Serpents in the City (Mac Ambrose Book 3)

by HN Wake

  He thought about this for a long moment. “Who should I thank for this?”

  “I prefer anonymity.” She smiled. “It’s more interesting.”

  She shuffled her butt along to the end of the booth and stood. “If you play it straight, Ernest, and keep your eye on our national interests, rest assured we’ve got your back. This won’t be the last you’ll see of me.”

  57

  New York, NY

  An hour later, Mac sat down at the back table in the Gramercy Tavern and placed her hands calmly on the white linen. The booth around her was covered in flowered brocade. Behind her a row of lights softly shone across a row of paintings. Overhead raw wood beams lined the high ceilings. Only a few other tables were occupied.

  She leaned her chin onto her hand, and stealthily spoke into the mic, “I’m back online. At rendezvous.”

  Isaac’s voice was in her ear immediately, “Welcome back. You ready?”

  She grinned to herself. She was more than ready. Bring it on. “Any news?”

  “He’s called his lawyers. They’re meeting in two hours.”

  Her grin grew. “Good. He’s rattled.”

  The front of the restaurant was empty along a wooden table overgrown in colorful blooms and vines. Across the room, a bartender cut limes on the bar. She clocked the other guests. All in pairs. None of them stood out. A waiter approached the table and innocently filled her water glass.

  Everything was a go. Nothing tweaked her highly tuned warning sensors.

  Her earpiece buzzed, “He’s leaving Patriot.”

  She sipped the water, her eyes on the entrance.

  Ten minutes later, Fenton Warrick stepped up to the maitre d’, who nodded and led him back through the front room.

  Warrick looked anxious. His skin was pale. His eyes were wide, darting around the room. This was a man used to being in control and finding himself no longer the one calling the shots.

  The maitre d’ led him past tables and toward the corner.

  Warrick stopped when he saw Mac.

  The maitre d’ paused, confused.

  Mac nodded to the chair opposite.

  Warrick waved off the maitre d’ with a curt flick of his hand then sat slowly across from her. “You’re the one from the plane.”

  She nodded. “I am.”

  “Did you poison me with something?”

  “I did.”

  His eyes narrowed. She could tell he was trying to determine his next move. She waited him out. Never make it easier for the mark. Their anxiety almost always worked in your favor.

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “What do you want?”

  “That’s an interesting question,” She gave him a cold, yet seductive smile. “I want a lot of things. I want to live in a democracy that functions. I want my government to provide the necessities for those in need. I want to feel safe. I want life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. I want a nice quiet life.”

  He squinted.

  “And I very much want to be left alone.”

  “I see.”

  She cocked her head. “Do you?”

  “I am trying.”

  “Because you are the primary reason I am not getting what I want. Your actions have pulled me into a toxic situation that needs to be resolved.”

  He fingered his collar.

  “Let me see,” she said, “if I’ve added this up correctly. Some time ago you made a deal with a US Senator. She would run for president, you would deliver her the election through the control of your viewers, and in return you would get to play vice president.”

  He swallowed.

  “Yes, I see I’ve done the math correctly. Then, let me guess what happened next: you reminded her about the agreement and she balked. At which point you told her you’d secretly taped the conversation.”

  He looked up and to the right: the tell for someone visually reconstructing a memory. They had been right. Fenton Warrick had threatened to expose the deal Senator Gillis had made on tape.

  In that instant, the true narcissism of this man was laid bare. His entire purpose in life was to advance his own agenda by any means necessary. There was no right or wrong. There were no consequences. There were no rules or boundaries. There was only the fulfillment of his desires.

  “I get it,” she said smoothly. “She made the deal. You were just trying to confirm she would stand by it. Here’s the thing, it may be light blackmail, but it’s still blackmail.”

  He sat stunned.

  “I’ve learned a little about blackmail. It’s a complex tactic to employ. On the one hand, you acquire something damaging that you hold over someone’s head. This works particularly well with someone who has a history of dirty secrets being aired very publicly.” She angled her face toward him, examining and questioning him. “But there is one problem with blackmail: you’re not in control of what the other party does.”

  He blinked again.

  “Your self-interest overrode your logic. You should have read her files more carefully. Back in the day, Guilty Gillis walked into the newspaper demanding the investigation be dropped. This is a woman who takes things into her own hands.”

  He swallowed with difficulty.

  She whispered, “Like hire a professional to retrieve their secret.”

  “Did you access my network from the plane?”

  She waved her hand across the table, as if to dismiss the question.

  “Your blackmail operation has just bit you back. The cobra bites the snake charmer.”

  He breathed in deeply, as if it was the last breath before a firing squad.

  A waiter approached. Mac shook him off with a slight shake.

  She wanted to confirm one more thing about this detestable man before she ruined his life. Her eyes were trained on his face. “Did you purposefully slander Alicia Cade? Did you instruct your panel of experts to say disparaging and false things about a young grieving mother?”

  As before, Warrick glanced up and to the right as he remembered doing just that.

  Anger shot through her veins. Her skin tingled and the pulse in her neck clamored. This man was wicked. He was dangerous. He had to be stopped. Mac Ambrose was going to do that. Right now. Right here.

