“Allegedly. It was always impossible to prove.”
“They break into State Department employees' homes and search them,” I said, “in China. Our people, and they do this shit. To rattle them. Mess with their heads.”
“So I've heard. Again, alleged.”
“They–”
“I know there's a litany coming here,” Bilson said, “and I agree. I get it now; the PRC government does some very, very bad things. But you have to understand – the consensus in this town is powerful. It's how policy gets made. Dissenting voices get pushed to the margins – like Bridget. Because the results of taking action would be too much to bear.”
“Why?” I asked. “Why doesn't anyone have the balls to play Churchill with China? Why is everyone so damned eager to be Chamberlain?”
“Because there's no margin in it,” Bilson said, “and I mean that in all the ways. You want a war with them?”
“No. But I don't think we have peace right now, exactly.”
“Maybe not,” he said, “but the alternative? We send carrier groups to their coast. Formosa, the South China Sea. Start hostilities? I've talked to the military guys. You know what they'd do?”
I nodded slowly. “They have a missile that can target our carriers. Sink them. They have islands in the South China Sea that they've built out as airbases to launch against anyone transiting that body that they don't like. They have nukes that can hit the homeland thanks to dirty dealing US companies. Satellites in orbit that can see everything the way we can.”
“Our military guys say that even if it didn't go nuclear,” Bilson said quietly, “it'd be potentially very ugly. High casualty. Make Iraq and Afghanistan look like a day at the beach. We'd face a military that has been preparing for conflict with America for decades...while we're more or less unprepared for them. So that's out, as a practical idea. Because as a worst case scenario...well, it's the worst. Business relations between us die. The economy takes a brutal hit. We lose people. Politics, business, military. A trifecta of losing.” He sighed. “Or at least that's the perception. No one wants that.”
“So what are we stuck with?” I asked, trying to sit upright in my chair. “Appeasement? With some of the worst people on earth, the assholes who lead that government? They oppress the shit out of the Chinese people. Literal concentration camps in Xinjiang. Social credit scores – I mean, you can't even buy a train ticket if you piss off the party.”
Bilson nodded slowly. “What are you going to do?”
I sat and fumed, pondering his question. “I don't know.”
“I only ask because–”
“I'm not going to start a war with the Chinese government,” I said. “Much as I might like to. Much as my ego might call for it. The righteousness...it does burn.”
“I understand completely.” Bilson's voice was incredibly quiet. The smile, usually ever-present with him, had not made a solitary appearance since he'd picked me up. “I wish I had some words of solace. Some course of action to recommend.” He started to slowly shuffle toward the door. “All I have is my condolences.”
“What would you do?” I called after him. “If you were me, and that shit happened...well, it happened, but to you?”
Bilson seemed think about it. “I don't know.” He put a hand up to his forehead, and for a second I thought he was wiping his eyes, but he was brushing his hair back. “I look at our policies this last however many years, and I see a China that is emboldened enough to undertake a brutal attack on our very shores. What is the point of diplomacy with that? Business relations with that? This is the equivalent of giving up your lunch money every day thinking that things will get better if you just meet the bully's demands. But it doesn't. Then the bully goes home and beats the hell out of his younger siblings unchecked. I see no answers. Only a worldview that's completely checkered in a way it wasn't before.”
“At least you know where we stand,” I said as Bilson shuffled for the door, looking like he was the one with the busted leg. “By the way...the ones we recovered? That wasn't all the people they kidnapped.” He turned, looking back at me. “I think that's the ones they let us find, thinking we'd call it off if we thought it was over.”
He just stared at me, and there was no mistaking the haunted look in his eyes. “The Washington consensus,” he mumbled.
I nodded slowly. “They counted on it, you know. That no one would want to keep pulling on this thread.”
