The Great Game

by D. R. Bell

  “The attendance list from the meeting is in the documents with everyone’s name, phone, e-mail … She’s married, by the way.”

  “OK, thanks.”

  As David hung up, Maggie commented, “You seem to have a reputation for hitting on married women.” Both Megrano and Chander laughed.

  David blushed. “Very funny.” He wasn’t up for joking, with all the people dying around them. He turned to the officers. “Assuming I get the documents from Jeff, this is my company’s confidential information. I should not be sharing it with these people. I will definitely lose my job, and Jeff may lose his.”

  Chander nodded his head in understanding and said, “We can approach your company, explain the situation, and probably convince them to let you share the information. We could also try to get an order from a judge.” He turned to Megrano. “How long do you think it’ll take?”

  “I have no idea. I never had to do anything quite like this. Today is Saturday. I doubt we’ll get all this done before Wednesday. And we don’t even know if that’s what Plasche’s killers want. So we may waste all this time for nothing. In the meantime, the two of you”—he nodded at David and Maggie—“remain in danger.”

  “Can’t you edit the documents?” asked Maggie. “I know nothing about this, but there are probably some formulas that you can change that would make the documents appear legitimate, but be essentially useless?”

  “Yes,” David said. “I can do that. It will probably still get me in trouble, but I’d feel much better about this. Now, how would I get edited documents to these guys?”

  “Good question,” said Chander. “We’ve been tracking both yours and Jim’s phones. Jim’s phone has been off all the time. Yours is off most of the time but turns on for five to ten minutes a few times a day, every time in a different location. So they realize that they are possibly being tracked, but they do want to keep a channel of communication open to you.”

  “But I can’t call them if they are off most of the time.”

  “No, but you can send them a text with an e-mail address. Just do it from a computer.”

  Megrano got up. “Let me know when you hear back from them. And here’s the address where your car is. Show them your ID, and they will release it to you. Be careful.”

  Saturday, 4/23/2022, 3:41 p.m. PDT

  When David and Maggie left, Megrano turned to Chander. “Did you check that Audi license?”

  “Yes. It belongs to Andrei Chernov, a big cheese in LA’s Russian mafia. So does the Mercedes SUV that followed you.”

  “So our friend David here may have a dark side to him?”

  “I actually think it’s his friend Maggie. She came here from Kiev about the same time that Chernov came from St. Petersburg. They both were at UCLA for a while. She continued while he dropped out in favor of more lucrative work.”

  “But David says he just met her yesterday?”

  “Yes, it’s a bit puzzling. Do you really think the Chinese are after his engineering documents?”

  “No, I still doubt it. But we have to make a connection somehow.”

  “I thought you weren’t going to tell him about the murder at SeaTac, since Ferguson is a suspect?”

  “I changed my mind. Whoever did this was a real professional killer, and I know it was not Ferguson. The body was discovered in a stall at 12:50, but the cleaning person had been there only twenty minutes earlier. So the murder took place after Flight 422 left with Ferguson on board. The victim did not miss the flight because he was killed, he first missed the flight and then he was killed. I figured by telling Ferguson I might be able to get some detail that wasn’t covered yet. Now we know there was someone there who called himself Thomas Mann, unless Ferguson made it up.”

  “Do you think he made it up?”

  “I couldn’t administer a lie detector test there, but no, I don’t think so.”

  “I noticed you didn’t mention anything about the Green Lake shoot-out yesterday morning?”

  “No. I wanted to hold this back, and we’re still not sure whether there is a connection.”

  “So, do we start looking for this ‘Thomas Mann’?”

  “Our priority is finding the people that killed Jim Plasche, and I doubt that ‘Thomas Mann’ was directly involved. Besides, the captain won’t send any of us to Seattle to investigate. But I’m pretty sure there is some connection between ‘Thomas Mann’ and Plasche’s murder. I understand that two people got their boarding passes but did not get on the Alaska 422 flight. Since neither checked in luggage, the flight took off. One of them was the man who was killed in the restroom. The other one’s boarding name was John Simptson, most likely not a real name.”

