by Ed Kovacs
Rice quickly shifted her eyes to each man as a freezing silence held sway. A sense of brittle malevolence had entered the meeting. Rice felt it, and she was sure her Chinese counterparts did too. She knew with absolute certainty that she and Ma and Tang would be wiped if things went south.
CHAPTER 19
19:42
Rows of quietly humming equipment stood between Ron Hernandez and Nicole Grant and the entry door to the HVAC room, but he was certain he'd heard a key going into the door lock. Gesturing for Grant to be still, he crawled a few feet to one of the steel plates checker-boarding the floor. He put his fingers into an opening the size of a golf ball and strained as he lifted the heavy plate from its slot. He motioned for Grant to quickly get down into the dark crawlspace below the floor.
They both heard the door open as Chinese voices and footsteps entered the room.
She snaked her way into the tight space brimming with cable and conduit. As soon as she was in he followed, trying not to step on her. He was about to lower the plate when he saw her mouth the words, “My tablet!”
He glanced over and saw her tablet computer on the floor where they'd been sitting. But whoever was coming was right now on the other side of the nearest equipment cabinets. No time for the computer, he squatted down, and since she hadn't crawled out of the way, had to stretch out horizontally right on top of her as he noiselessly lowered the steel plate.
The crawlspace was very dark, but not completely black, since light filtered in through small holes in the steel that were there so workers could do what Hernandez had just done, namely, insert a few fingers and lift up. But Hernandez quickly realized there was too much light entering the crawlspace. He hadn't lowered the steel plate perfectly back into its slots! One corner was sticking up slightly.
In sex it would be called the Missionary position, and their faces were just inches apart. Just as he took his hands from the panel, something slammed the steel with a vibrating blow. Nicole blanched and clutched Hernandez, pulling them closer. What was that? Had they been spotted? He eased the Kimber from his jacket pocket. He moved his free hand toward the panel, when...
“Don't even think about stealing that tablet computer,” said a Chinese man speaking in Mandarin.
The steel plate vibrated again. They're walking on it. Hernandez peered through the small hole and saw two Chinese—one tall, one skinny—standing just a few feet away.
“Nice tablet. Why would it be here?” asked the skinny guy as he bent over and picked it up.
“Probably belongs to one of the maintenance people. Is it turned on?”
The skinny one tapped the screen. The program running the blueprints Grant had illegally downloaded came on.
“See? Those are engineering blueprints. Put it back,” said the tall man.
Hernandez let out a silent exhale. Good thing it was blueprints that came up and not Grant's Facebook page.
“No, I want it. Engineers in Hong Kong make good money, soldiers like us make spit. The poorest Hong Kong people make more than us. And don't get me started about the rich, big-nosed lao wai, the foreigners from America and Europe who walk around like they are special. Anyway, the engineer who owns this tablet can afford to lose it.”
Nicole touched Hernandez to get his attention. She shook her head and mouthed the word, “No!”
Hernandez felt it wasn't worth the risk to confront the two men, so he looked at Grant and shook his head. If the man took her computer, so be it.
“Don't be stupid,” said the tall man. “When it gets reported missing, the finger will point to us since we are the ones who searched this room. Now put it down!”
The skinny soldier hesitated—he really wanted the device. He shrugged and reluctantly put the tablet back on the floor. As they started to walk out, the skinny soldier stubbed his toe on the corner of the steel plate protruding slightly above the slot where Hernandez had failed to fit it. The man nearly tripped.
“Wo kao!” he cursed. Well screw me! He looked down at the steel plate that was slightly off-kilter.
Hernandez had twisted his head for a view through one of the small holes, and was looking right up into the man's face. He turned away and pressed himself down further on top of Nicole Grant. She gently locked her arms around him, as if in a lover's embrace.
“Come on, we have to finish quickly,” called out the tall man, who was already moving away.
“Why couldn't we have just stayed in the barracks? Why couldn't they have found someone else to do their scut work?”
