Off the Grid, page 23
The first folder contained a lengthy CIA Ops Plan. According to the executive summary at the beginning of the document, a secret CIA asset, named De Xiaoping, the First Deputy Ambassador in the Chinese Belgrade embassy, had disclosed the existence and location of plans, technical drawings, orders, invoices, delivery schedules, and other materials detailing the Iranian nuclear program. With De Xiaoping’s assistance, the CIA planned to penetrate the embassy, steal the documents, and cover up the raid by bombing the embassy. Koa passed the folder to Zeke. After reading through the description, he scribbled De Xiaoping’s name on a scrap of paper and left the room.
The second folder held technical drawings and other papers in Arabic and Chinese. Koa couldn’t decipher them, but they appeared to be Iranian nuclear documents, most likely the target of the CIA’s plan. In Koa’s mind they confirmed that the CIA had, in fact, raided the embassy and bombed the place to cover up the theft.
Zeke returned and handed Koa a one-page printout. The headline of the Reuters news story, datelined Beijing, China, October 24, 2005, read: “Guangdong Party Chief Elected to Seven-Member Politburo Committee.” The story outlined the election of De Xiaoping, formerly of the Chinese Foreign Diplomatic Corps, to the highest governing body in China.
Koa was dumbstruck. “Holy shit. No wonder the CIA is desperate to get this file back. They’ve got a spy at the top of the Chinese government.”
The third folder contained handwritten notes in Chinese and a number of eight-by-ten photographs of an Army officer in uniform—a lieutenant colonel, Intelligence Corps. Koa peered at the first photograph before the shock registered and disbelief followed. He knew this man. Nāinoa Nihoa looked younger in the photo, but Koa had no doubt. He turned the photograph over to examine the next one and noticed Chinese characters covering the back.
The next photograph showed the same officer in civilian clothes with a young Caucasian woman of extraordinary beauty. They were standing on a street but appeared to be unaware of the photographer. The picture looked like a high-quality surveillance photo. More pictures followed. In one, the couple sat close together in a nightclub, his hand on her thigh. In another they were dancing, her head on his shoulder, his hands on her ass. None of the shots had been posed—the couple was oblivious of the camera. More surveillance photos. Then the pictures turned pornographic. The man undressing the woman. The woman naked on her knees before the man, he, too, unclothed. Then the couple in bed, he on top, she on top, more positions. The bedroom pictures had been taken with professional cameras from different angles, and each bore Chinese markings on the back.
The pictures nauseated Koa. Not the pornography; cops saw plenty. The man, the uniform, and the markings on the back spelled treason. A senior American military officer had been caught in an affair or more likely a sting. Not just any officer, but the future governor of Hawai‘i.
Koa passed the pictures to Zeke. “Holy shit,” Zeke said. “You know who this is?”
“Yeah.” Koa guessed the look on his own face matched Zeke’s stunned expression. “Our future governor. And look at the Chinese on the back.”
Zeke turned the first photograph over. “God help us.”
Koa had a good idea what he’d find in the next folder. He wasn’t mistaken. It contained cables from NATO headquarters to senior military officers, including generals and members of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. Koa read cables from U.S. military planners to the operations directorate of the Central Intelligence Agency and the Bureau of European and Eurasian Affairs in the State Department’s Office of South Central European Affairs. They detailed personnel rosters, strategies, capabilities, target lists, and operational plans from the Allied Force bombing campaign in Yugoslavia. All the documents bore SECRET or TOP SECRET labels.
A fifth folder contained an audiocassette; its label was dated May 24, 1999, two and a half weeks after the Belgrade Chinese embassy bombing and about nine weeks before Oshoa had sold the Campbell property to the two offshore trusts. Zeke asked a secretary to find a machine to play the old-fashioned audiocassette.
