The Patriot Threat (18 page)

“Okay, stay with it. But another agency is about to be involved.”

And she knew who. “The Magellan Billet?”

“That’s right. You’re all Treasury has there, Isabella. This has to be contained. Do what you have to do.”

The call ended.

Damn, she’d screwed up bad. But where before it was just Larks and Kim, now an assortment of new characters had entered the field. Too many for her to know for certain who was who, or what was what. She was flying blind, and that was never a good thing. Perfection. That’s what her boss wanted and that’s what she’d deliver.

Her father and grandfather had both worked for the FBI, her grandfather as one of Hoover’s trusted assistants. Law enforcement coursed through her veins. She could think of nothing she’d rather do with her life. That was one reason why she remained unmarried. Men had never interested her, and she wondered if that might be more significant. But women carried no fascination, either. Work, that was her aphrodisiac. Her record with Treasury stood unblemished, her arrest and conviction rate superb. She’d investigated major bank fraud, embezzlements, government corruption, and countless tax evaders. Many Treasury agents were CPAs and dealt more with accounting. Her training was all law enforcement. The old-fashioned kind. Legwork and brains, working together. That’s what her father taught her.

She was thirty-six, but looked older, which she actually liked. She worked long and hard and had been fortunate. People envied her, that she knew. Since day one she’d felt a pressure to succeed, and the results spoke for themselves. Some of the biggest tax evaders in U.S. history went down thanks to her. A few years ago she gathered most of the damaging evidence in the massive United Bank of Switzerland debacle, which led to sweeping changes in Swiss bank secrecy. No mistakes there. That operation ran perfectly. She hated people who cheated the government. To her tax evasion was a form of treason. Government existed to protect the people, and the people owed their allegiance. To violate that trust, to steal from it, was tantamount to declaring war.
Right is right,
her grandfather would say. That it was. When he retired, J. Edgar Hoover himself was there to shake her grandfather’s hand. A photo of that moment hung in her office back in DC. One day, when her time was done, a president might congratulate her in the same way.

“I’m sorry I let you down,” she whispered to her grandfather, who died before she was born.

She grabbed hold of herself and tried not to be agitated.

Across the building she caught sight of a younger man dressed in low-slung jeans, a collarless black shirt, and a pale jacket. He moved with the sinewy ease of an athlete and approached one of the Italian customs officials, flashing a badge. He was maybe late twenties, blond hair cut short, but shaggy on the edges, the face clean-shaven and warmed by a wide, toothy smile. He had a military look about him and was trying to gain entrance to the terminal, but the guard resisted. Eventually, though, he managed to make his way inside. Definitely American, and from the way he strutted in those boots, the Southern variety. Maybe even a little redneck. She knew the species, an odd offshoot of the American male.

The newcomer walked straight toward her.

“Ms. Schaefer,” he called out. “I’m Luke Daniels.”

“Is that supposed to mean something?”

He chuckled. “I see the reports were correct. You’ve got an attitude.”

She’d heard the talk about her. Twenty-two partners in eleven years. None stayed long, but none of them cared like she did, either. “What kind of badge were you flashing over there?”

“The kind that can save your ass.”

Interesting answer. Okay. He had her attention.

“I saw your cannonball earlier,” he said. “It was Anan Wayne Howell who shoved you.”

Now he commanded her full attention.

“I know where Anan Wayne Howell is right now.”

She said, “He’s the least of my concerns.”

“Actually, he’s the only lead you’ve got. Everybody else is gone.”

Intuitive, she’d give him that. But he could also be bluffing.

“I can point you the right way,” he said. “But it’ll cost you.”

To the Southern charm he added a grin, which annoyed her. But she kept her feelings to herself and asked, “Who has the pleasure of employing you?”

“Is that charm? I didn’t expect it. I’m told you’re not the most likable type.”

“Maybe I’m just choosy.”

“Or maybe there’s another word for it, but I don’t want to start off on the wrong foot. I myself don’t ever buy the peaches at the top of the bin. Too many hands on them. The ones down deep are always much firmer.”