Grant and Hernandez lay there, entwined in the crawlspace, listening, as the footsteps faded and the door slammed closed. He lifted his head slightly and looked into her eyes. Her lush gaze was soft and inviting. Neither of them made any effort to move or shift their intimate position. The men were gone, the coast was clear. They could get up now. Instead, she inched her head toward him, seeming to offer her full lips. He hesitated, sorely tempted, but turned away and eased off of her as he pushed up on the steel plate and moved it aside. He climbed up to the floor, extended a hand, and helped her out.
“Get your computer,” he said as lowered the large plate back into its slot. “We need a change of clothes.”
She snatched up her tablet. He felt her eyes on him and gave her a glance. She looked flushed, but showed absolutely no embarrassment. The brief intimacy had felt perfectly natural, even considering the dire straits they were in. That seemed odd, but he put it out of his mind.
“If we're going to change clothes, does that mean we're still partners?”
He avoided her gaze and brushed himself off. “Do you have a plan to remotely access your laptop?”
“Yes.”
He glanced at his watch, and then met her eyes. He fought back a powerful feeling of lust toward Nicole Grant. It was common to sexually bond with a female partner after having survived stressful, life-threatening conditions together, but for both of their sakes he had to keep that kind of distraction at bay. “Let's run your plan by Jaffir. If he signs off on it, I'll give you one more shot.”
###
Kate Rice and Gail Roberts sat at right angles on comfortable upholstered chairs in the sitting area off the bedroom in the CIA condo at the Shangri-La hotel tower. Floor-to-ceiling windows revealed the soft glow of millions of lights as Hong Kong's nighttime skyline beckoned, presenting an alternate universe of exotic temptation. But the only temptation Rice felt was to get this over with and head back to her charity bash. A large purse sat on her lap and she kept reaching inside for cosmetics as she touched up her makeup.
After the emergency meeting in the conference room had broken up, Rice had summoned Wheeler and Roberts to the CIA safe house / condo. Wheeler currently sat cooling his heels in the conference room.
During the last ten years, Rice had worked with Roberts on certain CIA operations that required additional staffing. She'd also used Roberts on a job that was completely off the agency's radar. It turned out to be a bloody, brutal affair, but Roberts had performed well. They'd shared meals and drinks several times and had built up an “old girl network” sort of trust between them.
“I know it wasn't good that Wheeler and I got captured at the CIA field office, but how can we be blamed?” asked Roberts, cutting right to the chase.
She knows me well enough not to waste my time, thought Rice. Good.
“Have you seen the video of what happened?” asked Roberts.
“There is no video. Grant sabotaged the system.”
“Video would exonerate us. As soon as the inner door opened I had two guns pointed at me. Hernandez and Grant were waiting for us. How did they know where to find us? Who blew our cover?”
“All I know is that Hernandez worked here years ago.”
Roberts nodded slowly. “The file you gave us indicated he was a desk jockey. It was a sanitized file, wasn't it?”
“Yes,” said Rice, powdering her left cheek. “You and Wheeler weren't cleared to know everything.”
Ro
berts hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “Optimally, any hit team should have all pertinent facts about a target before engaging it.”
Rice smiled. Roberts was worried about her ass. “Yes, that's always optimal. And I should have beefed up security at the field office because Hernandez once worked there, but I didn't. I'm too distracted with the ten million things I'm doing right now. I take full responsibility for that. Trust me, the timing on all this sucks. I have no beef with how you and Wheeler performed, but I have some questions. What did Hernandez tell you?”
Roberts tried to hide it, but she tensed up. “He mostly asked questions.”
“He figured out what you and Wheeler were doing?”
“It wasn't hard. He took our electronics with the video of all eighteen killings, plus the video of the attempt on Grant today. How did they get in there, anyway?”
“The guard could tell us, but his head was blown off when he got caught in a crossfire. Anyway, did Hernandez expound on why the U.S. and China have sanctioned the killings of Americans? That it was all about putting Zhao Yiren in office?” She opened a lipstick and began a touch-up job.
