Covert Assassin

by Ethan Jones

  Hai nodded slowly. “We do,” he said in a low voice and looked down. “This situation is ... is quite embarrassing. That’s why we need to be very discreet.”

  “So it’s safe to conclude you haven’t informed the Russians or the Americans?”

  Ying shook her head. “No, we can’t.”

  “Yes, the shame and the risk of ruining your ministry’s reputation,” Justin said. “But the lives that can be saved...”

  “We are very concerned about everyone involved.” Hai looked deep into Justin’s eyes. “That’s the reason we approached you and your agency. We need to stop Lim, but we need to do it quietly.”

  Justin held Hai’s fiery gaze. “All right, you want to handle this in-house and with the CIS’s help, if I understand you correctly?”

  “That’s correct. We’ll brief the Americans and the Russians when and if necessary, but our preference would be to not do so. At least, not until we’ve neutralized the threat.”

  “Okay, but I’m still missing something. What’s Lim’s motive, why does he want to kill the Russian president?”

  Hai looked at Ying. “Why don’t you explain that?”

  Ying pursed her lips, visibly unpleased with the task. “It’s clear that Lim is not operating under the ministry’s orders. But he’s also not running this operation because of his own personal beliefs.”

  “Money?” Justin said.

  “Right. Someone’s paying Lim for his service.”

  Justin shifted in his seat and took a sip from his coffee. “Who?”

  Ying frowned, then offered a small headshake. “We’re not absolutely sure, as the source isn’t fully reliable. But the information seems to indicate the orders are coming from Pyongyang.”

  “Really? North Korea? Are you sure this isn’t just ... fiction?” Justin wanted to say propaganda, but the word would not sit well with his Chinese counterparts.

  Ying nodded. “It sounds unbelievable, and we were doubtful at first as well. But the more we examined the situation and the information, the more we were convinced.”

  Justin sipped his coffee. “Explain it to me—how does North Korea benefit from the Russian president’s assassination?”

  “Sure, I can do that. You’re familiar with the tough rhetoric between the North Korean leader and the current American president, right?”

  Justin nodded. Not a day went by without newspapers or television channels reporting about the US president trading insults with the leader of the North Korean communist regime.

  Ying said, “The US president’s Twitter outbursts have become so common, predictable, and pathetic that few people pay attention to them. The leader of the free world has labelled the North Korean dictator a ‘madman,’ while he has struck back by calling the US president a ‘mentally deranged US dotard.’”

  Justin had had to look up the archaic word “dotard,” which, according to the Oxford Dictionary, meant “an old person, especially one who has become weak or senile.”

  Ying continued, “Insults aside, the fact is that both countries are at the brink of a nuclear apocalypse. As much as the North Koreans like to talk tough, the truth is that their defense systems will be completely useless in case of a full-strength American attack.”

  Justin nodded. “That’s true.”

  “The Korean leader likes his larger-than-life personality and enjoys being adored as a hero, but the Koreans realize they may have pushed too far. The American president might just hit that ‘red button’ and launch a nuke.” Ying grinned.

  Justin returned the grin. He had read about the “red button” reference that had received wide media coverage. While it served well as an easy-to-understand image for the general public, the process of launching a nuclear missile was much more complicated. A 45-pound briefcase that always went with the US president contained the guide on how to launch a nuclear strike, as well as secure communication equipment, and launch code authenticators. The president would need to identify himself as the commander-in-chief by providing a code he was expected to have on him at all times. Upon confirmation, the person receiving the order would execute it and launch the nuclear strike. Justin sighed, then said, “Right, so why don’t the Koreans just back down?”

  “That’s not their style,” Ying said.

  Hai said, “The Dear Leader wants to save face. He’ll never admit defeat, and it is difficult to interpret backing down as a victory, even for an authoritarian regime like North Korea.”

  “And they’ve decided the best way to get rid of the Americans is to divert their attention?”

