The Einstein Papers (26 page)

“To the left,” the copilot of the helicopter shouted above the noise of the rotor blades as he spotted the flare.

Banking left, the helicopter came abreast of the cargo ship then hovered over its rear deck. The waves far out in the Gulf of Mexico were causing the Chinese cargo ship to roll from side to side. Matching the roll of the deck, the pilot touched the helicopter down on the deck of the cargo ship. The skids were quickly secured to the deck with chains by the crew and the loading began. Twenty minutes later, with the vat containing the microbes safely tied down in the cargo bay of the helicopter, the pilot lifted off and plotted his return course to Havana.

There the microbes would be transferred to a Chinese jet for the flight to Egypt.

The day had turned hot and sticky. A dog with mange rolled in the dirt, attempting to scratch his fur. In a rusty tin shack with dirt floors, George Butler scored some smack from a Mexican dealer he knew in Matamoros. He was itching to shoot up and make the pain go away. Instead he waited in line to cross back over the bridge into the United States. The loss of blood from the bullet wound was making his head spin. His face was a pasty white. His hand twitched as if he were afflicted by palsy.

A hundred feet away, across the bridge, in the United States, a border patrol agent finished his iced tea and touched his partner on the arm. “Let’s detain the next three Americans.”

“After that we go to dinner,” his partner insisted.

“Standard questions?”

“Sounds fair,” the partner agreed.

The first American passed the test with flying colors. A thin trickle of sweat rolled down George Butler’s neck as he approached the desk.

“Identification, please.”

Butler handed over a Texas driver’s license.

“Where are you from?” the border patrol agent inquired.

“Texas,” Butler said.

The agent glanced at the first three numbers of Butler’s social security number that were on the license. “Where originally?”

Butler had an outstanding warrant from Pueblo, Colorado, the town where he was raised. He decided to lie.

“Born and raised here in South Texas,” he said with enthusiasm, hoping a local boy might receive special treatment.

The agent glanced at the numbers again: 522. The card had been issued in Colorado.

“You need to come with me,” the agent said, leading Butler away to a private room.

Five minutes later the dog found the drugs.

The next afternoon the Chinese jet carrying the microbes touched down at an abandoned airport outside Al-Jizah, near Cairo. Two hundred American dollars in the hands of the right people was all the bribe it took to insure that the plane would not be disturbed. The vat of microbes was transferred to a waiting six-wheel-drive truck painted with the logo of an international oil field service company. Once the microbes were safely secured in the rear, the truck drove east and crossed the Khalij as-Suways and onto the Sinai Peninsula. On the ground the Chinese jet was refueled and began the long trip back to Beijing, no one the wiser.

At about the same time the truck carrying the microbes crossed near the Suez Canal and began its trek south down the Sinai Peninsula, George Butler was meeting with a public defender in the dank-smelling defendants’ room of the Federal Detention Facility in Brownsville, Texas.

“You get the prosecution to agree to a deferred sentence and I’ll give them the goods on a double murder,” said Butler.

The public defender was a twenty-seven-year-old Mexican-American who had worked in his position nearly three years. The ideological goals that had prompted him to take the job were long gone. The cynicism he felt would last a lifetime.

“The prosecution can’t and won’t deal on capital crimes,” the public defender said wearily.

“You don’t understand. I didn’t commit the murder,” Butler said as he bummed another of the public defender’s cigarettes. “Someone tried to kill me. I’m pretty sure they got my two partners.”

“What were you doing when this all took place?”

“Is anything I tell you confidential?”

“No, I’m an officer of the court,” the public defender said, growing wearier by the minute.

“Lets just say something is missing in McAllen,” Butler said quietly.

“Let me see what I can find out. Then I’ll see what I can do,” the public defender said, rising to leave.

“Can you leave me those cigarettes?” Butler asked.

The defender turned from the door as he waited for the guard to come and take Butler back to his cell. “Sure, Georgie boy. Smoke your lungs out.”

Two hours later, after he returned to his office, the public defender read a memo that had been sent from the McAllen Police Department. He picked up his phone and placed a call up the river.

