The Conspiracy II Read online

  “You OK, mister?”

  He nodded, turned away, headed back to his room, walking fast, glancing behind to see if she was following him. She wasn’t.

  His chest itched now. His whole body felt hot. What the hell was going on. Was Jackie really alive? She had to be. He’d seen her. Back in his room, he leaned his head against the inside of the door, anguish gripping at him. Would Vladimir’s bosses pull such a cruel stunt?

  His phone buzzed.

  It was Faith.

  “The car’s waiting for you,” she said.

  “I need to talk to you,” he said.

  “We have a meeting with Bishop as soon as you get here.” Her voice slowed. “Are you OK? What do you want to talk about?”

  “A change in plans.”

  It was time to take control.

  33

  Washington DC, June 3rd, 2020

  “Where are we going, sir?” asked the young Chinese driver. He’d been driving around near the Capitol, slowly, waiting for a summons from Wang.

  “The Ritz-Carlton in Georgetown.” Wang was in the back of one of the Mercedes AMG SLs the embassy used for ferrying visitors around. He pressed his fingers into the black leather armrest. The senator’s retribution would not come quick enough.

  The car slid through the traffic.

  “We head north first,” said the driver. “There’s a shorter route, but we’ve been warned to stay away from the city center. Is that OK, sir?”

  “Yes,” said Wang. “Fast as you can.” He was thinking about Gong Dao now. Would she still be in the hotel room? He looked at his watch. Nine-thirty. If her mission last night was official, she’d still be in the room, as she’d be allowed to take some personal time after her job was finished.

  If it wasn’t official, if she was doing it for the yellow dragons, she’d be gone already. If she’d been a honey trap, there had to be a possibility he could win her back. His lucky day might be here.

  If she’d spent the night with an American, for pleasure or for the yellow dragons, she would have put herself in a difficult position. He smiled to himself, warmth coursing through him. This leverage might be enough to get her to bend.

  Literally. As she used to do for him.

  “Hurry, driver,” he said. He snapped his fingers. “Get me there quick. Come on. Fast.”

  But every traffic light was red, and twice they got stuck behind a car with a family inside, moving at a snail’s pace. He wanted to scream at the driver, but he knew from experience that might have the opposite effect. One driver he’d raged at had broken down in tears, another had crashed. He’d ended up in a street cab and late for a meeting.

  He closed his eyes, breathed in. He pictured her in the bed in the hotel room, half asleep when she answered his knock at the door. He kept his eyes closed day-dreaming until the driver said, “Will you be needing me after the hotel?”

  “Yes, wait nearby. I will call you.” Wang looked out the window. The traffic was light. They would be in Georgetown soon. He should go back to the embassy within the hour. The head of security would be waiting for a report.

  Wang was required to inform the man if he was in contact with politicians, cultural figures, or business leaders while in Washington. He wasn’t required to tell him about waitresses he talked to, but he had to know about his meeting with the senator. It had to be reported.

  What to put in the report was the easy part. As little as possible. The senator’s rudeness would be mentioned, but not Wang’s request for assistance with the proposed changes at the WHO.

  Beijing was behind that. They would not want it revealed to the embassy until the mission was successful. There would be a loss of face if he revealed what his masters in Beijing wanted, if the senator refused and the objective was not achieved.

  The hope was that the senator had blustered publicly but would comply when the moment of truth, a vote on a WHO committee, came about.

  If the senator used Wang’s intervention to suggest to the White House that the United States leave the WHO, that might be an even better outcome. Beijing would be in the driving seat. Wang smiled, breathed in slowly.

  If the United States pulled out of the WHO, he would probably get another medal. What would they give him next?

  “We are here, sir,” said the driver, as they pulled up into the curved drop-off point in front of The Ritz-Carlton. The building was all red brick. It looked like an industrial plant that had been renovated.

