Dragon: Out of the Box (The Girl in the Box Book 37)

by Robert J. Crane

  “You're being watched,” he said, eyes animated as he stepped closer. “Constantly.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Duh. Tell me something I don't know.”

  His eyes got wider, more wild. “Chalke is behind it.”

  “Well, I kinda figured,” I said. “She did give me my phone and laptop. I assumed they stuck something in my cloud downloads to bug me at work and play. Wouldn't want me to have a moment of joy or despair without seeing it.”

  Bilson sagged, looking flabbergasted. “You...knew?”

  “I strongly suspected, yeah,” I said. “I mean, come on – I got pushed into this gig. The whole game for Chalke has been to control me. You can't do that unless you have a baseline idea of what your target is up to.”

  Bilson's eyes flicked around; I could almost read his thoughts by the paranoia written on his face.

  “There are no ordinary wiretaps, if that's what you're thinking,” I said. When he registered surprise, I went on. “I made friends with the electronics guy in New York and he taught me how to sweep for bugs. I do it twice a day. Haven't found any yet, presumably because they consider me well-covered with the Remote Access Trojans in my electronics.” Kinda arrogant on their part, but hey...that was who I was dealing with.

  Bilson seemed to think about this for a moment. “I fear I've made a terrible mistake.”

  “Well, if it's just about bugging me, I forgive you,” I said. “Like I said...I knew what I was getting into.”

  “How?” Bilson asked, straightening, his face beneath the glasses the most curiously surprised I could recall seeing him. “How could you possibly have known?”

  “I know the 'Washington consensus' is that I'm stupid,” I said, slowly, feeling a little heat in my face, “but, I mean...I investigate crimes for a living and a hobby. I know how these things work. I've put surveillance on people, I'm familiar with the methods. And I'm really, really paranoid.” A slight lie buried in a lot of truths, but they didn't need to know about Harry.

  Bilson stroked his face. He was sweating profusely. “This China thing...it's a mess.”

  “Maybe more than you know,” I said. “But I guess I should ask – what do you mean?”

  “There are powerful forces that want to bury this story,” Bilson said, stepping closer to me. “They want it to just...disappear. Attribute the attack on you to random violence or a past grudge...they want to make the China angle vanish so they can get back to business as usual.” He licked his lips. “So they can solidify the consensus and move on, unchallenged.”

  “What are they doing?” I asked.

  “Doesn't matter.” Bilson had looked like he wanted to say something for a moment, then broke off. “What's important is what we do about it.”

  “Why the sudden change of heart?” I asked. “I mean, don't get me wrong – I'm happy to have someone on my side for once, but...why?”

  Bilson stared at the ground. “How can you look at what's happening here...and not see yourself in these stories?” He turned his head to look at me. “That professor at Georgetown...what did she do to deserve being almost kidnapped by the Chinese government? I mean, what would they have done with her if they'd succeeded?” He swallowed visibly. “I've met her before, I'm pretty sure. At a party at Georgetown. She's smart. Educated. Like most of the people I've associated with. Not particularly well-connected, but that's hardly a sin worth vanquishing her to the stocks for.”

  “So you're saying,” I said, “if it could happen to her...?”

  “If they're that brassy,” Bilson said, “to attempt an abduction of an American citizen in the middle of the morning without bothering to cover their tracks...what won't they do? What wouldn't they do to you, or me, if we stood up and said something against their agenda?” He looked me right in the eye. “Hell...they already showed us with you yesterday.”

  “Yes, they did,” I said softly. “And I think they did it a whole lot more than with just that one container load.” I chewed my lip, hesitating. “I think I've figured out why they're doing it.”

  I took a deep breath; I was ready to trust Bilson in this, at least. I wasn't going to call out for Jian to join us, but I needed to at least get this out to someone besides myself and him.

  Bilson just watched me, head tilted slightly, waiting.

