The Secret Cardinal Read online

  Now Jing pressed a stethoscope against Yin’s chest, listening for any sign of a dangerously irregular rhythm and found none.

  “How do you feel?” Tao asked in Mandarin.

  Yin looked toward the comforting voice, then reached up and touched Tao’s face.

  “Like someone who has been reborn from darkness and pain into the light.”

  “Do you know where you are?” Jing asked.

  “Outside the walls of Chifeng Prison,” Yin replied.

  “Sounds lucid to me. Now for our other escapee.”

  Jing plunged a second syringe into Kilkenny’s chest. Kilkenny bolted upright as an energized flow of blood raced through his body. His skin felt prickly, each nerve hammered by the throbbing that pulsed through even the tiniest capillaries.

  “Sit—rep” Kilkenny gasped, his breathing ragged, asking for a situation report.

  “The execution went fine,” Tao replied, “but things got a little crazy after that.”

  Kilkenny glanced at the frail man whose head lay in Tao’s lap. “He okay?”

  “Near as I can tell, he’s coming around nicely,” Jing replied. “Just a little spent by the zapper.”

  Kilkenny nodded. “I haven’t felt this hungover since—” His words trailed off as he recalled his last brutal morning-after.

  “You are the one who spoke with me last night, yes?” Yin asked in English.

  “I am,” Kilkenny replied.

  Yin smiled. “That is the answer I always expected to hear upon my release from prison, though not to that question.”

  “What was the question you thought you’d be asking?”

  “The one Moses asked the burning bush on Sinai,” Yin replied. He changed the subject. “How did you create the illusion of our deaths?”

  “Better living through technology.” Kilkenny grinned.

  “The hoods we placed over your heads,” Tao explained, “contained a pouch of fake blood and a squib charge. That was to give the illusion that you’d been shot, because the pistol I used was packed with electronics instead of bullets. You both received a jolt to your nervous systems near the base of your brains that suppressed your breathing and heartbeat, simulating death.”

  “I still think a fake lethal injection would have hurt less than zapping the back of my skull,” Kilkenny groused.

  “That may be,” Tao replied, “but it wouldn’t have worked without the right kind of truck, and trucks equipped for lethal injection are hard to come by.”

  “Ow!” Kilkenny howled as Jing tended to his wounds.

  “I’m sorry about that,” Tao said. “I stopped the guards as quickly as I could.”

  “Professional hazard. Just a few new dings for my collection.”

  “Judging by what I’m seeing,” Jing offered, “I think you got the whole set now.”

  “It sure feels like it. So what happened after you popped me in the back of the head?”

  “A man from the Ministry of State Security arrived with orders to execute Bishop Yin,” Tao replied.

  “Then it is fortunate you executed me first,” Yin said.

  Tao smiled at the bishop’s show of gallows humor. “This guy insisted on inspecting the bodies—”

  “I see where this is going. How’d we do?” Kilkenny asked.

  “Not a scratch on our side,” Jing replied, “but we had to take out a few of theirs. Gates’s squad covered our exit. No sign of pursuit.”

  Yin tensed in Tao’s lap, his arms folded and drawn tightly against his chest.

  “Are you all right?” she asked.

  “Have you killed to win my freedom?”

  “Yes,” Kilkenny replied. “We had hoped deception would be enough, but my team did what was necessary to save their lives and ours.”

  “To kill in self-defense is no sin,” Yin said calmly, “but still I grieve for the lives that were lost.”

  Tao said, “I got quite the opposite feeling from Liu Shing-Li.”

  “Who?” Kilkenny asked.

  “The man who was sent to end my life,” Yin answered.

  “A soulless monster if I ever met one,” Tao added.

  “Oh, Liu has a soul,” Yin corrected her, “but his actions put it at grave risk.”

  “Two minutes to swap point,” David Tsui reported from the front seat.

  Jing and Sung checked their weapons and reloaded their magazines. Tao traded her stun pistol for a real one and offered another to Kilkenny.

  “You up to this?” she asked.