  “OK. So while Ferguson is trying to contact the local suspects, we have to see what we can find about the two Chinese men that Ferguson identified, figure out any connections between them and local Mexican gangs, and try to get more information about the second passenger that did not make it on Flight 422.”

  “Yes, also see what we can find about the Green Lake shoot-out, contact Alaska Air to see if we can track down the US News and World Report magazine, and take a closer look at Mr. Chernov.”

  “Let’s divide and conquer, then. Here goes another weekend. My wife won’t be happy.”

  Saturday, 4/23/2022, 3:54 p.m. PDT

  As was his second nature, Colonel Fai Hsu changed his watch to Pacific Time when he boarded the Air China flight from Beijing to Los Angeles. He was susceptible to jet lag and every little bit helped. He had to try to keep his mind sharp, think through things carefully. After all, if some of his subordinates and his superiors had taken more—or even any—time to think, they would not be in this mess. And what a mess it was. He liked American war movies that he watched for practice in English, especially Saving Private Ryan. So he thought of this situation using a term he’d picked up in that movie: FUBAR, fucked up beyond all recognition.

  Fai Hsu went through a mental checklist of what he knew. Friday evening in Beijing he’d been getting ready for the weekend. His family had just finished dinner, and they were deciding which movie to watch when the phone rang. All of a sudden he had to rush back to the Ministry of State Security (MSS). He’d known about the operation in Seattle, but it was not his direct responsibility. Besides, everything was supposed to go peacefully. All Julius wanted was a $5MM down payment of the $79MM price tag for the file. And they agreed to give it to him. After all, that must have been a tiny portion of the profit from the operation. Even he, a lowly colonel, had a chance to subscribe and walk away with a nice purse. He could only imagine how many billions were skimmed by the people up the food chain.

  Fai did not know why the idiotic decision was made at the last moment to not pay but to instead try to capture Julius. Perhaps they could not agree on who would put up the $5MM? Something did not make sense. Not only was the new mission improbable, but because it was concocted at the last moment the team was all wrong too. They’d pulled in some of the deep plants in Seattle that were not ready for a “cloak-and-dagger” type action. They had not even properly planned for the possibility of Julius having an accomplice. So five agents showed up at Green Lake Park, things got out of control pretty much immediately, and three of them got killed.

  The remaining two managed to follow Julius to the airport and into the terminal. They stayed close to him, so they knew he’d bought a ticket to LA. By the boarding gate, Julius met with his other accomplice—later identified as David Ferguson—and gave him a manila folder, presumably with the file. Julius did not board the plane, so the two agents split up. One followed Ferguson; the other one followed Julius and ended up dead. Julius disappeared.

  The agent who boarded the flight at least had the presence of mind to send a message to Beijing. He’d switched seats and observed Ferguson, albeit at a bad angle. He saw Ferguson retrieve the folder during the flight, and it was not empty, but he could not see what was in it. The team in LA had little time to react. They assembled two agents and two
local gang members (We’ve been putting people in LA for years and that’s all we get on a short notice?), stole a car, and followed Ferguson in two cars from the airport. Grabbed Ferguson, grabbed his carry-on, so far so good—but the moron driver did not watch the road! Ferguson escaped after the accident; the agents and helpers were picked up by the following car. Then the absurdity reached a crescendo when they tracked Ferguson’s last call and ended up killing the man. They lucked out getting Ferguson’s other number, but decided to call and threaten him instead of following it quietly. And after all that, when they found Ferguson they let him escape. Now all they had was an empty folder.

  Fai shook his head. It was easy to question things after the fact, but still, people had to make better decisions. He didn’t know what happened to Lei Kao who oversaw the operation, but since they sent Fai it probably was not good. Now Fai had to make sure it did not happen to him as well. He’d worked too long and hard to get to his position.

  His parents had not finished high school, but he’d worked his way and graduated from prestigious Tsinghua University with a degree in electrical engineering. He’d been planning to work in computer design, but the Party had other ideas. He was called to serve his country in the Ministry of State Security and worked for seven years in Scientific and Technological Information bureau before transferring to Counterintelligence. His analytical skills made him particularly good at his job. He complemented his engineering training with deliberative patience and the skills of a chess master.

