by D. R. Bell
Eight-year-old David grabbed Oscar and would not let the dog go. “No! They’ll kill him!” Oscar, after spending the whole week being wild, must have sensed that his life was hanging in the balance. He sat still, let the boy hold him, and even licked David’s face.
HIs mother threw the leash down and walked away. After that, Oscar adopted David. He slept in the boy’s room, he followed David around the house. The last time David cried was in 2003, when they had to put Oscar to sleep. He’d wanted to get a dog ever since and name him Oscar, but circumstances had never been right. Besides, Judy did not like dogs.
Judy. David thumbed through the album to the picture of her in a wedding dress, looking like a princess. David next to her, not quite a frog, more a nondescript groom. Actually he’d gotten well into adulthood before he realized he was an OK-looking guy and that many girls would have gone out with him had he only tried. But he’d always been shy and was never that good at reading their signals. He’d had only a couple of girlfriends before Judy. She had picked him; she’d taken charge. He was flattered and kind of went along.
Later, David decided she’d just been following an imaginary map of what she thought her life should be like. Like a “Game of Life” board game he remembered from his childhood. He happened to be standing next to the spot on the board marked “Marriage.” His family seemed to have been surprised that David snagged such a good-looking girl. Conversely, they were not surprised when David divorced. They actually stayed friendly with his ex-wife, as if to show that they were fair and impartial. When David refused to have anything to do with Judy after the divorce, they thought him wild and uncivilized. They didn’t understand that he was acting out of self-preservation. The sequence of the events that culminated in her leaving had shattered his self-confidence so badly the only way he could deal with it was by cutting off that part of his life completely. But he did try to get back East to see his parents once a year for the holidays, although, he hadn’t gone last year because of the cost.
David got out his old personal computer and typed up a short e-mail to his parents, saying everything was fine and he hoped to come visit them soon. It was three in the morning in Massachusetts. They’d see it tomorrow.
Wednesday, 4/27/2022, 4:53 p.m. CST, Beijing, China
General Tsao stood by the window looking at Zhongnanhai imperial garden. The week had not gone well. Changing the Seattle operation on short notice had ended in a disaster. Poor Lei Kao paid for it. It was not all his fault. Everything had been done in a rush, but someone had to pay.
Tsao turned back to the owner of the office sitting at the desk. “Unfortunately, we have two problems now. One, Julius is still out there and he is requesting more money—‘to pay for our bad behavior,’ as he put it. And he has a second associate in Los Angeles that is playing his own game as well, probably without Julius knowing.”
To Tsao’s surprise, the man at the desk said, “Don’t worry about Julius for now. He’s been taken care of.”
“How?”
“Allow me to keep my secrets. It’s not one hundred percent confirmed, but the information is reliable. Just focus on his associate. Does that person have the file?”
“We don’t know for sure. He knows something, but what he gave us had mostly clues. He might have the file and is giving us a little bit at a time, or he may have just a small amount of information and is trying to use it to extract some money from us and retrieve his girlfriend.”
“His girlfriend?”
“Hsu’s team captured a girl that was working with him. She is denying the relationship, but that’s not likely. She does claim that she works with Ukrainian intelligence service. It’s possible. She is from Ukraine.”
“No matter. We have to end this. You know what’s at stake for both of us. We can’t allow this information to become public. Do you trust Hsu?”
“He is a loyal man.”
“I am not asking about his loyalty. I am sure Kao was loyal, too. I am asking whether we can trust his judgment and whether he can get things done.”
“I think so. That’s why I sent him.”
“OK. At this point we don’t have much of a choice but to trust his judgment. I want to make sure that when this Julius’s associate is taken care of, there is nothing else that will come up. No other associates with the information. Nothing.”
Wednesday, 4/27/2022, 7:08 a.m. PDT
Hsu’s emergency phone rang. He tensed, since only a few people in Beijing knew this number. It was his boss, General Tsao. The general asked his opinion of Ferguson. Hsu knew it was unusual to receive such a call. He weighed each word carefully.
“General, I think it’s likely that Ferguson is a junior associate of Julius. I think he has some of the information that Julius does, but not all.” Hsu paused respectfully, but General remained silent, so he continued. “Ferguson probably decided that he has enough to blackmail us and collect the money for himself. I think he is working either alone or with a small group.”
“Is it possible that Ferguson is an innocent man who was set up by Julius in order to send our agents in Seattle down a wrong path? There seems to be nothing in his background that would suggest clandestine operations experience.”
“General, it is possible, but in my humble opinion not likely. It is true that his background is very ordinary, but that could be an indication of a good cover. If I may point out, many of our agents maintain very ordinary appearance until pressed into service. Ferguson did provide the kind of information—and General, I am not the one to properly judge—that does seem to indicate certain connections. It’s difficult to imagine someone who is completely unprepared to gain access to such information in a matter of few days. Additionally, he twice evaded trained agents. Once can be luck; twice is unlikely.”