Koa understood the importance of the materials and exactly what the package as a whole represented. The woman, a Chinese spy, had led Nihoa to her supposed pied–à–terre, already rigged by her Chinese spymasters with multiple cameras. That’s the only way the Chinese could have captured the bedroom shots from various different angles. They’d caught the colonel in a classic honey trap. With the pornographic pictures in hand, the Chinese must have pressured the colonel, and with his career, his marriage, and his family on the line, Nihoa had caved. He’d stolen the classified documents, with his name listed among the recipients, and turned them over to his Chinese masters. The Chinese had turned the American officer into a Chinese agent and blackmailed him into stealing U.S. military secrets. He’d engaged in espionage and betrayed his country.
The CIA had sent Ernesto Sapada into the Chinese embassy. Gwendolyn had assisted in the operation by enlisting the aid of De Xiaoping, a highly placed spy. Sapada had risked his life, as well as the life of a vitally important CIA asset, and found these materials. They must’ve been stored near the Iranian nuclear documents—the raid’s objective.
Koa felt his rage blossom. He’s been on the front lines. Soldiers had died in his arms. For him, treason was worse than murder. The colonel had risked his country’s honor and soldiers’ lives to hide his illicit affair. The secrets he’d delivered to the Chinese had put soldiers and aircrews at risk, and Koa felt sure some died because of the colonel’s perfidy.
Koa tried to put himself in Sapada’s position. The man goes into a foreign embassy on an important mission for his country, only to discover pornographic pictures of a senior American officer, together with a stash of classified NATO documents, addressed to the same officer. It wouldn’t have taken Sapada long to reach the same inescapable conclusion Koa had reached. Sapada must have been dumbfounded, shocked, revolted.
The secretary delivered a tape player, and Zeke put the cassette in the machine, punched the play button, and adjusted the volume. The voices sounded scratchy but plainly audible.
“Good afternoon, Colonel.”
“Thank God you’re okay. Where are you, Sapada?”
“Where your fuckin’ friends can’t find me, Colonel.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“I have the pictures, Colonel.”
“What pictures?”
“Cut the crap, Colonel. I know about your little tryst with the Yugoslav whore. Was she worth the fuck?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“When did you find out she was working for the Chinese, Colonel?”
The colonel’s voice had lost its stridency. “What do you want, Sapada?”
“Did the Chinese let you screw her even after you started passing secret documents?”
“Secret documents, what are you talking about?”
“I have the documents, Colonel. Secret and top-secret battle orders, target lists, operational plans. Copies addressed to you. You gave the Chinese everything they ever wanted. You’re a traitor. A goddamn fucking traitor.”
The man’s voice was now abject. “I didn’t have a choice, Sapada. That Yugoslav whore came on to me and set me up. Chinese agents confronted me in her apartment with the pictures. They were going to ruin my life. They made me get the documents for them.”
Sapada laughed harshly. “Made you, Colonel? You couldn’t keep it in your pants, you got caught, and you weren’t man enough to take the heat.”
“Please, Sapada, you’ve got to understand.”
“Yeah, I understand. You sent me into that embassy to save your goddamn skin. You knew where to look. That’s why you told me to do the second safe and to make sure I got everything. Did you think I wouldn’t look? And you had the CIA bomb the goddamn Chinese embassy just to save your own rotten fucking ass.”
“The Chinese were helping Milošević. We had to bomb the goddamn embassy. We had to.”
“Is that the line you fed the CIA hawks at Langley?” Sapada paused. “Tell me, Colonel, did you tell the Chinese about De Xiaoping? Did you sink that low?”
“Jesus, Sapada. Just tell me what you want. I’ve got money.”
“You did, didn’t you, you scumbag? You told the fucking Chinese De Xiaoping was working for us. I can’t believe you compromised him. The Chinese will kill him or turn him into a double agent. You fuckin’ traitor.”
“What do you want?”
“I should cut your balls off and send ’em to the FBI.”
“You don’t want to do that. I can set you up for life. Just give me those pictures.”
Sapada laughed again. “Trust you, Colonel? Not fucking likely, not ever again.”
“Please, Sapada …”
“Shut up, asshole. I’m going to milk your sorry ass for the rest of your life. Twenty thousand dollars a month, every month … every fucking month until they bury your rotten corpse. You’ll get the instructions in the mail. You miss a single payment, and you’ll be sitting in Leavenworth unless your CIA buddies put a bullet in your head.
