Locked Down

by Ed Kovacs

  MSS Director Tang stood up and met Ma's glare with his usual neutral expression. Tang had rented the one-bedroom suite and turned it into a makeshift CP, command post. Plainclothes MSS agents had ad hoc workstations with laptops and cell phones on every chair and table in the room, while others simply worked cross-legged sitting on the floor. All work stopped as men from the rival units eyed each other suspiciously.

  As he tugged on an earlobe, Tang motioned for two of his men to move off the sofa, and then made a subtle gesture for Ma to join him there. Tang didn't fear Ma since Tang's unit was non-military and part of the Ministry of State Security. He didn't fear Ma, nor did he respect him and had never made a show of hiding how he felt about the general. But the situation right now was unlike any he'd ever had in his dealings with General Ma. Huge failures had taken place today. Tang knew that he needed to be careful, to protect himself and his team from possible unpleasant consequences in case events took an even worse turn.

  After several uncomfortable moments, Ma crossed to the sofa and sat down. Then Tang sat down. “As you can see, there will be no more meetings in your limo. There's no time for that.”

  “Don't reproach me, Tang. Be careful how you speak to me,” said Ma, practically hissing.

  “Reproach you? I'm merely stating the obvious truth of our situation.” Tang spoke matter-of-fact, cementing his refusal to be cowed by his rival.

  Ma paused, as if he were trying to see to the heart of the matter. “You've allowed the Americans to escape, haven't you? So to hide your failure you go on the offensive against me,” said General Ma.

  “Allowed them to escape? Do you understand how large Pacific Place is?” Tang's slight incredulity stood in stark contrast to his normally even delivery. “There are dozens and dozens of entrances, exits, points of egress. You ordered me to only bring twenty people to Hong Kong. It would take at least two hundred agents, probably more, to seal Pacific Place. Tang spoke at normal volume, never betraying anger in his voice, but everyone in the room was hanging on every word. “I have operatives covering as many of the larger exits as possible. But Grant is not in her room and Hernandez's location is also unknown. Perhaps you should reconsider your orders to—”

  General Ma slammed his fist hard onto the coffee table. He fixed Tang with a withering look. “I killed my first man with my bare hands when you were still a wet-behind-the-ears agent looking for your first bribe. And I've been doing the dirty work for Zhao and the highest political cadre since before your birth. Don't make me remind you again, that you would be well-advised to choose your words more carefully when speaking to me in front of our men, Director Tang.”

  For a long moment the two men stared daggers at each other, neither willing to break the gaze. Then Ma's aide Li Shan, a plain-faced woman in her forties, stepped forward and placed a bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue Label and two glasses on the table in front of the men. To Tang it seemed that she deliberately leaned in between them, using her body to break the staring contest. She poured two shots and handed the first to Tang, who reluctantly took the drink.

  Ma took his glass and there was the most imperceptible nod between them as they tossed back the shots.

  “So we must assume that Grant and Hernandez could be anywhere,” said Ma. “What about security video?”

  Tang hesitated, and then put down his glass. “There is no centralized CCTV for Pacific Place. The mall itself has a camera system, but each store or hotel or restaurant has their own individual video security systems.”

  “So there are hundreds of individual CCTV systems?”

  “Exactly. And this isn't Beijing. Flashing an ID from the Ministry of State Security in foreign-owned hotels doesn't get quick results. We even tried using fake Hong Kong police credentials, but management called police headquarters to confirm, so of course, we were denied.”

  “So you can't get surveillance video.”

  “I didn't say that,” said Tang. “We have friends in the Hong Kong police and they're helping us. It's just not happening quickly. Some businesses cooperate, others do not. My hackers are working on getting us in the back way.”

  “Li Shan,” said Ma to his aide. “Director Tang needs reinforcements. We have thousands of agents in Hong Kong. I've no doubt we can have two hundred operatives here in fifteen or twenty minutes. Make it happen so Pacific Place can be locked down.”

  Li Shan bowed and moved away.

