by Ethan Jones
He shrugged and glanced at an announcement tacked on the corkboard. The embassy was looking for a trade liaison. Justin smiled. Could I do that? He stepped closer and read the requirements. I don’t have an MBA. Even if I did, would I want to push papers all day? He shook his head. No, I’d be bored to death the first day.
Justin glanced at the coffeemaker. He interrupted the cycle and half-filled his mug. He nursed it slowly and waited a few more seconds until the pot filled the rest of the way. He poured more coffee into his mug and returned to his office.
He had been working for maybe fifteen minutes when his phone rang. Justin dug it from under the heaps of papers. “Yes, boss.”
“Justin, how is it going?” Flavio’s tone had a slight hint of irritation.
“Can’t complain, boss. But what’s wrong in Vienna?”
“Nothing’s wrong here, but I don’t have good news.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing’s happening on the northern front, and that’s the problem. Neither my MI5 nor my SAS contacts have anything useful. And the mention of Chinese simply falls on deaf ears.”
“Do you suspect they’re not willing to cooperate?”
“I do have my doubts. Initially, they asked for our assistance, but now they’re reluctant to come forward with additional intel.”
“Are they hiding something?”
“I wouldn’t say that. But there seems to be some kind of hardly noticeable desire to bury this matter. It feels as if SAS would be almost pleased if Thames was never found.”
Justin frowned. “The damage and the embarrassment he could cause to SAS if he knows something they want buried...”
“Yes, a deserting soldier is the lesser of two evils.”
“But they wanted our help in finding him.”
“At first, yes, when this Chinese angle hadn’t been exposed.”
“Right. The revelation was a true game-changer.”
“You can say that, yes.”
“On game-changing events, I’ve made contact with MSS—”
“The Chinese Ministry of State Security?”
“Correct. Well, they contacted me, offering to help us in our Chinese investigation.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
Justin told Flavio about the meeting with Ying and Hai and the file on Lim, the runaway Chinese assassin. Flavio asked some sharp questions about the Chinese motivation. “This is never their M.O. What do they really want?”
“Besides stopping their ticking bomb?”
“Yes.”
Justin shrugged and sipped his now-cold coffee. “I’ve looked through the file, sir, but I don’t see another objective.”
“Maybe you haven’t looked deep enough. The Chinese work in layers, like those Russian dolls: there’s always something on the inside of something else, all the way to the bottom.”
Justin nodded. Flavio had been posted in China, Japan, and Thailand for three years of his twenty-one-year-long career with the CIS and other Canadian intelligence services. Justin’s limited experience with Chinese security operatives, along with his gut feeling, were telling him that there was something deeper, something greater than Lim’s assassination plot. They just had not seen it yet. “So, I can go ahead with tonight’s meeting with Ying?”
“Yes, by all means. Treat Ying as hostile, until we’re certain they’re partners. This isn’t a joint op yet.”
“I understand, sir. Of course, they’ll want intel in exchange for their cooperation.”
“Of course, and you’re authorized to share whatever is necessary to keep the lines of communications open.” Flavio’s voice turned firm. “Use your judgment and give them only what they need to know.”
“What about having Ying join the team?”
Flavio did not reply right away. “I’ve given it some thought, Justin. That’s your call. You’ve met the agent. Review her file, and make a decision.”
Justin smiled. It was the answer he wanted to hear. “I’ll do that for sure, sir.”
“Great. Do you need anything else from me?”
Justin thought about his answer for a moment. “No, I don’t think so. I’m going to follow up with Coole as well, and see if she has any updates.”
“Yes, she’ll be crucial in this op, if she’s actually helping.”
Justin nodded. “All right, sir. I’ll keep you posted.”
“Good—stay safe, Justin.”
“Will do, sir.”
He hung up and thought about calling Carrie. She has been out for a while. I hope she didn’t run into any problems. He glanced at the phone, then put it away. If she doesn’t call in another hour or so, I’ll get in touch with her.
Justin drew in a deep breath and returned to reviewing the Chinese assassin’s file.
Chapter Twelve
Starbucks, two blocks from MI6 Headquarters
London, England
It was twenty-five minutes before Carrie stepped out of the cab. She paid the driver, who did not seem impressed by the tip. Carrie shrugged and dashed toward the café, which was less than half empty.
She looked for Mandy but did not see her. As Carrie pulled open the door, an eerie feeling crept along her body. She had read about the untimely death of one of MI6’s deputy directors, which had taken place right inside the café. According to the news reports, the middle-aged man had been enjoying an espresso and then had complained of chest pain. The official cause of death had been heart attack, but Carrie had heard rumors about someone poisoning the MI6 official. Nothing that CIS or anyone else of the intelligence agencies could confirm. I’ll just stay away from espressos.
She found a secluded table with only two seats near a back corner. Carrie had barely sat down when Mandy rushed in. She was dressed in a dark blue felt coat and was carrying a brown briefcase. Her long hair was messy, thanks to the strong wind gusts. She probably walked from her office.
Mandy fixed her hair as she nodded at Carrie. “Sorry, I’m late. Something came up just as I was stepping out.”
