by D S Kane
Did Mother pick up Crane? I need to know. He made a mental note to find out as soon as he finished with Gunda Schlein.
As the day wore on, he realized his meeting with Schlein was the only thing in his day he relished. The risk of exposure had excited him. He wondered if he was addicted to intelligence operations. Banking would never again be something he enjoyed. Being a sleeper doesn’t satisfy me the same way.
Xian Wing listened as Lieutenant Chan answered his questions about his son. The office was at the center of the large house in a compound on Yanglin Road, near the Fourth Ring Road on the north side of Beijing. The building was cooled by a modern system, but the power source fueling the city was coal, and soot had seeped into the corridors. Wing nodded. “So he’s been doing work for the Mossad. It is just as I had feared.”
Chan nodded, standing at attention in front of the desk.
“You have copied the Israeli version of the plans for this device from his computer. What does it do?”
Chan swallowed hard. “Sir, I am not yet sure. Lily Lee, your asset in Hong Kong, alerted me. We’ve only had the plans for three days. But it appears to be a microscopic bug that can track its target for up to six weeks after it is ingested or injected. Very similar to our own nanobug, the DeathByte.”
Wing’s brows arched. “Is that so? From what I know, the Mossad has had such devices for almost a decade. Does it have any new features?”
“Yes, sir, and I will have a report for you by the end of today.”
Wing looked at his watch. He nodded. “Thank you. Leave me now.”
As Chan left the enormous room, Xian Wing drew his cell phone from his pocket. He punched in his son’s number.
Yigdal Ben-Levy scanned his new office in Washington, DC. It was uncomfortable, filled with expensive furniture. He now had a magnificent view of the Washington Monument. He hated it and mourned for the simplicity of his broom closet in the Mossad’s headquarters in Herzliyya. Now he had the trappings of power, but he’d lost all the power he’s previously had.
He walked to the oak and glass desk and tried the chair.
Soft. Too soft. Sitting in it would make him soft. In one of the opposing chairs across the desk sat the ghost of his niece.
Aviva seemed amused. “Uncle, do you really think you can trust Ruth Cohen to handle Jon Sommers? He’s becoming dangerous. And his friend William Wing could be even more of a problem.” She did a little pirouette and bowed.
He glared back at the spot where he believed she stood.
He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and punched in Jon’s number. While he waited for Jon to answer he thought how much he expected he’d hate his new role. There was real work to accomplish before his dinner tonight with the American ambassador.
“Hello, Mother. I thought we were finally done.”
Mother smiled. “I have another assignment for you. It’s quick and easy. If you aren’t interested, I can have it assigned elsewhere.” He waited only a second for Jon’s reply.
“I’m interested. What do you require?”
Mother nodded. It was just as he anticipated. Sommers would never be satisfied being a banker. “Track William Wing but don’t approach him. Keep me informed of where he is. For this, you might not even need to leave the bank. Use Promis. I’ll give you a password that will work for the duration of this assignment.” Promis was the Israeli’s version of ECHELON, the spy in the sky developed and used by the NSA in the United States.
“Wing? I just left him. Why track him? He isn’t in trouble again, is he? He just worked for us.”
“Just find and track him.”
Jon remained silent for seconds longer than Mother thought good. Finally he replied. “Okay. Give me the password.”
As Mother terminated the call, his cell buzzed with an incoming call.
“Mother, it’s Ries. How are you doing in America?”
“I miss the real work. I miss ‘the life.’ Shula, I’m glad you called. I need you for another assignment. Are you ready or do you need a break of a few days?”
Her voice came through the line a bit louder. “I’m fine and I’m ready. What do you need?”
Mother smiled. This would be easy. “I have someone finding William Wing. When I know where he is, I want you to interrogate him.”
As with Jon, there was the slightest hesitation in her voice. “Wing. Jon Sommers’s friend? What am I to find out?”