He swallowed, very obviously. “I know now.” And with that, he quietly left, leaving me alone in my darkened apartment with nothing but my thoughts and my guilt.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN
Chapman
Some days, Chapman's Mountain View mansion didn't seem like much of a mansion anymore. It had when he'd moved in, sure. But Chapman was a child of privilege. Born in the suburbs of Seattle, he'd been raised into the culture of coding by schools that had computer science classes on the cutting edge paid for to service their clientele – the children of Microsoft and Amazon execs, with an expectation they'd know and learn the key skills by the time they exited grade school.
And he had. Chapman's parents had been upper middle class, his father a high-ranking officer in a tech company, his mother an executive in accounting. He'd been born into tech, and moving to Silicon Valley after his incubation period had been natural. Starting a company? Well, that had just been the next step in his evolution.
Now, though, his mansion didn't seem so big anymore. At least not the way it had when he'd moved in. Seven thousand square feet, polished, pristine – he'd felt like he could get lost in it when he'd first come here.
But tonight he was bouncing around like the ball in a game of pong, and it just didn't seem big enough to hold in his unquenchable rage.
He was marinating in his aggravation, pacing. Typing things out, deleting them. Couldn't get his thoughts straight. Watched the clock move to eleven, then midnight. He wondered if Gwen would turn up tonight. Probably not, if she hadn't shown up by now.
Dammit.
He sat in his favorite chair, spent by the emotional effort of the day. He wanted to rage more, but he needed to sit, at least for a minute. He stared up at the ceiling, and pretty soon he was waking to the sound of knocking at the glass back door.
“Hey,” Gwen said when he opened it for her. She had an airy smell, like she'd been outdoors for a while. Her usual mischievous smile was missing, and for a moment he forgot his own problems and wondered about that.
It didn't last, though. Before she could even say anything, he unloaded. Because he had to. “You are not going to believe the shit that blew up on me today.”
Gwen's smile did return, for a moment – flashing effervescent and impish. “Oh, I can't wait to hear this,” she said, throwing herself onto the couch. “Hit me.”
“You know the Chinese deal I've been on?” He paced as he spoke. It helped him gather his thoughts. “With Huang?”
She nodded slowly. “Mmhmm.”
Chapman nodded furiously. “As part of the deal, we took in some of his people into the lesser subsidiaries. I figured no big deal, because he wasn't asking to plant anyone at Socialite, or FindIt, or Instaphoto–”
“So he wanted people in your non-critical companies,” she said, thinking. “Interesting. Non-offensive.”
“An easy ask,” he said. “Innocuous enough. Well, today I find out he's done a data breach. Or at least one of his people did. Stole the entire website for Lineage, plus the DNA database, and all the family connections. Then poof, disappeared back to China where no one seems to have even heard of this guy.”
Gwen's eyebrows went up. “Wow. You're saying this guy is just...like, gone?”
“They told me it's like he never existed,” Chapman said, letting the rage vent. “They claim his passport, ID? All fake. My guys hired a PI over in China to check him out before they came to me. He's just gone.”
Gwen nodded along, and he could see her thinking that through. “Wow. You think this was, l
ike, a Chinese spy op?”
“I think so,” Chapman said, nodding too. Then he stopped his pacing. “But if so...why Lineage? I mean, I would get if they wanted to clone Socialite. Or even Instaphoto. I don't like it, but it makes money. And FindIt is a cash cow. Lineage, though...it's a middling genealogy site that I bought on a whim because of the data. I mean, I thought I could integrate it into Socialite, but all the ideas my people proposed were stupid and messed with our core competencies...I just don't see why Huang would jeopardize this entire deal and write out a check that big over something so trivial as Lineage.”
Gwen seemed deep in thought. “Maybe it wasn't trivial to him. Or the people behind him.”
“He's a billionaire,” Jaime said, smirking. “There's no one 'behind' him.” Then he froze.
Gwen had beat him to it, smiling like a Cheshire cat in the dimness. “In America, in Europe, there might be no one behind a billionaire. In Communist China...there's always someone standing behind the billionaire, either granting them permission to do the things they do or directly guiding them.”