  Wang closed the car door, and walked inside past the gray-suited doorman, who held the door open for him. He walked quickly through the large red brick walled reception area and found the elevators, with only a passing glance to the reception desk. And then he was in the elevator. He’d spotted a security guard, but the man had shown no interest in him.

  On the third floor, the corridor was wide and had a pale carpet and classy prints on the walls. A discreet security camera made it easy to understand why the guard was so relaxed.

  If he tried to force a door open, they would know immediately. They probably had a staff member staring at him on a screen right now. He went straight to room 342 and rapped on the door. He smiled at the eye level brass peephole.

  Nothing happened. Had she gone?

  He rapped again, harder.

  A click sounded. The door opened, but only the width of a finger.

  34

  Washington DC, June 3rd, 2020

  Rob cleared his throat. “It’s about Jackie,” he said.

  “Sure,” said Faith. “Get here as quick as you can. I’m in room B3.”

  A black Chevy was waiting for him across the street from the complex. Twenty minutes later he was at TOTALVACS. When he reached room B3, it was empty. A closed laptop lay on the meeting room desk in the middle of the room.

  He sat on one of the steel and black leather meeting room chairs and waited. The door opened a minute later.

  “We don’t have much time, Rob. I just asked Bishop to give us five minutes. He’s champing at the bit.” She stood near him, then pulled out the chair beside him and sat.

  “What happened about Jackie?” Her tone had softened, but it still felt as if she was following some State Department guide to building empathy and getting information.

  He suddenly regretted that he’d asked to speak to her about Jackie. She wasn’t going to be sympathetic. What had he been thinking?

  “Is this to do with Vladimir and your meeting?” said Faith. “A report I saw said he showed you his phone screen. What was on it, a picture of Jackie?”

  He thought about denying it for a few seconds, but decided against it. “No, a video. And she looked alive.” He shifted in his seat, sitting up straighter. “Are you watching me all the time?”

  “Not when you’re in the shower. I have my limits.” She smiled. “What was going on in the video he showed you?”

  “Jackie was trying to speak to me. She’s alive. She has to be.” Rob leaned forward. His stomach had tightened talking about it. “She had on a t-shirt she bought a few days before she supposedly died in London. She spoke about her medicine.” He paused to breathe in. “She’s not dead.”

  Faith put her hand up, as if to stop him saying any more.

  “Wait, stop Rob, this is the type of psychological operation the Russians are really good at. They make you think someone close to you is dead or that the dead are alive and then tell you what to do to make it real. I know all about this garbage.” She reached forward, put her hand on top of his, squeezed it, then let it go. Again, it seemed as if she was following some empathy guide.

  “The Russians will use whatever dirty tricks they can to get you to do their bidding. You clearly haven’t taken to honey traps, so psychological operations, psy-ops, is their next step. Did they ask you to interfere in the vaccine production process?”

  He looked at her.

  “I want to talk about this. I suggest we use my idea for a new version of the vaccine to fool the Russians into thinking they’ve won, and we
keep going with the production of the first version.”

  “I’m glad you’ve come to your senses. And,” she touched his hand again, “I’m sure Jackie would be proud of you.”

  She stood and headed for the door. She turned as she reached it and smiled at him. “I’m so glad you didn’t make this more difficult,” she said. “Come on.”

  He followed her to a large meeting room. Bishop was there. He didn’t get up when they came in.

  “I hope you’ve given up your crazy attempt to stop our manufacturing process, Dr. McNeil,” was Bishop’s greeting to Rob.

  “That’s why I’m here,” said Rob. “I have a suggestion. You help us develop a second vaccine, which doesn’t require refrigeration, and we proceed with the first now, for developed countries.”

  Bishop laughed. His whole body shook. “You sure have some cojones,” he said. “Waltzing in here and issuing orders for what we should do.” He pointed at Rob. “You know you’re pushing your luck.”

  “The Russians want to stop our vaccine because they want to get theirs out first,” said Rob. “This move will distract them. I expect they will try others.”

