Hong Kong (18 page)

"Here, if that's okay with you?"

"Here it is. Have a seat and let me talk to the secretary."

In a few minutes Cole was back. He sat in one of the black leather guest chairs beside Jake.

"I guess I should have leveled with you last night," Jake said. "I'm here on official business. A lot of Washington bigwigs are getting nervous about the situation in Hong Kong. More to the point, they are getting nervous about China Bob Chan and your relationship to him. They managed to talk the White House into sending me over here to talk to you, see what I can find out, and report back."

A look of puzzlement crossed Cole's face. "Why you?"

"Someone found out that we flew together way back when, the politicians are embarrassed about China Bob, I was getting on a four-star's nerves at the Pentagon, someone with some stroke at the National Security Council thinks I can work miracles. It all happened at once, so here I am."

"Uh-huh."

"When this trip got suggested, I initially said no. Then Callie was asked to do the culture conference, sort of as a cover...." He shrugged.

"Ask your questions."

"Are you or your friends having me followed around town?"

"You're being followed?"

"Two men followed me here this morning. Presumably they're outside somewhere, waiting for me to come out."

Cole looked genuinely surprised. "Jake, I have no idea."

"I guess it all boils down to this: Are you or are you not a member f a conspiracy to overthrow the government of China?"

Cole whistled. "Jesus! You flew all the way over here from Washington to ask me that question?"

Jake Grafton scratched his head. "Well, I think the folks in Wash-

neton expected me to be a bit more circumspect, but, essentially, yeah.

If the answer to that question is no, the next question is, Have you

ever given advice or anything of value to anyone whose goal is the

overthrow of the government of China?"

Cole pinched his nose, looked at Grafton, and grinned. The grin started slowly and spread. Jake knew he didn't grin often.

Finally Cole broke into a laugh. He was still chuckling when the secretary came in with a tray. On the tray were two bowls of soup, several sandwiches, and a couple cans of Coke. Tiger Cole's face returned to its normal detached expression. As the man left the room the consul general muttered, "I always serve American drinks to guests. Today is Coke day. Tomorrow is Pepsi."

Cole tasted the soup. "You are a rare piece of work, Grafton. When they taught you to go straight for a target way back when, you learned the lesson well."

Jake tried the soup himself. It was something Chinese, a watery vegetable, okay but nothing to write home about. No crackers in sight. He popped the can of Coke and took a sip. At least the drink was cold.

Cole pointed his spoon at Jake, then decided to use the spoon on the soup. Once a chuckle escaped him.

They ate in silence. Finally Cole finished soup and sandwich and leaned back in his chair to sip on the soft drink.

Do you know how ironic this is, that of all the people on this planet, ou, Jake Grafton, are the one who comes flying out of my past to ask about my future."

I haven't asked about the future," Jake shot back. "It's the present the weenies in Washington are worried about."

"Ah, yes. The present."

-ole walked around the desk and stood at the window looking out. -ouldn t see much, merely a gloomy forest of skyscrapers with glass
^s
'des on a dreary, rainy day.

"This warm front is supposed to get out of here tonight," he said. "The next three or four days will be bright and sunny."

"Uh-huh." Grafton finished his Coke and set the empty can on the tray along with the dirty dishes.

Cole returned to the desk, sat in his regular chair, folded his arms on the desk, and looked Jake Grafton in the eye. "Some ground rules. We'll play this game my way or not at all."

Grafton adjusted his position in his chair. "What are the rules?"

"I'll answer your questions completely, frankly, truthfully, but you can't tell a living soul for one week."

Jake thought about that. "The problem," he said after a bit, "is that you are in the diplomatic service of the United States. If a private citizen wants to saddle up and ride off to a revolution, that's between him and whoever is running the universe this week. If a diplomat does it, that's a different case altogether."

"A point well taken," Cole said. "I gave this some thought while we ate. Let's do this: If you will agree to the conditions I stated, complete silence for a week, I'll write out a letter of resignation, leave the date blank, and give it to you. You fill in the date anytime you wish and see that the people in Washington get it—no sooner than a week from today."

Now it was Jake Grafton's turn to go to the window and look out. "Why don't you just tell me some lie to get me out of your hair?"

"Ooh boy, that's rich! Coming from you. When they asked you way back when whether or not you had ever bombed an unauthorized target, what did you say?"

"I said yes."

"Indeed you did. You were the rarest of rarities, a truly honest man. Sorry, but I don't have it in me to lie to Jake Grafton."

"Listen, Tiger. I can't stay silent for a week. Not if you tell me you're up to something you shouldn't be up to."

Cole cocked his head and looked at Jake with an odd expression. "What should I be up to?"

"Don't give me that!"

"Do you know what these Communists are? Do you know what they represent?"

Jake Grafton leaned across the desk toward Tiger Cole. "If the government of the United States told me to pull the trigger," he whispered

selv "I'd ^
^e
willing to personally send every Communist in the

Id straight to hell. But as long as I'm in the United States Navy I

, have the luxury of choosing that course of action without orders.

M rher do you when you're representing the United States of America.

Write out that resignation and date it today. I'll send it in for you."

Cole leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes.

After a bit he asked, "When are you going to send it in?"

Grafton threw up his hands. "I don't know!"

