Nano

CHAPTER 47

Berman’s body clock was shot. At two hours’ notice, he had flown twelve hours from Boulder to Milan, then refueled, turned around, and flown back west, although the journey from Italy to Stansted Airport in the U.K., London’s third airport, was much shorter.

Berman was very glad to have Jimmy Yan as his partner at this stage of his dealings with the Chinese government, as Jimmy was able to solve with ease and equanimity problems that might otherwise be intractable. Berman had established his own contacts airside at the Milan Linate airport with a general aviation enterprise, so coming and going discreetly had been no problem.

But now he had a piece of troublesome cargo he needed to get into the U.K., a country known to be more rigorous with import rules and regulations than the Italians. “No problem,” said Jimmy, “I’ll make your flight an official Chinese government one. No one will look at it. As for the cargo, a diplomatic pouch can be any size; just make sure the package is immobilized, and you can transport it in a large duffel bag. As for somewhere to stay, forget your West End hotel. What were you thinking anyway? The traffic in London is epically bad. The Chinese government has a house in the country used for diplomats and diplomatic purposes that is much more convenient. And much safer.”

Jimmy and his people had picked up Berman and his party and driven them west from Stansted around London’s orbital road, the M25. Berman noticed signs for quaint-sounding towns such as Potters Bar, Frogmore, and Chorleywood, which was where they got off the M25. They quickly decamped in a place he was told was called Chenies — pronounced “Cheney’s,” as if it belonged to the former USA vice president — in the county of Buckinghamshire.

Jimmy had been very quiet on the ride in the large, black limousine, only to tell Berman that he and his countrymen generally traveled by Mercedes station wagons and vans in the U.K. because SUVs stood out so much. With gas at $10 a gallon, only those with money to burn, almost literally, drove an SUV. He said that the Chinese delegation preferred to be more discreet.

Now Berman was sitting in the kitchen of a large, old stone house in this tiny village, looking out over a well-tended lawn and picture-perfect English garden surrounded by a sunk fence. He had noticed the massive iron gates, the numerous cameras and guards that represented the visual security. Although Jimmy had said something about diplomats, Berman thought that he was probably in a government safe house, perhaps belonging to the Guoanbu, the Ministry of State Security, China’s version of the CIA. Berman knew better than to ask which host he should send a thank-you gift to.

“How is the tea?” asked Jimmy, who had made Berman a brew in a mug adorned with the logo of the BBC.

“The tea is excellent, thank you.”

“I have gained respect for the English way of making tea,” said Jimmy. “I take it strong, with milk and sugar. And the water must be hot, but past boiling. No tepid cups of water with a tea bag on the side, like in your country. That’s an abomination.”

“The tea is very restorative,” said Berman, who felt that he needed more than a cup of tea to get back to a semblance of normality. “Where did you take her?”

“One good thing about English houses is that the old ones, like this one, have generous cellars. We have converted the one here so we can accommodate the occasional guest, particularly those who are, as we say, detained.”

“How convenient,” said Berman lightly.

Jimmy smashed his hand down on the table, and Berman’s hand jumped, sending hot tea over his knuckles. Berman had never seen Jimmy lose his temper. It shocked him.

“This is not a time to be flippant. I am taking risks for you doing this. Big risks. There is no place more treacherous than a house full of spies, which is what this is in actuality. So we took her down there and only a couple of people know it. How would I explain this woman to my superiors? How would I explain how your mind is controlled by your libido like a teenager?”

“But you said I should bring her. It was your idea.” Berman was momentarily taken aback.

“My desire would be for her not to exist at all, but she does. I realized that she could not be made to disappear adequately in Colorado, not with the resources that are available and with the bothersome independence of your police. Most of them, anyway. This problem must be contained. We are so close to fruition. I don’t want our collaboration to be jeopardized.” Jimmy looked pointedly at Berman. “So I will take care of things myself.”

“Look, Jimmy, I have unfinished business—”

“You are a foolish man. There are millions of women available.”

“Not like her,” said Berman, and he could see Jimmy relax slightly.

“Look, I know that powerful men have such weaknesses,” said Jimmy with a sigh of resignation. “I have a couple myself, as do all my superiors. We know how to handle this kind of situation. So we will handle this rationally. The precautions you have made are good ones. There is nothing to connect this woman with this property, which is the important thing at this time. And you will keep her quiet.”

“Whitney Jones is making sure of that. The woman is out cold and will continue to be sedated in the near future. All I want is a chance to convince her to join the team.”

Berman looked at his watch. By his reckoning, it was eleven P.M. in Colorado, and Paul Caldwell would be due to come off his shift. How long before he raised the alarm? Berman wondered.