The Italian Mission Read Online Free Page B

no fomenting of anything in Tibet by American undercover agents, whether they work for your agency or any of the other multitude of organizations we always seem to be appropriating money for?”
    “We are in complete agreement, Senator.”
    “Good. Thank you. Then we’re done with this. Let’s move on.”
    Jill’s back was getting sore from bending down in case she had to answer a question or provide information to the Director. Now that the bi-weekly trip to the woodshed was over, she straightened up and smoothed her skirt.
    “Excuse me.” This came from the other end of the table. The Senator from California, a spry seventy-five year-old, took off her reading glasses and looked up from a newspaper she’d been skimming. “On this fomenting thing.”
    “Yes, Senator.” The Director turned his attention to her.
    “With no disrespect to my colleague,” she shot the Senator from Ohio a look she usually reserved for tobacco lobbyists, “I’m not sure we’ve adequately ventilated this matter. While I agree that we cannot afford …” she emphasized the word ‘afford,’ staring at the Senator from Ohio over her glasses, “to start a rebellion in Tibet, I believe it is also true that the Chinese have made a habit of crushing the legitimate human rights aspirations of the Tibetan people. Isn’t that right, Director Mobley?”
    “Perhaps, ‘crushing’ is a loaded word , Senator.”
    The Senator folded up her newspaper and removed her reading glasses. She put her elbows on the table and focused an intense stare on the Director.
    “What word would you use? Suppress, crack down on, stamp out, defeat? The point is that the Chinese are kicking the shit out of the Tibetans and, by the way, taking whatever natural resources they want while we stand around with our thumbs up our butts.”

    After another hour of discussion, Jill left of the room with the Director, both of them silent until they were out of earshot of the Committee members and staff.
    “Goddamn those sons of bitches,” the Director seemed to be letting off steam rather than expressing any real hostility. “They wouldn’t agree that Robert E. Lee was a white man if you held a gun to their heads. Sorry I didn’t get to talk to you before the meeting. Had to have coffee at the White House. They already have their shorts in a twist about the election. Did you figure out who those Tibetans running around Italy are?”
    “Not yet. Whoever they are, though, they must be important. The Chinese radio traffic is getting pretty frantic. All their people in Europe are on high alert.”
    “Well, what in hell are Tibetan monks doing hiking around Italy anyway? Do we at least know where they’re going?”
    “Not for sure. There are quite a few possibilities — Buddhist monasteries and retreat centers where they could find sanctuary. A good many Tibetan nationalists are holed up in Italy. They raise money in Western Europe and send it back to the government in exile in Dharamsala. If this guy is wanted by the Chinese, he’s safer in Italy than in India. Lots of political support for Tibetan independence in Italy. The newspapers would go crazy if the government tried to deport a Tibetan monk. ”
    “Are we … involved in any way?”
    “No. We’re clean. Except that the monks asked Conti for help, of course. But that’s it.”
    “Good. I’d hate to think I just lied to the distinguished asshole from Ohio.”
    Jillian excused herself to visit the ladies room, then ducked around the corner looking for a window. She fished her phone out of her purse and tried Conti’s number for the umpteenth time since she’d rolled out of bed that morning.

7.

    The Via Francigena, south of Siena, Monday Afternoon

    Conti woke up on the floor of a dark, musty cell with dirt walls. He unbuttoned his shirt and examined the large bruise on his ribs in the narrow shaft of light that squeezed through the wooden planks a few feet above his head. Nothing broken, or badly