  Fai Hsu reminded himself to trust his instincts. Certain things in this assignment didn’t add up. Something was missing in his knowledge of the situation. He could not grasp the logic of the change in Seattle’s operation. Knowing the true purpose of the operation was always important, and he was not sure he had it. However, there wasn’t much to do now. Good thinking couldn’t compensate for lack of information. People on the ground had been instructed to wait for the colonel’s arrival. Fai decided to take a nap. He would need to be well rested by the time they landed in LA.

  Saturday, 4/23/2022, 4:11 p.m. PDT

  David and Maggie retrieved the Accord. David said, “Look, I really appreciate you taking me to Andrei last night; I was pretty shaken up. But now I have my car back and I should go take care of myself and—“

  “No, you look.” Maggie cut him off. “I know how you feel, but don’t rush. First, you are safer at Andrei’s than you would be on your own. And I’m safer, too, at least until we figure out what’s going on. Second, you will offend Andrei if you just take off. And last, if you’re not scared, then you are stupid. Two people were killed yesterday. Something big must be behind all this.”

  David thought, Then why the hell you are making stupid jokes about married women? “But what ‘something big’? I went to Seattle for an engineering meeting.”

  “Well, if we knew what it was we wouldn’t be having this conversation, right? And your friend Jim would probably be alive. Come on, just think about it. We’re both in well over our heads. We have a better chance if we stay together for now.”

  David had to admit to himself that she was right. Besides, he was still frightened to be on his own, even though he would never mention it to her. Maybe one more night. At least he’d have his car and be free to leave whenever he wanted.

  Maggie climbed into the A11’s driver seat, and a different three-car cavalcade took off: the Audi, followed by the Honda, followed by the ML398.

  David found himself alone in his car. Finally, some quiet, some thinking space. He tried to go back to his meeting with Thomas Mann, to reconstruct the encounter. He had gotten to the gate about 11:20. There was still half an hour until boarding, so he went to the bar and treated himself to a local amber ale. Seemed like a proper way to say good-bye to the Pacific Northwest. That was when a tall man in a gray business suit came to his table:

  “Hi!”

  He looked up in confusion but, disarmed by the stranger’s smile, smiled back. “Hi.”

  The man continued. “I’m sorry, I hope I’m not intruding, but I have a few minutes to kill before my flight, and I’d rather do it in a conversation with a fellow human being than drinking alone. Would it be OK if I join you?”

  David awkwardly half-rose from his chair. “Yes, please, be my guest. But my flight will be boarding soon.”

  The man took off his raincoat, commenting how he really did not need it on this trip, and introduced himself. “Thomas Mann. Not related to the late famous writer.”

  “David Ferguson.”

  “Pleased to meet you. Going home?”

  “Yes. Got here Wednesday morning and heading back to LA. What about you?”

  “Just a quick trip from Vancouver. It used to make more sense to drive, but it takes an extra hour to get through the border now. Let me see how my flight is doing.” Thomas looked back.

  A waitress materialized and asked Thomas what he wanted to drink.

  “Do you have Newcastle?”

  “No. The only imported beer we carry is Heineken.”

  “OK, Heineken then.”

  David cleared his throat and picked up an almost empty bowl of bar nuts mix, but the waitress had already moved away. Thomas called out to the waitress in a booming voice, “Can we get the bowl refilled, please?”

  “Of course.” The waitress smiled. David wished he could be so assertive and confident.

  “So what brought you to Seattle?” asked Thomas.

  “I work for Space Systems, came here for engineering meetings.”

  “How are you being affected by all this political turbulence?”

  “It’s not good. Lots of layoffs. That’s one reason I came here, trying to be engaged in an active project. What about you, what do you do?”

  “I’m in the agricultural import/export business. Things have gotten more difficult, but people still have to eat. I don’t travel as often now. Used to come here over the weekend to watch the Huskies. Personally, a Notre Dame fan. I hope that college football won’t be too affected. Would be a shame to lose some of the great rivalries.”