“No worries. I just arrived. Traffic was crazy.”
“Welcome to London.” Mandy grinned. “Did you order?”
“No.”
“What do you want? My treat.”
“I’ll have water, please.”
“Really? They make a wicked flat white.”
Carrie shook her head. “I’ve had enough caffeine for the day. Water will be fine.”
“Be right back.”
A couple of minutes later, Mandy sat across the table. She offered Carrie a water bottle, then placed a large cup in front of her. She took a sip and said, “Blonde espresso. You should try it.”
“I’m more of a tea person.”
“Oh, so was I until three, no, four months ago. Then I switched and never looked back.”
Carrie uncapped her bottle but did not drink from it. “What do you have for me?”
Mandy took another sip, then reached into her briefcase. “I wanted you to see this.” She slid a white folder across the table.
Carrie skimmed the first page. It contained what looked like a personnel file of an Asian-looking man. His name was Fu Sung Zheng. His birthplace was listed as London, England. Zheng was taller than most Asians that Carrie had met; at least, that’s how the file described him, at 5 feet and 10 inches. “Where’s this from?” Carrie cocked her head toward the file.
“SAS. Zheng tried, but washed out in the early stage. He didn’t have the physical, but mostly the mental endurance.”
“And he’s Chinese?”
“His parents are from Hong Kong. Zhang was born and raised here.”
“All right. Was he close to Thames?”
“They were buddies during those first weeks. Then Zhang washed out, but they kept in touch.”
“For a few years, I see.” Carrie flipped to the next page.
“Yes, they’d meet up once in a while. But recently, their visits became more frequent.”
“
You told me Zhang demanded a favor. What was it?”
“It was to deliver a message.”
“What message and to whom?”
Mandy shook her head. “We don’t know. They weren’t able to intercept it, but we suspect it was for someone close to Thames.”
“His teammate?”
“That’s possible. Or someone else in his squad. Or an unknown person in Syria.”
“When was this available?”
“SAS put it together shortly after Thames’s disappearance. They didn’t regard it as important at the time. But now, as we’re looking back through the new Chinese lens, things have started to make sense.”
“And how did SAS learn about this meeting and the message?”
“They didn’t say, and, of course, I didn’t ask.”
Carrie nodded and sipped her water. Her mind went to Mary, who had informed Carrie about Thames going for a jog that Saturday morning when he was back to London. Yeah, that’s probably when Thames met Zhang. She glanced at the file. “When did this meeting take place?”
“The date should be there.”
Carrie’s eyes went up and down the page until she found it. The date was there, but not the day. She reached for her phone and glanced at the calendar. She nodded as that fateful day was actually a Saturday. Yes, this matched up quite well. “Where’s Zhang now?”
“We’re looking for him. His phone numbers aren’t good, and neither is his address.”
Carrie shrugged. “Without Zhang, this is just speculation.”
Mandy shook her head. “We know there’s something here. This isn’t a coincidence.”
“What if we’re seeing things because we want to see them?”
Mandy cocked her head. “I don’t follow.”
“Let me put it this way: We have suspicions related to the Chinese, right? So, we’re seeing them as suspects everywhere. Mary, Thames’s girlfriend, who’s also Chinese, like Zhang, Thames’s old friend from SAS training. Aren’t we grasping here?”
“No, I don’t think so. Doesn’t it surprise you that Thames has so many Chinese connections?”
Carrie gave Mandy a curious glance. “What, you don’t have any white friends?”
“Well, I do ... but still, this isn’t usual.”
“In London? It’s more common than you think.”
“Even if it were so, I don’t think this is by chance.”
“Do Mary and Zhang know one another?”
“I’m not sure, but it’s something to explore. I’ll get a hold of Mary.”
“All right. And I’ll take this to Justin.” Carrie closed the file.
Mandy leaned forward and closer to Carrie. “Yes, about Justin, can I let you in on a secret?”
Carrie gave Mandy a puzzled gaze with arched eyebrows. “You know a secret about him?”
“Yes, he seriously doubts I’m telling him the truth.”
Carrie waited for another moment and said, “That’s all?”
“Yes, even though I’m sharing all intel as it hits my desk.”
“Mandy, it’s not a secret that Justin doesn’t trust you. It’s not something that comes easily to him, or to me for that matter.”
“Oh, so you think I’m lying too?”
“No, no, I believe your intel is genuine.”
“But?”
Carrie hesitated for a moment. “I’m confused as to your motives.”
“But I’ve explained that—”
“Yes, yes, we’ve heard the reasoning, and it sounds good. But not quite.”
Mandy leaned back in her chair. “What’s missing?” she said in a sharp, cold tone.
“You’re going behind your boss’s back to help us, a foreign agency. Why would you put yourself in a vulnerable place if there wasn’t a significant gain?”
“There is. Stopping the attack and keeping my city safe, that’s the gain.”
“Very noble of you, but most people wouldn’t take this approach.”
“Well, I guess I’m not like most people,” Mandy said in a terse tone and took a long sip of her water.
Carrie held Mandy’s fiery gaze for a long moment and said, “Mandy, none of this is personal. You understand that; you’re a pro.”
