The Einstein Papers

CHAPTER 33

Benson glanced across his desk at Taft and Martinez. "I have the embassy covered," he reiterated. "You two are to resume doing the system check with the contractor in Potomac Beach. He has scheduled a test for tomorrow afternoon."

"That hardly seems fair," Martinez said. "John has been on this since the beginning. If he hadn't brought Li Choi out of China and then discovered Einstein's boat we'd already be screwed."

"Thanks, Larry," Taft said, smiling. "I had no idea you felt this way about me."

"No problem," Martinez said.

"You two cut the Heckel and Jeckel routine," Benson said. "It's time you took a break. I want you to go home and get some rest. And you, Taft, I want you to shave."

"But—" Taft started to say.

"No buts. Get out of my office and go home," Benson said in a voice that defied argument.

With the meeting obviously at an impasse, Taft and Martinez glanced at one another, then rose from their chairs simultaneously. "Very good, sir," Taft said as the pair began walking toward the door.

Closing the door to Benson's office behind them, they walked down the hall to the elevator. Taft rubbed the stubble on his face with the palm of his hand.

"This bites," Taft said to Martinez as they waited for the elevator. Martinez nodded. He was angry, Taft could tell, but he said nothing. The elevator arrived and carried the men to the ground floor. The two men walked past the security desk silently.

"I'm going home. Give me a call later," Martinez said as they walked into the parking lot.

"I have to return the rental car, then catch a ride over to Andrews to pick up my car. I'll call you when I'm back at my house."

A stiff wind was forming peaked whitecaps on the waters of Chesapeake Bay. Most of the boats on the bay today were work boats. Fishermen, crabbers, Coast Guard, and U.S. Navy vessels. The few birds aloft were buffeted by the winds like kites in a cyclone. One of the few ships leaving port in Norfolk, Virginia, appeared to casual observation to be simply a rather large crabber. The ship was maintained but far from spotless. The bow paint was stained with rust near the anchor hawser. The diesel engines smoked a little more than necessary. A large crane in the center of the stern deck could be used to hoist the pots filled with crab onto the deck. The proliferation of radio antennas could be explained by the personal need of a captain who craved accurate navigation. The lack of fish smell was harder to explain, but you would have to be aboard to notice that. As to the mini-sub in the center of the crab pots covered in netting, there was no logical explanation why that would be aboard a crab boat.

The explanation was simple: the Carondelet was no crab boat. Two hours later, Taft pulled his car into his garage and shut the door. Walking to his house, he unlocked the door then carried the pile of newspapers on his porch to his kitchen. He snapped off the rubber bands and glanced at the headlines. Finding little of interest, he returned to the front door and walked out to the mail box to retrieve his mail. As he walked back inside he removed the bills and stacked them in a pile on the kitchen table. Then he grubbed around in the refrigerator, and, finding nothing that was less than a few weeks old, took a frozen pizza from the freezer. After the oven had warmed, he slid the pizza onto die rack, set the timer, and walked upstairs to take a shower and shave. He was back downstairs in the kitchen again when the phone rang.

"It's me," Martinez said.

"What time should we meet tomorrow?"

"I'll pick you up. Your house is on the way to Potomac Beach." That's fine. What time?" Taft asked again.

The test doesn't start until late afternoon. How about two P.M.?"

"I can hardly wait," Taft said as he hung up the phone. Taft thought about calling one of his girlfriends, then decided against it. He desperately needed sleep. Walking wearily up the stairs, he climbed into bed and slept for the next twelve hours. When he awoke his disposition had improved. Tsing spent the night in a run-down boardinghouse above a Chinese restaurant on the edge of Chinatown. The boardinghouse wasn't linked to a computer and the guests were not required to fill out any registration cards. He rose early and slipped out of the room without being seen. His breakfast was two plums that he bought from a street vendor, and he washed it down with a bottle of water purchased at a neighborhood store. Last night, after checking into the boardinghouse, he had trimmed his hair short. After buying clothes from a rack on the street and changing in a public restroom, his appearance resembled any of the thousands of Chinese who made their home in New York. Making his way to the main bus terminal he scanned the outside for signs that it was being watched. Several marked police cars were parked in front, but he doubted that was unusual. Entering the terminal he made his way toward the ticket window. Several plainclothes detectives were checking the crowd, but they hardly glanced at Tsing as he purchased his ticket. He waited until his bus was called, then made his way aboard without incident. He sat nervously in his seat and didn't relax until the bus was past Newark and motoring down Interstate 95.

Arriving in Baltimore in early afternoon, Tsing stole a car from the long-term parking lot at Baltimore's airport using a plastic key that molded itself to the ignition tumblers, then drove south on Highway 301 to Lanham, Maryland. There he pulled into a gas station and used the pay phone to call the Chinese Embassy in Washington, D.C., for instructions.

It was his only mistake so far.