“Is it possible, on the other hand, that Ferguson works for a foreign intelligence service?”
“General, that’s a possibility as well. One argument in favor of this is that his associate Margarita Sappin may have been recruited by SZRU. But I doubt that an agent of a foreign intelligence service would go to local police. And Julius was likely not affiliated with a service. I am afraid that it is difficult at this point to be one hundred percent sure about Mr. Ferguson. There is a spectrum of possibilities, him being an independent ‘freelancer’ is the most likely one, but others are feasible, too.”
“Do you think Ferguson has a lot more information?”
“I doubt it. I think if he did he would have been more aggressive from the beginning, rather than try to dole it out in small steps. I believe that Julius gave him some information back in Seattle, and now Ferguson is trying to make the most out of it.”
“What about his associate, that Sappin woman?”
“General, I doubt she knows much, if anything. They likely have known each other for a bit of time, and she is of some importance to him, but he cares about money more.”
“Thank you, Fai. We just received an unconfirmed report that Julius is dead. I also believe that your assessment is correct and that Ferguson does not have a lot more information and is not affiliated with an intelligence service. But we have to be careful. We can’t afford another Green Lake shoot-out or another associate coming forward. Put him at ease, bring him the money, bring him the woman. Find out as much as you can. After that, eliminate them both. Unless you hear something that shows he has a lot more information that will be released.”
“Yes, General.”
Hsu’s palms were sweaty when he hung up. The information was dangerous indeed. But he seemed to have given the right answers. He suddenly could not wait to finish the mission and go back home to his family, promotion or not.
Wednesday, 4/27/2022, 8:49 a.m. PDT
“Cowardice is the most terrible of vices.”
— Mikhail Bulgakov, The Master and Margarita
David drove the Accord away from his house. He was surprisingly calm, perhaps because he at least had some control over the situation. And he was able to
do a short meditation in the morning.
James and Frank made him practice his story the night before, throwing question after question at him. He smiled. He knew the story wouldn’t hold up to any prolonged scrutiny, but then he had a plan for that, too. Early in the morning his phone rang, James making a last-ditch attempt to get David to call the police. But David stood firm. They agreed that David would come back to Frank’s house and James would join them there. James had to meet with his teaching assistant at UCLA.
Before leaving, David cleaned up and watered the plants. He had almost forgotten Maggie’s green cat-eye glasses and went back into the house to get them. He wondered if she was still alive or if they were just pretending that she was in order to lure him into a trap.
He took San Diego Freeway north, exited on Victory Boulevard, and turned west. He was running a bit early, so he stopped at Starbucks and got himself a cup of coffee. Having a cup in hand and being able to take a sip always reduced his anxiety in stressful situations. David fingered the little flash drive in his pocket. Flash drive and a cup of coffee, he thought. That’s like walking into a lion’s cage with just your bare hands.
He turned left on Balboa, then left into the park, and drove around the lake to a distant parking lot as instructed. There were only two other cars parked there and no people that he could see. David stayed in the car for a minute, gripped by an overwhelming fear. The engine was still idling. His eyes fixed on the transmission knob. This is crazy! Should I reverse and leave?
David exhaled, took a few deep breaths, said out loud “It’s now or never.” He pushed the transmission to “PARK,” and turned off the engine. He realized with a bit of surprise that he had not been pulling on his right ear lately. David grabbed his coffee, left his keys in the ignition—one of those little details he’d thought about during the sleepless morning hours—walked over to a bench under a large tree, sat down and looked at the lake glistening in the morning sun.
There were a couple of boats on the lake, and he could see people on the other side, but nobody in the immediate vicinity. It was quiet except for a bird chirping nearby and trees gently rustling in the wind. Another sound intruded—a car pulled into the parking lot.
David turned. Because of the sun, he could not quite see into the car, but two people came out and headed toward him. At the same time, two more people emerged from the park, and David found himself surrounded. One man sat down across from him, three others remained standing. David recognized one of them as the driver from the Navigator. That day seemed so long ago.
“Mr. Ferguson?” asked the man sitting across from him. The man looked to be around fifty, dressed in a dark blue suit, white shirt, power red tie, wide-framed glasses. David replied, “Yes. Who am I speaking with?”
The man offered only, “You can call me Mr. Chao.”
As he’d practiced the night before, David reached into his pocket—he saw the men tense up—pulled out the flash drive, put it on the table and asked, “Mr. Chao, where is the money?”
The man smiled and said, “Mr. Ferguson, you have not shown me anything that would warrant paying you any money.”
David sipped his coffee and followed the dialogue he’d practiced. “I have sent you a sample of my information; if it was worthless you would not be here. There is more here.” He nodded at the flash drive lying on the rough wooden table between them. “And there is yet more that’s not here. I am completely unarmed. I came here by myself. But I want you to know that if Maggie Sappin and I are not in a certain location in Brentwood by 11:00 a.m., one of the people working with me will send this information to all the major US news outlets. Even with light traffic, it’s at least thirty minutes from here to Brentwood.”