“One last thing, Colonel, traitor, sir. If anything happens to me or to Lan Zwang, the FBI will automatically get the pictures of you with your prick in the Yugoslav woman, along with the top-secret documents you handed to your Chinese spymasters. Understand?”
The colonel’s voice only confirmed what Koa already knew. Nāinoa Nihoa, candidate for governor of Hawai‘i, was a traitor and almost certainly the kepala behind Sapada’s murder. Koa had no doubt, none whatsoever. Still, he found it hard to believe Nihoa had orchestrated the torture and killing of an American military hero.
His treachery was worse than Koa had imagined. Sapada hadn’t discovered the pictures by accident. The colonel had ordered the raid and sent Sapada to get the pictures. Koa couldn’t guess how the intelligence officer had planned for Sapada to steal the compromising materials without looking at them. Maybe they’d been in a lockbox. But Sapada had looked and discovered the intelligence officer’s espionage. Koa understood why Sapada had disappeared from Kosovo.
Koa felt he had to tell Zeke about Alderson’s visit. “Earlier this week, I had a visit from a James Alderson, a CIA agent. Admiral Cunningham vouched for him, so I know he’s the real deal. Alderson told me Gwendolyn, a former CIA agent named Lan Zwang, went missing from Kosovo in May 1999 with highly classified information. She and Sapada must have worked together.”
“Explains why someone”—for once Zeke spoke in a low tone of voice, almost a whisper—“and I’ll bet it was the fucking CIA, was willing to pay Gwendolyn six hundred grand a year to keep her mouth shut. It puts those agency pricks at the top of the suspect list.”
Koa shook his head. “I’m not so sure.”
“What do you mean?” Zeke demanded, his voice regaining volume.
“Alderson told me that the CIA and the FBI had been looking for Gwendolyn since she disappeared. He might be lying, but I don’t think so. And while I don’t doubt the agency would kill Gwendolyn without remorse, they wouldn’t pull the trigger without first getting their hands on these papers.” Koa pointed at the documents spread on the table. “Better the devil you know than one you don’t.”
“Good point,” Zeke conceded.
“Besides, the rest of the facts don’t fit.”
“Which ones?”
“That traffic accident. That doesn’t have the hallmarks of an agency hit, and don’t forget Arthur. Despite all the press stories about waterboarding, the CIA doesn’t burn people with cigarette butts, break fingers, and cut off hands, at least not on American soil.”
“If not the CIA, then who?”
“Nāinoa Nihoa.”
“Holy fuckin’ shit,” Zeke said. “That tape’s a nuclear bomb.”
“Yeah, with multiple warheads. It proves the CIA was behind the embassy bombing, and it shows that the CIA’s spy at the top of the Chinese government is likely a double agent. It’s also going to end the career of our governor-in-waiting.”
Zeke grew pensive. “We have to alert the CIA.”
“Agreed, but we play our cards one at a time.”
“What’s that mean?”
“It means I want that bastard, Nihoa. I want him and all the conspirators who helped the motherfucker. I want them on murder charges. And I’m going to end the fucking CIA cover-up that’s been going on for almost two decades.”
Zeke looked skeptical. “We don’t have proof that Nihoa’s behind the killings, and we haven’t identified the conspirators.”
“Not yet,” Koa said, “but I’m going to flush them out.”
“How?”
“Give me an hour,” Koa said. “I’m going for a walk. I want to think this out.” Koa walked through the park where he’d saved Nihoa’s life. All the while his mind raced, building a plan, rejecting it, and starting over on a new one. Finally, the fragments came together. They could do it. They could expose the bastard and get a confession.
Back in Zeke’s office, Koa laid out his plan.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
THEY INVITED JAMES Alderson to Zeke’s office. The CIA agent flew in from Honolulu and showed up, looking like he’d just stepped out of a Brooks Brothers ad. After introducing the county prosecutor, Koa began to question the CIA agent about Arthur Campbell.
“I thought I made it clear when we met before. That’s off limits,” Alderson responded.
“I thought maybe you might want to trade for the CIA operations plan you worked out with De Xiaoping’s help.” Koa made no mention of Sapada’s tape or the other documents they discovered under the heiau.
