Private Beijing

Chapter 86

The tunnel ran in a straight line for about half a mile. Tiny motion-activated LED lights came on as we approached them, illuminating our way. West slowed to a gentle jog as we left the Moscow police behind us.

“That was a little too close,” he said.

He had the decency not to blame me for being too slow. Each step was making me feel better though, and I was shaking off some of the worst after-effects of the crash.

After six or seven minutes we reached a dead end. The tunnel was capped by a concrete wall. West found a particular area near the bottom right corner and held his palm to it. An optical reader disguised as a patch of concrete scanned his handprint and the wall retracted and then descended into the floor.

We went through the newly created opening into what looked like a ten-feet-long six-feet-wide metal bank vault. Rivets peppered the walls and thin structural supports propped up the ceiling. There was no door, just a metal wall at the other end, but when the slab of concrete closed and returned to its position, the inner metal wall rose into the ceiling.

“Tempered steel,” West said. “The roof is a solid block that can be dropped into the space, sealing it.”

I glanced up and shuddered the thought of the heavy block falling on us.

“Simple but effective way of closing it off if anyone ever discovers the tunnel,” West observed.

He took me into an embassy equipment room. It was full of emergency gear: torches, medical supplies, and flight cases lined up on neat racks. I watched the wall close, concealing the tunnel, and West went to the door and tapped a code into the keypad beside it.

A buzzer sounded and he pulled the door open, leading me into a basement corridor.

A uniformed Marine was waiting for us there.

“The Ambassador is here, Master Gunnery Sergeant,” he said.

He took us through a maze of identical corridors until we reached a bank of elevators. He escorted us to the top floor, hand just touching his sidearm the whole way. He knocked on the door to Ambassador Dussler’s office and opened it for us.

West and I stepped inside to find Dussler leaning against his desk talking to Erin Sebold, who sat on a couch on the other side of the room. Dussler hadn’t changed since our last meeting, and was still as confident and suave as ever, except in contrast to his usual tailored suit, today he wore navy sweatpants and a grey hooded top. Erin Sebold was in jeans and a thin sweater. The casual clothes looked out of place in the very traditional office but were the result of the lateness of the hour. There was the obligatory photograph of Dussler with the President, and framed artwork that dated from shortly after the Revolutionary War hung above antique furniture that was carefully arranged to impress visiting dignitaries.

“Jack Morgan, you sure know how to make a dramatic entrance,” the Ambassador said, stepping forward to offer me his hand. “Good to see you.”

“I wish it was under better circumstances,” I replied.

“What happened at the airport?” Erin said, getting up to greet me.

“Two guys tried to abduct him,” West responded. “FSB probably.”

“How did you stop them?” Erin asked.

“I improvised,” West remarked. “I’m going to need a new vehicle by the way.”

“That’s some improvisation,” Erin remarked.

“It was,” I said. “He saved my life. I owe you,” I told West. “I won’t forget it.”

“I reckon we’re even from before. The country owes you a debt,” he countered.

“So, what’s happening, Jack?” Dussler asked.

“A faction of Chinese nationals struck a deal with Valery Alekseyev to work together to advance their strategic interests. Private was the intended target. A secret Chinese group led by a guy called Fang Wenyan was supposed to destroy my business, kill my people, and, when I’d suffered enough, kill me.”

“On Alekseyev’s orders?” Dussler asked.

“Yes, sir,” I replied. “I’m guessing it was supposed to be revenge for what I did here and in Afghanistan.”

“Alekseyev is bad news, Jack,” Erin observed. “It would explain what our sources told us. Yesterday morning, raids took place on the Private office here and the homes of every member of its staff. All your people were arrested and incarcerated somewhere.”

The thought of Dinara, Feo, and the others being held captive filled me with anger.

“I need to find them. And then I need to put Alekseyev out of action.”

Dussler and Erin exchanged a concerned look that indicated the sensitivity of the situation.

“We cannot be seen to be aiding a vigilante mission against a member of the Russian Government, Jack,” Dussler said. “Even if America’s strategic interests would be served by the removal of that man. I’m afraid we can only provide moral support.”

I was deflated. “I have to help my people.”

Erin eyed me sympathetically, but she and Dussler seemed resolved.

“Sir, ma’am, I have some annual leave due,” West responded. “I’d like to use it now to show Mr. Morgan around Moscow. Take in some sights.”

“Sights?” Dussler asked.

“Yes, sir, sights,” West replied.

Erin murmured approvingly. “That’s not a bad idea. Maybe you could borrow a camera and any other gear you might need for sightseeing from the armory,” she suggested.

“I was hoping you might say that, ma’am,” West replied.

It was clear what was happening. The US Government was going to support me through West, while retaining plausible deniability. It was an elegant lie, and fine by me. I would have single-handedly torn Moscow apart, stone by stone, to recover my team and get two minutes alone with the man who had been responsible for so much evil.

Having West by my side would make the task a great deal easier.