gulfstream. We also transferred many millions of dollars in cash. We sat in Krabi for six hours while we waited for a flight plan. We fiddled our thumbs and finally received ATC clearance for takeoff. As you know, we landed here Sunday night. Armed men in uniform without insignia took the two passengers off the plane, and the money out of the luggage hold. That was quite a sight: clear poly bags full of bundles of hundred dollar bills. Less than a half-hour later, Darwin ATC gave us permission to take off even though we were on a manually-lit runway. I cleared a flight plan into Broome where we refueled and slept. On Tuesday, we flew to Dubai direct and were awaiting instructions when your Adam Birch charter came through. Wednesday we turned around and flew to Singapore, where we picked you two up at Seletar Airport.”

“And what was the name of your client for all this?” Nolan asked, heart aflutter.

Jenkins and Nishimoto looked at one another. Jenkins shrugged. Nishimoto spoke. “Consultants International, which we know from past charters is a CIA front.”

“Well, I’ll be damned.”

“What does that mean?” Kaili asked.

“It means there’s likely to be trouble. That’s the same CIA proprietary that chartered the
SS Bandana
, the container ship that had the nuclear centrifuge aboard. It’s a black company to be certain. The only question is whether rogues or regular CIA staff run it. I’m guessing bandits.”

He turned to Kaili and said, “If you can stand a night outside on your own, you should find a place to hide. An old building. Even an outcropping of rock. When it gets light, all hell will break loose. No one needs to know you’re here. And once whatever happens occurs, you can come back to the plane and either radio for help, or else have these two gentlemen fly you out.”

“That is a kind offer, but I have to find out what happened to my countrymen and punish those responsible.”

“Suit yourself. Let’s all try to get some sleep. I don’t think we need to take turns at sentry duty. We’ll be outgunned by anyone carrying more than a spear.”

Jenkins piped up, “I’ll pull down bedding, blankets and pillows if anyone wants to join me stretched out in the aisle. I find it more comfortable than those seats.”

“I doubt if I’ll be sleeping much,” Nolan said, “but if you have any water I’ll wash down whatever painkillers you have on board.” Before they turned the lights out, he passed one of his dark email addresses to Kaili. “If we get separated, email me here, and use
Ocean of Deceit
to place and interpret personals ads headlined ‘Numerology for Babylonians’ in the
Asian Wall Street Journal.
I don’t want to lose touch with you if we’re separated.”

“We’re only as good as the promises we keep,” she said, staring into his eyes.

*  *  *  *  *

They were at Walgreens, with the Brown Turd (as McGirty had inelegantly dubbed Jen’s beater) parked out back under cover. Big Duck picked out the Miss Clairol Platinum Blond dye. The problem with being Eurasian, Bert mused, was that if you dyed your hair anything other than black, you looked like a Japanese Shinjuku punk. Fuck it. He’d shave his head. He’d been nearly bald in the Singapore Commandos, and was surprised to find that girls dug the look.

Bert pushed a cart groaning under protein powder, amino acids and energy bars. A pair of dressmaker’s scissors, new tee shirts, electric hair clippers and basic toiletries rounded out the mix. It was barely nine, but already the temp was in the high seventies. He paid cash, and they carried their booty around the corner.

While they were driving back to the Travelodge, Michael turned serious. “Once we’ve had our shakes and some sleep, we’ll need to put in the paperwork for the IDs. I’ll buy a phone with a decent camera for headshots, and you’ll need to score a laptop so I can log in to NuYu. What’s the plan, exactly? We’re going to drive up to this big swinging dick’s house, knock on the door, kidnap his family and then what? Call him collect on his cell and tell him to be nice to Bob? I thought you were pissed off at your dad anyway. So why don’t we head to Mexico instead? Or at least Salinas? Hide out and bank some NuYu cash until things settle down. Make a fresh start.”