“I understand how you’re making this cooperation quite difficult.” Her voice had turned neutral but had kept some of the initial sharpness. “But we’ll get done what we’ll get done. I just hope our fighting over intel won’t prevent us from stopping this plot, whatever it is.” Her tone changed to what sounded like genuine concern.
Carrie nodded thoughtfully. She knew of numerous cases when bickering among various security agencies stalled action, allowing for terrorists to escape or worse, to carry out their devious attacks. On the other hand, until she was convinced of Mandy’s true intentions, it would have to be a tense relationship. “I hope not, Mandy, for everyone’s sake.”
Chapter Thirteen
Mr. Chu’s Dragon Den, two blocks off Lisle Street
Chinatown, London, England
Ying had sworn Mr. Chu’s Dragon Den served the best authentic Chinese food in the entire city of London. It’s the best kept open secret, she had said with a smile. Justin had agreed, albeit reluctantly. He usually chose the meeting places with assets and partners, one of the factors he could and liked to control. He would arrive long ahead of the meeting time and scout the premises and the surrounding area, looking for anything out of the ordinary. The Den’s location was in the heart of London, in an area with a lot of foot traffic and a strong police presence. Ying was going to be there with them, so Justin did not expect any foul play.
That did not mean he was relaxed. Even now that they had been sitting for over ten minutes, waiting for their orders, he was shifting uncomfortably in his seat. Justin’s eyes were wandering around the full restaurant. He and Carrie were the only Caucasians in the entire establishment, which Ying had interpreted as proof of the food’s quality and authenticity. Justin still felt he was missing something, which was eating at him. Maybe it’s those youngsters three tables away. He looked discreetly over Ying’s shoulder at the group, who were louder than everyone else in the already very loud restaurant. Justin had had to shout a couple of times so that Ying could hear him.
“Justin, you’re deep in thought,” she said.
He shrugged. “It has been a long day.”
“Yes, for all of us,” Ying said. “But we’re making progress, right?”
She glanced first at Carrie, whose face showed no emotions, then at Justin. He nodded and said, “Yes, slowly, but we’re moving forward.”
Ying nodded too. “This is what I wanted to show you.” She tapped her phone, then swiped across the screen until she found it. “There. Have a look.”
Justin glanced at a blurry photo of Lim against what looked like a train station. “Paris?”
“Yes, the last photo we have of Lim. Then he vanished.”
“Right—about that. I have a few questions about his stay in Spain. He was there for two days, but there’s only one page in the report.”
“Yes, yes, that’s correct. It is because not much happened, not anything worth putting in the report.”
“What did Lim do during those days?”
“Waited in an apartment. Met with people, who came and went.”
“Did you check those people?”
Ying nodded, then sipped from her ginger ale. “We did. One of them revealed Lim’s destination.”
“Nothing else?”
“Right.”
“I’d like to see the full report,” Justin said, then glanced at Carrie. “You want to ask her?”
“Sure.” Carrie glanced at the nearest table, where a young couple were holding hands and gazing intensely into each other’s eyes. “I noticed something strange in the report. The change of Lim’s watchers. What happened?”
“I ... I don’t ... don’t understand,” Ying stuttered.
“Three men followed Lim across Europe. One of them disap
peared in Spain. Why was he replaced?”
“I ... I’ll have to check. Maybe he was sent to another assignment. Something of a greater priority.”
“Than tracking down an assassin?”
Ying shrugged. “I’m not sure. I’ll check.” Her voice turned firm.
Carrie nodded. “Sure, do that and let us know. My other question has to do with Lim’s network in London. Who does he trust here?”
Ying opened her mouth to speak, but a waitress materialized near their table. “The duck ... eh, it’s taking longer a bit...” she said in broken English in an apologetic tone. Then she shrugged, switched to rapid Chinese, and began to talk to Ying.
She listened, then replied as fast as the waitress. After a few moments of the exchange, Ying smiled and said, “The chef’s saying one of the stoves just broke. The duck—we can’t have the duck tonight.” Her voice dripped with disappointment. Ying had ordered a full Beijing roast duck, praising its mouth-watering taste and describing in detail the crackling-crisp skin and juicy marinated meat.
“That’s okay,” Carrie said.
“But they’re giving us appetizers for free, while we wait. And she’ll bring us menus.”
Justin shrugged. “Appetizers will be fine for me. I think you mentioned they had pan-seared oysters?”
“Yes, yes, oysters, have oysters many,” the waitress said, eager to please the patrons. “I bring oysters you. And for lady.” She pointed at Carrie.
She nodded at Ying. “Why don’t you pick again? Something that doesn’t need the stove.”
Ying thought for a moment, then nodded at Carrie and spoke rapidly to the waitress. She listened, then nodded and bowed very respectfully. “Sorry, sorry, very sorry,” she mumbled and disappeared.
Carrie leaned closer to Ying. “I was asking about Lim.”
“Yes, he doesn’t trust anyone in London or anywhere else for that matter.”
“But he’s not going to kill the Russian president alone. He’ll have to count on others, even if he doesn’t trust them.”
