The Altman Code

  If that were the case, was he already trapped in these sealed rooms, or would they continue to string him along in hopes of learning exactly what he was doing? He paused, mulling. He decided they would want to pretend to help him, because arresting him would be an international incident if they could not show what he was after. On the other hand, if the whole thing were a cat-and-mouse charade, it gave him a chance.

  Chapter

  Twelve

  Friday, September 15

  In the cramped office he used in police headquarters at 210 Hankou Lu near the Bund, Major Pan Aitu scowled through his horn-rimmed glasses at a file on his desk. There was nothing especially wrong or unusual about the file of the common street criminal he would testify against later in the day; it was simply that a scowl was Pan’s habitual expression when alone. The gentle voice and benign smile were entirely for public use, as were the soothing conservative suits and happy bow ties, all designed to mesmerize the mouse in front of him. His round joviality was a sham, too. There was muscle beneath the fat—hard, trained muscle.

  Dressed in a black leather car coat, military brown safari shirt, and black denim jeans, he had the glowering aspect of a menacing dwarf dredged from the depths of the earth. He was still bent over his files, working, when a single knock preceded the entry of his chief, General Chu Kuairong.

  “You have located the American scientist?”

  “And lost him,” the spy said, disgusted. “It is clear we botched the operation. We must have better people, General. The teams I sent covered only the main entrances of his hotel, assuming he was a stranger in our country, unfamiliar with the city, and therefore an idiot. He was obviously leaving and reentering the hotel other ways.”

  “He’s been to Shanghai before?” Chu Kuairong was annoyed. “His records, and ours, did not indicate that.”

  The major shook his head. “He must have had help.”

  “Help? By one of our people? Impossible.”

  “It’s the only answer,” Pan stated flatly. “Someone they’ve turned, most likely. But despite the help, after we received the authority to pick him up, my fools did finally use some common sense and surveil all entrances and exits. Still, they failed to see him reenter the hotel. Fortunately, they had stationed a man inside in disguise. He’s the one who spotted Smith.”

  The general sighed with frustration, thinking, as he often did, that his budget for recruiting and training effective operatives was far too small. He sat forward on a straight chair, hovering like a giant bird of prey. His bald skull glared under the harsh flourescent light, and his small, wind-sunk eyes bored into the major.

  General Chu growled, “Then they lost Smith again?”

  Major Pan related everything that had happened from the time his agents entered Smith’s hotel room tonight, discovered he had left everything behind including his clothes, and chased him through the subway and into the longtangs of the French Concession.

  General Chu listened intently. When the major finished, he thought for a moment. “You still have no idea what this supposed scientist came to Shanghai to find or to do?”

  “There’s no doubt of his scientific credentials. He is what he purports to be. The problem is what else he may be. While we don’t know yet why he’s here, some possible answers are starting to emerge.”

  “What answers?”

  “A series of events that—to my mind at least—suggests a pattern and direction.” Major Pan counted on his short, thick fingers: “One, a certain Avery Mondragon, a well-known American Sinologist who has been working in Shanghai for some years as a general representative of many American business endeavors, has disappeared. His associates report he’s been missing since early Wednesday.”

  Chu hunched further toward Pan. “The day before Colonel Smith arrived in Shanghai?”

  Pan inclined his head. “An interesting coincidence, wouldn’t you say? Second, a cleaning woman in a downtown business building discovered a dead man in the office of Yu Yongfu, president and chairman of Flying Dragon Enterprises, an international shipping company with connections in Hong Kong and Antwerp. Third, the same Yu Yongfu and his wife also appear to be missing. At least, no one was in his mansion, and no cars were in his garage.”

  “What do we know of him?”

  The major indicated the dossier open on his desk. “This is his file. He is a young man who has come far fast and is now wealthy. That he’s the son-in-law of Li Aorong may help to explain that. Since Li is a prominent official in Shanghai, and—”

  Chu was interested. “I know Li and his daughter personally. He is an old and honored Party member. Surely—”

  “Nevertheless, the daughter and son-in-law seem to be missing, and the treasurer of her husband’s company is dead. In fact, shot to death. More coincidence?”

  Chu sat up. “The dead man in the office was this treasurer? I see. That is interesting. Are we looking for Yu and his wife?”

  “Of course.”

  “And her father?”

  “Li Aorong will be questioned in the morning.”

  Chu nodded. “What else?”

  “Another corpse has been found in a car at Hongqiao airport. A young man who was a tourist interpreter and chauffeur. Curiously, he studied for many years in the United States.”

  “You’re suggesting he may have been someone who helped our Colonel Smith?”

  “His photo has been identified by Peace Hotel employees. He was seen in the lobby earlier today after Colonel Smith checked in. To summarize: An American resident here disappears. The next day Colonel Smith arrives, the treasurer of a shipping company is murdered, the president of that company and his wife disappear, and an American-educated Shanghainese interpreter and chauffeur is killed the same night and found at an airport.”

  “You have a theory?”

  “Merely a possible scenario,” the major cautioned. “Mondragon discovered something about Yu Yongfu’s company he considered of importance to the Americans. Smith was sent to find out what Mondragon had discovered and retrieve it. Something went wrong. For whatever reason, the interpreter was assigned or employed to guide and interpret for Smith.”