  “But it's quite possible that Hernandez and Grant have already fled the area,” speculated Ma.

  “Yes. They could be on the run, elsewhere in Hong Kong,” said Tang. “I've quietly alerted our friends at the airport and other transportation hubs.”

  Ma nodded. “So we should 'unofficially' lock down the city. That might take an additional two hundred agents. I'll start making the necessary calls. Also, I'll send some of my people here to work closely with your staff. Hand in hand.” General Ma stood up from the sofa. “The two Americans must not leave Hong Kong alive,” he bellowed. Ma then made eye contact with each person in the room. “The future of every last one of us depends on that.” General Ma let that hang in the air as he crossed to the door. “I want Hong Kong locked down and the Americans shot on sight!”

  As the door closed behind General Ma and his entourage of Second Department muscle, Tang shook his head. This was the wrong mission for his team. They were a small, nimble group, designed to operate in the shadows. They were deft at studying a target, executing a kill, and then getting away undetected. Coordinating four hundred agents with shoot-on-sight orders in what could only be classified as a high-profile search was not his area of expertise and wasn't a smart strategy.

  Tang shook his head with a feeling of impending doom. These were the wrong orders at the wrong place at the wrong time.

  ###

  As he barreled along the Marriott's hallway, General Ma thought of his upcoming meeting with Zhao Yiren. He'd somehow have to spin the latest developments favorably. And he needed to start setting up Tang to take the fall, if necessary. His musings were disturbed as his aide Li Shan caught up to him and held out an attaché case.

  “The American woman's laptop computer from her home in Phoenix just arrived here.” She pulled the laptop partway out of the case to show Ma.

  The general hesitated, not wanting to be distracted by the device; he had pressing matters to focus on. “Haven't we already 'imaged' the hard drive?”

  “Yes. This laptop was initially sent to Guangzhou, where the hard drive was mirrored by members of the Fifty-seventh Research Institute under the Seventh Bureau. They are at Sun Yat-sen University working non-stop to break Miss Grant's encryption.”

  General Ma was already well aware of this fact, since he had a secret relationship with one of the hackers in the 57th. “How much longer do they need?” he asked.

  “I believe they're projecting success in a few hours, sir.”

  The hit team sent to kill Nicole Grant in Phoenix had been embarrassed to learn that Grant was away on vacation. But the laptop in her condo was suspicious. At that time, the identity of the original leaker was still unknown, and the Chinese had to assume it might be Grant. So their hackers took a look at her home computer and found something curious. A software program they couldn't open was pinging a request for information. What information? Where? Why was her laptop so heavily encrypted?

  Earlier today, General Ma had learned that the original would-be leaker—the person who set in motion the murders of eighteen Americans and counting—had been one of the drone pilots who was now dead. Hernandez had only chosen to become a leaker in the last couple of days in an obvious attempt to save his life, after having been warned ten days earlier by William Snedeker, a retired CIA officer, that he was on a secret hit list. Snedeker was supposedly now in the hands of people working for Kate Rice who would conduct an “enhanced interrogation.”

  For Ma, that left the question of Grant's laptop. Yes, we have the contents of her computer from her home in America, we just can
't read it.

  “Perhaps Vice Premier Zhao would like to see the laptop, sir. A concrete example of achievement on a day when the news is not so good.”

  Li Shan had a point. He'd try to spin the computer to be a much more positive development than it really was. Li Shan was clever, and that's why he kept her ugly face around. He took the attaché case, but it felt heavy in his hand and he suddenly wondered if it was worth the trouble.

  ###

  The sprawling, ultra-modern East Campus of Sun Yat-sen University in Guangzhou occupied islands of flat land in the Pearl River Delta. The alluvial plain that comprised southern Guangzhou Province was bifurcated by vein-like, meandering waterways draining down into the South China Sea. The university campus was not as well known for its founder—Sun Yat-sen, a revolutionary who became the founding father of the Republic of China—as it was for Tianhe-2, the world's fastest supercomputer at 33.86 petaflops, housed in a clean-room environment in a special building just off the Pearl River.

