Rising Tiger

by Trevor Scott

  There was a long silence, where the only noise came from the engine and the road from tire friction.

  “What do I tell my boss?” Liam asked.

  “The truth,” Jake said. “Mostly. Tell him I ordered you to come along as an interpreter. I left you out in the boat to stay out of trouble, but you heard the shooting and had the long-tail boat pilot pick us up. That’s the truth.”

  “But what about Remington?” Liam wanted to know.

  “I was meeting with the man when someone shot and killed him. Nothing more to tell. Based on the sound of the shot and the hole it put in Remington, he was killed with a high-powered rifle.”

  “Did he say anything to you?”

  Jake thought hard now, not wanting this young officer to get into trouble, but also knowing that what Remington had said to him was probably not relevant. Especially to the local Agency station chief. “Listen,” Jake said. “Just tell your boss what you know. I’ll brief the director on what I know. I work directly for him.”

  “So you’re pulling need-to-know?” Liam asked.

  “Are you dense?” Jake said with considerable edge. “I’m trying to protect your ass. There’s more to this case than either of us know.” He looked ahead and saw that the road was closed.

  “I’m sorry, Jake. I didn’t mean anything by it.” The young Agency officer seemed to sink into his seat, like a young son having just been scolded by his father.

  Now Jake felt like an asshole. But he was really trying to keep Liam out of the crap fest that was about to fall down on the Agency. Perhaps even the country as a whole. The second highest ranking person at the CIA had sold out his country for a considerable payday. That had never happened before. And Remington had sold out to the Chinese. That would have been equivalent to someone selling nuclear strategy to the Soviet Union during the Cold War.

  “What’s going on up there?” Jake asked. As they came up a small rise, Jake finally got the answer to his own question. There were protestors as far down the road as the eye could see. “Get away from this,” Jake ordered.

  Just as the words left Jake’s mouth, Liam had the car slowing for a corner and he turned to the right. Ahead, the edge of the protesters were blocked by police barricades and officers in riot gear lined up in front of their cars.

  Jake instructed Liam to drop him off ahead outside a major hotel, where taxis sat waiting.

  Liam stopped behind a taxi and Jake started to get out, but he stopped and reached out to the young Agency officer. The two men shook hands and Jake said, “Thanks for all your help. I won’t forget this. We left our guns in your trunk.” He explained how he had gotten them from the Singapore office, but they might need to be scrubbed, since they could be linked to the shooting at Wat Arun.

  “I’ll take care of it,” Liam said. “You sure you don’t need them?”

  “We’ll be fine,” Jake said.

  Alexandra handed Jake his backpack, which he slung over one shoulder. Then she pulled her own out of the car and slammed the back door.

  “Take it easy,” Alexandra said to Liam.

  Then Jake closed his door and tapped the hood. The Agency officer slowly drove off. Yeah, Liam, we could use the Glocks, Jake thought. But it would be much better if they didn’t get caught with them in their possession.

  “What now, Jake?” she asked him.

  He had not had the opportunity to talk with her about what Remington had told him. So, Jake had a direction now, despite the fact that he had officially accomplished his mission. He had, after all, tracked down Bill Remington. The former deputy CIA director could no longer do damage to the Agency or his country. But was it really over? What information had Remington already sold to the Chinese?

  He and Alexandra took a taxi to the international airport. Security there was heavy, but there was no way that the police could link the two of them to anything that had taken place at Wat Arun.

  Jake and Alexandra stood before the departure screens until he saw what he was seeking. There was one more flight tonight to his destination.

  “What’s the plan?” she asked him.

  Jake put his bag on the floor and dug into an inner pocket. He pulled out a green passport and smiled at her.

  “Okay. So, we’re going as an Austrian couple?” she asked.

  “We have different names on these,” Jake said. “Maybe we should eventually coordinate our personas. We work so much better as a married couple.”