“Shit.” Chapman closed his eyes. “You're right.”
“Waitaminute.” She was beside him in a second. “Is this about that Sienna Nealon thing from last night? Because today–”
“I know,” Chapman said, and man, his voice sounded down even to him. “I saw it happen.” He looked up and found Gwen looking at him in complete calm. She even stroked his back. “I mean, I didn't have anything to do with it, or know it was coming, but...I heard her talking about something...and I told Huang about it.”
Gwen's eyes widened. “And then she almost gets killed!” Her voice lowered to a whisper. “What did you tell him?”
“That she wasn't letting go of her investigation,” Chapman whispered. “That's it. I heard her say it to her partner this morning...and he called, and I told him. And then...”
“Whoa,” Gwen said. “They tried to kill her for it. Your boy Huang and whoever was behind him.”
Chapman let that hang for a minute. “Yeah. I think so.” He didn't feel very comfortable with where this was going, now that he had to verbalize it to Gwen.
She kept her hand on his back for a few seconds, but didn't say anything. When he looked at her, she seemed deep in thought. She patted him a couple times, then went to the couch and sat back down.
Chapman followed, dropping to his knees next to her, and took her hand. “What are you thinking?” He stroked the back of it, feeling the smooth skin up to her wrist, where some tiny hairs started to pop up. “Right now?”
Gwen didn't answer for a second, and it made his heart skip a beat. Then it skipped again when she did.
“That you got screwed by this Huang guy,” she said finally. “If he went to this much trouble to get the DNA info and whatnot out of Lineage, I'm thinking that's what he was after. Plus, you were a perfect conduit to tell him what was going on with Nealon. You even gave him access to your connections in the US, which I'm sure was great for him.”
“At least I got a big check out of it,” Jaime said, trying to smile.
“How did he pay you?” Gwen asked, frowning.
“Cash, mostly,” Jaime said. “Yuan.”
She nodded. “If he's backed by the PRC government...I'm no expert on currency exchange, but what do you bet they just printed that money right up in their treasury?”
Chapman felt a little prick of conscience. “I should probably cash out then. Quickly. Before the devaluation consequences of that one hit.”
“That'd be smart.” She was still deep in thought. “I'm still stuck on the why of this. Like, why would Huang do all this for what he got? Because he couldn't have planned on this Sienna Nealon thing, right? On having you be able to spy on her?”
“I don't think so,” Chapman said. “It only even happened because...” He looked around, as though someone was going to pop up in his living room. “...Well, because I'm part of this group that's...sort of...helping run Sienna Nealon at this point.”
Gwen laughed. “'Run her?' Like a dog on a racetrack?”
“No!” Jaime said. “Like a...secret agent...kind of thing. Yeah, it all sounds lame now, but whatever. We were having her work for us, sort of.”
“I thought she worked for the FBI?” Gwen's voice was thick with amusement.
“Yeah, well, the director's in my group,” Chapman said.
She poked him in the side, smiling. “You have a secret club? How very grade school of you. Or maybe 'Skull and Bones.'”
“It's more like a network,” Chapman said. “Of connected people, you know. Ones who have some power in their respective spheres. Press, government, law. We know people who know people. Can get things done.”
Gwen's smile evaporated. “But Huang didn't know you were part of this.”
“I don't see how he could,” Chapman said. “No one knows. Except you.”
“Well, the other people in your group have probably told at least one person in their own lives,” Gwen said, and boy did that sound reasonable. “So...I agree with you in general. Huang probably didn't know about this. But he did know about your general connections, because you're kind of a big shot, guy.” She patted him on the back again, but there was an air of mockery in it.
“Yeah, take some shots at the rich and powerful mover of people and industry. I can take it.”
“I know you can, sweetums,” Gwen said with that same mocking tone. “It's what I like about you. But seriously...if we eliminate all this other stuff? It looks to me like Huang got what he was after. The Lineage data. So...what the hell was of value there?”