  Even though the supercomputer's use was intended for, among other things, “government security applications,” General Ma had been unable to arrange for his team of computer experts from the 57th Research Institute, Seventh Bureau, Second General Staff Department of the PLA to gain access to Tianhe-2. He did manage to secure a much smaller, but still robust system of connected computers in the same building as Tianhe-2 for his team from the 57th to use in their attempt to break Nicole Grant's encryption.

  Call them engineers, call them hackers, call them soldiers. Four of them—three men and a woman—sat in an eight meter-square room at individual workstations. They all wore jackets as the temperature was kept cold inside for the sake of the electronics. And, frustrating for the team, no smoking was allowed, nor could they pollute the room with snacks, tea, or even candy. Most of them would rather have stayed in Beijing where their status as hacking gods enabled them to do anything they pleased in the computer rooms.

  The best of the bunch was Oi Lam, a diminutive twenty-five year-old who wore her hair cut fashionably short. She exuded confidence, had a naturally infectious smile, and wore trendy eyeglasses. Although she couldn't weigh more than one hundred pounds, her breasts were disproportionally large. Impossibly pale, she was smart, funny, and gave off an aura of innocence in spite of her very serious profession. She was an extremely attractive and well-turned out young Chinese female who didn't fit into the stereotype of a geeky hacker. Oi Lam looked over to the digital timer she'd set up as a countdown clock—a countdown to the breaking of Nicole Grant's encryption. It read: 04:19:12.

  “Only four hours, nineteen minutes, twelve seconds to go,” said Oi Lam, smiling. She clapped three times for good luck and to keep any bad spirits away who might otherwise cause her some problems. The American owner of the computer was clever, which made things more difficult for her.

  Oi Lam badly wanted to crack the encryption and earn more praise from Major General Ma, head of all the Second Department, with whom she'd been having a secret affair. Well, for him it was an affair, for her it was a business opportunity. A superb actress, she knew how to make the older man feel special and she knew with certainty that he loved her. She had failed in her previous affairs to land a rich man, but men were weak and easy to manipulate. By capitalizing on the advice of her mother and aunties, she had every intention to succeed in landing General Ma.

  Last night, during one of their brief secret phone calls, she'd told him the news: she was expecting his love child. He'd quickly rung off, and that had caused her endless worry. She now worked hard to hide her fears from her co-workers, none of whom knew about her pregnancy or affair with the general. Would Ma be happy or angry? Would he demand an abortion and break off the relationship? More importantly, would he financially support her and the child?

  Early this morning she'd ducked out for a secret visit to a local clinic. Ultrasound had revealed the sex of her fetus. The next time she spoke to Ma, she'd give him the news. She thought it might make a difference in his reaction, but she couldn't be sure. This “accidental” pregnancy was anything but. It was a coldly calculated attempt to reel in a big fish and provide for her future.

  She tried to focus on her work at hand and push her worries aside, but she couldn't; she knew full well that this gambit might backfire. General Ma might dump her, throw her out of the 57th, or worse. Oi Lam put on a good front, but she was worried sick.

  CHAPTER 8

  (Pacific Place, Hong Kong)

  17:05

  A small crowd milled around the bank of elevators off the Marriott's lobby as Nicole Grant hurried away from the wine bar's rear entrance. Shaken to her core, her insides were being squeezed with rising panic that she fought to keep in check. The WikiLeaks reporter—a person Hernandez didn't trust—had recognized her. And someone named Helen Bennet was dead in London. Grant wished she could hit the rewind button and go back to yesterday, but wishing wouldn't change the mess she found herself in today. Hernandez hadn't shown up, but the cell phone from the sommelier was burning a hole in her pocket. She wanted to examine its contents, but to do that she had to get someplace safe. Where would that be? Where does one hide from the two largest superpowers on the planet?