  Kilkenny held out his hand and noticed a slight tremor. “I won’t win any medals for marksmanship today, but I shouldn’t embarrass myself in a fight either.”

  “Are you expecting trouble?” Yin asked.

  “No,” Kilkenny replied, “but I prefer to err on the side of caution.”

  Bob Shen guided the truck through the old industrial district on the northern periphery of Chifeng, an urban landscape of narrow rutted roads and squat, windowless buildings clad in tile roofs and soot-stained masonry. He drove into the open end of a long, single-story warehouse, now an idled facility. A rolling steel door dropped to seal the entry.

  Kilkenny heard a voice outside the truck, a man conversing rapid-fire with Shen and Tsui. He glanced at Tao, who was straining to catch both sides of the exchange, for any sign of alarm. Jing and Sung listened too, but both men focused their eyes and weapons on the rear door.

  Several questions were asked and answered, then the voices on both sides grew friendly.

  “It’s our contact,” Tao said, relieved.

  “Tsui and I will run a perimeter sweep,” Shen called from the cab. “The rest of you can offload.”

  Sung was first out the back of the truck, his assault rifle held at the ready. Jing filled the doorway with his muscled frame. Both men visually swept the warehouse for targets.

  A small group of people cautiously approached the truck, men and women of widely varied ages and a few young children. None were armed. Sung and Jing lowered the muzzles of their weapons.

  “Ni hao,” a young girl with long black hair said, breaking the nervous quiet.

  “Ni hao,” Sung replied softly. “What is your name?”

  Now the center of attention, the girl shyly looked to her mother for permission to answer. The mother nodded.

  “Ke Li.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Six,” she replied, holding up both hands with the correct number of digits extended.

  “I have a little boy who is just your age.”

  The girl’s face brightened and she pointed at the truck. “Is he in there?”

  “No, he is far away.”

  “Is it true?” asked an old man who stood beside the girl’s mother. “Have you freed Bishop Yin?”

  “It is,” Yin answered from within the truck.

  A nervous energy swept through the people gathered around the truck, a palpable excitement that comes when a fervent prayer is answered.

  Jing jumped down from the truck and stepped aside, revealing Yin in the doorway. Awestruck, the people dropped to their knees, hands clasped and heads bowed reverently—all but the little girl.

  Sung offered an arm for support and helped Yin dismount the truck. Ke Li stared at the disheveled prisoner, a confused look on her face.

  “Are you really a priest?” she asked skeptically.

  The faces of Ke Li’s parents and grandparents blanched, but Yin gazed warmly at the child.

  “Yes, my child, I am.”

  “But you are so dirty,” Ke Li remarked.

  “I know, but like sin, dirt can be washed away.”

  Ke Li considered this for a moment, then suddenly remembered something and began patting her shirt. Finding what she was looking for, she looped a thumb around a thin cord that ran across the back of her neck and fished out a simple wooden cross, which she proudly held out for Yin to see.

  “My grandfather made this for me when I was born.” The girl’s voice dropped to a whisper. “It
’s a secret. I have to keep it in a special place or someone will take it away. Do you have one?”

  “I did once, long ago. I was not very good at keeping it a secret.”

  With the impulsiveness of her age, Ke Li removed her cross and offered it to Yin. “You can use mine until you get a new one.”

  Yin beamed at the child’s generosity and knelt down to her level. “Will you put it on me?”

  Ke Li nodded enthusiastically and slipped the cord loop over Yin’s head, her tiny hands brushing the sides of his face. In return, Yin placed his hands on the child’s head and whispered a blessing.

  Yin stood and, to Kilkenny’s eyes, seemed taller. Ke Li scampered back to her mother’s proud embrace. Kilkenny didn’t understand a word of the exchange, but the imagery could not have been clearer.

  “Blessed are the children,” Kilkenny whispered to Tao.

  “I guess so.”

  “Please, everyone,” Yin said, motioning for the people to rise. “I am honored to be among you and humbled by your faith.”

