Hong Kong Black: A Thriller (A Nick Foley Thriller)

by Alex Ryan

  “Where will you be?” Li asked, the suspicion unmistakable in his voice.

  “I must fly back to the mainland and check in on Dr. Chen and her progress,” Zhang said. He exited the small locker room with the Army Major in tow.

  “I’m certainly better suited to working with Dr. Chen than supervising dredging operations out here with the Coast Guard,” Li countered.

  Zhang stopped as they reached a ladder well. He turned and narrowed his eyes at Li. “Dredging operations? Really, Major. Must you be so insensitive?”

  “You know what I meant, Zhang.”

  “How is evaluating corpses here any different from doing it at the Gun Club Hill Hospital? With the exception of the waves, it’s not. You’re more qualified to evaluate the bodies than the crew of the Hai Twen. And you’re looking so much better than the last time I saw you on the fantail, Major. Just don’t eat anything, and you’ll be fine.”

  “But—”

  “I’ve made my decision,” Zhang said, silencing the man.

  “Very well,” Major Li said in his most pejorative tone.

  “Excellent,” Zhang answered. “I will inform the ship’s captain that you will be remaining aboard. Keep me informed of any progress, Major.”

  He turned and climbed up the ladder before Li could renew his protest. The decision of whether they attempted another excursion to retrieve the container at the bottom, he would leave to the ship’s Commanding Officer and Li. Even if they did manage to get the serial number off the sunken container, in the worst-case scenario, he would have a six-hour head start on Li trying to track the Conex box. Until he understood Li’s end game, he would do everything in his power to stay one step ahead of the Major.

  CHAPTER 10

  CIA safe house

  Amalfi complex, Discovery Bay

  Lantau Island, Hong Kong

  1400 hours local

  Nick imagined that going black in Hong Kong would be reminiscent of CIA lore of old—a blown agent forced to hide out in the bowels of a dangerous, alien city, with no support, no money, and no creature comforts. He expected Lankford’s CIA safe house in Hong Kong to be some small, dirty, rat-infested basement apartment in the slums, where the violence of the neighborhood drug dealers was as much a threat as the invisible enemy in chase.

  He was wrong.

  Going black in Discovery Bay had nothing in common with his imagination.

  He stared out the sliding-glass door at a swimming pool and, for a fleeting instant, actually considered swimming laps.

  “Just keep your head down and lie low,” Lankford had said after his EXFIL from Xi’an. “Everything you need will be provided. Your only responsibility until we get this figured out is to avoid being seen.”

  Simple enough instructions . . . in theory.

  The Discovery Bay safe house was, in actuality, a duplex condominium located in the heart of one of Hong Kong’s most affluent and thriving expat communities. Nick’s condo shared a BBQ deck and oversized in-ground pool with an attached sister unit. Both units were owned by the same front company—a Hong Kong–based property-management outfit called Blue Star Properties—which maintained several degrees of separation from ViaTech and Peter Yu’s staffing company. What made it work, Nick suspected, was that the property-management company was a legitimate real estate investment firm that had been purchased ten years ago by the CIA through a series of blinds.

  According to Lankford, the unit Nick was staying in was reserved exclusively for US assets, while the sister unit was rented out year-round to unaffiliated local and international businesses—including well-heeled British and American families on vacation. In other words, Lankford’s high-value CIA agents and assets were separated by a wall and a shared pool deck from legitimate renters next door—adding another layer of normalcy that kept prying eyes from raising their eyebrows. At present, Nick’s neighbors were supposedly four Chinese telecom middle managers in Hong Kong for business meetings with China Mobile. For the duration of his stay, Nick was Justin Reynolds, Senior VP of International Sales for Holden Cosmetics, out of Ireland.

  The arrangement was genius, he had to admit.

  “Anything you need, sir?”

  Nick looked up at the young woman who stuck her head in from the kitchen.

  “No thanks, Jing-Wei,” he said and smiled at the tiny woman who matched the sound of her name perfectly.

  She smiled back and headed into the kitchen.

