Operation Barracuda sc-2

by Tom Clancy

  “I thought I’d be out of the country before the FBI caught up with me. I was supposed to be in Hong Kong. Things got all fucked up. I guess most of all she was about to uncover the link with the Lucky Dragons. I couldn’t allow that to happen. I panicked. Killing her was a knee-jerk reaction.”

  “Keep talking. Everything we say is being recorded. Just let it spill. Then all you’ll have to do is sign your name once we have it typed up.”

  Mike continues, “All right. Here it is. Everything you guys know is true. My brother and I are members of the Lucky Dragons. We were recruited in Los Angeles six years ago. The Triad was already in league with the Shop and has been for some time. They arranged for me to change my identity and apply for work in the NSA.”

  “How did the Triad manage that?”

  “They didn’t. It was the Shop. But they had some help in Washington.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Someone high up on the food chain. I don’t know who it is, I swear. The person’s identity is very well protected.”

  I rub my chin and ask, “Someone in Congress?”

  “I really don’t know, Sam. I swear. Whoever it is has a lot of connections. They were able to whitewash my background, create a new existence for me as Mike Chan, whatever it took. And they initiated the contact with Professor Jeinsen.”

  “So you’re saying there’s a traitor high in our government that’s been orchestrating this whole thing with the Triad and the Shop?”

  “Yes.”

  “How did the relationship between you and Jeinsen work?”

  “I never met him. He would deliver electronic files to a drop box in the city. I would pick them up and send them to Jon Ming in Hong Kong. Ming then sold them to the Shop. Or maybe there was a different kind of deal between them. The Lucky Dragons got weapons for the information, or something like that.”

  “And there’s one more piece of Jeinsen’s work to be delivered?”

  Mike hesitates and then probably figures he’s gone this far so why not spill it all. “Yeah. It’s the guidance system for the MRUUV. Comes in a laptop computer. GyroTechnics designed it to Jeinsen’s specifications with some input from the Shop’s customer. I was supposed to deliver it to Hong Kong along with my defection but Ming suddenly decided not to buy it. He’s had a falling out with the Shop because of some political reason.”

  “So is the deal completely dead?”

  “No. Earlier on the day I was arrested I made contact with the Shop and offered to sell the thing to them directly. Eddie and I went around the Lucky Dragons.”

  I whistle. “Gee, Mike, you’d better be glad you were arrested. The Dragons would have killed you in a most unpleasant way for doing that. Where’s your brother?”

  “I don’t know. Hiding, I imagine. The Shop is in contact with him, though. I made sure that if I wasn’t available then they could deal with him. He’s going to sell the guidance system and it’s going to happen any day. It may have already occurred.”

  “He’s dealing with Zdrok?”

  Mike nods.

  I stare at the traitor for a full minute and then stand. “Thanks, Mike. Everything you’ve said will be typed up and you can sign it. You’ve helped yourself today. For the record, though, I still think you’re scum. Sorry about the mess.”

  After my little speech, which doesn’t really make me feel any better about the guy, I turn and leave the room.

  * * *

  “I’m going to have to break into GyroTechnics,” I tell Lambert back in his office.

  “We’re way ahead of you,” he replies. “Anna Grimsdottir has been busy hacking into their server, collecting e-mails and downloading other secure files. Our analysts are already at work picking them apart. We’re sharing everything we have with the FBI and they’re cooperating with us. The Bureau already knows that GyroTechnics is up to no good. An official investigation is under way for a number of crimes, including providing sensitive and classified military information to foreign powers. We know they’ve been working with the MRUUV material and they shouldn’t have any access at all to that project. Special Agent Jeff Kehoe is now in charge of the investigation into the firm. I’ve told him you would do what you do best and get inside GyroTechnics and see what you can find. In the meantime, he’s searching for Eddie Wu and trying to pinpoint when the guy might be making contact with the Shop.”

  “Do you have a photo of Eddie Wu?”

  Lambert digs through the pile of stuff on his desk and comes up with one. I memorize the guy’s features. He looks a lot like his brother.

  “We have to prevent the exchange of that guidance system,” Lambert continues. “There’s no telling what General Tun is using the MRUUV for. We have to assume he’s built one from Jeinsen’s plans.”