  The people stood, and Ke Li’s grandfather approached Yin. The two old men bowed. The grandfather knelt down on his left knee, took Yin’s hand, and kissed the finger where the ring of the bishop’s episcopal office should be. Yin blessed the man and asked him to stand.

  “Is this your work?” Yin asked of Ke Li’s cross.

  “Yes, Your Excellency.”

  “It is the finest I have ever worn.”

  “I am honored.”

  “That you have passed the meaning of this cross on to your children and grandchildren does you far greater honor than the praise of an old priest.”

  Tsui and Shen returned with several young men dressed in coveralls.

  “How’s it look out there?” Kilkenny asked.

  “Good,” Shen replied. “The perimeter’s clear of hostiles, but I can’t say for how long. We should put some distance between this truck and ourselves. Everything we need is here.”

  Kilkenny nodded. He got to his feet and stepped out of the truck, followed by Tao. The appearance of the tall, freckled Caucasian startled many of those surrounding Yin. Though no longer rare, the sight of a foreigner in Chifeng, especially one with red hair, was still unusual enough to elicit a curious glance. Ke Li tugged at her mother’s pant leg and pointed at Kilkenny. Yin looked at Kilkenny and smiled.

  “These are all good people, even the one who looks like a foreign devil.”

  Tao and the soldiers laughed, leaving Kilkenny, who didn’t speak Chinese, out of the joke.

  “What did he say?” Kilkenny asked.

  “He vouched for you,” Tao replied.

  “As if his standing here isn’t enough?” Kilkenny turned to Yin. “Your Excellency, we need to change and get moving.”

  “I understand,” Yin replied.

  Their contact at the warehouse, a round-faced man named Su, led them to a small office suite where they were provided with new clothes. Both Yin and Kilkenny were stripped and quickly scrubbed raw by a group of matronly women with a greater regard for hygiene than for the men’s modesty. As Kilkenny’s prosthetic wounds were peeled away, he wished the real ones could be removed as easily.

  As soon as Kilkenny had a towel wrapped around his waist, one of the women ushered him to a chair, where she sat him down with his head tilted back. The woman opened a bottle and poured a pungent, viscous liquid on his hair. Kilkenny tried to relax as she massaged the liquid in, quickly dying his red hair black.

  “How do I look?” Kilkenny asked when Tao walked over to inspect his transformation.

  Tao considered the question carefully before rendering a verdict. “Less conspicuous.”

  “That’s it? I’m not dark and mysterious?”

  “No, just less conspicuous.”

  “I can live with that.”

  “But when we get home, go back to red,” Tao advised. “This is not a good look for you.”

  With a fresh change of clothing, Yin, Tao, and the Asian-American soldiers could now easily blend in with the local population. As this was not possible for Kilkenny, Su and his people assembled a wardrobe typical of a tourist from the United States. Complementing the ubiquitous jeans were a pair of hiking boots, a gray sweatshirt with Michigan College of Engineering silk-screened across the front, and a navy blue L.L. Bean squall jacket.

  “How do I look?” Kilkenny asked Tao.

  “Like you’re ready for a football Saturday in the Big House.”

  As they dressed, Su’s people cut the prison garb and soldiers’ uniforms into strips and burned them along with the body bags and hoods.

  A woman trimmed Yin’s hair, then covered his jaw and upper lip with a layer of soapy foam. She went about the task of removing several weeks of growth with gentle skill, but despite her care, the honed edge of her razor nicked open the remnant of a scab on the crease of Yin’s nose.

  “I am so sorry,” the woman said, blotting the tiny wound. “Curse my clumsy hands.”

  “The last person who shaved my face showed neither your ability nor your concern, as your blade has just discovered,” Yin said. “I bless you and your hands, and thank you for your kindness.”

  Beaming, the woman joyfully completed her work, transforming Yin’s haggard appearance into a more civilized look. Su stood Yin against a light gray screen and snapped a photo. Kilkenny was last to be photographed. The images instantly appeared on a nearby laptop computer, and a college-age man quickly fabricated a new set of identity documents.

  “Nice job,” Kilkenny said, looking over the young man’s shoulder.