“Wing may have stolen something from the State of Israel and he may have sold or given it to the Chinese. I need to know what he knows. If he has helped the Chinese, I want him terminated. Make it look like an accident. Clear?”
“What if he isn’t involved with the theft?”
Mother sighed. “When you have him, call me. I want to be on the line during the interrogation. I’ll call you again when I know where he is. Mother out.”
The sun was setting when William Wing’s flight landed at Hong Kong International Airport. He’d not slept well on the long journey across the International Date Line. He was tired and could think of nothing better than a night of sleep in his own bed, with Mousey Tongue warming the duvet.
As he walked toward the baggage claim, his cell phone buzzed. He plucked it from his pocket and viewed its screen. Father. I have to answer. “Hello, Father.”
“Something disturbing has been brought to my attention. Where are you?”
“I’m on my way home. I just took a vacation in California. Why?”
He heard his father sigh. Not a good sign. “I learned you work for another country’s intelligence service. Do not bother denying it. I have the proof in front of my eyes. You are selling our secrets to Israel. You are a spy working for one of our enemies.”
How calm he sounds. But I haven’t done that. Never sold any of China’s secrets to anyone. William had a vision of the senior operative in the CSIS, a man he’d met in Beijing last year. Benjamin Chan, a lieutenant. How could his father know about the theft? He wondered if Chan had been in his apartment. Since the CSIS had gifted him with the surveillance technology in his apartment, they could routinely disable it. The conclusion was obvious. I’ve been hacked! “I have stolen nothing from China. Ever!”
“My son, you have betrayed me and our family, not just your country. There is nothing you can say to redeem yourself. Your punishment could be much more severe than I will make it. We will not send an assassination team to end your life. You are now stripped of your officership in the Chinese Army. You will not be put in prison unless you return to China. You can never come home again. As for your secrets, they are all now mine. Goodbye, son.” The call terminated.
William continued holding the phone long after the call ended. His mouth twitched. His first thought was to prove his innocence. But that wasn’t possible. “Rats!” He thought about the call for a long time. Tears welled in his eyes, and, then he wailed at his loss.
He whispered, “Father never loved me.” William found a seat near baggage claim and dried his eyes. The baggage started to roll down the ramp and he claimed his suitcase. He took a deep breath and walked toward the terminal exit where he stopped cold.
What if his father was lying? What if there was a team after him now, or worse, waiting for him in his apartment? He could feel the perspiration flowing off his flesh. I can’t go home!
He turned around and walked back into the terminal. I need a place where they’ll never find me. I need someone who can help me!
He stopped near the ticket counter and scanned the area. He couldn’t detect anyone following him, but he had to assume the worst. He found a restaurant in the terminal mezzanine and sat at a table in the back. When a waiter appeared, he ordered a pot of oolong tea. He watched dim sum carts roll by, but he wasn’t hungry.
Who can I call? Jon? No. If my secrets have been stolen by father, the Mossad will know if I call him. I can never call him again. His cell buzzed. It was the Butterfly. He smiled with relief.
“You owe me at least a dozen multiple
orgasms, and probably several hundred. Where have you been?” Her voice sounded more desperate than angry. It was a good sign.
“Butterfly, I’m at your service. I know I disappointed you, but I was doing something dangerous and couldn’t take your call. But now—”
“Yeah. Well I’m ready. So—”
“Wait! I can do you in person. I want to be with you. We can meet wherever you want to.”
“Little Wing? You sound way too eager. What gives?”
He wondered what lie to tell. “I need a vacation. So pick a place and we can both fly there. Anywhere. You can have me nonstop.”
The silence on the other side of the line went on far too long. Rats! She’s thinking!
“Sounds fishy to me. Why are you making this super-randazzo fantabulous offer? We’ve never met face-to-face. Never even actually seen each other. So why now? Truth, Wing.”
He took a deep breath. No good lies came to him. “I’m not interested in phone sex. I want intercourse. Your flesh against my flesh.”