“He did. But I don't really care and it's none of my business.”
“Do you think Wheeler has told anyone about what you two have been doing?”
“Wheeler?” She seemed surprised by the question. “We're both pros who know how to keep quiet. You can depend on us.”
Rice simply nodded.
“So turn me lose. I'd like to kill both of them myself.”
Rice put the lipstick away, closed her compact and put it in her purse. “No, you and Wheeler will be sent out shortly.” Rice smiled as she fumbled for something in her purse. “Documenting all those deaths didn't bother you?”
“If some Americans have to die in order for the CIA to have the president of China as one of their assets, then maybe that's a fair trade.”
“Glad you feel that way,” said Rice as she calmly pumped three bullets from a suppressed Boberg XR9-L hidden in her large purse into Gail Roberts' chest. The shots weren't completely silent, but Rice had heard louder belches.
Roberts had only the briefest moment to display utter shock, batted her eyes, and died sitting in the chair.
###
Chuck Wheeler sat on the edge of the teak conference room table smoking a cigarette and holding a smartphone. The grayish stale pallor of second-hand smoke still stubbornly floated aloft, aided by his long drags on a Marlboro. He watched closely as Kate Rice strode into the still room and closed the door behind her. When he caught her eye he smirked and theatrically pressed the phone's SEND button.
“Perfect timing, I just transferred the money,” said Wheeler.
“What money?”
“Money to an escrow account. Were you smiling when you killed her?”
Rice blanched. “What are you talking about?”
She put her purse on the conference table, but before she could reach inside, Wheeler pulled his back-up gun, a Glock 26, from his ankle holster. He leveled the subcompact semi-auto at her. “I'm talking about Roberts is worm food and you will be too if you don't slowly hold your hands out where I can see them and step away from the bag.” Wheeler had his game face on and closed the distance between himself and his control agent.
He contemptuously flicked the cigarette onto the carpeting. “See, Roberts and I never liked each other, but we knew how to work together as a team. So she's wearing a transmitter that I've been listening to, and I'm wearing one that she would have been listening to, if you had talked to me first. I heard the three shots.”
Wheeler shook his head with disdain as he regarded her. He'd served his country well for decades, but, hells bells, his whole career had devolved to serving under Rice, a traitorous murderer of innocents. And she was an Agency golden girl, no less. He should have seen this coming. No, he should have retired last year. Not that he hadn't already taken certain steps to cover his butt. He had plenty of money stashed and multiple identities set up in several Southeast Asian countries. Christ, he even had a wife and young kids in Vietnam that no one knew about.
As he closed in toward her, he motioned with the gun. “Go stand by the window.”
A sour look crossed her face. He could tell that her mind was in gear, but Rice backed away near a window where she stood facing him. He pulled a blue latex glove onto his left hand while still keeping the Glock pointed at her chest.
“I don't have any problem with killing you right now, but Langley would frown on it, even though they all joke behind your back about how you're just a two-bit, dye-job blonde douche bag who would sleep with the Polish army if it could get you somewhere.”
Her look hardened but she didn't speak. He reached with his free left hand into her purse and brought out her suppressed Boberg, holding it by the butt end. He sniffed it. “Just been fired. For what it's worth, I'm impressed you have the balls to pull the trigger yourself.” He dropped the gun back into her bag. “Anyway, I'd rather not kill you because, so far, I haven't done anything wrong. I've just followed orders.”
“We can work a deal, you and me.”
“Oh, we're going to, but shut the hell up unless I ask you a question.” He lasered her with killer eyes. “Now where was I? Oh yeah, maybe you think you own Langley, and you're running this super-secret off-the-books op, but I've been making a ton of calls since the SRT boys cut me loose in the field office. Calls to people all over the IC. High-ups, some of them close friends. You are in deep trouble, lady. You have no idea how many people know about this huge mess you've created.”
