Read The Argentine Triangle: A Craig Page Thriller Online
Authors: Allan Topol
Tags: #Bisac Code: FIC006000
The Argentine Triangle: A Craig Page Thriller (2 page)
Dedicated to my wife, Barbara, my partner
in this literary venture
Contents
Acknowledgments
I
wish to thank my agent, Pam Ahearn, who helped me develop the Craig Page series. We are now on our fourth book. It has been a pleasure working with the people at SelectBooks. I very much appreciate Kenzi Sugihara’s enthusiasm for the novel from the first reading.
Nancy Sugihara and Molly Stern did an outstanding job of editing, and I’d like to thank Kenichi Sugihara for his work as the marketing director.
Thanks to my wife, Barbara, for her enormous assistance. She read each draft and offered valuable suggestions for keeping Craig in character in Argentina. We had great fun visiting Buenos Aires, Bariloche, and Iguazu.
PROLOGUE
Washington
T
he morning after Craig Page’s return to Washington from Moscow, he arrived at the office at 8 a.m. Since he had been in his job as director of the CIA for only three weeks, and was traveling most of this period, Craig hadn’t had time to select his own secretary. He refused to inherit Jane, who had worked for the predecessor he despised, so he counted on his deputy Betty Richards to find someone more suitable.
He met her choice. Monica Donnelly was a tall, angular blonde with a runner’s legs in her forties who had worked with the agency for twenty years. “She’ll keep you out of trouble,” Betty had told him. “If that’s possible.”
Knowing Craig had lived in Paris, Monica had installed an espresso machine in the outer office. For Craig, fighting jet lag and a couple of sleepless nights, the double espresso she placed on his desk was like manna from heaven.
“Welcome back Mr. Page,” she said.
“Thank you. It’s good to be in Washington.”
“Miss Richards called and asked if she could see you as soon as you arrived.”
Betty had beaten Craig to the punch. He was planning to talk with her first thing this morning.
“Have Betty come up,” he told Monica. “And please fix her an espresso.”
Minutes later, Betty arrived, dressed in a snug navy suit, strands of black hair streaked with gray falling haphazardly around her face. She was wearing black frame glasses with thick lenses, the kind that people refer to as looking like old Coca-Cola bottles.
Cup in hand, Craig led the way to the conference table where Betty’s espresso was waiting.
Once they were seated, she said, “I want a briefing on what occurred in that airplane hangar in Moscow.”
He sighed. “It was an unmitigated disaster. Nothing went as I had planned.”
“I realized that when I heard that President Zhou was dead. What happened?”
“Well, my great plan to have the Spanish Special Ops kidnap Zhou and fly him back to Madrid to stand trial for the murder of scores of Spanish citizens never got off the ground. Orlov killed Zhou.”
“Avenging the death of his sister?”
“Yeah. After that everything spun out of control. Zhou’s aide killed Orlov and one of the Spanish troops shot Zhou’s aide. I felt as if I were in a shooting gallery.”
Betty pushed back her glasses. “That’s not such a bad result. Even if the Spanish had gotten Zhou to Madrid, they might not have been willing to hang tough about putting the president of China on trial. They might have folded and coughed him up. At least this way the world is rid of a man who was on his way to rivaling Mao. And you have some form of revenge for Zhou arranging the heinous murder of your daughter.”
“All of that’s true, but I didn’t want it to end that way.”
“Have you briefed President Treadwell?”
“As soon as the plane landed at Andrews yesterday I went straight to the White House.”
“What’d Treadwell say?”
“He was pleased. He realizes that Mei Ling, the new Chinese president, is someone he’ll be able to work with. He already sent her congratulations and invited her to Washington for an early visit.”
“So it sounds as if everybody came out a winner.”
“Except Zhou. But as you said, the world’s a better place without him.”
He paused to take a sip of coffee before continuing, “Now that this operation is over, I’ll really have to take on the job of being CIA director. No more shunting all the work off on you.”