  “Right, at least that’s how their thinking goes,” Ying said. “The US and Russia have clashed over a lot of issues, from Russia hacking the American elections, to accusations of financing terrorism or terrorist-supporting states, to blacklisting businesses and freezing assets. You name it, they’ve fought over or are fighting over it.”

  “It makes perfect sense,” Hai said. “Russia and the US pretend to be friends, but they both know they’re pretending. They’re enemies who haven’t declared war.”

  “Yet,” Ying said.

  Justin nodded as a frown wrinkled his brow. Even if the assassination failed, it had the potential to escalate the situation. While Justin doubted an all-out war would break out, the possibility could not be excluded offhand. There were many hardliners in both countries, who were always pushing for “tougher measures,” fanning the flames of distrust, hate, and violence.

  Ying said, “If Lim is successful, chaos will ensue.”

  “Needless to say, we can’t let that happen.” Hai leaned back in his chair.

  Justin thought about what to say for a long moment. “I need time to process all this, and I need the files, everything that substantiates these claims and this ... this outlandish story.”

  Hai gestured toward Ying. “You will have it, Justin. Ying will provide you with a copy, in English, of everything we have. And she’ll be your partner, so that—”

  “I already have a partner,” Justin said.

  Hai nodded. “Yes, we know of Ms. O’Connor. Partner was not the correct word. Think of Ying as a liaison between our two agencies. I’m sure we’ll come across more intelligence, which would be useful.”

  Ying said, “As we’re working on a joint operation, it’s important to share everything we find.”

  Yes, a joint op. My agency partnering with the Chinese MSS. I wonder what Flavio will have to say about this. “I’ll have to take this to my boss for his authorization.”

  Hai nodded. “Of course, Justin. Ying will provide you with the files, so you can make a stronger case for cooperation. While Lim’s target appears to be the Russian president, we don’t know any details on how, where, or when he’ll carry out the assassination. It could be—and we hope it’s not—that Lim opts for a truck-bomb or another explosive device. If that happens, many other dignitaries could be killed, including perhaps the Canadian prime minister, who is also coming to London.”

  Ying said, “Lim is very skilled in explosives.”

  Justin nodded. He was not sure if the two leaders would be in London on the same day or if other meetings were on their schedules. But Justin could see how the attack would kill many innocent civilians. “I’ll explain everything to my boss, and he’ll make a decision.”

  Hai took a sip from his coffee, the first one throughout their entire conversation. “That’s all, Justin. Questions?”

  Justin shook his head. “Nothing further at the moment, but I’m sure many will follow. After Carrie and I have studied the MSS reports.”

  “Yes, Ying will have them for you this afternoon.”

  “Perhaps we can discuss them over supper?” Ying asked in a soft, warm voice. “And I can answer all questions.”

  “That sounds good.”

  “I know just the right place. They make the best Chinese food in London.”

  “Excellent.”

  “Is six o’clock okay?”

  “Yes, that’d be fine.”<
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  Hai said, “Well, if there’s nothing else, Justin...”

  He shook his head and stood up.

  Hai and Justin shook hands, then Hai said, “Ying will take you back to the embassy. Thank you, again, for meeting with us and listening respectfully. Maybe we can work together in this operation.”

  Justin nodded. “Yes, and I hope we can stop Lim before he starts a war.”

  Chapter Ten

  Piccolo Bar, Gresham Street

  London, England

  Carrie sighed, then reached for her teacup. She had spent fifteen minutes talking to Mary but had not learned anything useful. Mary had been quite vague in describing her relationship with Thames, the SAS operative who had disappeared. She either did not know much or was unwilling to give Carrie any specifics. “Tell me about the last time you met Thames. How did he look?”

  “As he usually does.”

  “Describe that.”

  Mary flicked her bangs away from her eyes. “He was kind, funny...”

  “Did he talk much?”

  “No, not really. But most of the time, he’s quiet.”

  “Was he any different?”

