If you don’t think your turkey decoy looks real, the bird won’t, either.
Thankfully the Smithsonian had the resources to accommodate her urgent requests. Its conservation lab was a master at restoring old books, but it also possessed the ability to reproduce antique documents. So while still at the Treasury Department she’d called Richard Stamm, and he’d readied the perfect decoy in less than two hours. An envelope stained and bleached to look eighty years old, along with a single sheet of paper with faded print from an old manual, ribbon typewriter, which the conservation lab had on hand. Cotton had suggested the wording, and she’d refined it.
Mr. President, I hope this quest has proven as enjoyable for you as it was for me to create. I wanted to see if you would actually do as I instructed and it’s good to know that you did. Unfortunately, there is nothing to find. No danger exists to this country, except the ones you will inflict upon it. Surely, by now, I am dead. But if for some reason you have found this message before I pass, please be sure to let me know your thoughts. I will give them the same courtesy and consideration that you have always shown to mine.
She’d seen the writing cabinet at the Smithsonian before and knew of its many secret compartments. So the envelope with the fake message was delivered to Stamm, who hid it inside. When she called Joe Levy from the Mall on her cell phone the Chinese again were listening. And like that pressured turkey, they ran straight for an irresistible decoy. All she and Levy had to do was play their parts to perfection.
Now the Chinese had their prize, only it was no prize at all. They would conclude that the entire affair was just a way for a rich man to torment a president, part of a vendetta from long ago that had no relevance today. Cotton’s actual deciphering of the code had been delivered to Carol Williams by Chick-fil-A Man, face-to-face, just after the earlier encounter in the garden court.
Edward Savage Eleanor Custis Martha Washington 16
Hopefully, while she and Joe Levy finished their performance on the Mall, Carol had solved the riddle. Like Danny had said a few hours ago outside the White House, as he exited her car, Remember, the second mouse to the trap is the one who always gets the cheese.
Carol Williams entered the Founders Room. Visitors wandered in and out too, the building’s coat check located just beyond. They drifted near the fireplace, among a cluster of comfortable upholstered chairs, beneath Mellon’s portrait. Chick-fil-A Man stood at the doorway to keep watch, but little danger existed anymore. The turkeys were long gone.
“It was easy,” Carol said. “I didn’t even need the Internet. This one I know.”
Stephanie’s phone vibrated, the caller unknown.
She decided to answer.
“Ms. Nelle, this call is a courtesy, ordered by my superiors,” said the male voice, which she recognized.
The Chinese ambassador.
“Our friends to the south were not happy with what I secured from you. It was not as … substantial as they’d hoped. Whether it be true or false matters not to us. Regardless of what you think, we are simply trying to keep two allies happy. But being in the middle of this fight has proven most unpleasant. We are done. It is over, as far as we are concerned. But I cannot say the same for our friends to the south. They are the ones currently handling the operation overseas and they have decided to eliminate all remnants of the problem. I pass the message on as a show of good faith that we are not your enemy.”
She sucked a deep breath.
“They have trained personnel on the ground in Croatia,” the ambassador said. “They made a move on Kim, which failed. They now have sent their assets to finish the task. They have orders to kill Kim, his daughter, Howell, and anyone else who may be on that train, which includes any American assets. As I said, they are angry.”
This man was clearly informed.
“Thanks for the warning.”
“Not at all. It is, after all, what friends do for one another.”
She ended the call.
It’s a two-front war, Cotton had told her.
And he was right.
She quickly sent one more text.
SIXTY-ONE
CROATIA
Malone heard the train approaching, maybe a mile down the tracks. He’d checked the schedule board and saw that this was the last one due here for the night. Only a handful of people were around, the station nearly empty. Inside the station was a cavernous hall with a lofty ceiling supported by iron beams. The remaining Korean stood on the loading platform, off to the side, near one of the iron supports that held up an overhang. Both of the man’s hands rested inside his coat pockets, one of them probably holding a weapon. Malone’s gun was just beneath his leather jacket. What was their plan? Were there assets on the train to secure Kim and then these two would be waiting to take him away? Or were these two the only ones involved, here to claim Kim as he disembarked? He’d done his part to make things difficult here. But what were Luke and Isabella facing?
His phone vibrated.
He’d been waiting for the text.
Under control here. All done. Worked perfectly. No Chinese on your end. It’s NK. They are greenlighted to move on all of you.
He knew what that meant. There was no way Kim Yong Jin would be allowed to just walk away. For good measure, they’d also take out anyone else who happened to be nearby.
And he’d provided them the perfect venue.
This Croatian isolation worked both ways.
Which meant things were about to get messy.
*
Isabella kept moving forward, advancing to the connecting space between the cars. There were still passengers in some of the seats ahead of her, the bodies and commotion now behind them. Farther on, in the next car, began the first-class compartments.
The train was slowing.