  He’d had a ham-and-cheese panini for lunch and a large coffee at the coffee shop a short walk north in DB North Plaza. He was doing his best to keep his head down and lie low, but damn it, he was starting to go stir-crazy. His midday walk along the promenade had let him stretch his legs and had given him the fresh air he desperately needed. Unlike in mainland China, here in Discovery Bay, he actually blended into the crowd. Keeping a low profile was easy in a sea of Western expats. Besides, he’d been attacked in Xi’an—why would anyone go looking for him three thousand kilometers away in Discovery Bay?

  Nick glanced at his watch. Lankford would be arriving from Beijing within the hour. He was eager to see the CIA man; they had plenty to sort out. While he appreciated Lankford’s people extricating him from Xi’an and stashing him in the safe house, he was still bitter that his reluctant agreement to do the man a “favor” had wrecked his life—perhaps irreparably so. Everything he had worked to build in China over the past six months, both professionally and personally, was at risk. Lankford had allowed him a quick call to Hon Bai, his boss at Water 4 Humanity, to let him know that a death in the family required him to fly back to Texas for a few weeks. Bai had been very understanding, giving his condolences along with an offer to “take as much time as he needed.” Nick had also insisted that he be allowed to call Dash, but he had yet to make that call. He wasn’t sure what to say; he’d know when the moment was right.

  Lankford’s minions had tried to take Nick’s personal cell phone, but he’d refused, telling them they’d have to be content with his promise not to use it. Without his phone, he would not be able to see if Dash called or texted him. As long as he was stuck in the safe house, his mobile was her only lifeline to him. Funny, he doubted she thought of it that way, but he certainly did. He wondered if she was thinking of him at all. Was she feeling guilty about the dinner date? Was she eager to reschedule? The last thing he needed was for her to think that perhaps he was angry with her for canceling on him. He understood the rigors of her job, probably better than anyone she’d ever dated. Were they actually dating?

  Nick sighed, reached for the remote control, and switched on the seventy-inch flat-screen TV with satellite reception. He thumbed through news channels broadcasting from all corners of the world and then tossed the remote back on the table. No mention of a homicide and shootout in a parking lot in Xi’an on any of the Chinese news stations, CNN, or the BBC. He rose from the couch, walked to the glass doors, and stared at the swimming pool. Again.

  A double chime announced the front door opening, and Nick instinctively moved left, toward the corner. A Chinese man entered, saw Nick, and smiled.

  “You must be Nick,” the man said, his thick Texas drawl taking Nick by surprise.

  “And you are?” Nick asked, his hand on the butt of the subcompact nine-millimeter he wore in a holster on the small of his back. Like the other weapons he now had at his disposal, the pistol “came with the apartment” and had been given to him en route by the field agent who had escorted him to Discovery Bay.

  “Jeremy Reimer,” the man said and plopped down on the couch. “I know I look more like a ‘Ping or a ‘Huang,’ but my momma called me Jeremy, and my dad was a Reimer, so there ya go.”

  “You’re from Texas?” Nick asked, taken aback.

  “No. I’m just fucking with you,” the spook said, his Texas drawl disappearing. “Boss said you were a Texas boy, so I thought I would give you my best Dallas twang. I’m actually from Seattle.”

  “No shit? You had me fooled. You nailed it
.”

  “Accents are sorta my thing,” the man who called himself Reimer said with a cocky grin.

  “You speak Chinese?” Nick asked.

  Reimer rattled off something in Mandarin. Nick wasn’t even close to fluency in Chinese, but he’d heard enough Mandarin spoken over the past six months to know that Reimer commanded an expert level of proficiency in the language.

  “Say again?” Nick said with a chuckle. “In English this time.”

  “I said, ‘Mind if I change the channel? I’d like to check the football scores.’”

  “Be my guest.”

  Reimer snatched the remote and changed the channel to ESPN. After seeing that no discussions concerning football were being aired, he looked back at Nick. “First time in Disney South?”

  Nick nodded.

  “You the guy the boss is coming to see?”

  “I guess,” Nick said and sat in the low, black leather-and-chrome chair beside the couch. “If the boss is Chet Lankford.”