  “Rob was shown a video of his dead wife, to trick him into helping them,” said Faith. “They claim she’s alive. He told me about it a few minutes ago.”

  Bishop let out a humming noise. “You’ve been through the ringer, McNeil, and I appreciate you coming clean about what the Ruskies are up to.” He lowered his voice. “Your work with us, on both stages of your vaccine, that’s what’s important. That’s what Jackie would have wanted. To see your vaccine produced and saving lives, right?”

  Silence filled the room. Rob could hear Bishop breathing. Bishop looked at his watch.

  “Some of our production managers are expecting you in fifteen minutes for a video conference process and protocols meeting. I suggest you find some coffee. These meetings can go on for hours.” Bishop stood. “I’m glad you’re with us, McNeil,” he said. “Believe me, if the Ruskies really did have a video of your wife alive, they’d torment you with it forever and a day.”

  He exited the room.

  Rob turned to Faith. His lips were pursed. “Did he just say there’s a chance the video is real?”

  Faith shook her head. “No, he didn’t. Don’t believe any of it. Don’t chase rainbows, Rob.”

  They got coffee and headed to a large meeting room where two production managers in white coats sat at the far end of the table and a big screen showed six others, some at their homes, some in offices.

  Faith left him there. “When you’re finished, call me,” she said.

  The meeting started with a request from one of the men in the room for Rob to describe the vaccine he had invented in detail. That took almost thirty minutes.

  Then the questions started. That took four hours. Most of the people on the call were taking notes and he noticed the word RECORDING in red at a corner of the screen, which showed him when anyone was talking.

  They now had a pretty complete set of instructions for the manufacture of his vaccine.

  35

  Washington DC, June 3rd, 2020

  Wang pushed the door open. Gong Dao was wrapped in a big white towel.

  “Why are you here?” she said, her tone frosty.

  “I’m investigating you,” he said.

  “Go to hell, investigate yourself first,” said Gong Dao, throwing a hand in the air. The towel slipped a little from one side, showing a tantalizing swathe of downy skin.

  She turned and went into the main part of the large room. As Wang followed, he saw the room was a suite, with a separate bedroom to the left and a large reception room in front of him with couches, and a large screen TV, tuned to CNN, with the sound down.

  Cushions from the couches were strewn around the floor, as if there’d been a fight going on in the room. Gong Dao turned, her hands wrapped tightly around her body, keeping the towel in place.

  “And yes, you are totally right, as always, before you tell me. I’m the Chinese honey pot that important men crave. What are you going to do about it, Wang? I can report you today for interfering with an ongoing operation. Say your little piece and leave.” She tightened her towel.

  “What did you find out from Senator Harmforth?” said Wang. His tone was aggressive too. She wasn’t going to bully him.

  Gong Dao smiled, broadly. “I cannot tell you any operational details, you know that.”

  “Senator Harmforth is part of my operation too, Gong. I need you to cooperate.” He took a step toward her. “Do not be mistaken. I am a senior manager in the Ministry of State Security now. You must cooperate with my instructions.”

  Her lip curled. “Your mission is not important. I know you want this senator to endorse changes at the WHO. And I know all about the cooperation you are looking for from him.” She sat up straighter. “What I am part of is far more important.” Her finger jabbed at him.

  She tightened her towel, then swung it open, adjusting it, exposing her naked body for a long second. Wang’s mouth opened as he stared.

  She closed the towel. “Leave,” she said, her nose high in the air. “I know what you want. But you have no chance. You are not man enough for me.” She sneered. “You never were, and you never will be. Get out of here.” She turned, went through the open door into the bedroom, and slammed it closed. The click of the key turning in the lock echoed in the air.

  Unable to resist his anger and desire, he walked to the bedroom door, raised a fist as if he’d pound it, but held his fist in the air, shaking, instead. Then he turned and exited the suite. He’d get his revenge. He’d find a way. She’d made an enemy today.