“Jesus Christ, Big Duck, all of that is giving me a headache. Slow down and take a breath. Let’s go over it one complaint at a time.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

BLITZKRIEG

FRIDAY MARCH 14, REDDING, CALIFORNIA; SATURDAY MARCH 15, EINME, BURMA; BEIJING; SINGAPORE

When the gray SUV with the menacing antennae poking out of the roof pulled out of the clinic’s parking lot, the driver called a cell phone number, a small charge ignited and the can of gas blew out the back windows. The flames were above the roof before they drove out of sight, illuminating a dark sky. Teller’s remnant mercenary detail couldn’t understand why the clinic had been abandoned. Well, except for that old white man in the back room with the bandaged arm. Two in the head took care of him.

They headed back to Rangoon for the last piece of unfinished business.

*  *  *  *  *

McGirty’s pillow hit Bert in the face, making his nose throb. “Goddamnit, what was that for?” young Nolan demanded. He sat up. Their room smelled of disinfectant and was pitch-black behind heavy curtains. McGirty swept those open, sunshine temporarily blinding them both.

“It’s one in the afternoon. You told me to wake you up at one. Given how loud you were snoring, I’m surprised the people next door didn’t hammer on the wall.”

“I’m tired. Let’s get some milk for our protein powder and figure out next steps.”

“Well, Mr. FBI’s Most Wanted, let me start by suggesting that we cut and dye our hair—my hair, anyway, since you’re doing the full Dwayne Johnson—before we leave the room. As long as there’s someone new on reception when we leave, no one will notice we look different. Next we buy a notebook, phones and prepaid cards so we can get online. We grab groceries for lunch, and come back here for a photo session. I’ll get our details into NuYu, you can check your secret email and we can head on up the road to Weaverville.”

“That’s a start, but we have to do some other things, too.”

“Such as?”

“Such as buying clothes, hiking boots, break-in tools, and a kidnapping kit. Then figure out where the hell Coulter’s wife works and lives.”

“A
kidnapping kit
? What, they sell them at Staples?

Bert swung McGirty’s pillow and would have smashed his face had Big Duck not parried the blow with an upraised arm. Bert was out of bed and headed to the bathroom. He needed a shower and two shaves.

*  *  *  *  *

General Yao left the room where he’d just finished conferring with his fellow joint chiefs. President Gao had declined the offer to sit in and instead was in deep discussion with his flunky Yi Xiubao.

Yao approached the two men less deferentially than usual, in keeping with the weight of his words. “Comrade President, we are now certain that the NGA image processing servers are back online. Though it’s still night  in Asia, the US will be analyzing yesterday’s backlog of photos from a day of clear weather across China. That President Obama hasn’t called back suggests that the Americans are preparing to strike rather than negotiate further.”

“General Yao, didn’t the Americans reduce their readiness level to DEFCON 2 as a consequence of my talk with Obama?”

“Yes, Comrade, but that was based on your assurances that China’s military was on a peacetime footing. Those photographs prove otherwise. Even
Dolphin’s
falsified data feeds won’t deceive them this time.”

“And what do you and the joint chiefs recommend, General?”

“Don’t fire the anti-ship ballistic missiles, sir. Take the missiles off their launch sites immediately. Pull back the warships to no closer than one hundred twenty miles from the Diaoyus so there’s no possibility of accidental conflict with the US Navy. Ground our military aircraft save for surveillance and electronic warfare flights. Put our defenses on the highest level of alert to make certain there aren’t any strategic bombers flying on mainland targets.”

He’d heard enough. “General, many times you’ve assured me that China’s air defenses were adequate to repel US heavy bombers. This is now no longer the case?”

“It is the
likely
outcome, Mr. President, but it’s not the only possible outcome. Why don’t we ask the UN to get involved in mediating a peaceful solution to the Diaoyus incursion?”

“Because I’m not interested in the Diaoyu Islands! I don’t care if Japan gets them back. In fact, I will
give
them back and let them pay the oil and gas exploration expenses. There’s plenty of time to take these islands again in the future if there are meaningful reserves. The US Pacific Fleet must be forced to withdraw from China’s coastal zones. The countries of East Asia—starting with Japan—must acknowledge China as the single superpower in the Pacific.
That is what
Polar Bear
is all about.
And now, on the cusp of success, you lose your nerve? I want your resignation! You disgust me.”