Koa might as well have used a Taser on the CIA agent. It took him several seconds to respond. “Jesus Christ, you found the file, and to know that name, you must have opened the file. That’s a crime.” He looked around the room as though searching for the file. “You’d better hand it over.”
Koa remained cool. “In exchange for some information.”
“Don’t fuck with me. I’ll get the FBI in here. They’ll take you away in handcuffs.”
“I’m conducting a murder investigation, Mr. Alderson. I want answers.”
“I’m warning you. Hand over that goddamn file.” Alderson pulled a cell phone from his pocket and began to select a preprogrammed telephone number.
“Put that phone away, asshole!” Zeke’s voice boomed across the conference room. Alderson spun around toward the prosecutor and slowly lowered his cell phone.
“You think we’re a couple of jerks?” Zeke let his words sink in before continuing. “If you want to get the U.S. attorney over here, we can have a judicial battle royal. Hell, we can have a congressional investigation into the loss of your fucking file and the goddamn agency cover-up. Might be fun to see some of you CIA pricks in the hot seat for a change.”
Alderson put his cell phone back in his pocket. The room became silent.
Alderson said, “Okay. What do you want?”
“Complete cooperation,” Zeke responded. “First, I want sufficient information to satisfy myself that the CIA had nothing to do with the Campbell deaths—”
“Christ, you think the CIA killed them?”
“Don’t interrupt me, Mr. Alderson.” Zeke might’ve been talking to a wayward schoolchild. “Second, I want complete cooperation with the county’s murder investigation. You shits from Langley might not care who gets murdered in Hawai‘i, but Detective Kāne and I do. Koa, you want to explain a little about Arthur Campbell?”
“Sure. Arthur Campbell, aka Elian Cervara, aka Ernesto Sapada, won a Distinguished Service Cross fighting for his country. Whatever else Arthur might have been, he achieved a level of heroism experienced by damn few men. Then he was tortured, burned with cigarettes, had his fingers broken, got his hand cut off before he bled to death, and was dumped in a lava field. And I’m here to tell you, Mr. Alderson, regardless of whatever else Arthur Campbell may have done in his life, I intend to find the people who ordered his torture and murder.”
Alderson, apparently stunned by the depth of Koa’s feelings, waited before responding. “What you ask is way beyond my authority. I’ll have to get instructions from Langley.”
“Fair enough,” Zeke responded. “You have until this time tomorrow. After that I’ll be on the horn with our senior senator, and your bosses at Langley will be sitting in front of a congressional committee.”
* * *
The following morning, Alderson, accompanied by Deputy CIA Director Clancy Blaines, appeared half an hour before Zeke’s deadline. Blaines looked tired, no doubt from a hastily arranged flight from Washington on a CIA jet. He took the lead.
“Gentlemen,” he said, nodding first to Koa and then to Zeke. “I understand you’re prepared to hand over the file if we answer your questions.”
“We’ll give you the CIA op plan to invade the Chinese Belgrade embassy,” Zeke responded, “if you cooperate fully and truthfully with the county’s murder investigation and if I’m satisfied that the CIA wasn’t involved in the Campbell deaths.”
“I understand.” Blaines appeared ready to pay almost any price to get the file back. “May I ask one question before we begin?”
“Sure,” Zeke said. With the upper hand, he could be magnanimous.
“Who else besides you two knows the name De Xiaoping?”
“No one in county government,” Zeke answered.
“Okay. And can I have your assurance neither of you will ever disclose that name?”
Zeke and Koa agreed.
Blaines opened a locked case and removed three sheets of paper. He slid one across the table to Zeke and the other to Koa. “Those are nondisclosure forms under the National Defense Secrets Act. What I’m about to disclose is way above top secret, and I’ll need your signatures to proceed.”
Zeke read the form through, then took out a pen and added the words, “except as permitted by court order in a criminal proceeding,” before sliding the paper back to Blaines. “We’ll sign with that caveat.” Blaines looked unhappy with the modification but nodded his agreement. Zeke and Koa signed the forms.