  “No, I told you that.”

  “Did he say or do anything that was strange?”

  “No, not that I noticed, anyway.”

  “So, what did you and Thames do?”

  Mary cocked her head. “That’s private.” Her voice rose up with anger. “None of your business.”

  Carrie noticed a couple of patrons in the small café giving them strange glances. She leaned closer to Mary and whispered, “I’m not asking what you did in the bedroom. I don’t want to know any of that. But you realize that I’m trying to find Thames. You want me to find him, right?”

  Mary rolled her eyes. “Do you even have to ask?” she said in an annoyed voice.

  “Well, then help me. What did you and Thames do during the three days he was back?”

  Mary thought about her answer for a moment as she looked around the café, then out the window overlooking the traffic on Gresham Street. “We watched a movie that Friday, then on Saturday we had breakfast and went out for a long walk. The usual things couples do.”

  “Did Thames go anywhere on his own?”

  “No.”

  “You’re sure about it?”

  “Yes. Why do you keep asking me the same question?”

  Carrie shrugged. “Just confirming the information. Could he have gone out while you slept?”

  Mary hesitated for a second. “I ... I don’t know.”

  “Think about it. Please.”

  Mary nodded slowly. She took a long moment, then said, “Saturday morning, I woke up around nine or so. Malcolm, well, Thames as you call him, was in the shower. He had come back from a jog, he said.”

  “Does he usually jog?”

  “No, he goes to the gym, but we were at my place and the gym’s quite a way off.”

  “How long was he gone?”

  “He said an hour or so. Did 5K.”

  “Where did he jog?”

  “Around the neighborhood.”

  Carrie nodded. Thames could have contacted someone during that time. Plus, he could have communicated over the phone. Mary had already told her that Thames was inseparable from his iPhone. Before Carrie could ask her next question, Mary glanced at her watch. “I have to go back to work. My coffee break is over.”

  “Sure. I still have a few more questions. Can I meet with you tonight?”

  Mary shrugged. “Can I say ‘no’?”

  “Of course you can. You don’t have to talk to me. But anything you can tell me will bring me closer to finding Malcolm.”

  Mary nodded. “Yes, I’d like that.” Her voice sounded genuine but rang with a tinge of disappointment.

  Carrie wanted to say that she would find Thames but did not want to give Mary false hope.

  Mary said, “I’ll have to cancel with a friend tonight. Let me do that, and then we can meet.”

  “Okay. I’ll call you in a couple of hours.”

  “Yes, that should give me sufficient time.”

  Carrie stood up. “I’ll take care of this.” She pointed at her tea and Mary’s cappuccino.

  “You’re sure? I mean, you don’t have to...”

  “It’s all right. I can expense it,” she said, although she was not going to expense seven quid.

  Carrie said “goodbye” to Mary outside the café, then watched her walk toward the east. Carrie turned in the other direction. She came to the edge of the sidewalk and began to look for a taxi. It took her a couple of minutes, but she was able to hail one. She sat in the back and gave the cab driver Trafalgar Square as the destination.

  The taxi had gone a couple of blocks when Carrie’s phone rang. It was a local London number she did not recognize. “Yes, O’Connor,” she said in a quiet voice.

  “Carrie, this is Mandy, Mandy Coole.”

  “Yes, Coole. How did you get my number?”

  “I’m not sure, but ... does it matter?”

  “It depends on your answer.”

  Mandy hesitated for a moment. “I ... it was in my files, like Justin’s. I can find out how it got here, if you insist.”

  “No, how can I help you, Coole?”

  “Call me Mandy, would you?”

  “Sure, how can I help you, Mandy?” Carrie said in a slightly irritated voice.

  “I’d like to meet with you. Go over some files. I have new intel.”

  “Sure, let me arrange for a meeting time with Justin—”

  “I tried his phone a number of times, but there’s no answer. And this is quite urgent.”

  “What is it about?”

  “It’s about the vanished SAS operative.”