  “I think China took its DNA profiling to the next level,” I said. “They're already grabbing it from their citizens at regular doctors' appointments through their health system to identify their 'undesirables,' like the Uighur Muslims they're interning in camps. I think they escalated things, using the DNA they're collecting to establish a 'map' to people with genetic heritages ripe with certain latent metahuman powers.”

  Bilson's eyes narrowed. “'Latent?'”

  “Most humans have the ability to develop metahuman powers,” I said. “With the proper serum, they go from normal to meta – of some sort. But lots of meta powers are weak, bordering on useless. The really strong ones, like mine, or, say, a Gavrikov's? Those are the ones that a country could put to work for their army.”

  Bilson nodded slowly, the facts snapping into place like puzzle pieces in his head. “They're after these valuable powers.”

  “I think so,” I said. “Their metahuman numbers were wiped out in the war. I think this kidnapping scheme is an attempt to restart that program, by hook or by crook, with some favorable powers that they maybe don't possess latently in enough numbers in the homeland.”

  “My God,” Bilson breathed. “That's eugenics.”

  “Basically, yeah. It's probably even worse than it sounds when you get into their next steps,” I said, not really wanting to delve into Jian's theories about how far China would go to produce loyal supersoldiers. “But at least now we know why they were willing to do this.”

  Bilson's eyes bulged. “This is monstrous. All this...they're doing all this...for a strategic advantage?”

  “Think about what metahumans can do,” I said. “Think about how that might matter to a country obsessed with becoming preeminent in the world. I know metas can't rule countries like they used to be able to, pre-World War I, but certain powers, like Harmon's...”

  “They're invaluable,” Bilson said, nodding slowly. “You could dominate your enemies with a clutch of loyal telepaths.”

  I thought of how Zollers had subverted Russia only last year by himself, and how Rose had quietly taken over Scotland on her own. “Yes. And with other powers you could ruin your biggest enemies, destroy their critical cities, sneak attack their armies. Imagine a Gavrikov stepping off a plane, riding into the middle of New York City and lighting off.” I shrugged. “Completely deniable. Think about it – the Glass Blower wrecked a building in the middle of the city and they never caught him.” I couldn't remember if Yvonne had ever been outed as a she. There certainly weren't any surveillance photos of her floating around in the case file, which I'd reviewed as part of my job.

  Bilson paled. “Yes. The strategic possibilities are endless. We need to stop China.”

  “I'd like to,” I said. “Really. I don't want to see innocent people forced into servitude under China's system of serfdom. But...” I shrugged. “My sway at the bureau is limited. I was at a near dead-end before this thing happened yesterday, poking at the edges of a guy named Wu Huang's affairs for clues–”

  “Huang?” Bilson frowned. “The one that signed the deal with Jaime Chapman?”

  “The very one,” I said. “He's hooked into this, somehow.”

  Bilson stared into space over my shoulder. “Chapman...he owns that DNA registry company, Lineage.”

  “You think that's where this DNA map came from? Not a bad guess.” And it wasn't. Bilson was no boob, that was a logical assumption.

  “He's had access to your surveillance,” Bilson said quietly. There was a desperation in his eyes that smelled like guilt to me.

  I looked at the fridge. “Yeah. That figures.” Looking back at Bilson, I asked, “If he's talking to his business partner Huang, and c
an monitor my every move, you think he...?” I didn't want to finish that sentence.

  Bilson did it for me. “Orchestrated the hit on you yesterday?” His eyes found his shoes. “I wouldn't have wanted to believe it before, that Jaime Chapman could be that callous, that cold, but...” He stared into space, and when he spoke again, it was in a very brittle voice. “Yes. Wittingly or un, I think he had a part in what happened to you yesterday.”

  “I can't deal with that right now,” I said, turning my back on Bilson. “Whatever Chapman has going on, with Chalke or whoever...I have to focus on this. Front and center needs to be the kidnapping, needs to be China.” I spun back on Bilson. “There are other victims out there, unreported. China's got to move them, because there are limits to how long they can keep these people fed, watered and alive, especially in this heat. Unless they've got some kind of compound to hide them in on US soil.”