David put down the Starbucks coffee cup while trying to keep his hands from shaking. This was it, this was his grand plan. The man across the table steepled his fingers and stared at him intently. Then he looked at the man to his right and nodded. The man went back to the car and returned with a briefcase and a laptop. Another man emerged from the same car, dragged out Maggie, and sat her down next to Mr. Chao.
The last time David saw her on Sunday, she was in an exercise outfit, healthy looking, sweaty, her hair in a ponytail. Now Maggie was wearing jeans and a wrinkled white shirt, her face pale and haggard, unwashed hair limp, eyes dull, unfocused. She looked at David and nodded, but did not say anything. David tried to give her an everything will be all right smile. The need to reassure her made him calmer. He had someone else to think about.
Mr. Chao opened the briefcase, turned it around and pushed it to David. “As you can see, the money is here.” The briefcase was stacked with hundred dollar bills.
David looked, nodded, and closed the briefcase.
The man with the laptop opened it and plugged in the flash drive. Mr. Chao continued. “And now that you have what you asked for, I have some questions for you. When did you first meet Julius?”
“It was in January of last year. He approached me claiming I was recommended by one of my Purdue classmates. He said his name was Thomas Mann, and he needed some computer work done.”
“What kind of work?”
“Helping him create secure cloud storage.”
“Why? One can easily purchase secure cloud storage.”
Mr. Chao was watching him carefully, probably for signs of lying or hesitation. David mentally thanked James and Frank for the last night’s practice.
“He did not want to rely on commercial services. He wanted additional layers of security.”
“And you helped him with that?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Why would he go to you?”
“Well, I am a computer engineer, and I do work with such things. As for why he approached me, I don’t know. He claimed I was recommended.”
“And did you check the recommendation?”
“No, I did not. He was paying well, and I was going through a divorce and needed the money.”
David maintained eye contact with Mr. Chao as he answered, but he also tried to steal a glance at Maggie. She was looking at him, a shadow of hope across her face, lips slightly parted.
“How did he communicate with you?”
“Mostly by e-mail, sometimes he would call.”
“Do you have a number to call him?”
“No, only an e-mail address.”
The man with a laptop said something in Chinese. Mr. Chao nodded and continued with David. “How do you know Margarita Sappin here?”
“Thomas … er … Julius told me if I needed help I could go to an East European restaurant one block off Main Street on the border of Venice and Santa Monica and look up a waitress called Maggie.”
“You have not met her before last Friday?”
“No, I have not.”
“How did you get the information you sent us?”
“Julius instructed me to be at the bar by gate N9 in SeaTac at 11:45 a.m. He gave me a folder with a magazine in it. There was a memory card taped inside the magazine.”
“You are lying. We have your bag from the flight, and there is no magazine or memory card in it.”
“I left the magazine on the plane. Why would I need it? The memory card was in my pocket, not in the bag. Your people never searched me.”
Mr. Chao rolled his eyes in a what a bunch of morons grimace. Then he asked, “Why did he give you the card?”
“He said people were after him, and he needed to be able to threaten them that someone else would disclose the information.”
“Did Julius tell you to contact us?”
“No.”
“Then why did you?”
“He paid well, but when your people here tried to kill me, I figured it was getting too dangerous. I want to get enough money to disappear. I don’t care about your dealings with him.”
“Why did you go to the police?”
“You killed Jim Plasche, and I was the last person to talk to him on the phone. The police would have come after me anywa
y.”
David looked at his watch. “Its 10:26. If we don’t leave now, we won’t make it to Brentwood by eleven, which means the information will be published. I don’t think you want that. By the way, what’s ‘acegik’?”
Mr. Chao, startled by the question, replied, “Just the first six oddly-numbered letters of the English alphabet.”
David stood up, nodded to Mr. Chao who looked surprised, took the briefcase, and told Maggie, “Let’s go.” He tried to exude confidence, took her hand and they started walking toward the Accord. David struggled to keep his legs from buckling. Maggie looked like she was sleepwalking.
“Mr. Ferguson!”
Both David and Maggie turned to see Mr. Chao staring at them, as if trying to decide. He nodded, and two of the people standing next to him pulled out their guns. Maggie inhaled sharply and her nails cut into David’s hand.
There was a noise like tree branches breaking. One of the men clutched his chest and fell. The other had half of his face disappear. Mr. Chao and his two remaining agents turned to the sound of the shooting.
David pulled Maggie and ran to the car. In a panic, he thought: Where are the keys? Then he saw them in the ignition, started the car, and tore out of the parking lot.
Wednesday, 4/27/2022, 10:28 a.m. PDT
David was hyperventilating. He tried to control his breathing and slowed down the Accord. No need to be stopped for speeding. Who shot Chao’s agents? He looked at Maggie. “How are you?”
She answered in a small voice, “I don’t know. I can’t believe I’m alive.”
They turned right onto Victory Boulevard, heading toward the freeway. Maggie asked, “What did you give them?”