“I have no idea,” Chapman said, and really, they were at the root of it. “Algorithms on how to piece together family history? Silly, but I guess it's kinda specifically tailored for that sort of thing. Some user data – addresses and whatnot, most of which you could have gotten from a lot of other places. And the DNA stuff, which...I mean, I guess we had the most number of DNA tests done worldwide, but...” He shrugged. “What the hell would Huang want with any of that?”
Gwen didn't answer at first, and when she did, all the mockery was gone, replaced by a dead serious quiet. “I think the question is...” And she looked at him, a worried look in her eyes, “...What would China want with the DNA profiles of that many people?”
The way she asked it...the knowledge as it finally hit home. Hell, just the mystery itself, of what China could do with the DNA profiles of that many people? Well, that thought chilled Jaime right to the bone.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT
Sienna
I woke from a sorry-ass, not even close to restful sleep, pain in my leg and shoulder radiating out madly from the places where I'd been blasted by a sedan.
Standing was easier than when I'd hobbled to bed hours ago, without even bothering to shower. My sheets were a disaster of sweat and peeled-off blood, which I'd deal with tomorrow.
A long, hot shower took some more of the sting out of things, physically.
The mental sting, I thought, was going to be with me for a long while yet.
Wandering my apartment in a robe at three in the morning didn't seem like a risky move, but then, neither had walking down the street yesterday. My paranoia in full flower, I went to the gun safe in my bedroom and opened it up, pulling out the AR-15 I'd checked out from the FBI armorer when I'd first hit town. Strapping it across my back as I brewed a cup of tea seemed like a reasonable precaution, with a couple extra mags resting in my robe pocket in case I needed them.
The fact that I hadn't seen Firebeetle lately, that he hadn't partaken in the hit attempt yesterday, suggested to me that China had probably already extracted him from the United States. Smart move on their part, given the level of heat that had come from this. He was the only direct link I had left to the case that was still breathing. He looked like a hard mofo, the kind that probably wouldn't break under questioning but still, better safe than sorry. Getting him out of the US was safe.
I was having trou
ble piecing together...well, the pieces. I'd gone over them in my head so many times they'd started to swirl. Now that I'd lost Holloway, I'd also lost my sounding board for all this craziness. Bilson seemed nice enough, sympathetic enough, but he was also not a cop. Whether I could trust him with the case details was irrelevant; he had access to them, thanks to Chalke's decree. Whether he was nosing into them, I doubted it, since I was his conduit for that.
Still, his change of heart last night meant something. I remembered how he'd acted during the opening moves of the case – cautious, but on the side of preserving relations with China. Sure, he'd set up a meet with Bridget, but that was about it in terms of sticking his nose out past the Washington consensus.
But if what he told me last night had been true...he was coming around.
A distant sound of a bird cooing broke me out of my thoughts. A second coo followed, and I couldn't help myself. I checked for my phone; it was still cracked across the face and resting in the charging station in the kitchen.
I threaded my way into the bedroom, closing the door behind me, and made my way to the window. Pulling the curtains back, I looked out.
There was no apartment across the way. Just a construction site where a building was going up, torn-down guts of the old no longer even remaining to mark the passage of that piece of old Washington giving way to new. A quick look to either side confirmed no action out there.
Except a lone pigeon staring in at me from my window sill. It – he – cooed again, and for the first time I noticed its eyes were bright, not black.
I opened the window wide; this was the only one in the apartment with no screen. “Shh,” I said, holding up a finger to my lips as I looked at the pigeon, then again to either side. No activity anywhere on the street, not even in the cars below. There was no light behind me, and I watched for almost a minute in utter silence.
The pigeon watched, too, and didn't make a sound, nor took flight to get away from this shushing human hanging out her window inches from him.
Dragon: Out of the Box (The Girl in the Box Book 37) Page 28