What she liked was that he wasn’t throwing his weight around. He clearly held the upper hand, and seemed to know her predicament. But he wasn’t cocky or arrogant. Instead, he seemed genuinely interested in making a deal. Which made her wonder how much this guy knew. Or was part of his job to find out what he could from her?

“You still haven’t answered my question,” she said. “Who do you work for?”

“Magellan Billet.”

No surprise. But they did move fast.

“Are you with Malone?” she asked.

“I’m afraid I do have to claim him.”

“He didn’t go home, did he?”

He shook his head. “That dog simply does not take commands.”

“What’s the price I have to pay for learning Howell’s whereabouts?”

“I want to know what’s going on. Exactly, with no bullshit. Otherwise, you can fend for yourself. But I will tell you, you’re never going to find anything without me. It’s all flown the coop.”

She thought she could provide enough to satisfy this cowboy without jeopardizing a thing. So she said, “Do you know the name Haym Salomon?”

He shook his head.

So she told him all about a debt that now totaled in the hundreds of billions of dollars.

“Is that what’s in the black satchel?” he asked when she finished. “Proof of an old IOU?”

She nodded. “An expensive IOU.”

Then she waited.

It was his turn to tell her things.

TWENTY-SIX

V
IRGINIA

Stephanie tried to recall anything she knew about the Chinese ambassador. He was born to humble roots, but rose to earn a doctorate in economics. His father had been a low-ranking government official who insisted that his son become something more. Ambition, along with capitalism, had made steady inroads into Chinese culture. She’d read reports where this diplomat had been described as both sharp-tongued and quick-witted. But it had also been noted that he never challenged the communist central authority on any issue. Which, more than anything else, explained why he was here. To be given the coveted post of ambassador to the United States, a long way from the eyes and ears of Beijing, meant that he was trusted beyond measure.

Relations with China had definitely warmed since the selection of Ni Yong as its new leader. She, Malone, and Danny Daniels had played a key role in that ascension. But the country remained a perplexing tapestry of ancient customs and dark secrets. As far as she could recall, this was the first time Danny had ever sat face-to-face with this ambassador. If he had, no briefing report of any meeting had ever been circulated, which was standard procedure when a place like China was involved. For the ambassador to first agree to such a meeting, then travel from DC in the middle of the night to a stranger’s home, showed clearly the level of importance.

Introductions were made, then Danny said, “I appreciate you coming tonight. From your call yesterday, it appears we have a mutual problem.”

“Forgive me, Mr. President, but I asked to speak with you alone.”

“Your message said that you have information about North Korea and Kim Yong Jin. This lady is knee-deep into that problem, so she needs to hear what you have to say. She’ll be the one dealing with it on my end, and time is short.”

The ambassador considered the situation, then seemed to concede the point and said, “I agree, time is short. For the past month we’ve been noticing an alarming amount of talk from North Korea about Kim Yong Jin. There are people there nearly panicked over him.”

“We’ve picked up the same chatter,” the president said. “And I imagine the reason you’re here is because they also discussed your country.”

The ambassador nodded. “North Korea has always been a source of contention for us. We try to help—they are, after all, our neighbor. But it is a place reason seems to avoid.”

Danny chuckled. “That’s a mild way of putting it. At least your two countries are allies. They hate us. So why are your people so concerned?”

“Our relationship with Pyongyang has not been the same since we acknowledged the world sanctions.”

The United Nations had long imposed penalties against North Korea for its nuclear testing. The country was without a doubt developing a bomb, and no one thought that would be a good idea. A few months ago China had finally joined the economic sanctions, providing further evidence of a change in its political direction.

“I am aware,” the ambassador said, “of my premier’s great respect for you. I am here on his direct order. Our joining the world sanctions was something North Korea clearly did not expect. Their Dear Leader has made it known that he is not happy with us. But of course he can push only so far, as without us he truly has nothing. We are his only route of trade remaining.”