  “I can look into that,” Bilson said, staring up at me with ghostly resolve. “One of my groups...we do oppo research on our political enemies. Their corporate connections. I can set my people to looking into this Huang. See what else he owns. What we can trace to him. Maybe, if he's the owner of this property where they're being held...or has a dock slip somewhere...”

  “It could give us a clue,” I said. “Which we desperately need right now.”

  Bilson nodded once, then hesitated. “Is this how it is for you? All the time?”

  That one caught me off guard. “What do you mean?”

  “There's this...clarity to what you do that I didn't anticipate,” Bilson said, speaking quietly and slowly. “I thought the black hats and white hats idea...that it was passe. Product of a simpler time that was never really that simple.” When his eyes found mine, he looked...haunted. “But there really are evil people doing evil things. It's not some remnant of the past, some overstatement of modern political disagreements. There are genuine...evil...people running China right now.”

  I nodded. “Yes. But we can stop them. At least in this.”

  He seemed to take heart from that. “And we will.” Throwing open the fridge, he seized his phone and was dialing it almost before it was fully in his hand.

  “While you do that I'm gonna...go change,” I said, pointing a thumb at my bedroom door. He nodded, though distantly, his mind already on the conversation he was about to have.

  I slipped into the bedroom and found Jian just behind the door. “You heard that?” I asked, meta-low.

  He nodded. “Do you trust him?”

  “To a point,” I said. “But I need you to do something while he's chasing that lead. Do you remember the woman I met with outside my office yesterday?”

  Jian looked about as abashed as a naked man could without having dropped his sheet. “The one in yoga pants?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “I need to talk to her, and I can't do it by phone or in any other way that can be electronically intercepted.” Michelle had never contacted me by phone, come to think of it, at least not since she'd come to town. And a woman as connected as her surely could have rustled up – or asked for – my cell number if she'd been of a mind to.

  “I...followed her after your talk,” Jian said, embarrassment giving his cheeks a nice glow. “She's staying at a hotel off–”

  “Find her,” I said. “Tell her what you've told me. Tell her I'm under surveillance, but that I'm seeking an exit port that the Chinese kidnapping vics could have been shipped out of. She's got connections in the area, maybe they can help.”

  Jian nodded, and stepped back toward the window, opening it with one hand. Then he started to shift, sheet dropping as he flapped his way out into the night.

  I shut it behind him, catching a breath of the warm, humid air of summer's dawn coming just over the horizon. Hopefully one of my leads would turn up something, and we could get these people rescued before the Chinese government made them vanish for good.

  CHAPTER EIGHTY-SIX

  Chapman

  “Hey, Wu,” Chapman said, a little cooler than he might have yesterday. He stared out the windows in back of his house, into the green, vibrant brush and trees back there. The early morning light wasn't even close to rising yet, but the stupid Network text he'd been on this morning had set his mind whirling long after everyone else had logged off.

  And dumbass Bilson still hadn't replied. That was concerning. At least the rest of them were in agreement.

  “I've got some good news regarding regulatory approval in Beijing,” Wu said.

  Chapman felt a flare of joy cut through his black mood. “They're coming around?”

  “They are indeed,” Wu said, and Chapman could hear the smile. “They see the value in what your company brings to the table for long-term communication. Provided we can put the appropriate safeguards in place to assuage worries that criminals or foreign actors won't be able to propagandize to the Chinese people, we have approval to move forward.”

  Chapman pumped his fist, a quick, cathartic jerk of emotion expelling itself. “I'm glad to hear that, Wu. I know we've both had to jump through some hoops to make it happen, but this is a deal worth making some sacrifices for. And my commitment to making sure your government feels comfortable with what we do is absolute.”

  “I think they've seen that with your cooperation over the last days,” Wu said. “I don't think things would have calmed down quite as much if you hadn't been steering us through this, Jaime. I might have to make a trip stateside in a few days. I'll have more news then. I'm not sure exactly when yet, but can we get together for dinner, if you're up for it?”