  She dug around inside her pack and came out with a matching green passport. Hers was also Austrian. “That’s all right, Jake. As you know, a lot of European women keep their maiden names.” She smiled and added, “Besides, I like the photo on this one.”

  “So, it’s just vanity that keeps you from being my wife.”

  “That and a ring. And an actual proposal. I’m a traditional girl.”

  “Who kills people,” Jake muttered under his breath.

  She hit him. “I saved your life tonight.”

  He lowered his head to his chest. Damn. Now she’d have that to hang over him for a while.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “Cambodia. Don’t ask. I’ll explain later. Right now we need to get tickets and get through security.”

  “I could use a beer,” she said.

  “That too.”

  19

  Langley, Virginia

  Kurt Jenkins sat in the exclusive dining facility inside the Central Intelligence Agency headquarters where he had eaten lunch for years as the director. The dining area was designed to accommodate only the top-level at the Agency—a refuge from questions from underlings and a place to relax for an hour in an otherwise hectic day. With the wood paneled walls and Berber carpets, it was designed to resemble some of the finest of the old men-only clubs from the past. But, of course, women who had reached the executive level at the Agency were now allowed in this room as well.

  Now Jenkins sat at his old table drinking a cup of hot green tea, his gaze set on a tremendous landscape photo, a black and white western scene by Ansel Adams. He mused for a moment at the thought of the great photographer and if he was in any way related to Jake Adams.

  The main door opened and the current CIA Director, John Bradford, came in, stopped to speak with a waiter, and then rushed over to the table.

  “Sorry I’m late,” Bradford said.

  The two of them shook hands cordially and then sat down.

  “I hope you ordered the salmon,” the director said. “It’s normally fantastic. But I guess you know that.”

  Jenkins raised his tea and said, “I went with the Singapore street noodles.”

  “An homage to your man in Asia?”

  Shrugging, Jenkins said, “Perhaps.”

  “Have you heard from Adams?”

  Jenkins had heard. “Jake called me a few hours ago.”

  Both men said nothing for a minute as the waiter brought Bradford a glass of iced tea.

  “Should we have met in my office?” Bradford asked.

  Jenkins had specifically asked to meet in this dining facility. Perhaps his departure from the Agency was still not far enough in the rearview mirror. “This is fine, John.”

  “Well, what did your man have to say?”

  Taking a sip of tea, Jenkins wasn’t sure if he should just rip off the bandage or work into the news. “You want the good news or the bad news?”

  “Both.”

  “Okay. Bill Remington is dead.”

  “What? How?”

  Jenkins explained as much as Jake had given him in the short phone call, even though there had to be more to the story. Jake had always been good at only giving what he needed to in any given situation.

  “So, Adams didn’t actually kill Remington,” Bradford said.

  “No. But he got some information before the man died.”

  “The name of Remington’s contact from China.”

  “And that is?”

  Shaking his head, Jenkins said, “Jake didn’t s
ay.”

  “Why didn’t you force him to give it up?”

  Jenkins laughed out loud. “Are you serious?”

  Bradford obviously didn’t get the joke.

  “I could barely compel him to give me information when he actually worked for me,” Jenkins explained. “Once he struck out on his own, he tells me what he thinks I need to know when he thinks I need to know it.”

  “I know the type,” Bradford said. “Remember, I was a cocky jet jock and knew far too many pilots who thought they were invincible.”

  “Good point. But it’s one thing to drop bombs from thousands of feet while getting the occasional ground fire coming your way. Adams has been in the line of fire up close and personal for decades. He’s killed men with his bare hands. I think the man might be immortal. He’s got more scars from knives and bullets than an entire SEAL team.”

  Bradford let out a heavy sigh and shook his head. “Sounds like we sent the right man. The entire world had been looking for Remington for a month and Adams found him in a week.”

  Their meals came and the two men ate in silence, Jenkins thinking hard about how much more he wanted to divulge about Jake’s mission. There might come a time when Jake still needed a helping hand from Uncle Sam, especially if he got caught with a gun in one of those Asian countries.