She didn't react. Her gaze stayed even, her breathing normal, her face a blank page. Wheeler admired her poise. He'd have to be careful; she was slippery as a snake.
“You think I'm bluffing, but then again, you have to consider that I'm telling the truth. Trust me, I have you dead to rights.”
“You always were smarter than Roberts.”
“Obviously.” He lowered the gun but kept it pointed in her general direction. “Let's don't speak of the dead, but of the soon-to-be-dead—Grant and Hernandez. My position would greatly improve if they die before the night is out. It would provide an element of closure and help settle things down.”
He watched as she started to speak, and then stopped herself.
“I can set up a meet with Hernandez,” he offered. “He put his number in my cell phone. He thinks I'm scared you're going to whack me, and offered me a way out of Hong Kong in return for some inside scoop on what you've been up to.”
Wheeler stopped and ran his eyes up and down her voluptuous figure. Some guys really went for women like her, but she simply wasn't his type. “Just so we're clear, if something happens to me... anything. Sickness, accident, whatever. If I suddenly become terminally unhealthy, I've put out an irreversible contract on your head. If I die, you die within seventy-two hours. Additionally, my death will result in the release of videos to the press and key people in D.C. You know, the killings of Americans on U.S. soil, all to put Zhao in power. And baby, I don't bluff. It's a done deal.” He looked to her. She'd remained completely composed, cool as a cucumber; he had to give her that. “Questions?”
“Do Grant and Hernandez know my identity?”
He thought about it, and then gave her a non-answer. “I'll find out for you.”
She smiled, as if humoring him. “Wheeler, it doesn't matter how many friends you have in high places or how many video copies you make. The Chinese are in disarray, Washington is panicking. If we don't kill Grant and Hernandez tonight, then you, me, Ma and Tang... we're all dead. That message, in so many words, was delivered less than an hour ago by Barry Bergman and by Zhao himself.”
Wheeler's gut hunch told him she was telling the truth. And if the powers that be were going to kill Rice and the others, they sure as hell would come after him, too. As he thought about that, she boldly stepped forward toward him. He leveled his sidearm and stepped to the side, away from her. “Easy, Blondie.”
&nbs
p; She stopped, and without taking her eyes from him, slowly reached over toward her purse and grabbed it by the strap. “Meet me downstairs in the Island Ballroom in an hour. I have an idea that might save both of our asses.”
She casually picked up the purse and started to walk out. “Rice!” She stopped and turned to look at him. “I gave the contract on you to the Wo Shing Wo. Feel free to check.”
“Hong Kong gangsters are the least of my worries,” she said, and then walked out.
CHAPTER 20
19:53
Jaffir Khan had moved his white Isuzu box truck from beneath One Pacific Place to a truck parking area several levels below the Conrad Hotel tower. After meeting with Grant and Hernandez, Khan had set out on some vital errands leaving the two Americans alone in his air-conditioned, soundproof, cramped truck/lab to prepare for their attempt to retrieve her laptop. Metal cabinets holding weapons and ammunition, electronics and communications gear, burglary tools, theatrical stage makeup and prosthetics, forgery equipment, clothing, a sewing machine, and first aid supplies filled the walls of the sixteen-foot long cargo area. Miniature power tools crowded a multipurpose work bench. Grant felt the juxtaposition of all this gear with the soft rendition of a Beethoven piano sonata wafting from hidden speakers was a bit surreal. But then, her whole life had become surreal ever since Hernandez showed up.
She'd put on the blonde wig, and right now sat in a folding chair leaning over a fold-down table as she looked into a small mirror and prepared to put blue contact lens into her green eyes. She'd already reclaimed her fake Celine bag, and had changed into the little black dress from Kate Spade. She'd noticed Hernandez had a hard time keeping his eyes off of her as she'd done so.
Hernandez now wore a charcoal-colored light wool suit and sported a different wig—this one longish and gray. He sat next to Grant and shared the mirror as he applied spirit gum to a fake salt-and-pepper goatee.