  She tilted her head and stared at him, feeling the weight and clarity of this moment: from now on, Mac Ambrose would be making honorable decisions.

  Warrick asked, “Who are you?”

  A slight smile crossed her lips. The fate of this man lay with her. The anger was instantly replaced by a calm stillness. “The one you are afraid of. I have finally arrived, right here, right now.”

  He gave her a questioning look.

  She was going to fix this. “I was hired to retrieve secrets.”

  He sat still as stone.

  She was going to make this right. “And you know what I found while I was doing that?”

  He blinked.

  She felt a weightlessness as she closed the trap around him. “That you’ve been up to some very dirty tricks. With national security secrets.”

  His pupils dilated.

  It was as if she was floating, watching him from a distance as she delivered the coup de grace. “That’s treason, Fenton. Punishable by death.”

  “What do you want?” he croaked.

  She laid her napkin out in front of her, as if readying to leave. Her job here was almost done. “You cut all contact with Senator Gillis. You and she no longer have any kind of relationship.”

  He nodded.

  “And I want the name of your seller for the Office of Personnel Management records.”

  “What do I get in exchange? I want amnesty.”

  “I’m not in a position to grant that. I may be a professional, but I’m not official.”

  She sat back, shoulders relaxed. He was about to give her a name that would doom his fate.

  He swallowed.

  She stared into his eyes with the cold, hard stare built up of many years, of many operations, of many reluctant age
nts. She would win this contest because for the first time in a long time, justice was on her side.

  Warrick blinked. “His name is General Bo Chunzi. Chinese military intelligence unit of the People's Liberation Army in Kunming.”

  With that, the trap slammed shut.

  She gave him a slight nod and stood.

  He was startled. “What happens next?”

  She shrugged and walked out. Fenton Warrick didn’t deserve to know what was going to happen next.

  58

  New York, NY

  At 6 pm it was too early for the celebrity crowd at the back bar in the Bowery Hotel. A quiet blues played in the background to a lone figure sitting at the wooden bar nursing a brown Manhattan with a crushed cherry. Herbie Linen sat down next to Joe Severino and flagged the bartender for the same drink. The two men sat in silence as they watched the bartender muddle the drink then set it down on the bar for Herbie.

  The sweet orange of the vermouth mixed with the twangy taste of the bitters and cleared his palate as only a first drink of the day can. The fate of his life and retirement had been held in the hands of this cool cat next to him for the last 24 hours. He had to take this perfectly.

  He turned toward Joe. “This place reminds me of a bar I knew well. It is this crazy little hangout in Hong Kong along this hilly alley in So Ho. A lot like a boudoir with this heavy red velvet curtain you have to grapple with on your way in. The place smelled like ginger lily—this beautiful, sweet flower. Just lovely. Almost dangerous. It’s such a gorgeous smell.”

  Joe took a sip.

  “This place stayed open all hours. Hong Kong can be like that. They served these glamorous drinks. Malt ball martinis. Fresh strawberry cocktails. So delicious. You go in there, order two drinks. Watch the young kids flirting. Have a cigarette.” He paused on a memory. “But you can only have two. Because these cocktails are deadly. Any more than two and you won’t remember what happened for the rest of the night.” He gave a far away look. “Strange, really, how strong they were.”

  Joe waited.

  “A gorgeous, decadent place. You have to know how to handle it. Like a temperamental girlfriend or a volatile dog.” He sipped, stared at Joe in the mirror. “It had a tendency to hand your ass to you on a platter.”

  Joe’s face was unruffled. He finally spoke with a soft, clear voice, “Mac has something for Frank Odom.”

  This was surprising. “Her words?”

  “That’s exactly what she said. She wants to broker a deal.”

  Herbie’s mind raced. What kind of deal? “I’m all ears.”

  “She’s got the name of the guy selling the hacked Office of Personnel Management records.”

  Herbie’s mind stilled. Yowza. He set down his drink and forced a look of neutrality across his face. Mac had found the source of the stolen OPM records? Unbelievable. In the next instant, he realized, this would mean Herbie was off the hook. Mac could get Odom off her back in one fell swoop. An image of a boat lying on a wet, sandy beach flittered across his mind. “What does she want?”

  “For you leave us alone.” Joe shrugged.

  Boy this guy was all calm.

  Herbie stood and made his way through the front lobby of the hotel. He stepped to the curb and looked up at the sunset. He dialed Odom. “I’ve got a message from Mac.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “She’s offering the name of the hacker who has the OPM records for you to leave her alone.”

  Silence.

  Odom said, “I’ll call you back.”

  Herbie clicked his phone closed, watched the sun set over the horizon, a bright city below it’s trail.

  It was darker when his phone rang fifteen minutes later. Odom snapped, “Deal.”

  Herbie clicked his phone off, returned to the bar, sat back down next to Joe and took the long last drink of his Manhattan. The ice had melted, leaving the whiskey watered down. “You’ve got a deal.”

  Joe chose his words carefully, enunciating properly. “General Bo Chunzi. Chinese military intelligence unit of the People's Liberation Army in Kunming.”

