by Brandt Legg
“This is a major threat,” Linda added.
“We know the most about Jie Shi,” Tess continued. “If we arrest or deport her, or she gets wind of us and flees on her own, that source—our best source—is gone. Under any of those scenarios, we lose.”
“And we’ll never know if they have an objective beyond gathering intel and influences,” Linda said. “We won’t learn how deep they go, how many there are, or who else has been compromised.”
Twenty-One
CISS Headquarters, Vienna, Virginia
The FBI and CIA men were silent for a moment. The images of Jie Shi and her “victims” stared back at them from the large monitors.
“There is a risk that if we leave her in the game long enough,” the CIA man finally began, “a chance that she will further compromise her subjects, gaining more information that she may relay to her superiors.”
“That is actually a real possibility,” Tess said. “So what?”
“We would be allowing national security to be jeopardized.”
“We’ll keep her on a short leash.”
“And what about the politicians?” the FBI man asked.
“We’ll leak their identities and photos of them with Jie Shi as soon as we’re done,” Tess said.
“Because?” the FBI man asked.
“They are unreliable, compromised, weak men.”
“Okay,” he said. “Hope I don’t ever get on your bad side.”
“It’s not hard,” Tess said. “One simple rule makes everyone’s life easier.”
“And that is?”
“Don’t do anything stupid.”
“I’ll try and remember that.”
“He’s already forgotten it,” the CIA man said. “Now back to business. Let’s say we play along. First, I’d like to know how Jie Shi does this. Does she date a different guy every night? And, I’m being serious here, how does she keep it all straight? What if two or three of them want to see her at the same time?”
“We’re just getting into this,” Linda said. “And unfortunately other priorities are now diverting our attention.”
“Why are you pushing this off on us?” the FBI man asked.
“We are not pushing,” Tess said tersely. “I am giving you my baby to take care of while I go kill a monster. Do not screw this up. I want Jie Shi.”
“What monster?” the CIA man asked.
“Need to know only.”
He nodded, dissatisfied.
“I can only spare a few agents,” Tess said. “They will shadow this, keep on monitoring her, and provide your team with all background.”
“You’ll need to crosscheck everything,” Linda added.
“We’re all over it then,” the CIA man said.
“Find out where the connections are going in China,” Tess said. “We need to find a way to penetrate this ring on either side of the Pacific.”
“I’ll get our people over there lit up.”
“Thank you,” Tess said. “This is a big one.”
“I just sent you the slice numbers in Heaven where you can see everything we’ve got,” Linda said, referring to the US’s most highly classified intelligence network—codenamed “Heaven” because it “may or may not actually exist,” and those who knew of the rumors of it often said, “One can only get into Heaven by dying.”
The CIA man checked his phone and noticed another message asking him to stick around after the meeting. “Got it.”
“Me, too,” the FBI man said.
Linda adjourned the group a few minutes later. The CIA man excused himself to the restroom. When he came out, the FBI man was gone.
“What’s up?” he asked Tess.
“You need to be overlooking the FBI on this one.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“Jie Shi may have compromised an agent.”
“So it goes even deeper?”
“Yes. Review every move the Bureau makes, triple check all their actions, assumptions, and methods.”
“Got it,” he replied. “I’m a little concerned about what’s going down that it took you off point on this case. The Tess Federgreen I know wouldn’t give up on something you broke. Knowing you have the experience and abilities . . . CISS is the perfect one to be handling this.”
She nodded. “If we get lucky, and we all do our jobs, you’ll never find out what has taken priority over this.”
“And if we’re not lucky?”
“You’ll know about it very soon, and the aftermath will haunt us for the rest of our lives.”
Once Linda and Tess were alone again, they returned to Mission Control, now a full scale operational command center on the weaponization of space.
“China could be the force here,” Tess said, looking at updates on the Peoples Republic of China space program. “They’re launching a lot of satellites.”
“They’ve just done a fifth unmanned moon landing,” a technician volunteered, even though Tess had not been addressing her. “And they currently have a craft in orbit around Mars.”
“Russia?” she asked looking at their screen.
“Nothing to lose.”
“Which is why they may be the bigger threat.”
“Yes,” the technician agreed. “Russia has a lunar landing coming up, and they’re keeping pace with the US and China in satellites.”
“If you discount the constellation launches.”
“Exactly. But the Russian president is determined to restore Russian greatness in space. They have the experience, and he seems to be finding the rubles somewhere.”
Tess was aware of a recent CIA report showing the Russians were involved in many black market and secret tech deals to further their space program, and that they were obtaining funding from many dark sources. “Worrisome,” she said.
Linda presented Tess with an objectives overview from the earlier CHAD conference.
1. Identify which country or group is arming the satellites.
2. Create a counter measure.
3. Cripple the offending party.
“And do it all before we lose communications and control over our military and intelligence assets, or they destroy the world economy,” Tess said. “Should be easy.”
She already felt hungover, though she hadn’t had a drink in months.