  The man looked at him strangely. “Yeah, well, he’s my boss. He’s not yours?”

  “No,” Nick said, “Lankford is . . .”

  A friend? A colleague? Just what the hell is he to me anyway?

  “. . . an associate, I guess.”

  “An associate, huh?” Reimer said with a laugh. “I guess that makes you a task force boy, then, huh?”

  Nick said nothing, and the man laughed again and waved a hand.

  “Yeah, yeah, I know—you could tell me, but then you’d have to kill me. Relax, I don’t give a shit. I’m just stopping over tonight on my way elsewhere, so we don’t have to get to know each other.”

  Nick laughed to himself and shook his head. “Sorry, I’m a bit edgy after Xi’an.”

  “I don’t blame you.”

  “You heard what happened?”

  “Yeah,” the agent said and plopped his feet up onto the coffee table. “I got the download this morning.”

  “Lankford has you working the case?”

  “Nah, just needed a place to stay en route to my next assignment.”

  “Oh,” Nick said.

  “Don’t worry, he’s bringing two guys with him to help out. They should be here any minute.”

  “Two guys?”

  “Yeah, shooter types.” Reimer looked at Nick and sized him up with a twinkle in his eye. “You know, muscle—guys like you.”

  Nick laughed—a real laugh this time. “Rrrright.”

  The door opened again with a double chime, and Lankford walked in, a scowl on his face, flanked by two guys who—like Reimer said—looked very much like former operators. Both of the plainclothes soldiers scanned the room and then moved past Lankford to check out the rest of the condo.

  “Can we have the room, Jeremy?” Lankford said.

  “Sure, boss,” Reimer said, standing. “I’ll get settled in. Any room you want me to take?”

  “Any room not occupied by our guest is fine.”

  The young Asian CIA man looked like he might say something funny, thought better of it, and then disappeared up the stairs. Lankford collapsed onto the couch beside Nick. An awkward pause lingered between them while the CIA station chief from Beijing rubbed his temples.

  “So?” Nick began.

  Lankford raised a finger, his eyes still closed and his other hand still rubbing a temple. Anger swelled in Nick’s chest, but he swallowed it down. This wasn’t really Lankford’s fault—he knew that.

  Lankford was a good man. Two months ago, he had risked his life to help Nick and Dash stop a madman, saving thousands of innocent lives and taking a bullet in the process. Nick owed Lankford, which was one of the reasons he’d agreed to help look for Peter Yu. That debt, in Nick’s mind, had still not been repaid. Everything that happened in Xi’an was just bad luck—the shitty things that happen in war and, he supposed, in covert operations. Lankford could have walked away and left him in Xi’an, but he didn’t. He got him out. He got him safe.

  Lankford opened his eyes and gave Nick a tired smile. “How are you holding up?”

  Nick gritted his teeth. “Fine.”

  “You always this melodramatic? Tell me how you really feel,” Lankford laughed.

  Nick couldn’t help but laugh at himself along with Lankford. “I suppose hanging out at your million-dollar condo while things get sorted out is better than rotting in a Chinese prison.”

  “Yeah,” he said and gestured at the well-appointed space. “Just ’cause you go black doesn’t mean you have to live like an animal.”

  “You OGA guys are soft,” Nick prodded. “Going dark downrange with the Teams meant living inside a hollowed-out tree for a week.”

  “Right,” Lankford said with a grin. “We don’t like to rough it here.” He looked far off for a moment and then mumbled, “Way better than the ’Stan.’”

  Nick looked down. He’d forgotten that Lankford had been in Afghanistan as well. He wondered if things had gone better for the CIA man than they had for him. It had been difficult for Nick to trust Lankford initially because of his sordid history with spooks downrange. One of Lankford’s CIA brothers had been responsible for bad intel that had resulted in the worst night of Nick’s life. He forced away the haunting memory of the charred remains of an Afghani girl.

  No room for the past today, he told himself.

  “Bring me up to speed on all your supersecret spy shit. Who’s trying to kill me, Chet?” he asked and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees.