  On his way back to the embassy, he decided what he’d tell the head of security. He’d say that Gong Dao had offered herself to him and that he’d refused.

  She would certainly report that he had come to her room. It would be his story against hers.

  He would report the conversation in detail, especially about Gong Dao’s refusal to tell him what had happened with the senator. That was a definite warning flag, which they could not ignore. And neither could his bosses in the ministry.

  She had to pay for all this.

  Perhaps if she was transferred to some hellhole in the outer provinces, that might soften her up. He licked his lips. She definitely needed softening up.

  36

  Washington DC, June 3rd, 2020

  Vladimir examined the mural on the wall. It showed a girl holding out bread and salt in front of her. A hand slapped onto his shoulder.

  “It is good you could make it to our little celebration lunch,” said the bald man. He had a long white scar below his left eye.

  Vladimir slapped the man’s shoulder in return. “You must know I don’t usually get invited to such refined events, Ivan,” he said, looking around the reception room in the Russian Embassy.

  Ivan stepped back. “You do remember how I got this?” He pointed at his scar.

  “Protecting the motherland from foreign agitators with my help,” said Vladimir.

  “Exactly, so I couldn’t leave you out of this when I heard you were here. Come, join us.” He pulled Vladimir by the shoulder toward a group of men standing at the head of a long, highly polished table, set with silverware and glittering goblets. A chandelier hung above.

  “Welcome a true hero of Russia,” said Ivan loudly as they approached. “No, no, not me; this man, Vladimir, is a true superhero. He destroys all enemies.”

  Vladimir looked at Ivan. His face was flushed, his smile a little too wide. The man was clearly nearing the end of his tour of duty. He’d seen it before: the dropping of the guard and the loose talk at the thoughts of the dacha, the end of responsibilities and always wondering what mistake you had made, and the ever-present mistress finally by your side.

  He looked at the faces around him. All of them at least looked like military men, so there’d be no fear in Ivan’s mind that he was going too far.

  But he was.

&nbs
p; One of the group, a younger man, spoke. “I did not see you on the list of transfers from Moscow, comrade Vladimir.” His smile lasted less than a second.

  “A simple mistake, I am sure,” said Vladimir. Already he was regretting accepting the invitation, but it had said his appearance was required, which meant only a real illness, which required a doctor, would be a good enough excuse not to appear.

  Ivan slapped him on the back, hard. “This man is the reason we will soon take our rightful place leading the civilized world again. Let’s drown one for him.”

  The men all raised their glasses, downed whatever was in them.

  Ivan leaned toward Vladimir. “How goes the mission?” he said, his eyes bright.

  “A success already,” said Vladimir.

  “Good, good, let us enjoy our lunch. The Borscht here is nearly as good as they make it in Minsk.”

  They sat around the table. The man beside Vladimir introduced himself as the military attaché to Washington. He launched into a vivid description of his time flying helicopters over Kabul. His efforts to impress Vladimir were transparent. Vladimir, as soon as he could, turned to the man on the other side.

  That man glared at him.

  “This is the Belarus room,” said the man. “Did you know the Americans are trying to destabilize Belarus right now?”

  “They try every crazy trick they can to diminish us. But I am one hundred percent sure we will be victorious with our great leader in charge of things,” said Vladimir, spouting the expected reply.

  The man slammed his fist on the table. “Yes, yes, and what is needed as a suitable reply to the Central Mis-Intelligence Agency is more riots here in the United States. Anything that sows chaos must be welcomed.”

  “It will happen,” said Vladimir. “There are real grievances. That’s what gets big crowds out.”

  The man’s eyes opened wide. “Exactly. Big crowds can bring big changes. The stability that a country needs only comes about after a period of big changes. I look forward to it.”

  The man pushed his purple lower lip forward, glanced around. “I’m glad to see you don’t use Telegram, that stupid message app these young men use to message their whores as soon as they reach the United States and can get to use it openly.”