  “What does our government have to say about this General Tun?”

  “The Secretary of State has been in contact with the Chinese government. We’ve issued a stern warning that Taiwan is not to be harassed. Of course, China’s playing dumb. They say General Tun is simply performing military exercises and war games in and around Fuzhou. He supposedly has no intention to attack Taiwan, nor has the government given him the authorization to do so. So, to make a long story short, our government has assumed a ‘wait and see’ position.”

  I stretch and can’t quite stifle a yawn.

  “Am I boring you?” Lambert asks.

  “I’m exhausted, Colonel. It’s been a tough week. Hell, it’s been a tough couple of months.”

  “Fine. You have twenty-four hours’ leave, Sam. Get some rest. Go get laid. Do what you need to do to get recharged. We have a car in the garage upstairs for you to use.”

  “Thanks, Colonel.”

  Right on cue, Frances Coen enters the office. She looks at me expectantly.

  “Oh, I almost forgot,” I mumble. “I have an appointment before I go, right?”

  She nods. “The doctor is here. You want to come into the prep room, Sam? I promise we’ll get this over with quickly. It’ll be painless. I think.”

  Lambert gives me a grin. “It won’t be any worse than it was when you first had them put in.”

  “That’s comforting,” I say. The original surgery was horrific.

  I stand and follow Coen into a sterile room where I meet a Dr. Frank and his pretty nurse Betsy.

  At least I’ll get a good drug out of the ordeal.

  * * *

  After all that, there was nothing to it. I feel a little discomfort in my ears, kind of like when there’s water in them and you can’t get it out. The doc told me it would clear up in a few hours and I’d be as good as new. The car they’ve given me is a 2005 Nissan Murano, a roomy vehicle with a V6 engine and “continuously variable transmission.” I’m impressed. It’s the best company car Third Echelon has ever given me.

  I have no idea where I’m going to spend the night in Los Angeles. While I’m cruising into the city on I-210, I phone my house in Maryland to pick up any messages that might be on my personal answering machine. Much to my surprise, there’s one from Katia Loenstern.

  “Hi, Sam, it’s Katia. I know you’re probably out of town but I just, I don’t know, I just wanted to call and say I miss you. I had a nice time with my mom and sister in San Diego and now I’m in Los Angeles. I felt like coming up here to spend some money. What can I say? — I like to shop, and L.A.’s a good place to do that. I just checked in to the Sofitel Hotel across from Beverly Center and I plan on hitting the mall in a minute. I’m probably gonna stay here a few days and then go back to Baltimore. Hopefully by then you’ll be back, too. Anyway, I hope you’re safe and I’ll talk to you soon. Bye.”

  Well. What did Colonel Lambert say about me needing to get laid?

  I’m suddenly faced with some decisions to make. On one hand I should probably stay clear of her, get some rest, and focus on the job. On the other hand, I’m dying to see her. But am I ready to dive headfirst into a relationship? Because that’s exactly what it would be if I return
her call — a relationship. Damn, just the thought makes me nervous.

  Screw it. I need this. It’s been too long. Call it Mental Health Therapy. Hell, call it Gonad Therapy. I may be a Splinter Cell but I’m also a man.

  At least now I know where I’m going. After the 210 becomes the 134, I take the 2 down to the 101 and head west. It isn’t long before I get off at Santa Monica Boulevard and make my way to Beverly Boulevard and La Cienega. Right to the Sofitel, across from Beverly Center.

  24

  I check in to the hotel, go to my room on the third floor, dial the front desk, and ask to be connected to Katia’s room. I expect her to be out so I’m pleasantly surprised when she picks up.

  “Hello?” There’s a slight puzzlement in her voice. Who could be calling her in Los Angeles?

  “Hi, Katia,” I say. “It’s Sam.”

  “Oh, my God, Sam! What a surprise!”

  “How are you?”

  “I’m… I’m fine! My gosh, I’m flustered. What are you doing? Are you back in the States?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “What’s it like in Baltimore? Still cold?”

  “I don’t know, I’m not there.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Two floors below you.”