The wheels of justice began to spin.

Tsing squeezed through the doors of the subway train as soon as they opened at the Astor Place Station, at Eighth Street. He raced up the stairs leading to ground level, clutching the pouch containing Einstein’s papers. Running across Eighth Street, he slipped into the Cooper Union just as a crowd of New York City police officers began pouring down the stairs to the Astor Place subway platform. The first of the officers to reach the platform found the train stopped. The doors were open and the inside of the train was already cleared of passengers.

Tsing walked through the Cooper Union building, then out the back, into Cooper Square. Since the Americans had successfully trailed him from Boston, Tsing reasoned, they would also be smart enough to be watching the Chinese Embassy closely. He would need to make his way to a different embassy, he thought. He searched his mind for a backup plan.

“He got away,” Taft explained to Benson over the secure phone as he stood on the Astor Place platform. “Do we have the phones tapped into the Chinese Embassy?”

“They’re tapped,” Benson noted, “but I doubt he’ll try to initiate contact.”

“He knows he’s being followed. If I were him, I’d make my way to a different embassy. What’s the next closest Chinese Embassy?” Taft asked.

“I already checked that out,” Benson said. “It’s here in Washington.”

“Let’s hope that’s what he decides to do,” said Taft.

“That would be my guess,” Benson said. “He is definitely not going to escape our net this time. I’m ordering a cocoon of men to cover the area near the embassy. Sharpshooters stationed on the roofs with orders to shoot the man on sight.”

“You’re going to order him killed?’ asked an incredulous Taft.

“No, the sharpshooters will be ordered to shoot for the legs,” Benson said quietly. “Just pray he doesn’t try to crawl for the entrance.”

Taft paused to think. “There’s nothing else we can achieve here in New York. Martinez and I should drive south. We’ll keep our eyes open for the courier,” Taft said wearily. “Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

“I’ll approve that. But when you arrive, if you haven’t located the courier, I want you two to take a break,” Benson said. “You’re not having much luck catching this guy. I think you’re too close to the situation.”

“Very good, sir,” Taft said as he hung up the phone.

Taft turned to Martinez, standing next to him on the platform. “The general’s not too happy with us. He wants to pull us from the search once we get back to Washington if we haven’t found this guy.”

“I guess that leaves us only one choice,” Martinez said. “We need to find him and redeem ourselves.”

“My idea exactly,” Taft said.

They left immediately, following the route they believed the courier would take.

Six hours later, after the fake oil-service truck carrying the microbes left Al-Jizah, Egypt, it passed At-Tur. The road the truck followed paralleled the Gulf of Suez since crossing onto the Sinai Peninsula. Within the next hour the truck would follow the road turning east briefly at the southern tip of the peninsula. Next the truck would head north along the Gulf of Aqaba before continuing on until reaching Dhahab. A scorpion darted onto the road, then retreated. Nervously twitching, it darted back onto the road just as the truck passed. Crushed by the truck’s tire, the scorpion was unceremoniously tossed to the side.

Chup ChoSing sat in the passenger seat and once again read the timetable Sun Tao had presented him before he left Beijing. “We are right on time,” he noted to the driver, who glanced at his watch and nodded.

“Once we round the tip it should take another three hours to reach Dhahab,” the driver said as he swerved to avoid a mound of sand that had blown onto the road.

“Then I will try to sleep,” ChoSing said as he scrunched down in his seat and pulled his hat over his eyes. “Wake me when we are close.”

In Beijing the sun was nearly below the horizon. Inside the prime minister’s office the light was growing dim. Sun Tao smiled across the desk.

“Just like we planned, our SPD agents inside Israel report they have the bombs in place. They are standing by to activate them at our command,” Tao said to the prime minister.

The prime minister nodded. “These oil-eating bugs, you are sure they will work?”

“We tested a small sample today. The results were horrifying. However, once they are in place two days from now, we’ll know for sure they will work on the reservoirs.”

“Your plan is outstanding. We blame the microbes in the oil on radical Israelis. Then the bombs we explode in Israel are blamed on Saudi retaliation,” the prime minister said quietly.

