The Brotherhood of the Rose by David Morrell Page A
Authors: David Morrell
Tags: Fiction, Suspense, Thrillers, Action & Adventure, Crime, Espionage, Adventure stories, Assassins, Special Forces (Military Science)
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At the earliest opportunity, he'd go to the priest and get the dentist's name.
Preoccupied, he-turned from the dismal rain beyond the window. Wiping his sweat-blurred eyes, he gaped in disbelief at a man whom he had last seen seventeen years ago.
The man, a Chinese, had entered the dining room. Slender, round-faced, genteel, he wore an impeccable khaki suit, the jacket of which was buttoned to his collar in the Mao style. His youthful face and his thick black hair belied his sixty-two years.
The man's name was Chin Ken Chan. I.Q.: one hundred and eighty. Multilingual in Russian, French, and English in addition to Chinese. Chris knew his background. Chan had received his formal education from Dame Sahara Day-Wisdom, O.B.E., at Merton College, Oxford University, from 1939 till the war had ended. During that time, he'd been influenced by the Communist members of clubs at both Oxford and Cambridge, easily recruited by the mole Guy Burgess to help Mao after the war. Because Chan was a homosexual, he'd never risen higher than the rank of colonel in the intelligence arena of China. But he was a valuable idealist in the Maoist cause and, despite his effete appearance, one of its finest killers, particularly with the garotte.
Chan glanced dismissively at Chris and walked toward another table. He sat primly, reaching between the buttons of his jacket to pull out his own set of chopsticks.Chris chewed and swallowed, hiding his surprise. "The Snow Leopard."
Chan raised his head. "Does the Snow Leopard miss Deep Snow?" Chan nodded impassively. "It's been thirteen years since we've had Deep Snow in the Orient."
"I was thinking of seventeen years ago. I believe it snowed then in Laos."
Chan smiled politely. "There were only two Americans in the snow that year. I recall they were brothers-but not by birth."
"And this one is eternally grateful to you."
"Chris?" Chan said.
Chris nodded, throat tight. "Good to see you, Chan." His heart raced as he grinned and stood. They crossed the room and embraced.
Father Janin felt apprehensive. As soon as a servant had taken the American to the dining room, he grabbed the phone on his desk and dialed quickly. "Remus," he said.
He hung up, gulped a glass of brandy, frowned, and waited. Coincidences bothered him. Two days ago, he'd given sanctuary to a Russian, Joseph Malenov, the director of the KGB's opium traffic into Southeast Asia. Malenov had stayed in his room, where, by agreement, the priest supplied him daily with 300 milligrams of the suppressant Dilantin to try to calm his outbursts of rage and hypertension. The treatment was working.
Yesterday, the priest had given sanctuary to a Chinese Communist operative, Col. Chin Ken Chan. Informants had told the priest that Chan was here to meet the Russian and perhaps become a double agent for the KGB- Such arrangements were not unusual. In an Abelard safe house, opposing operatives frequently took advantage of neutral territory to transact business, sometimes defecting. But the priest was not convinced of Chan's motivation. He knew that the Chinese Communists opposed Russia's opium smuggling into Southeast Asia, partly because they resented Soviet interference in the region, partly as well because they felt that opium undermined the character of the area. It made no sense that Chan, who for years had been sabotaging Russia's opium shipments, would defect to the.very man who directed the smuggling.
Now, today, the American had arrived. His request for a dentist who would extract teeth and stay quiet about it could have only one purpose-to prevent someone's body from being identified. But whose? The Russian's?
His thoughts were interrupted when the phone rang. The priest picked up the receiver and listened. In a minute, he set it down, twice as puzzled. REMUS, he'd learned, was the cryptonym for Christopher Patrick Kilmoonic, one-time lieutenant in the American Special Forces, who in 1965 had worked in conjunction with the CIA in an operation
Preoccupied, he-turned from the dismal rain beyond the window. Wiping his sweat-blurred eyes, he gaped in disbelief at a man whom he had last seen seventeen years ago.
The man, a Chinese, had entered the dining room. Slender, round-faced, genteel, he wore an impeccable khaki suit, the jacket of which was buttoned to his collar in the Mao style. His youthful face and his thick black hair belied his sixty-two years.
The man's name was Chin Ken Chan. I.Q.: one hundred and eighty. Multilingual in Russian, French, and English in addition to Chinese. Chris knew his background. Chan had received his formal education from Dame Sahara Day-Wisdom, O.B.E., at Merton College, Oxford University, from 1939 till the war had ended. During that time, he'd been influenced by the Communist members of clubs at both Oxford and Cambridge, easily recruited by the mole Guy Burgess to help Mao after the war. Because Chan was a homosexual, he'd never risen higher than the rank of colonel in the intelligence arena of China. But he was a valuable idealist in the Maoist cause and, despite his effete appearance, one of its finest killers, particularly with the garotte.
Chan glanced dismissively at Chris and walked toward another table. He sat primly, reaching between the buttons of his jacket to pull out his own set of chopsticks.Chris chewed and swallowed, hiding his surprise. "The Snow Leopard."
Chan raised his head. "Does the Snow Leopard miss Deep Snow?" Chan nodded impassively. "It's been thirteen years since we've had Deep Snow in the Orient."
"I was thinking of seventeen years ago. I believe it snowed then in Laos."
Chan smiled politely. "There were only two Americans in the snow that year. I recall they were brothers-but not by birth."
"And this one is eternally grateful to you."
"Chris?" Chan said.
Chris nodded, throat tight. "Good to see you, Chan." His heart raced as he grinned and stood. They crossed the room and embraced.
Father Janin felt apprehensive. As soon as a servant had taken the American to the dining room, he grabbed the phone on his desk and dialed quickly. "Remus," he said.
He hung up, gulped a glass of brandy, frowned, and waited. Coincidences bothered him. Two days ago, he'd given sanctuary to a Russian, Joseph Malenov, the director of the KGB's opium traffic into Southeast Asia. Malenov had stayed in his room, where, by agreement, the priest supplied him daily with 300 milligrams of the suppressant Dilantin to try to calm his outbursts of rage and hypertension. The treatment was working.
Yesterday, the priest had given sanctuary to a Chinese Communist operative, Col. Chin Ken Chan. Informants had told the priest that Chan was here to meet the Russian and perhaps become a double agent for the KGB- Such arrangements were not unusual. In an Abelard safe house, opposing operatives frequently took advantage of neutral territory to transact business, sometimes defecting. But the priest was not convinced of Chan's motivation. He knew that the Chinese Communists opposed Russia's opium smuggling into Southeast Asia, partly because they resented Soviet interference in the region, partly as well because they felt that opium undermined the character of the area. It made no sense that Chan, who for years had been sabotaging Russia's opium shipments, would defect to the.very man who directed the smuggling.
Now, today, the American had arrived. His request for a dentist who would extract teeth and stay quiet about it could have only one purpose-to prevent someone's body from being identified. But whose? The Russian's?
His thoughts were interrupted when the phone rang. The priest picked up the receiver and listened. In a minute, he set it down, twice as puzzled. REMUS, he'd learned, was the cryptonym for Christopher Patrick Kilmoonic, one-time lieutenant in the American Special Forces, who in 1965 had worked in conjunction with the CIA in an operation
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