  Finally, Bradford finished his salmon, potatoes and mixed veggies, setting his knife and fork on his plate. “You mentioned good and bad news,” he said. “I’ll assume the death of Bill Remington, however tragic, was the good news. What’s the bad?”

  Jenkins poured himself another cup of green tea. Then he said, “Jake wants to continue in Asia.”

  A confused look on his face, Bradford said, “Why? He did what we hired him to do. He found Remington. Case closed.”

  “Jake thinks there’s more to it than just Remington.”

  The former fighter pilot shifted his eyes around the near empty room and then leaned in closer. “Like what? We have more problems in the Agency?”

  “We’re not sure.” Jenkins explained how Remington had told Jake that he had been working undercover to ingratiate himself with the Chinese. Of course Jake didn’t believe a word of it. But more was going on and he would try to prove it. “China is making big moves, John.”

  “Tell me about it,” Bradford said. His expression had changed from relieved to have Remington behind them, to the angst of knowing China would define his tenure at the Agency. “China is on the brink of war with Taiwan. Japan’s navy is on the move toward the disputed islands. We’ve positioned a carrier air group near the Straits of Taiwan. And South Korea is threatening war with its neighbor to the north and China. Russia seems to be the only level force in the area, but that will likely change soon. Those bastards like to take full advantage of a crisis. We’re on full alert in the region, Kurt. What more can go wrong other than an all-out shooting war?”

  Jenkins wished he had the answers to all of those questions. Jake didn’t mention any more, but his disposition had been dour to say the least. Adams was concerned. And when Jake was concerned, that should scare the crap out of anyone.

  20

  Siem Reap, Cambodia

  Jake and Alexandra had gotten in late the night before and found a hotel in the heart of the small city, just a block from the trendy ex-pat area of Pub Street, where fine restaurants sat next to massage parlors and bars with fifty cent Angkor beers.

  When they woke the next morning, they showered and wandered downstairs to eat breakfast at the hotel restaurant, a broad patio surrounded by tropical trees that blocked a view to the busy main street. The air was already thick and steamy, like the early stages of a sauna.

  The two of them had spoken German to each other ever since the flight from Bangkok to Cambodia. They continued to do so at breakfast, only switching to English to tell the wait staff what they wanted. Although the restaurant was nearly empty, Jake guessed not many close by would understand German.

  “What’s the plan for today?” Alexandra wanted to know.

  “We need to find the general.”

  “Could we at least drive out to Angkor Wat? It’s on my list of places to see before I die.”

  “Sure. I’ve never been there either. I set it up with our taxi driver from last night to drive us around today. He should be out front by now.”

  “Well, let’s go.” She got up and headed around toward the front of the building.

  Jake followed her, his eyes concentrating on the sway of her hips. He shook his head. Her beauty shouldn’t have surprised him, but he was constantly reaffirming his opinion of her.

  Vibol was a man in his mid-fifties. Short with a little paunch, the driver was of Khmer origins. He was taller than most Cambodian men, but would have been just average in the western world. His intonation of English seemed somewhat effeminate to Jake.

  They piled into the man’s beat up Mercedes van and the driver started talking about all the great places he planned to bring Jake and Alexandra.

  Jake had specifically selected this driver for two main reasons—the guy was old enough to know where the bodies were buried in this area, and if a Chinese billionaire and former communist general was anywhere within a hundred miles, this guy would know where he was staying.

  As they drove through the sprawling city, where the highest building might reach ten stories, Jake could see that Cambodia was in transition mode. They were moving from the killing fields to making a killing on tourists.

  Sitting in the front passenger seat, Jake asked, “What’s the best hotel in town?”

  “You don’t like your hotel?” Vibol asked.

  “It’s a nice place,” Jake said. “But let’s say I had all the money in the world. Where would I stay then?”