  The man beamed. “I am number one-hacker. Next year, I go to University of Michigan.”

  “This yours?” Kilkenny asked, pointing at the sweatshirt.

  “I ordered on Internet after government say I can go. You know this school?”

  Kilkenny nodded. “You’ll love it.”

  Su and Tao carefully reviewed Yin’s new identity papers and declared the forgeries acceptable.

  “These are for you, in case we’re stopped,” Tao said, handing Yin the documents.

  Yin read the name listed beside his photograph. “Feng Zhijian.”

  “That mean anything?” Kilkenny asked.

  “The loose interpretation is a phoenix who remains strong in spirit. I thought it appropriate.” Tao turned to Yin. “Once you have this information memorized, I’ll give you a few more details to flesh out your new identity.”

  “Such as?”

  “I am your daughter, Feng Xiu Juan.”

  “Then your mother must have been quite beautiful, because you thankfully look nothing like me.”

  Tao blushed, embarrassed at both Yin’s flattery and how easily he disarmed her emotional control.

  “If you are wondering,” Yin said to Kilkenny, “her name means elegant, graceful phoenix. Fitting, no?”

  “Quite.”

  Su made a brief announcement, and the people began moving back into the warehouse.

  “Time to go?” Kilkenny asked.

  “That’s basically what he said,” Tao replied.

  “Would you look at that,” Shen said, amazed.

  In just twenty minutes, the young men in coveralls had reduced the truck to its smallest component parts. Rubber tires sat stacked along with belts and hoses; copper wires stripped of their insulation lay bound in coil loops. Steel, still at a premium in China, had been carefully collected. A pair of sweat-soaked men sporting welder’s goggles had cut the larger pieces of frame and body panels into manageable chunks. Anything painted was dipped in a fast-acting solvent that stripped the surface to bare metal.

  “This gives a whole new meaning to chop shop,” Kilkenny said, knowing that by the end of the day, black-market smelters would recycle the metals, and anything else that could be identified as part of the truck would be as impossible to find as Jimmy Hoffa.

  They left the warehouse in a collection of cars, taxis, and vans. Some of the vehicles were privately owned; others belonged to sm
all businesses. The exodus was orderly, with only one or two vehicles leaving at a time in order to carefully blend Kilkenny’s team and their Chinese collaborators into the midday flow of traffic in Chifeng.

  31

  Liu sat in the warden’s office and stared at the tiny fragments clinging to the bottom of his teacup, but the abstract composition revealed no hint of the future. Not that he held any stock in tasseomancy or any other form of divination—he did not believe the future was knowable. Even luck he ascribed not to fate or supernatural whim but to one’s ability to control unfolding events. And Liu’s luck since arriving in Chifeng had been uncharacteristically bad.

  The prison was on high alert, the brickyard idled, and the prisoners were locked down in their cells. Fire crews had finally extinguished the blazes at both gates, and mechanics now labored to remove the blackened wreckage and clear a way out.

  The prison’s technical staff faced similar difficulties recovering from a crippling attack on the computers that controlled the security and communications network. Unable to establish an encrypted line to Beijing, Liu decided the need to report Yin’s escape far outweighed any potential security concerns, and he risked using his cell phone. The sleek device’s tiny LCD screen displayed two words: No Signal. Until the prison’s physical and electronic links were restored, the facility was quite effectively cut off from the outside world. And every minute that passed put Yin farther out of reach.

  Someone rapped sharply at the door.

  “Come,” Liu answered, annoyed.

  Tang Hui stepped inside, a thin file clasped tightly under his arm. The manager of the prison’s brickyard was a paunchy, middle-aged man with thinning hair matted down by perspiration. Tang’s suit matched the man, gray in color and rumpled.

  “You have something to report,” Liu said, more a command than a question.

  “Yes, sir. Our phone system should be operational in the next few minutes. Once testing is complete, the line you requested to Beijing will be established. Our security system has been partially restored, and I have staff reviewing feeds from our cameras to see if we have any usable images of Captain Jiao and her accomplices. Also, we have located the file on the prisoner who escaped with Yin.”