“That’s quite a demand. You owe me, not the other way around. The way I see it, you can’t make demands.”
He felt his stomach lurch. “Okay. You’re right. But I think it’s time we actually met. Okay?”
He could hear her breathing. Was she doing herself while they talked?
“Okay. I could use a vacation. How about…uh, how about Hong Kong?”
William’s heart skipped a beat. She knows where I live. Anywhere but here. “So sorry. Not Hong Kong. How about Tokyo? Or Singapore? Or Hanoi?”
More silence. “Good alternatives. Okay, I’ll be flexible. Singapore in two days. I’ll call you when I get there.”
He almost dropped the phone. “Wait. Not this number. He pulled the list of burner cell phones from his pocket and read her the number of one.
When she hung up, he smiled. He paid for the tea and walked to the ticket counter for Singapore Airlines.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Changi Airport, Singapore
August 2, 8:40 a.m.
Elizabeth Rochelle Brown sniffed the air as she walked through the terminal at Changi Airport in Singapore. Aromas of flowers and savory food. She dragged her suitcase from the carousel and pulled it to the cab line outside the terminal. More flower scents.
Christ, this place is heaven compared to Woodbine, Iowa.
When it was her turn, she told the cabbie, “Mandarin Oriental Hotel,” and the taxi pulled onto the road.
The cab wended its way through a city that was a mix of ultramodern skyscrapers and old slummy tenements and bodegas. She poked her head toward the window, examining everything.
I’ve always wanted to visit this place. Little Wing gave me my excuse. For that I’m grateful. But I’m still not sure about meeting him in person. What will he think when he sees me? Short, thin as a beanpole, and my nose is half my bodyweight. If he laughs, I swear I’ll hack every freakin’ bank account he has.
The cab pulled to a stop in front of a hotel that was glass and granite, recently built, and so clean she thought she could eat off its floors. A uniformed man took her bag before she could object. The Butterfly followed him to a registration area. She looked around the lobby. Oak, glass, and chrome. Cool! She passed the driver a tip and he left her.
She waited a few seconds. “Reservation for William Wing. Has he arrived yet?”
The stern-faced clerk nodded. “We’ll deliver your bag. You can call him to get the room number. Extension 10824.” He pointed to a row of wall phones.
The Butterfly nodded and walked to the landlines. She punched in William’s number. “It’s Betsy. I’m in the lobby. Which room?”
His voice hummed the way sesame oil would, if it could render its taste into sound. “Thirtieth floor, room 30907. I’m happy to hear your voice.” He terminated the connection and she felt a physical shock run down her spine to her crotch. So close. So real. She recalled the photo he’d emailed her so long ago. She was sure it hadn’t been him, but she still imagined him as a tall, slim Asian, a younger version of Julian Assange.
As she entered the elevator, doubts formed inside her head. She felt worse than plain. She knew she was ugly. Repulsive. It was the primary reason she’d become a recluse and a hacker. She forced back tears, stiffening her posture. If he rejected her, she’d find another hotel and have her vacation anyway.
The door was now in front of her. She stared at the doorbell. Her hand rose unbidden and pressed the bell. She could hear his footsteps across the carpet, little wisps in rhythm. She heard the knob twist and saw the door open. Open for her.
She swallowed hard and drew her eyes up.
Her jaw fell just a little with surprise. He was almost as short as her. The glasses he wore were as thick as fishbowls. He wasn’t handsome.
She recovered, her breathing even once more. She smiled. “Well? Whatcha think?”
He smiled and spread his arms. “You’re perfect.”
It was all she needed to hear. She began to cry, tears flooding her eyes. The sound that wailed from her was almost a banshee shriek.
He edged her though the door and closed it. They were alone. She realized she hadn’t come for sex. She’d come for him. Someone she could share a life with. She wasn’t alone anymore.
Jon Sommers sat at his desk at Dreitsbank, holding his cell phone against his ear. “Pick up, William.” But William didn’t answer.