  She’s not sure if she heard me right. “What?”

  “I’m in the hotel. Two floors below you. In Los Angeles.”

  “What are you doing here?” Now she’s laughing. “Oh, my God!”

  “I got the message you left me at home. I was in L.A., so… here I am.”

  “This is amazing. I was just thinking about you.”

  “Yeah? Well, me, too, you.”

  “Do you… do you want to get together?”

  “Well, duh.”

  “Are you hungry? I haven’t had lunch yet.”

  “Neither have I. Let’s do it.”

  We meet in the lobby twenty minutes later. Katia looks better than I remember. She is dressed in tight-fitting black capri pants that accentuate the shape of her long legs, a red cami, and a short black jacket. I ask her if garlic is okay for lunch and she tells me that as long as I’m having it, too, it would be great. I know a terrific place within walking distance of the hotel, just down La Cienega a couple of blocks, so we decide to hoof it. The weather in Los Angeles is slightly cool but certainly nothing like the winter temperatures back east. Neither of us needs a coat.

  “How’s your family?” I ask as we stroll. She takes my hand and I welcome it.

  “They’re good. It was a nice visit. My mom hasn’t been well. She had some kind of weird infection in her toenail and the doctor was afraid she might have to lose it. The toe, that is. But the nail was removed and… well, you don’t want to hear about that, do you?”

  “I don’t mind. I think I can take the image of a missing toenail.”

  “Anyway, I think she’s gonna be fine now. And my sister is fine, too. Nutty as ever. She’s getting her second divorce. I have a feeling she’ll never be happy being married. She’s too much of a free spirit.”

  “Like you?”

  “Well, I’m a free spirit, too, but not like her. If she’d been around in the sixties she’d have been a hippie. What about you? Where have you been?”

  “Oh, overseas. Nothing to write home about. Just the usual business.”

  “Yeah, right. International sales. Information gathering and troubleshooting. I remember, Mr. Mysterious.”

  “It’s true!”

  “Sure. So what are you doing in L.A.?”

  “Had to make a stop. A business stop. But I’ve got twenty-four hours of free time.”

  “Aww, and you chose to spend it with me?”

  “If you’d like.”

  “Of course I’d like.”

  “I do have to get some rest, though. I’m pretty exhausted.”

  She punches me on the upper arm. “Don’t give me that, buster. We might spend the next twenty-four hours in bed but we ain’t gonna be sleeping!”

  We reach the restaurant, one of my favorites in L.A. — and San Francisco, too. It’s called the Stinking Rose and it specializes in garlic dishes. Katia’s never been there, so she’s in for a treat.

  The place is nearly full, as usual, but we’re a little on the late side of the lunch hour. There’s no problem getting a table. The hostess must sense the romantic tension between Katia and me so she sits us in a dimly lit corner and lights a candle. Katia scans the menu and proclaims that it all sounds good. I assure her it is and suggest the appetizer of bagna calda. We order a bottle of the house red wine and settle in for an enjoyable hour or two.

  “So where in the world were you, Mr. Salesman?” Katia asks. Her brown eyes sparkle in the candlelight and I’m tempted to open my soul to her. For once, the specter of Regan is nowhere around. Perhaps my late wife is looking down from the heavens and wishes me well. Regan would have wanted me to get on with my life, find someone to love. After all, Regan and I had separated and weren’t living together when she succumbed to her illness. We remained cordial mostly because of Sarah but I know Regan and I continued to have enormous affection for each other. I also believe Regan would have liked Katia.

  “I was in the Far East,” I say. I really don’t want to give away too much about my job. Obviously, Katia has guessed quite a bit. It’s an ongoing debate with myself whether or not to tell her the complete truth. I suppose that if our relationship truly becomes something serious then I’ll have to.

  “Let’s see, the Far East,” she says. “That must mean… Japan? Korea?”

  “Nope.”

  “The Philippines? China?”

  “Nope.”

  “Hong Kong? Indonesia?”

  “Closer.”