“Yes,” Tao said, “it would seem a flawless plan.”

“Quite brilliant. The war that ensues should draw the Americans to the region and allow us the opportunity to liberate Taiwan. After the liberation is complete and we have strengthened our position we can move against Vietnam and the rest of Southeast Asia.”

“We can be certain the Americans will rally their troops to protect their precious oil supply,” Tao agreed, “and that will leave the Asian region with a limited United States military presence. Our advisors feel they won’t try to stop us from liberating Taiwan unless they possess overwhelming force. It seems that for the last few years the Americans’ policy is never to fight a war they are not sure they can win.”

“All appears to favor our side,” the prime minister agreed. “Have we heard from the courier who holds the Einstein papers yet?”

“Not yet. Our embassy in New York reported they were being closely watched by American agents,” Tao noted.

“Those papers are the key to our ultimate success.”

“I’m sure our courier Tsing realized the New York embassy was being watched and diverted to his alternate plan.”

“The alternate location is Washington, D.C.,” the prime minister noted. “Do we have a ship in place to facilitate the delivery of the papers and the couriers escape?”

“I have already taken care of it,” Tao noted.

“The time will be tight,” the prime minister noted. “October 1st is fast approaching.”

In the Middle East, three hours and twenty minutes later, the truck carrying the microbes pulled to a stop in front of a large canvas tent that was erected on the sands outside Dhahab. The air was tinder dry. The night sky was a black carpet dotted with the twinkling lights from thousands of stars overhead. From outside the tent the fuel oil lanterns lighting the inside of the tent made it appear to be glowing. On Chou-Sing’s orders, several men raised the flaps of the tent and the truck containing the microbes drove inside. ChoSing motioned to the man in charge of the operation in Dhahab. “Remove the vat from the rear of the truck, then begin to fill the smaller tanks as planned.”

The foreman shouted instructions to his helpers to begin the work then followed ChoSing to a cooler of water nearby. He waited as ChoSing drank.

“Have you arranged the boat to carry us across the gulf?” ChoSing asked when he had finished and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth.

“Yes,” the man said and the noise from a generator arose. This was followed by the sound of an air compressor filling its reservoir.

ChoSing nodded, then walked over to watch the operation in progress. A pile of stainless-steel tanks lay in one corner of the tent. The tops of the tanks were threaded and contained a valve stem that had been welded in place. After the men unscrewed the tops of the tanks, the microbes, which were suspended in a gray-green viscous fluid, were added until they reached a mark inside the tanks. Next the caps were screwed back on and the mixture pressurized with air from the compressor. As soon as the tanks were filled, they were reloaded in the rear of the six-wheeled truck.

Forty minutes later the flaps of the tent were pulled back and the truck drove to the water to meet the ferry boat that would transport it across the Gulf of Aqaba. Three hours later ChoSing and the truck were inside Saudi Arabia, driving toward the oil fields. The deadly cargo of microbes was reaching the end of its long journey.

Benson glanced across his desk at Taft and Martinez. “I have the embassy covered,” he reiterated. “You two are to resume doing the system check with the contractor in Potomac Beach. He has scheduled a test for tomorrow afternoon.”

“That hardly seems fair,” Martinez said. “John has been on this since the beginning. If he hadn’t brought Li Choi out of China and then discovered Einstein’s boat we’d already be screwed.”

“Thanks, Larry,” Taft said, smiling. “I had no idea you felt this way about me.”

“No problem,” Martinez said.

“You two cut the Heckel and Jeckel routine,” Benson said. “It’s time you took a break. I want you to go home and get some rest. And you, Taft, I want you to shave.”

“But-” Taft started to say.

“No buts. Get out of my office and go home,” Benson said in a voice that defied argument.

With the meeting obviously at an impasse, Taft and Martinez glanced at one another, then rose from their chairs simultaneously. “Very good, sir,” Taft said as the pair began walking toward the door.

Closing the door to Benson’s office behind them, they walked down the hall to the elevator. Taft rubbed the stubble on his face with the palm of his hand.