Satori - Don Winslow [68]
“Keep trying on Papa Bear.”
“Yes, sir.”
Assume the worst-case scenario, Haverford told himself.
Assume that Voroshenin has Guibert and is sweating him.
Assume that Guibert has given it up.
Given that scenario, Voroshenin knows that Guibert is a cover, but Guibert couldn’t have given him Hel’s real identity. All Voroshenin knows is that “Michel Guibert” is a cover under British control, which is what Guibert believes. Voroshenin will take the next logical mental step, though — he’ll believe that the British were subbing in for us. He’ll know it’s an American operation.
So what does he do?
He gives it to the Chinese, to his buddy Kang.
What does Kang do?
Either he lets Hel stay operational to see where it leads him, or he picks Hel up and tortures the truth out of him. Everything they knew about Kang indicated the latter course of action.
“You confirmed that Go Player is in place?” Haverford asked.
“He signaled.”
Their watchers outside the hotel had seen Hel go in but not come out, and they observed the correct arrangement of the window curtains. Only ten minutes ago, Hel had called room service to request a fresh thermos of water for his tea, so there was every reason to believe that he was safely in his room and not in Kang’s hands.
But for how long? Haverford wondered.
Abort, he told himself.
Get a signal to the Monk, hit the kill switch now.
58
NICHOLAI STEPPED OUT on the little balcony.
Across the boulevard, lit by the amber streetlamp, the monk still stood under the tree, facing south.
The mission was a “go.”
Nicholai started to pull a cigarette out to light it and acknowledge.
Then the monk moved.
59
“WE HAVE Papa Bear.”
“Kill the abort signal,” Haverford said. “Where the hell was he?”
It turns out that Papa Guibert found himself a new honey and took her to her place. He was surprised and a little indignant to find out that handlers were looking for him.
“So I wanted a little variety,” he told the Brit who was under Haverford’s employ. “So what, I am French.” He didn’t really expect a Brit to comprehend a man’s sexual needs. The British were about as sensual as their food.
“Keep him on ice,” Haverford ordered. “Did you signal the Monk back?”
“Confirmed.”
Haverford sat down and looked at the illuminated wall clock.
Twelve minutes out.
60
VOROSHENIN WAS on the phone.
The old man had broken — no Frenchman of his generation would let a beautiful woman have her brains spattered all over the walls — and confirmed that his son had died in the car crash, and “Michel Guibert” was the cover of an agent working for the British.
The British my liver, Voroshenin thought. The British are assclenching happy just to hold on to Hong Kong, they’re not going to wake the dragon by messing about in China. Besides, it wasn’t London that had control of Nicholai Hel, it was Washington.
Kang finally came on the line.
“Wei,” he asked blandly, as if nothing out of the ordinary was going on.
“The father confirmed my hypothesis,” Voroshenin said.
There was a long pause, then Kang said, “Enjoy the opera.”
I will, actually, Voroshenin thought.
61
NICHOLAI SAW THE MONK start to turn to the north, then change his mind and face south again.
The mission had been aborted, then just as quickly revived. That didn’t trouble Nicholai — the go-kang was a kinetic field that required fluid thought and action.
But then the monk did something unexpected. He turned to face the hotel and looked directly up at Nicholai. Even from that distance — five floors down and across the street — Nicholai could feel the monk’s eyes, almost as he had once sensed the intensity of Kishikawa-sama and Otake-san.
Nicholai nodded.
Cupping one hand around his cigarette, he lit it — the signal that he was ready to proceed. He took a long drag, then stepped back into the room and shut the doors behind him.
Then he