  “If you’re correct . . . there are those in this country who don’t want the Americans to have what Mondragon discovered.”

  The spy inclined his head. “Indeed.”

  The general reached into an inner pocket of the civilian Mao suit he wore tonight and removed a long, slender cigar. He bit off a piece of the tip, turned it as he lit it, and puffed one of his smoke rings.

  “Did Colonel Smith get what he came for?” he asked.

  “That we don’t know.”

  “That is what we must know.”

  “Agreed.”

  Chu blew another ring. “If Smith did get it, he will attempt to leave the country.”

  “I’ve covered all points of departure.”

  “I doubt it. We have a long coastline, Major.”

  “He isn’t on the coast.”

  “Then you know what to do.” Another smoke ring, this one quicker. “And if he did not get what he wanted?”

  “He’ll remain in Shanghai until he does.”

  Chu Kuairong pondered. “No. In that case, he will also try to leave. His cover is blown; he will not be effective if he stays. He sounds too intelligent to try to use public transportation. Instead, he would be clever to arrange a private pickup on the coast. All we have to do is track him, roll up any American agents or assets who help him, stop him at his destination, and—with a measure of good luck—apprehend his rescuers as well as him.” The general puffed on his panatela, smiling at last. “Yes, that would be most agreeable. I leave it to you, Pan, to arrange it all.”

  A piece of the wall moved. Dressed again in his black sweater, black jeans, and black soft-soled shoes, with his light backpack hanging from his shoulders, Jon waited where he could watch the section being pulled out to open the entry into the hidden apartment. He held his Beretta behind him, waiting.


  Asgar Mahmout stepped through and turned to help three solemn women who followed. Dressed in typical clothes—slacks and jeans, shirts and blouses, sweaters and sweatshirts, one blazer—two carried makeup kits, the third a bundle of clothes. They were fairly tall and slender and had thick, shining black hair. The one holding the bundle of clothes was taller than the others, with a lean face. Her black hair was pulled back and tied at the nape of her neck. There was a dimple on her chin, a half smile on her lips, and her cheekbones were prominent, sculpted. She was a beauty who knew it and seemed to find it amusing.

  Two more men appeared, ducking in through the hole after the women.

  Asgar glanced at them and nodded at Smith in greeting. “I see you put on your work clothes.”

  “Thought it wise.”

  The tall, beautiful woman was wearing the blazer over a sweatshirt and jeans. She looked Jon up and down. “Is that the latest fashion for men in Washington?” she asked in clear, American-accented English. The half smile grew broader.

  “Only for secret agents on a mission.” He smiled back.

  One of the men said something to Asgar in a language that sounded somewhat like what Jon had heard among Northern Alliance Uzbeks in Afghanistan.

  Asgar answered and translated for Jon. “Toktufan wanted to know where you hid your weapons. I told him you probably had your pistol in your belt at your back under your sweater and your knife on your leg.”

  “Close.”

  Asgar smiled. “The other guy back there is Mierkanmilia, and the tall lady who speaks like another Yank is my sister, Alani. She and her friends will turn your face into a Uigher’s, if they can. They have Uigher clothes for you to wear, too.”

  “What will you be doing?”

  “Figuring out the best destination, arranging transport, and becoming Uighers again ourselves.” He motioned to the two other men. “We’ll leave you in Alani’s capable hands.” The three ducked out through the hole and put the section of brick back into place.

  The women held a conference in Uigher. More accurate, the two who had remained nameless asked Alani a torrent of questions.

  Finally, she turned to Jon. “Sit there, Colonel Smith.” She pointed to a chair. “Take off your sweater.”

  Jon took off the black sweater, revealing a black cotton turtleneck.

  Alani snorted. “A little overdressed, aren’t you? Must I lead you by the hand?”

  Jon laughed. To his surprise, so did she, and it struck him that she had been imitating some American schoolmaster. A private joke for herself. Under the circumstances, it was remarkable, since she was risking her life for him. He took off the turtleneck and caught a flash of interest in the tall woman’s eyes as she contemplated his naked chest.

  He offered a smile. “You and your brother are different from the others.”

  Her full lips gave a quiet laugh as she beckoned the other two women. They had been whispering and laughing behind their hands as they watched him strip. They hurried forward and went to work on his face, first with a pale brown base to darken his skin.

  “Why? Are we different to you because we speak English?” Alani stepped back and watched with a critical eye.

  “That, and that you’re educated abroad. It speaks of a history and a plan.”

  “You know our father was Han?”

  “Yes. It doesn’t appear to mean much to either of you.”

  “It doesn’t, except to give us an advantage other Uighers don’t have. Also a disadvantage, of course. There is always the chance we could turn. We never have, and they would never suggest it aloud, but it lurks in the backs of their minds.”

  The two makeup women were in a heated discussion, wielding long narrow-tipped brushes and pointing at his eyes and eyebrows. The brush strokes on his skin were soft, almost tickling.

  Alani spoke to them sharply. They retorted, ignored her, and returned to their aesthetic disagreement. Alani shook her head in exasperation and glanced at her wristwatch.