  “We'll make it work,” Chapman said, all smiles. “See you then, Wu.”

  Victory.

  CHAPTER EIGHTY-SEVEN

  Julie Blair

  “Hey, Julie, come on in and have a seat,” White House Communications Director Betsy Suffolk was smiling as she motioned Julie in.

  “Thanks,” Julie said, taking the proffered seat in the smallish office and pulling her chair closer to the desk. She smoothed out some wrinkles in her skirt; this was the boss, after all. This hadn't been a scheduled meeting, but rather one that had appeared on her calendar suddenly. Julie smiled nervously, waiting to see what would happen, for Betsy to speak first.

  “I've been following that email you forwarded me yesterday with some interest,” Betsy said, looking at her own computer. “The one from the donor in New York?”

  “Yes,” Julie said, still feeling a vague churn of nerves. As one did when called into the boss's office unexpectedly.

  “It was a good call, pushing it up to me,” Betsy said, glancing at the computer. She looked back at Julie and smiled. “I know you're getting cross traffic lately from a lot of different directions as we're moving toward the general election and the other guys are finishing up their primary. It's a tough gig, especially given how...aggressive the president has been in moving in different directions simultaneously, policy-wise.”

  Julie kept the smile pasted on her face. It was a joke among the rank and file that Gondry was a policy schizophrenic, trying to work on everything at once, from domestic to foreign, from healthcare to the judiciary to tax reform. It wasn't her place to critique her boss, though.

  “But you folks are really soldering through,” Betsy said, looking up from the screen again. If her inbox was anything like Julie's she'd probably gotten fifty emails while they were sitting here, forty-nine of them marked critical. “I just wanted to tell you 'good job' and attagirl.'” Betsy smiled.

  “Oh. Well, thank you,” Julie said.

  “Keep up the great work,” Betsy said. “I'll let you know what we find out about this missing nanny. I've sent it up the chain.”

  “Great,” Julie said, almost falling over her chair as she left. She cleared it, though. Barely.

  Well, this was an unexpected pleasure, Julie thought, a little more spring in her step as she walked back to her desk. Being recognized for her work. Heck, this was the best news she'd had all month.

  CHAPTER EIGHTY-
EIGHT

  Sienna

  “It's starting.” Bilson's voice was quiet as he put down his phone, stuffing it under the seat cushion of my couch.

  “What?” I asked. I'd dressed after sending Jian on his way and before rejoining Bilson, putting on my Kevlar vest, my sidearms, and slinging the AR-15 back over my clothing. He'd made some calls, presumably to his contacts, and had been reading his phone when I'd come back out, not saying a word. I hadn't broken the silence, instead fighting my tangled hair into a ponytail. Because I had a feeling I'd need it up for whatever was coming.

  “Info ops,” he mouthed, beckoning me toward the bedroom. “Four glowing stories on China dropped in major news outlets today.” He must have sensed I wasn't quite sure what he was talking about, so he broke it down. Such a considerate teacher. “Reporters get their stories from sources. People like me feed them almost fully-formed stories these days. Sometimes they're even pre-written and the reporter just puts their name on them. That's what I'm seeing planted in the pages of papers and news sites – credible ones, too. It's what we call an 'info op,' where someone wants to change the narrative on something, form a new one by getting a chorus of reporters singing the same song in unison. In this case...”

  “They want China to look good,” I said. “Though you gotta tell me something – is there ever a time when the corporate media doesn't want China to look good? Because I feel like they go out of their way to make the PRC the heroes in stories, to not breathe a bad word about China in any Hollywood production, and they rarely get flak in the major papers.”

  “They've got a deeply vested interest in China,” Bilson said, staring straight ahead. “I don't know if I'll be National Security Advisor or if I've scuttled my chances this morning, but either way I know this – China needs to answer for what they did here. In full view of the public, diplomatic relations be damned.”