“That’s true. You can’t duck it any longer. How about if I schedule a meeting at three this afternoon for you with senior staff. Let them finally meet the boss.”
“Sounds like a good idea.”
His office phone rang. A moment later, Monica buzzed on the intercom. “It’s the White House. President Treadwell wants to see you ASAP.”
Puzzled, Craig replied, “Did they give you a reason?”
“Nothing. Just that it was urgent.”
“Tell them I’m on my way.” What else could you tell the president of the United States?
He looked at Betty. “What do you think? A new crisis?”
“I don’t have a good feeling about this.”
“That doesn’t help me.”
“Just a gut instinct. Washington is the city of sharp knives.”
When Craig entered the Oval Office, he saw that Edward Bryce was there along with President Treadwell. Craig had met Bryce once before in another Oval Office meeting, when Craig had gotten Treadwell’s approval for the Moscow operation that resulted in Zhou’s death. At that meeting it had been the president, Craig, Elizabeth Crowder, and Bryce, whom Treadwell had introduced as “a close friend, a powerful Washington lawyer, and my informal advisor on certain sensitive issues.”
Bryce was about sixty, Craig thought. Dignified and patrician was how Craig would have described him. He had a full head of gray hair and was dressed in a starched white shirt with diamond studded French cuffs and a red silk Hermes tie, loosened at the neck. No jacket.
Treadwell, looking grim, was seated behind his red leather-topped desk and made no effort to come forward and greet Craig. Bryce was standing next to one of the two chairs in front of the desk. Treadwell motioned to the other chair and Craig sat down.
“We have a problem,” Treadwell began.
“What’s that?” Craig asked.
“I received a call from Mei Ling. She and the Chinese leadership are publicly sticking with the story that President Zhou had a heart attack. No one was permitted to see Zhou’s body. It was kept in a sealed coffin. Armed guards enforced that order. He was buried quickly.”
Craig held his breath, waiting for what came next.
“Are you familiar with President Zhou’s brother, Zhou Yun?” Treadwell asked.
“Very. He’s one of the wealthiest and most powerful businessmen in China. He’s every bit as evil and ruthless as his brother. Zhou Yun arranged the assassination of President Zhou’s predecessor, President Li.”
“Well at any rate, Zhou Yun met with Mei Ling. He told her that he had confirmed that the official reason given for his brother’s death from a heart attack was untrue. He discovered that the president had died from a shot in the chest. Mei Ling thinks that somehow, either by bribing some of the president’s guards or by paying off a good friend of Russian President Kuznov, Zhou Yun got the whole story of what happened in the airplane hangar on that Russian Air Force base.
“He learned that his brother was killed by Orlov, the former KGB agent the president was conspiring with to steal cutting-edge American military technology for an alliance between China and Russia to defeat the United States. He knows now that Orlov murdered the president to avenge the death of Orlov’s gorgeous sister, Androshka, who died as a result of her entanglement with President Zhou.”
Bryce interjected. “That’s what really happened. Isn’t it, Craig?”
“Yes.”
Treadwell continued. “Even though Orlov fired the gun, Zhou Yun is blaming you for arranging his brother’s death in Moscow on behalf of the American government.”
“That’s absurd. My plan, which you approved, was to let the Spaniards fly Zhou to Madrid to stand trial. I had no way of knowing that Orlov would kill President Zhou.”
Bryce sprang to his feet. The trial lawyer was ready to cross-examine a hostile witness. He was staring at Craig and pointing a bony finger at him.
“You arranged this little gathering in the Moscow airplane hangar. Didn’t you?”
“Correct.”
“And you knew that Zhou killed Androshka, Orlov’s sister. Didn’t you?”
“Of course I knew that.”
“But you didn’t search Orlov for weapons. Did you?”
Craig didn’t reply.
“So in a sense,” Bryce was raising his voice, “you were to blame for Zhou’s death.”