  No shit. This was going to cause all kinds of disorder down in Langley. Literally chaos. How had they not known that? How had Bo managed to hack under their noses their own documents? They were going to be chasing their tails for months.

  He grinned to himself: the Mandarins were going to run around in distraction just as Herbie Linen escaped their clutches and disappeared to his beach.

  Joe added, “It comes with one condition.”

  Herbie’s head jerked upwards, “What?”

  “You’ve got 48 hours to make a move on Bo.”

  “What? Why?”

  “She’s tipped off the FBI to the buyer here in the US.”

  “Jesus. She knows the buyer? It’s an American?’’

  Joe nodded.

  “Why would she squeal to the FBI?”

  “She doesn’t trust Langley to clean up the domestic side. So, the FBI will be closing in on the buyer soon. She reckons you’ve got 48 hours to deal with Bo.” Joe stood with a last gaze, “She’s also doing it because it’s the right thing by this country. Take the guy out of the game.”

  “She’s good,” Herbie chuckled, then paused. “What about Thai Consolidated?”

  “She said she doesn’t need to put that into play. Yet.”

  “She doesn’t want to do anything? She’s got both guys by the short hairs. And I promise you, they’re not good guys.”

  Joe looked at Herbie. “No. She’s not going to do anything. Yet. But she did say, “Tell Herbie if he needs it as a get out of jail card, he can use it.”

  “She’s so good,” Herbie sighed. “Hey, why didn’t she come herself?”

  Joe shrugged again. “She’s busy.”

  59

  Washington, DC

  The room smelled like crushed velvet and books. Heavy gold drapes had been pulled against the night. Joyce sat, hands clasped on her lap, on the edge of the antique gold silk sofa, waiting. The silk was cold.

  Someone approached quietly down the tiled hallway Joyce had just come from. It was an odd moment, as the person approached through the living room toward Joyce’s back, then appeared in her periphery.

  Joyce stood, held out her hand as Senator Eleanor Gillis swept in. “Senator.”

  “Yes, yes, welcome. Please sit. Did you want some coffee?”

  “No, thanks. I won’t be long.”

  Senator Gillis sat across from her in a big white armchair that resembled a throne. “No, I don’t expect you will,” she said with an inscrutable expression, projecting calm.

  Joyce wondered what it must be like to be a public figure always presenting a strong facade. For a moment she was impressed with the fortitude of this woman, her ability to stay above the fray. But then she wondered what the senator would look like tomorrow. “I’ve got some good news and some bad news.”

  Senator Gillis nodded.

  “We were able to retrieve the video. It was located on the network of Patriot News.”

  Senator Gillis placed her hand against her chest. “Oh my. Well, bless you.”

  Joyce cocked her chin, “I wouldn’t say that just yet, Senator.”

  Senator Gillis gave her questioning look. “Go on.”

  “We retrieved it last night.” She looked down at her hands clasped in her lap.

  Senator Gillis waited.

  “Well, as you can imagine, I’ve had some time to think since last night.” She scratched her nose. “That is not always a good thing, me with time to think, mostly because my mind races like a hamster on his wheel. But, let me start by saying that I have a great deal of respect for all you elected officials. You have committed yourself to this country and you have sacrificed for that commitment. For you to start in local politics and hone your dedication to public service, working crazy late hours, studying so many issues across so many subjects. Then to succeed in local politics and enter the House or the Senate. My God, what fortitude, what t
enacity. I have enormous respect, Senator, for people like you in the roles that you do for our county.” She breathed in deeply. “But I must say, when I spend too much time thinking about elected officials, I also have a sense of detachment. There is a part of me that doesn’t really understand why you would put yourself out there for a public vote by the general masses. I mean, you’re allowing the general population to weigh in on your reputation, your career. All those people who don’t know, will never know, who are capable of holding your future in their hands. I mean, wow, that’s crazy making.”

  Senator Gillis sat waiting, as if knowing the end of the speech would not be so complimentary.

  “So, what I’ve been wondering is, why so many in the public limelight…why do you think you won’t be caught?”

  Senator Gillis blinked.

  “Because I’m just a normal chick. I go about my life, waking up in the morning, eating breakfast, going to a job, and reading in the evenings.” Joyce squeezed her hands together tighter, giving herself strength. “I may be normal, but, Senator, there are things I just don’t do. I don’t show up at a dinner party without a bottle of wine. I don’t buy from a pet shop, I adopt. I don’t shoplift. I don’t cheat on my boyfriend. I don’t take the last French fry on the plate. These are immutable. They are just the myriad of things that I do not do. I guess I don’t do unethical things because my mother—as bat crazy as she is—taught me that morals are what guide you when you’re alone in the dark. That your word, your honor, is all that you have.”

  Senator Gillis was still.

  “You know what else I wouldn’t do, Senator?” Joyce loosened her hands and pushed her shoulders back. “I wouldn’t create an enormous deception around some fake blackmail conspiracy to convince my millionaire friend to retrieve a video in which I’m selling my presidential bid to a sleazy cable guy.”