  “Look, Sam, one thing I ask is that you be honest with me.” She takes a sip of wine and then looks at me intently. “I realize you have a rather hardened heart when it comes to relationships and I don’t want to scare you off. I’m independent, too, and I assure you I’m not a needy person. But I’ve been thinking about our short time together and, well, I just think we’ll have a pretty good time if we keep at it. I’m not asking for a commitment or anything like that, but I am asking that you tell me the truth about yourself.”

  Before I can say anything, the appetizer arrives. Bagna calda is an awesome concoction of soft garlic cloves oven-roasted in extra virgin olive oil and butter with a hint of anchovy. Served in a little hot tub, it’s spreadable on the freshly baked bread it comes with.

  “My God, this is fabulous,” Katia says when she tries it. “I could just fill up on this.”

  “It’s good, isn’t it? You can buy a book of recipes from the restaurant at the front desk if you’re inclined to try it at home.”

  We order entrees and talk of other things, the question of my honesty temporarily placed on the back burner. Krav Maga is a big topic of conversation, along with our personal habits for keeping fit. She tells me a little about her life in Israel before coming to the United States. Her father was Israeli but her mother is American, hence the dual citizenship. After her parents’ divorce, her mother brought Katia and her sister to California. Her father died of heart failure six years later.

  The food arrives and it’s overwhelming. She has the lemon-baked Atlantic salmon with garlic caper sauce served with acini di pepe pasta. I go for the garlic-roasted medium-cut prime rib, which comes with, naturally, garlic mashed potatoes. As I tell Katia, the Stinking Rose is a great place to take a date because you know you’ll both have bad breath afterward.

  Halfway through the meal the conversation returns to what I do for a living. She mentions that she loves to travel but doesn’t get to do it very much. “You’re lucky. It must be nice being able to go places in your job,” she says.

  “Sometimes it is. Depends.”

  “On what?”

  “On what I have to do there.”

  “Sam, you do work for the government, don’t you? Come on, your secret is safe with me.”

 
; I don’t commit to an answer, but I do shrug my shoulders to indicate she’s on the right track. It’s the best I can do.

  “I knew it. Look, I’ve known other men that work for government agencies. I dated a CIA guy once. We went the longest time before I found out what he did for a living and it really pissed me off.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he’d been lying to me. He told me he was a lobbyist. He exhibited all the same signs as you — he was secretive about his job, he was gone for long periods of time, he was unbelievably fit for his age, and he was a devotee of martial arts. Believe me, Sam, I know the type.”

  “And that’s my type?”

  “Isn’t it?”

  I let that one ride. The meal continues pleasantly and the conversation moves along to safer subjects. At one point during dessert — we share the Irish coffee chocolate brownie mousse — I feel her bare foot brushing against my calf. She’s removed her shoe and has begun to rub my leg, inching higher and higher until her foot is in my lap. She presses her toes into my crotch, all the while looking at me with a glint in her eye that means business. I’m suddenly immensely aroused, a reaction I know has to do with coming back from a life-or-death assignment. The NSA psych doctors who examine me every year always express surprise when they learn of my years of celibacy. Most guys who perform dangerous missions for the government have a libido that won’t quit. Maybe that’s now finally coming to the fore.

  “What say you we pay the bill and get the hell out of here?” I ask.

  “I was wondering when you were gonna suggest that,” she says, a mischievous grin playing on her wet lips.

  * * *

  We spend the rest of the afternoon and evening in my room at the hotel. The sex is as intense as it was on my birthday back home in Towson. Katia is insatiable, it seems, and I no longer feel the fatigue that was plaguing me when I arrived in California. Maybe it’s the pheromones surging through my body or something like that, if you believe in that kind of stuff. Whatever it is, the chemical reactions in my loins don’t fail to do the job.

  By nine o’clock that night we’re hungry again. I order room service and we have a couple of sandwiches and sodas. We sit on the bed, naked, eat our dinner, and laugh at the absurdity of how we must look. After the meal Katia offers to give me a massage and I readily accept. As she works me over with her strong hands I begin to feel tired again. I’m wonderfully relaxed and seem to be floating on water. The next thing I know, the room is pitch-dark and Katia is in bed next to me. I must have fallen asleep during the rubdown. The digital clock on the nightstand reads 2:35. I slept for a good six hours.