He felt like a bomb was about to go off inside him. Mother wanted his friend, and Jon had to warn him.
It wasn’t the first time he’d tried to reach William. At first Jon thought about the mission he’d accepted, unsure of whether to follow Mother’s orders. His brain had churned at the problem day and night for several days.
He could only think of one possible reason Mother wanted to find William: another mission his friend had declined. But what if it was more serious? He found himself pulling at his hair. Had he somehow put his friend in danger without knowing how he’d done it?
Jon’s cell buzzed. William!
“Jon. What’s so important?”
“William, I have something of interest to pass on. Seems Mother is looking for you. I can’t imagine why. Did you do something to anger him?”
The silence went on and on. “I’m not alone.”
“Ah, well, give my best to Lily then.”
An even longer silence. “Hold on for a second.” Footsteps on William’s side of the phone. “I have to take this, sweet. Just be a minute.” More footsteps. “Okay, I’m on the terrace. Alone. It’s not Lily. And I’m not at home. So what’s so damn important? Why does he want me?”
Jon thought, silent for a few seconds. William hadn’t heard from Mother and Mother couldn’t find him. What did Mother want? “I’m trying to figure it out. I thought it must be urgent for him to farm it off to me.”
“Shit. I think I know what it’s all about. Jon, you can’t tell him where I am. Not again. Ever. I’m also in trouble with my father.”
“Who’s your father?” Jon’s head was spinning.
“Director of the Ministry of Security in Beijing. He runs a big chunk of CSIS, and all the 6000s. Jon, I’m pretty sure the Ministry just stole the contents of my computers. They have Bug-Lok. Oh, shit, oh shit. Mother must know. Do they have moles in the Chinese government?”
Jon’s jaw moved but he couldn’t make a sound. His father, a senior official in the Chinese Government, and now hunted by two of the world’s foremost intelligence services? Holy shit! It’s better I don’t know where he is.
Tariq Houmaz woke to the sound of gunfire and heavy munitions. He was out of his makeshift bed and dressed in seconds. He sprinted from the cave near the old Taliban headquarters in the Tora Bora mountains of Afghanistan and saw the training exercises in progress. He’d overslept. When he was younger, jet lag never affected him. The last two years, he found global travel tiring. He walked back to his cave and washed up. Taking a prayer rug from the small trunk, he knelt on it and prayed.
When he finished, he checked his email to see if his brother had found Cassandra Sashakovich. The bitch is overdue for her appointment with Allah. He tried and failed to keep himself from obsessing about the millions she’d stolen from the family’s bank account at the Bank of Trade, along with a computer copy of their encrypted plans to set off a nuclear device in Washington, DC. She’s a hacker. Does she realize what she stole? Has she found a way to decrypt the plans?
Nothing from Pesi. He frowned. Next, on to the Al Jazeera news site to see if there was anything about tactical military movements of the Afghan government’s army in northeast Nangarhar province which should worry him. Nothing new here either.
It was then he saw it. A report that the Antron SA weapons development facility had been blown up. He opened the attached video clip. The newscaster said, “It appears to be a work of terrorism. And in what may or may not be a related story, Stillwater Technologies, another weapons development facility, also lost its manufacturing facility to a bombing. Interpol is now investigating the frightening ‘coincidence.’”
Houmaz was sure it was no coincidence. His left hand held his chin as he thought. First, contact Pesi. He pulled the secure satellite phone from the trunk and punched in his brother’s number. There was no answer, and he paced with worry. What if Pesi died in the explosion?
He pondered the alternatives. An easy decision. He thought of a plan, a hopeless plan. But Allah could make such a plan work.
He paced, calculating the odds of success, the consequences of failure.
It took him an hour to shave his beard and don western clothes. He found his driver and gave orders to drive him to the airfield in Jalalabad, near Nahr-e Shahi.
Part Four
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Room 30907, Mandarin Oriental Hotel, Singapore
August 3, 11:52 a.m.