  Lankford shook his head.

  “I don’t know, Nick.” He hesitated and looked at his hands. Then he looked back up and held Nick’s gaze. “I need to tell you something. About the girl.”

  “She was a spy? I fucked us, didn’t I?”

  “Nope, just a civilian molecular biologist working for Nèiyè Biologic, like she claimed.”

  A wave of relief washed over Nick, but it was short-lived. A new worry bubbled to the surface. “Tell me you found her before they did. Tell me you got her out,” he said, more statement than question.

  Lankford shook his head solemnly.

  “Damn it!” Nick popped to his feet and began to pace. “It’s my fault.”

  “No, it’s not, Nick.”

  “If I hadn’t sat down with her—”

  “Enough,” Lankford snapped. “You didn’t do anything wrong, so stop beating yourself up. The only person responsible for the girl’s death is the asshole who ordered the hit.”

  “How . . . how did they do it?”

  Lankford looked genuinely pained. “Does it matter?”

  “Yes, it fucking matters.”

  The CIA man sighed. “Staged to look like an accident, but we both know how these things work. The hit went down the night before last.”

  “Who’s responsible?”

  “I don’t know,” Lankford said, anger in his eyes. “I have to guess it was the Chinese government, on to our CIA operation in Xi’an. I’m not blaming anyone, but by helping you, I outed myself to your Snow Leopard friend, Commander Zhang. After that, our entire operation in China was blown.”

  Nick thought a moment about Zhang. He felt a weird kindred connection with the counterterrorism operator, despite their different national loyalties. He didn’t see Zhang killing an innocent girl—an innocent Chinese civilian especially. He didn’t see Zhang’s people killing Yu either. Despite the doom and gloom Nick was feeling, Lankford still didn’t have confirmation of Yu’s death. Maybe Peter Yu was in some deep, dark hole being interrogated. Nick guessed there could be other entities in the Chinese military and intelligence apparatus that would have no qualms about kidnapping or killing an American spy, but these entities operated deep, deep, deep in the shadows. It was doubtful even someone as connected as Zhang knew about such operations.

  Nick stopped pacing and looked at Lankford. “If you’re blown, then why did Langley leave you in play? If staying is so dangerous, why not call everyone back and start over from scratch?”

  Lankford gave him a pi
tying smile. “It’s not that simple, Nick. If the Company pulled me out, then the next cover set would be made immediately, because the Chinese would be watching for them. Better to leave me in place as an impotent operator, run some low-level shit so I look like I’m still in play, and build a new operation under their noses while they watch me dick around.”

  Nick nodded. As insane and dangerous as it sounded, the plan made sense.

  “So you had Peter Yu running a ‘low-level shit’ kind of operation so you could look like you were still in play. Is that what you’re telling me?”

  Lankford shrugged. “I guess you could say that. I’m not saying we had him dangling. We kept several degrees of separation between his NOC and my blown cover. Still, you have to plan for a breach under such circumstances, so we kept his work low-threat to the Chinese—nothing that would warrant getting him arrested, deported, or God forbid, assassinated. He was just using the IT staffing company to poke around and make it look like the Yankees were still business as usual. He wasn’t going after high-value targets or Chinese state secrets. It’s not like I had him out there by himself with orders to poke the bear. His task was to look at Chinese suppliers with ties to the defense complex and the West. Apparently, he also thought his task included banging his Chinese girlfriend.”

  “You didn’t know about Lihau?”

  “No,” Lankford said simply and leaned back on the sofa.

  “So having a girlfriend in your line of work is not okay?”

  “No, Nick, fucking the enemy is not okay. Mirror or not, he was still a field agent, and everything he did was supposed to be part of his cover and reported to me in detail. Lovers are not the same thing as marks. He got the girl killed because he was selfish, careless, and lazy.”

  “Her name was Lihau,” Nick said. In his professional opinion, the girl was in the wrong place at the wrong time because she fell in love with the wrong guy. She was not the enemy, but he didn’t say that. “You keep calling her the girl, but she had a name: Lihau.”