  The Announcer’s voice came on. “Alaska Flight 422 to Los Angeles now boarding. All passengers with boarding tickets should proceed to gate N9.”

  David said, “I am sorry, that’s my flight. I have to get the check for my beer.”

  Thomas waved his hand. “Oh no, please allow me. My flight isn’t boarding yet. I’ll have my drink and take care of the check. Thank you for your company. I hate waiting by myself in airports. No, no, no, please put that bill away. It’s my pleasure. Hey, would you like this magazine? I just finished reading it. It’s quite interesting.”

  Thomas reached into his shoulder bag and got out a green manila folder. As he passed it to David, Thomas slightly flipped the cover, showing the US News and World Report magazine inside.

  “Thank you.” David took the folder and left for his gate.

  Loud honking brought him back to LA and the present. Alex and Petr were behind him, pointing to the light that had turned green. David pressed on the gas pedal, still baffled. Besides the magazine being inside a folder, there was nothing that he could think of as an unusual detail from his encounter with Thomas Mann.

  Saturday, 4/23/2022, 5:03 p.m. PDT

  When they arrived at Andrei’s, he was huffing away on a rowing machine in a home gym. Maggie recapped their discussion with Medrano. Andrei grew visibly perturbed, stopped rowing, turned to Petr and Alex, and asked them something in Russian. As the discussion in Russian continued, David’s frustration rose. Maggie gave him a guilty look. At least she had the courtesy to be embarrassed.

  Andrei grabbed a towel, wiped his face, and turned to David. “Comrade, you got yourself into some serious stuff with the Chinese. You honestly don’t know what it is about? Don’t lie to me; I don’t like when people do that.”

  Yeah, you probably kill them, David thought. Then he swore to Andrei that he did not know what it was about, except possibly his communications project.

/>   Andrei looked concerned, in contrast to yesterday. He got even more serious when Oleg said, “I saw something on the news today about a big firefight in Seattle.” Andrei grabbed glasses with supersized frames and said, “Firefight in Seattle.” The glasses must have had voice recognition. His lips moved as he read the report and then pressed on the edge of the frame and a screen projected on the wall. “Yes, there was indeed a shoot-out yesterday morning in a park by Green Lake. Three people were killed and one is in a critical condition. The identities are being withheld, but one of the dead was a Chinese national.” Andrei tried to make his voice sound low, but it was clearly not his natural timbre. Being stressed obviously made him slip into a higher pitch. He went to a sink built into the wall, washed his hands, threw a towel into the corner and left the gym.

  David went to the study, thinking that he should just say good-bye and drive off. Teddy tried to attack him on the way, but David snarled back. This took Teddy by surprise, and the little dog ran away yapping. David sat down at the iMac and checked his e-mail. There was nothing from Jeff yet.

  He started Googling “Shulman” again. Then he thought maybe it wasn’t spelled the way it sounded, the way the beige-jacketed driver had screamed it at him. He tried a different spelling. David changed it to “Schulman,” and while there were quite a few Schulmans, nothing grabbed him as obviously relevant. Then he tried “Schulmann,” and the first result was about Jonathan Schulmann who’d been killed in the same explosion that had killed presidential candidate Mitchell Williams in 2020.

  David once read that in the 1960s people used to ask: “Where were you when JFK was killed?” In the 2020s the question was: “Where were you when Mitchell Williams was assassinated?” America had been divided for twenty years between “red” and “blue” states. There’d been separatists in “red” states before, generally considered crazies by most. But after the 2019 financial crisis the movement spread, fueled by “we warned Washington years ago” sentiment. Texas scheduled an “independence referendum.” The 2020 presidential election campaign was even more bitter and divided than the previous ones, pitting the incumbent president against Texas governor Mitchell Williams. In September, Williams was assassinated while campaigning in Pennsylvania. Elections were postponed, and furious Texans voted to separate, followed by a number of other states. The government argued that no state had a right to secede, but just like 160 years before, arguments fell on deaf ears. Some talked of holding the Union intact by force, but there was no stomach for another Civil War. What was the federal government to do? Occupy Texas, Louisiana, and Georgia? And then what?