  Grant slowed her pace as she eyed the hotel front desk and the glass-walled main entrance area where tranquil piped-in music cast a spell of normalcy. A smiling doorman opened the door as a young bellman rolled in a luggage cart for arriving guests who looked happy to be entering such glamorous environs. Taxis sat idling just outside the doors, not more than forty yards from where she now stood. Beyond the taxis stood the other three towers of Pacific Place—the Conrad tower, the Island Shangri-La tower, and the office tower of One Pacific Place. The pricey high-rises now loomed like guard towers and Pacific Place itself felt like a sophisticated prison. Nicole wanted out right this second, sensing some terrible reality flooding in all around her, a killer tsunami rising slowly, without obvious malevolence, but with inexorable power hell-bent on exacting a terrible toll.

  Forty yards to freedom! If she could just make it through the gilded doors and onto the plaza where fresh air and the scent of hibiscus and Frangipani awaited. The portals, so tantalizingly close, beckoned like the sirens tempting Odysseus with their irresistible songs and enchanting calls. All she had to do was take that first step, and then another after it. Fortune favored the bold and the temptation was too great, so even with no disguise she took a deep breath and decided to make for the front entrance. Grant mustered-up her best look of confidence, took a long stride forward... then froze in her tracks.

  Two hard-looking Asian men stood just off the entrance way, holding 8×10 photographs. They kept shifting their eyes from the photos to people entering and leaving the hotel. Nicole knew with certainty that her photograph was somewhere on those 8 X 10s. She spun around and walked back toward Riedel Room @ Q88. No escape, not yet. Crap-on-a-stick but she was angry with herself for succumbing to the allure of an easy way out. She steeled herself with the understanding that she needed her “A” game if she were to survive. She strode toward the wine bar, but before she got there she made a hard right through a set of double doors that said STAFF ONLY.

  Servers gave her confused looks, but she just smiled and kept saying, “Excuse me.”

  She ducked down a plain-looking hallway with closed doors on either side. She was about to turn around when she spotted what she was looking for—a stairway—at the end of the hall. She broke into a run, and then entered the stairway. She rifled through one of her shopping bags, retrieved the baseball cap and cotton mask, and put them back on.

  After what seemed like a couple of flights down, she left the stairwell and pushed out through an emergency exit into a service corridor, a passageway behind the retail shops of the mall. She cut right, forced open a heavy set of double fire doors and spilled out onto the second floor of the mall right next to Prada.

  She tried to orient her location, but was too nervous, so she found the Pacific Place pamphlet she
'd tucked into her purse earlier. She scanned the second floor map, and then walked quickly to her left. A large enclosed pedestrian walkway called the Sky Bridge led from Pacific Place all the way across Queensway to the United Centre or the Admiralty MTR station. If she could get to the station, she'd blend in. Hong Kong might be an Asian city, but hundreds of thousands of Caucasians lived, worked and visited here. She could melt into the masses and get someplace far from immediate danger until she could come up with a plan. A lifelong careful planner, not having a plan was the absolute worst position to be in.

  She saw the Sky Bridge just past a down escalator. The walkway was all glass and shiny stainless steel. And wide. Several cars could easily fit in there side-by-side. Just after five o'clock on a Sunday afternoon meant the crowds weren't too thick, and that made it easy to spot a Chinese man and a woman standing equally spaced apart across the opening to the walkway. They were more discreet with the 8 X10s, but they had them.

  Grant took a stutter step trying to decide which way to go, when the female spotter seemed to look right at her in a way that melted her confidence. So she stepped to her left and took the escalator down to the first floor, doing her best to appear bored.

  More watchers stood near the ground level entrances, forcing Grant to walk to her right, doing her best window-shopper impression as she struggled to hold herself together. At least in the wine bar, she'd had a modicum or privacy, but now, she stood out in the open. A plan, I need a plan! And a new disguise. The ball cap and cotton mask had to be wearing thin by now, especially to anyone watching the security cameras. So she caught another escalator—the place had dozens of them—to Level One. She browsed storefronts and this time she wasn't pretending. The window display at Kate Spade stopped her in her tracks. She saw exactly what she needed and strode into the shop toward the lone clerk.