Craig was forming an intense dislike for Bryce. He clutched the arms of his chair tightly. “Look here, Bryce. My plan was to assist the Spanish government in flying Zhou to Madrid to stand trial for crimes he committed against the Spanish people on Spanish soil.”
“You couldn’t possibly have thought you would succeed in having the president of China tried in a Spanish court.”
Craig glared at Treadwell, but the president had no intention of interrupting his friend Bryce.
“I did. Zhou was responsible for the death of hundreds of Spanish people.” Craig decided to go on the offensive. “When I presented my plan here in the Oval Office, neither President Treadwell nor you raised any objection.”
Bryce was ready for that. “At the time, neither President Treadwell nor I had detailed knowledge of the situation. We had to rely on your judgment. Wouldn’t you agree with that?”
Before Craig had a chance to respond, Bryce continued. “The truth is that you were intent on gaining your own personal revenge against Zhou for the death of your daughter, Francesca. Were you not?”
“Zhou was not only responsible for the death of hundreds of Spanish people, but also for the assassination of your predecessor, President Dalton,” he said, looking at Treadwell.
Bryce glared at Craig. He was obviously not used to being challenged.
“So you did want President Zhou to be murdered?”
Bryce sat down. The cross-examination was over.
Treadwell picked it up. “Zhou Yun has powerful friends in China. His brother had support among top military people. Zhou Yun is threatening to have Mei Ling ousted from the presidency and to launch a trade war against the United States. Obviously this would be very detrimental to us. We can’t let that happen.”
While staring at Craig, Treadwell paused and tapped his fingers on the desk. “There’s only one way to solve this problem.” The president turned toward Bryce. “Edward, you tell Craig what we have to do. It was your idea.”
Betty’s words flashed through Craig’s mind: “I don’t have a good feeling about this.”
Bryce was on his feet again, pacing and looking at Craig while he spoke. “We have to take the position that Moscow was a rogue operation that you conceived and implemented on your own to avenge your daughter’s death. Neither president Treadwell nor anyone else in the American government had advance knowledge.”
Craig was flabbergasted. “But you authorized it, Mr. President. Right here in this room. And Bryce, you were at the meeting.”
Treadwell looked away from Craig. “Unfortunately, we don’t have a choice.”
“So you want to throw me under the bus, Mr. President.”
“I wouldn’t put it that way.”
“Then how would you put it?”
Still on his feet, Bryce responded, “The president won’t be charging you with a crime. He’ll merely accept your resignation as director of the CIA.”
Craig realized that Bryce probably would like to charge him to give their story credibility, but at trial they’d never be able to stop him from disclosing Treadwell’s approval. He also realized that further opposition was pointless. Treadwell was being completely dominated by Bryce.
“Even for Washington,” Craig said caustically, “three weeks in a job must be a record.”
“Look. I feel bad about this,” Treadwell said.
“It’s only politics,” Bryce added.
Craig stood up, wheeled around to face the president’s advisor, and calmly said, “Go fuck yourself.”
“You really told Bryce that in the Oval Office?” Betty said after Craig related the events of the meeting. They were in Craig’s office.
“Damn right.”
“Good for you. I can’t believe them.”
“C’mon, you were the one who told me Washington is the city of sharp knives.”
“I know, but I never thought …”
She reached into her bag and removed a cigarette that she fiddled with, knowing she couldn’t light it inside of the building.
Craig said, “And the world’s record for the shortest tenure in a top Washington job goes to …”
“I’m out of here, too. We’ll leave together.”
“No,” he said emphatically. “You have to stay. You’ll be acting director. Maybe they’ll even give you the job.”
Betty shook her head. “It’ll never happen. First, I’m a woman.”
“Treadwell said he wants to appoint more women to top jobs.”
“Second, you appointed me to be your deputy.”
“But they have no idea how close we are. When they ask you about me, say ‘Craig who?’”
She laughed.
“I haven’t heard you laugh in a long time.”