She’d read the confidential CIA analysis. The Chinese had signed off on international sanctions to appease the world, but had continued quietly to supply North Korea with food, medicine, and manufactured goods.

“We have also loaned North Korea money,” the ambassador said. “Dear Leader fashions himself a great builder. He has erected amusement parks, apartment blocks, even a ski resort. We recently provided him $300 million U.S. for a new bridge across the Yalu River. Money has also been advanced for highways and rail links. We believe that it is in everyone’s interest to keep that country stable.”

“Not to mention the mining concessions you obtained for magnesite, zinc, and iron.”

She was impressed with the president’s depth of knowledge. Say what you want, but he was no fool.

“Trade runs the world,” the ambassador said. “We need to receive something for all our generosity.”

The president smiled. “Again, why the concern? Seems like you own Dear Leader lock, stock, and barrel. What’s the problem?”

“Kim Yong Jin has no such loyalty to us.”

A valid point. But she said, “Mr. Ambassador, Kim is hardly in a position to do anyone much harm. From all reports he drinks too much, gambles incessantly, and is more interested in women than politics. He’s been gone from North Korea since his father died, which was twelve years ago. He’s a nonplayer. What could he effectively accomplish?”

“We believe he is intent on deposing his half brother, proving to his dead father, and himself, that he is not—as he was labeled—
incapable
.”

“But he would have to have the means to accomplish that,” she said. “Which he hardly possesses.”

“We are not so sure about that. And that is why I came here tonight. I need to ask a question, one we have not been able to answer. The premier is hoping that you will be open and honest with your reply.”

She and Danny waited.

“What is it from your past that so interests Kim Yong Jin? We know from our intercepts that Kim has been in communication with a former official from your Treasury Department, Paul Larks, and a fugitive from your courts, a man named Anan Wayne Howell. They talk of a great fraud and injustice from your past. What is this?”

Stephanie would love to know the answer to that question, too.

“I can only say, Mr. Ambassador,” Danny said, “that there may be something that could cause us all trouble. I was not fully aware of it until the past few days. So it’s impossible for me to provide any concrete details, at least at this time.”

“You can offer nothing?”

“Not right now.”

But she wondered just how much Danny really knew.

“It clearly appears Kim is staging a comeback,” the ambassador said. “He wants his half brother gone and his birthright restored. To do that he apparently plans to harm both the United States and China. He aims high, that I will give him. If successful, he would achieve what no Kim has ever managed—a clear victory over us both.”

She heard the apprehension in the ambassador’s voice as he continued to fish for information.

“Here’s something I can tell you,” the president said. “A few hours ago Kim tried to steal twenty million dollars. It was money generated by an insurance fraud scheme, sent to Dear Leader each year on his birthday. We were there, watching, but the money was destroyed in a helicopter crash. All of that happened in Venice. Kim is there, right now, with Howell, that fugitive you mentioned.”

“And the former Treasury official. Larks. Who is dead,” the ambassador said, a clear signal that the other side was not entirely in the dark. Stephanie herself had only learned that information a couple of hours ago, thanks to a second call from Luke Daniels.

“We have people on site,” the ambassador said. “It seems Larks’ body was found in his cabin. No cause of death was immediately known.”

“What people do you have there?” the president asked.

She wanted to know that, too, since they could prove a problem. Danny was performing at his best, winging things, making it up as he went along. He was part Lyndon Johnson, with his deep voice and strong-arm tactics—part Bill Clinton in Southern charm and disarming looks. Congressmen had complained for years at their inability to tell him no. He adhered to a tried-and-true formula. Reward your friends and punish your enemies.

And that he did, with a vengeance.

The question of the night, though, was which side China fell on.

“You’re going to take Kim out, aren’t you?” Danny asked.

“Not us. But Pyongyang has a different agenda. They are simply waiting for Kim to find whatever it is. Then they plan to claim it for themselves.”

“And use it to coerce us both.”

The ambassador nodded. “Now you realize the extent of our
mutual
problem. Regardless of who wins this fight between the Korean brothers, the two of us remain in jeopardy.”