The Italian Mission (37 page)

Mobley and Jill sat in front of the flat-screen television transfixed by the pictures from Tibet.

“What the hell is going on?” McCullough barged into the office, but Mobley was too engrossed to be ticked off.

“Potala Palace,” Jill said. “The rebels are marching out. Can’t be sure, but I think that’s the Panchen Lama in the lead, the one with the yellow scarf.”

“No shit?” McCullough said under his breath as he sat down on the arm of the massive sofa. “So your boy Conti pulled it off, huh?”

“Looks like maybe he did,” Jill answered in a soft voice.

“Not necessarily,” Mobley said. He’d gone back to his desk and was focused on a computer screen. “Our guys are monitoring the command frequencies in Lhasa. The launch has been delayed, but not countermanded.”

The phone rang in Wang’s office at 4:57 a.m.

“Aren’t you going to answer it?” Leong asked.

“No need. The order has been given. Three minutes and there will be no more Potala Palace, and no more Tibetan independence movement.” Wang allowed himself a wan, half smile.

“If you won’t answer it, I will.” Leong took a step toward the phone.

“Stop!” Wang raised his revolver again.

“Go ahead, answer it, Comrade Leong.” The voice came from behind Wang, and he spun around to see Old Li standing in the doorway. Behind him were two guards, guns trained on Wang.

Leong answered the phone. “Comrade Wang is currently incapacitated. This is Minister Leong Shi-Fa. On behalf of the Steering Committee, I order you to stop any offensive actions against the Tibetan rebels or the Potala Palace at once. Do not launch the rockets. Repeat. Do not launch the rockets.”

Three shots rang out, deafening everyone in the office. Two bullets hit Wang in the chest, but one from his own revolver had already penetrated his temple.

Epilogue

“I didn’t know there was a St. Regis hotel in Lhasa,” Jill said. “Who do you think you are? James Bond? Holed up in the fancy hotel with a young blonde and a dry martini?”

“No blonde, no martini, but they do make a damn good Bloody Mary. As to the fancy hotel, I think I’ve earned twenty-four hours of uninterrupted sleep in a king-size bed.”

“I suppose so. Where’s the young Lama?”

“In the room next door — on the phone with the Dalai Lama. Apparently, the old man has recovered from his pneumonia, and is lounging in a recovery room at Cedars Sinai.”

“What are they talking about?”

“Strategy. The Dalai Lama is explaining the ‘Middle Way,’ a plan he’s been advocating for decades — limited autonomy for Tibet, an elected legislature, constitutional protection for religion and language. All of it under the Chinese umbrella. Sort of like Scotland or Quebec.”

“Do you think he has a chance of getting any of it?”

Conti took a long swallow of the bloody Mary, and munched on a room service French fry. “Maybe. Hard to tell. He should be able to get something significant. The monks are feeling their oats. They believe the Panchen Lama was freed because of their demonstrations. Hopefully, the leadership in Beijing also learned a lesson about the strength of will of the Tibetan people. What’s the betting back in Langley?

“Similar. The changes in the Central Committee should help. Wang not only took himself out, but several of his hard line allies are in trouble too. There will be a major realignment at the next Party Congress. The economic development faction will come out on top. They’re more interested in natural resources and water development than ideology. For that, they need peace. So, maybe there will be progress. That is, if the Tibetans have a good negotiator. Speaking of which, what are your plans?

“The Panchen Lama has asked me to stay and help him. I told him I would. Of course, I’ll need to resign from State, but I didn’t love that job anyway.”

“Will the Tibetans pay you?”

“Doesn’t really matter. I spoke with my mother this morning. Fiat has decided that the family estate outside Milan is the perfect place to build their new electric vehicles. So …”

“So, you’ll be rich again.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

There was a moment’s hesitation, before Jill went on in a subdued tone. “Then I guess you won’t be moving back to the States anytime soon?”

“No. There’ll be too much for me to do here and in Italy for the next few years. That’s probably a relief to the Agency, huh? They won’t have Conti to kick around anymore.”

“Not true. Your stock is pretty high in Langley. Mobley may be an old curmudgeon, but he knows ability when he sees it. He’d hire you back in a minute. And he’s in tight with the Administration because the Chinese are happy. So he has
carte blanche
, at least for the next few months.”

“How about you, Jill?”

“Oh, the era of good feelings extends to me too. Promotion, bigger office, more staff, all that. And I’m leading a new policy initiative.”

“What?”

“Figure out what all these security consultants are doing, which ones are worthwhile, and prune away the rest. Mobley realizes you were right. Too often we pay them to get in the way. And when we lay them off, the mercenary life tempts them — all dressed up in fatigues with no place to go.”

“Everything seems to be working out perfectly.”

Jill hesitated a moment. “Everything?”

“Maybe not everything. But I have an idea how we could make it better.”

“Yes?”

“What’s halfway between Washington and Lhasa?”

“The middle of the Mediterranean. Fish, mostly.”

“What if you go the other way around the world?”

“I don’t know. Somewhere in the South Pacific?”

“And you call yourself Director of East Asian affairs?”

Jill laughed. “O.K., smart ass. What is halfway?”

“Well, it’s not exactly halfway, but I’ve always wanted a place in Maui. You know, grow coffee, wear a Panama hat, sit on the veranda drinking some sickeningly sweet rum drink. Now that I’m in the chips, I’m thinking about taking the plunge. If …?”

“Yes?”

“If you’d promise to visit on a regular basis.”

“That could be arranged.”

“Good. We’ll call it our Middle Way.”

The End

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I’d like to thank Diane Capri for all the ways she’s helped me learn to be a writer. Marcia Ferraiolo, Amy Veroff, and Howard and Gayle Mayson for previewing the book. Retired Ambassador David Litt and Beatrice for their thoughtful comments. Susan Edwards and Danielle Blanchard for their invaluable assistance. Don for his name. My wife, Carolyn, for her careful editing and loving support. Of course, any mistakes of fact or judgment are my own.