Twenty-Two
Washington DC
Tu looked like a typical nine year old boy staying up past his bedtime to watch Star Wars Mandalorian. Yet, anything but ordinary, Chase and Wen had rescued him from a Chinese facility where the boy had been held since birth, and now acted as his surrogate parents.
Zǔ mǔ, Wen’s grandmother, took care of him since Chase and Wen were almost always somewhere else, somewhere dangerous. Looking at him, tucked in bed under the covers, watching his favorite show, she could easily forget that the scientists, under direction of the Chinese Communist government, had modified his DNA prior to his birth. His tweaked mind was now generally genius-level, and in some areas reached far beyond that. At the same time, he was still a child.
“Time to turn off the TV,” she said gently.
“But Zu-ey, it’s Mandalorian.”
She smiled. Their existence had been such an adventure since Chase and Wen swept them both out of China in the dark of night, dodging threats and gunfire. Now, after many attempts on their lives, they were finally safe, living in an ultra-secure and secret safe house in Washington DC. It was part of a major think tank which dealt with threats from the global rise of Communist China, as well as children’s issues. Tu was now one of their top minds. The Astronaut had arranged for him to get the gig.
“You did a lot of thinking today,” Zǔ mǔ said. “You need to rest that special mind of yours.”
“Look,” he pleaded, pointing at the screen. “It’s baby Yoda!”
“He is cute,” she agreed, sitting on his bed to watch.
“When will Chase and Wen be here?” he asked for the twentieth time.
“I don’t know. Sometime
tonight.”
“I’m so excited. It’s been a long time.”
“Three weeks.”
“A long time,” he repeated. Then a fight scene took his attention. “The Mandalorian is so tough!”
“Tougher than Wen?” Zǔ mǔ teased.
“No one is tougher than Wen!”
By the time Chase and Wen arrived, they found the little genius fast asleep.
“He’s so peaceful,” Wen said. “I love to see him like this.”
“Hard to imagine what’s going on in that brilliant mind of his,” Chase whispered.
“No it isn’t,” Tu said, surprising them as he opened his eyes. “All you have to do is ask me. My mind is very busy today.”
“Have you been awake this whole time?” Wen asked.
“Only since I stopped sleeping.” He reached up to hug her, beaming. Chase took his hug next. “I wanted to see you,” Tu said, turning on the light. “And to hear all about how it went with the shadow people in the Caymans.”
Chase and Wen and Tu had made a deal a long time ago that they would always tell him what they were working on and, if possible, where they would be. Tu, with his unusual mind and unique way of looking at things, had helped them solve many of the challenges they faced. Their deal eased his tendency to worry and took away his reason to complain about not going with them.
“It didn’t go too well,” Wen said. “Grimes and Shelby were not there.”
However, they did tell him the bare minimum of the danger they encountered. Tu had already witnessed enough violence and death in his young life.
“Then it was a trap,” Tu said, having warned them before they left that he thought it might be one, but he did not remind them of his prediction.
“Yes,” Chase said. “You were right. There were some other men waiting for us.”
“But you took care of them,” Tu said proudly, knowing the answer, even if they weren’t standing right in front of him.
Chase sat on the bed. “We did. Now we still have to find Grimes again. Wen thinks he didn’t set us up, but that maybe somebody found out.”
“Belfort,” Tu said, looking at Wen.
“One way or another, it’s always Belfort,” Wen agreed.
“We will find him,” Tu said. “The Astronaut and I were working on a new data sort the other day. We’re going to try it next time he comes over. It will give us more tools to lock-in on Belfort.”
“Good,” Chase said. “We appreciate your help. We’ll all have dinner tomorrow and talk about it.”
“Maybe,” Wen said quickly, shooting Chase a disapproving glance. Chase knew she didn’t want him promising Tu something that might not happen, since they didn’t know where The Astronaut was, or even what tomorrow would bring.
But he smiled and covered it. “We have to make sure The Astronaut can come, but we’ll be here.”
Wen nodded. “But now you need to get to bed.”
“I’m already in bed!”
“I mean to sleep,” Wen said, kissing him and tucking him in.
“I know.” He winked at her, then laughed.
Chase turned out the light. “Sweet dreams. See you tomorrow.”
Wen set a special shell on his shelf that Tu would find in the morning. They had picked it up for him in the Caymans to add to his collection.
As he walked out of the room, Chase tried to shake off the nagging feeling that tomorrow might not happen at all.
Twenty-Three
Washington, DC - April 2nd - 9:39 pm
After a shower, Chase joined Wen in bed. The hotel room was nice, but he hadn’t felt secure in a hotel room for quite a long time.
“I thought I lost you back there on the crane,” Wen said.
“Like you are with a gun, I’m safest when I’m climbing.”
She handed him a little wrapped box.
“What’s this?”
“Apparently it’s a gift,” she said. “You can usually tell by the ribbon and fancy colored paper.”
“I meant what’s the occasion, funny girl?”