  “What advantage does it give you?” Jon wanted to know.

  She was still watching the two bickering makeup artists and seemed not to have heard him. “Our mother is the daughter of one of the leaders in our independent government in exile in Kazakhstan. It makes her, and therefore us, important among the Uighers. Our grandfather was the one who made certain we were sent abroad to study.”

  She barked at the women who had finally begun to work on his eyes. She pointed to her watch. “Because of that, and because our father’s Han, Beijing thinks we’d be especially useful as leaders and apologists in convincing our people to accept being part of China. To convince them to give up our heritage and assimilate. This gives us privileges as long as we appear to go along with their plans. It makes good cover, including residence papers that enable us to move around much more freely and even reside for extensive periods in Han territory. They watch us, of course, but as long as they don’t catch us, we can go almost anywhere we want.”

  “Asgar seems to go places he’s arrested.”

  She nodded knowingly. “We despair about Asgar. He’s a good man, and he’s never been in serious trouble yet. We keep our fingers crossed.”

  “I’m trying to place your accent. Where did you study in the United States?”

  “I lived with a family in New Jersey and went to public schools there, then to the University of Nebraska in Omaha. I’m a mixture of East Coast and Midwest, the perfect blend to study political science and agronomy.”

  And to be an effective leader of a primarily agricultural people. Her grandfather had been thinking far ahead. “With a minor in guerrilla warfare?”

  She smiled. “Asgar again. When the Soviets were in Afghanistan, your CIA was keen to train any Central Asian Muslim ready to fight the Soviets, and he joined the Northern Alliance. They couldn’t seem to tell one of us from another, even a Tajik.”

  The two makeup authorities finally finished, stood back clucking in admiration of their work, and beamed at Alani. She nodded and said something that, since the other women’s smiles remained, must have been complimentary. The pair packed up their tubes, bottles, jars, and brushes. They kept turning back to look at his face as one banged on the bricks with the hilt of a dagger she had produced from somewhere under her clothes.

  Alani held a hand mirror. “Have a look.”

  Jon stared, impressed at the results of his new, sticky, and very uncomfortable mask. His eyes had acquired something of the fold, his skin was a light chestnut brown, creased with the wrinkles of sun and wind. If he narrowed his eyes in a squint, he would probably pass in the dark.

  “If you’re among us, you ought to go unnoticed,” Alani decided.

  “Let’s hope we’re not stopped.”

  “We’ll be stopped, of that you can be certain. But with Asgar and my papers, and those we’ve forged for the rest of us, they should treat us lightly. We’ll have to hope they don’t make us get out of the Land Rover.” She glanced again at her watch. “The others will be back soon. You’d better put on the clothes I brought.”

  There was a touch of anxiety in her voice, as if time were passing too quickly, and the men were too late.

  Her uneasiness infected Jon. As he dressed, he asked, “What are you doing in Shanghai? Officially, I mean.”

  “We’re studying to be teachers of teachers. Well, actually, Asgar and I are. Some of the others are being trained as village leaders or agents for Beijing. The rest are part of our underground network.”

  He pulled baggy corduroy trousers up over his black jeans. “That’s a damned dangerous game, Alani. For all of you.”

  “We know the risks. They’ve arrested thousands of us already and executed a hundred or so.” She looked him steadily in the eye. “Perhaps it’s a game for you and the CIA, Colonel. It’s not for us.”

  The worn, unpressed white dress shirt was tight over his sweater, but the flannel shirt slipped on easily. “I’m not CIA,” Jon told her. “And it’s never been a game for me.”

/>   She considered him. “Yes, I can see that.”

  “No one’s asked me why I’m here, what I came for. Not that I intend to tell you.”

  “What we don’t know, they can’t get out of us. You’re against the Chinese or working to ensure the human-rights accord. That’s good enough for us.”

  The harsh scraping of brick on brick interrupted their conversation. Before the hole was completely open, Asgar climbed through. He was dressed in the rough clothes of a farmer, with the riding boots of a sheepherder. He also wore a decorated white skullcap under a straw sun hat.

  He studied Jon from a distance and then closer. “In lousy light, you’ll pass.” He nodded to Alani. “We’re ready.”

  “Where are we going?” Jon asked.

  Asgar motioned to the kitchen table where they had eaten dinner. He spread out a map of the Shanghai Municipal Region and surrounding area and pointed to a spot south of the city. “There’s an abandoned pagoda on a hill near the sea in the wider part of Huangzhou Bay, between Jinshan and Zhapu. The shore’s a bit of a rock garden there, but there are also a few more inviting beaches. Pebbly, but not bad. One in particular, a little bigger, will suit fine.”

  “How’s the water depth?”

  “Not sure, Jon. But Toktufan says a small boat can get close. He’s worked the waters around there.”

  “All right.” Jon picked up his backpack, pulled out a black plastic pouch, and extracted a detailed topographic map of the Shanghai area laid over a satellite photograph. He checked the water depths, had Asgar point out exactly where the pagoda and beach were, and wrote down the latitude and longitude coordinates in his small waterproof notebook. When they were finished, he rolled up the maps.