  “And...”

  “We might have overlooked a couple of events during the last time he came to London.”

  “Such as?”

  “I’d rather not discuss this on the phone.”

  “Me too, but I’m a curious gal.”

  “All right, Carrie. Thames met with an old friend from their time in the SAS training.”

  “Do you have a name?”

  “I do. We also know, in part, what they discussed. The old friend demanded a favor.”

  Carrie nodded. “Intriguing. When do you want to meet?”

  “Right away. Where are you?”

  Carrie glanced through the window. She saw BT written in large blue letters outside a tall office building. “We’re coming up to BT, and we’re on A40.”

  “I’ll meet you in ten minutes at the Starbucks by the SIS HQ.”

  “Let me check.” Carrie leaned closer to the cab driver and said, “Can you get us to Vauxhall in ten?”

  “What? Ten minutes?” The cab driver shook his head. “Fifteen. Look at the traffic. Do you see the traffic? Fifteen minutes. Fifteen.”

  “All right, all right, I get it.” Carrie returned to her phone. “Mandy, let’s say twenty, to be on the safe side.”

  “Cheers.”

  “See you.”

  Carrie drew in a deep breath and sat back in her seat. That’s quite a change. Perhaps Mandy truly wants to work together. She thought about calling Justin, but then she shook her head. If Mandy couldn’t get in touch with him ... He’s probably buried in the files at the embassy.

  Chapter Eleven

  Canadian Embassy, Trafalgar Square

  London, England

  Justin was back at the embassy and buried neck-deep in the files. These were a new batch, freshly printed, which he had received from Ying. He had spent the first thirty minutes going through Lim’s personnel file and recent operations. Most of the information was redacted, but there was enough for Justin to form an opinion about Lim’s training, talents, and skills. He had recently participated in a hostage rescue mission in northern Iraq. Three Chinese journalists were kidnapped at gunpoint and held for ransom for twenty-one days, until the rescue mission. The captives were freed and the team—led by Lim—had suffered no
casualties. The team had battled its way in and out of a village held by IS, or Islamic State, the worst terrorist group still operating in small swaths of Iraq. That mission alone was sufficient to convince Justin he was up against a formidable opponent.

  He thought about calling Carrie to share the new intelligence with her. She probably has her hands full with Mary. She’ll call me when she’s done. He found the phone, which was buried under the mountain of documents littering the desk. No missed calls or emails. That’s good. No emergencies.

  Justin returned to the reports. One of them traced Lim’s travels from Tunis, capital of Tunisia, and all the way to when he disappeared in Paris. Details were sketchy about the Spanish leg of the trip, especially the two days Lim had spent in Bilbao, in northern Spain. Justin noted the names of a few people, either Lim’s associates or his suspected contacts. Justin wanted to ask Ying about more information on them. We’ll also run some searches, see if we can find something that was left out or missed.

  He reached for his coffee mug but found it empty. So he stood up and walked to the kitchen. There was less than an inch of coffee left in the pot, not even enough for a small cup. Really? C’mon, people. How hard is it to make coffee? He shook his head and filled the pot from the nearby sink.

  While he waited for the fresh coffee, he thought about working together with the Chinese security service. Both Ying and Hai had come across as genuine in their plans and efforts to work together. They had provided the promised intelligence. Justin ran the conversation through his mind, analyzing everything he could remember, and he could remember almost everything. Having a strong conversational memory had always been one of his talents, which had been sharpened and enhanced during his extensive training at The Plant. The more he thought about what the MSS agents had said, the more he was convinced they truly wanted to stop Lim and his devious plot, while being completely discreet.

  Still, there was an uneasy feeling slowly eating at him. It was the same as when Mandy had extended her offer of cooperation. Suddenly, everybody wants to be our friend and play nice. But what is Hai’s angle ... if he has an angle? Am I being paranoid? Biased just because they’re Chinese and not exactly a friend, but neither an enemy?