“Because you are still alive.”
“I didn’t get you anything . . . I didn’t know.”
“You didn’t know we were still alive?”
“I didn’t know it was a custom . . . ”
“Custom?”
“Tradition?”
She teased him with a confused look.
“Never mind.”
“You do know that presents are generally meant to be opened by the recipient?”
“I think I’ll do that.”
“Good idea.”
“A new multi-tool! When did you—?”
“I have my methods.”
“But it’s custom . . . just like the one they took from me on Grand Cayman. But it’s not that one, it’s brand new.”
“I’m tricky.”
“Yeah.” He kissed her. “Thank you.”
“You’re going to need your multi-tool,” she added.
“Because?”
“Shadow people will track us to Washington.”
He also knew they would. It was the reason they didn’t stay in the same place with Tu.
“Grimes betrayed us,” Chase said.
“We’ll see . . . I wish we could get ahold of The Astronaut. I’m starting to get worried.”
“Me, too.”
Washington, DC - April 3rd - 4:38 am - 24 hours 6 minutes until 4:44AM on 4/4
Trained to sleep lightly, Wen woke violently. The darkness greeted her like an angry animal. Something was wrong—dangerously, deadly wrong. Relying on muscle memory, she reached up from her slumber and grabbed, finding something solid where there should only have been air. She twisted, rose, and snapped, not knowing she had gotten him an instant before the man was going to pull the trigger of the 9mm pistol he was pointing at her head.
He did manage to get the shot off, but not according to plan. In their struggle, the bullet exited the chamber, the suppressor dulling its sound, lodging somewhere in the wall above the bed.
The man yelped in pain and immediately cursed at the miss.
Wen, without releasing his arm, flipped him onto the bed. In the same motion, she escaped the covers and found her own gun under the pillow. At the same time she heard two more shots, confirming what she’d already suspected—that there was at least one other intruder in the room. Through the blur, in the murky darkness and rapid movements, she did not believe Chase had been hit, but couldn’t be sure. The only light in the room came from a couple of LEDs on the flatscreen and spilled over from the edge of a sock she’d put in front of the digital clock.
She now had her hand on the gun that had been meant to kill her and used it to shoot her intended assassin in the chest. In a fluid motion, she flipped the light switch with the barrel of her gun in her other hand. An ambidextrous shooter, she had once fired a gun with her nose.
As Chase was diving off the king-sized bed, she fired again. The sudden light surprised the second man, as did Wen’s shot, which caught him in the arm as he retreated to the bathroom.
Wen quickly scanned the room, looking for any others and for Chase.
“I’m okay,” he said from the floor on the other side of the bed.
She handed him her Glock, preferring to use the other man’s gun since it had a suppressor, then crept around the other end of the bed toward the bathroom. She stayed low, but could now see in the mirror where the man was waiting. Doing the math in her head, she instantly knew the angle wasn’t right. Instead, Wen fired two shots through the wall. The 9 mm rounds exited the barrel traveling at 1,400 feet per second, and entered the plastered-pattern sheetrock. They blew out the other side and hit the man before he even knew they’d been fired.
Wen raced into the room. “We got lucky,” she yelled to Chase as she kicked the man’s head and stepped on his wrist. “He’s still alive.”
She shoved the still warm suppressor end of the gun in his mouth. “Tell me who sent you.”
&
nbsp; She could see from the blood on the floor he wasn’t going to be alive for long. With her free hand, she picked his gun up from the floor, knowing a dying man could be the most dangerous. Then she pulled the barrel out of his mouth. “Tell me who sent you and I’ll call 9-1-1. If not, I’ll watch you bleed out.”
Twenty-Four
The bleeding man on the bathroom floor moaned in agony, desperate for help.
“Who?” Wen repeated.
“Belfort,” he said without hesitating.
“Call 9-1-1,” Wen yelled to Chase. She checked his body for additional weapons, looking for a phone or ID. She found nothing but a key fob and two 15-round magazines. “What are you driving?”
He wheezed, but managed to give her the make and model. “It’s a rental, Maryland plates.”
“Where is it parked?”
“G-3.” He also told her the row and space number, then coughed some blood.
“Anyone waiting for us down there?”
“No.”
“Thanks. Ambulance is on the way,” she said, leaving the bathroom after a quick search for tattoos.
Chase pointed back to the bathroom.
“He’s not going anywhere,” she whispered. “Did you check that one?” she asked, pointing to the man she’d killed on the bed.
“Yeah, no tattoos, and nothing else except a couple magazines.”
“Grab them. You can never have too much ammo.”
“Don’t we want to be out of here before the cops come?” he asked as she went back to the bathroom.
“Ambulance will be here soon. Now tell me, who does Belfort work for?”
“I don’t know.”
She stepped on his hand.
“I swear I don’t know!”
“Where is he?”
“No idea.” He wiped blood from his mouth.
She believed him. Belfort wasn’t that dumb to let some worker-bee know anything other than who to kill.