Cole spun around to the PC that sat on a stand near the desk, turned it on, put stationery in the printer tray, and started typing. Three minutes later a letter rolled off the printer. Cole read it through, signed it, then handed it to Grafton.

Jake took his time reading the letter, then folded it carefully. "Got an envelope?"

Cole got one from a drawer and handed it across the desk.

Jake put the letter in the envelope, then stowed it in an inside breast pocket of his sports coat.

"Any more questions?" Cole said.

"Want to tell me why?"

Cole leaned back in his chair and stretched. He looked out the window at the slabs of skyscraper glass while he collected his thoughts, then turned his attention back to Grafton.

"I should have died that December day in 1972 when I was lying in the jungle muck in Laos with a broken back. Would have died, too, if I had been flying with an average mortal man. But no! As fate would have it I was flying with Jake Grafton, the warrior incarnate. Jake Grafton wasn't leaving that jungle without me—it was both of us or neither of us. So he fought and we both lived. I can close my eyes and remember it like it was yesterday. That moment was the most important of my life."

Lole turned toward the window and the gloomy, rainy day. "And I emember the day I became a millionaire," he continued, speaking

tly. We did an initial public offering. I went from owing thirty-e thousand dollars in student loans and two thousand on an old

'evy to a net worth of twenty-three million bucks just like
that!"
He

snapped his fingers, turned back toward Jake, and snapped them again.

Une day in September three years ago I became a billionaire. The

stocks were going up like a rocket, the valuations were ... but you

know all that. You see, we designed software for complex data networks and wireless telephone systems and burglar alarms and car security systems and toys that talk ... magic technoshit. Stuff. In a world full of stuff, we were the kings of the new magic stuff. The world beat a path to our door.

"So there I was, filthy rich, able to buy anything on the planet. and none of it meant pee-squat. My boy died of dope, and I got the hell out. That was where I was when I was asked to help overthrow the Communists."

Tiger Cole leaned forward in the chair. "I've been in Hong Kong two years and gave a hundred million or so to the revolution, and the value of my stock holdings has just kept climbing. I'm worth
two
billion dollars, Jake.
Two billion!
I've squandered my life on bad marriages to stupid women. Wasted it, and the system gave me
two ... billion ... dollars."

Cole spread his hands, as if that explained everything. Obviously he thought it did.

"Who asked you to help overthrow the Communists?" Jake Grafton said.

"Ahh ..." A trace of a smile appeared on Cole's face. "You already know or you wouldn't have asked."

Jake Grafton stood, went to the door of the office, and pulled it open several inches. He looked back at Cole, still sitting behind the desk. "Some dreams are bigger than others," he said.

Cole nodded.

"The sandwich was okay. The soup's terrible."

Jake Grafton pulled the door completely open and walked out of the office.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Rip Buckingham was on a squash court batting balls against the wall when Tiger Cole arrived at the athletic club. "I heard the governor shut down the paper," Cole said after he closed the door to the court.

"Yep. I spent a couple of nights in the can."

"You've been begging for it for years."

"Already I feel cleaner, closer to God. I'm going to try to get arrested more often, work up to once or twice a month."

They played hard for twenty minutes, then returned to the dressing room. They were the only men in the shower. As the water ran, Rip told Cole, "The rain is supposed to stop tonight. Wu says tomorrow is our day."

"Okay."

"Kerry is counting on your help with the computers."

"I can't guarantee anything. We need another week to verify our methodology."

"We don't have a week."

"I didn't think he'd wait." Hard to believe the time has come."

Cole just nodded. He thought, life's transitions always come at the worst possible time.

"How about the governorP What is he saying to Beijing?" Rip knew that Cole had had the CIA bug City Hall.

"He doesn't have a clue," Cole said. "If the Chinese government knows what's going down, they haven't told him or Tang."

"I'd like to bring Sue Lin and her mom to the consulate," Rip muttered, barely loud enough for Cole to hear above the sound of running water.

"Rip, we've been all through that three or four times. Take them to the Australian consulate."

"If it goes bad the PLA will overrun the Australians. The Americans are the only people they don't have the balls to take on."

"Take the women to the airport tonight and put them on a plane to Sydney."

"The old woman won't go, can't go—doesn't have a passport—and the daughter won't go without the old woman."

"For Christ's sake! Have your father send a private jet; land them somewhere in the damned outback. There has to be at least one immigration official in Australia who can be bought."

"There are probably dozens, but the women don't
want
to leave."

"Rip, it's time to stop sweating the program. If we lose we'll all be dead. The women know that."

"Jesus, another philosopher!" Rip glowered at the older man.

Cole was right, of course. Still, Rip thought he would feel better if he had somehow managed to get Sue Lin and Lin Pe out of the line of fire. If that made him an unrepentant chauvinist, so be it.

"Had a talk with Sonny Wong a few nights ago," he told Cole. "The bastard says someone in your consulate is selling him genuine American passports."

"Think he was lying?"

"No."

Tiger Cole finished washing and went into the dressing area. When Rip joined him, he said in a low voice, "That explains a lot."

"A lot of what?"

"China Bob Chan knew far too much. He and Sonny did dozens of deals together through the years."

"So who's leaking?"

"Only two people have access to the passports. One of them has to

, -
_n
on
it, maybe both. One of them is a woman who sleeps with one of the CIA dudes."