  The driver smiled and pointed to a new building up ahead. It wasn’t a huge place, but it looked like it might have just opened recently. “There,” Vibol said. “It is the only five-star hotel in Siem Reap. We’ve had movie stars from America stay there when filming a movie. I hear it’s very nice. My cousin works at the front desk there.”

  Perfect, Jake thought. Of course the driver had already mentioned half a dozen cousins since leaving the hotel, so he was either using the wrong word or he had a lot of cousins.

  Vibol drove them around all morning, mostly just dropping them off at various wats or temples and telling them how much time to spend there. They spent just two hours at Angkor Wat, but it was enough time. As they drove from place to place, Jake kept looking over various fields and wondered if there were still dead bodies there from the time of the Khmer Rouge and Pol Pot.

  Eventually, Jake had to ask about the communist despot. The driver was very open about that rough time in Cambodian history, almost to the point of tears.

  By the end of the day, Jake had gotten almost everything he needed to know out of the driver by simply asking seemingly innocuous questions.

  Now, the driver pulled up in front of Jake’s hotel in the downtown region, keeping the engine running.

  Vibol turned to Jake in the front seat and said, “Sir, I would like to thank you very much for giving me this job.”

  This struck Jake as odd at first, but then he realized that most people providing a service like this failed to thank customers for giving them the opportunity. Jake gave the driver twice the amount he had asked to drive them around all day. Then he waited for Alexandra to get out and close the sliding door.

  Jake shook the man’s hand and said, “Thanks for your great information and driving us around all day.” He hesitated, as if he really didn’t want to ask this next question. “Listen, I hate to ask this...but, if someone needed certain pain relief, where would be the best place to find this?”

  “Pain relief?” Vibol asked. “Like a pharmacy?”

  “Not exactly.”

  The driver smiled. “You mean like marijuana?”

  “Perhaps. Maybe something a little stronger.” Jake knew that Cambodia was on the rise in marijuana production. And even
meth was becoming a hit. But the real game in Southeast Asia was heroin. An old friend had worked for years in Phnom Penh and Bangkok trying to cut the heroin imports to America at the supply side. But that was like whack-a-mole.

  The driver looked a little squeamish. “I’m sorry, sir. But I wouldn’t know anything about heroin.”

  “You don’t have a cousin who deals with that?” Jake said with a big smile.

  Hesitation, as the man considered his options. “I don’t know if this is true, but I have heard about a bar on the outside of town. It has performers there that are same same, but different.”

  “I saw that on T-shirts a couple of times today. What does it mean?”

  “Lady boys. Same same on top like girl, but different on the bottom, like boys.”

  “Gotcha. I’m not looking for that.” Jake turned to see Alexandra behind the vehicle on the sidewalk.

  “I know,” the driver said, his eyes shifting to the rearview mirror. “You have a beautiful woman.”

  “Right. About the heroin. I assure you I don’t plan on buying any. I’m writing a book about this, and need to have first-hand knowledge.”

  “I see. Then go to the Khmer Now Bar. It’s on the way to the airport.”

  Then the driver told him the name of a man who would know about the heroin, along with the procedure to approach to guy. For not knowing anything about the heroin trade in Siem Reap, Vibol sure knew a lot about how to acquire it. Jake shook the man’s hand and thanked him again for his help.

  By the time Jake stepped out into the late afternoon heat of Cambodia, he was hit by a wall of humidity and the smell of street food. He came around to Alexandra and the two of them watched the driver pull away.

  “You get what you need from him?” she asked.

  “Yes, ma’am. And then some.”

  She looked confused.

  “I’ll explain later,” Jake said. “Right now I need a shower.”

  “You showered this morning.”

  “I know. But this could be a two or three shower day.”

  They went back to their hotel, showered, and then took a short nap in the cool air conditioned room. Jake had a feeling it might be a long evening, and nothing beat keeping an edge than a quick power nap. But in this case the nap turned into an intimate session, which led to a second nap. When they woke up the second time, the room was nearly dark. Only the lights from the busy street shone through a narrow crack in the curtain.