by Trevor Scott
He swiveled his slight frame around in his chair, shifting his black-framed glasses askew on his narrow nose. With his middle finger he shoved the glasses back into place-a reaction that had almost gotten him beat up in high school. He laughed to himself thinking about how many people he had, supposedly through an inadvertent reaction, flipped off over the years. His clueless colleagues at Brightstar never seemed to get the point.
Rising above the cubicle wall and seeing the normal afternoon shuffle of workers trying to appear busy, Cliff turned to his computer, clicked through security, and found the files he had hidden days before. He had marked them with innocuous file names that would not catch anyone’s eye, and then compressed and zipped them. He should have saved them to a DVD, but he could be checked at the security post on his departure. As he knew with all computers and with all software, there was always another way. Always a way to make things work.
“Cliff, what’s up?”
Cliff nearly jumped from his chair as he hit a key to change his monitor to a mountain scene screen saver.
The voice was from one of his office friends, Steve Lempi. His office friend because, although they talked often at work, they never did anything together after they left the Brightstar compound at the end of the day. Part of that was distance. Steve lived in Redwood City, while he lived across the Bay in Fremont. The other part, Cliff was sure, was that Steve was not a typical computer geek. With his perfect blond hair, his athletic physique, and his charming personality, he had a better chance than most at Brightstar of actually having a life outside this compound.
“Steve, never sneak up on a programmer like that,” Cliff said, shifting his glasses up on his nose. “I could have lost an entire day of code.” This wasn’t true and Steve knew it, but since they were both programmers, each understood the severity of losing anything dealing with one of their projects.
Steve leaned against the cubicle wall, the sweat stains visible under his left arm and his biceps nearly bursting out the white cotton shirt. “Back it up and make a copy.” That was the mantra of Brightstar.
“Right,” Cliff said. “That’s why our drives are always maxed out.” Not true. They had enough storage capacity to run a small, third world country. Like France.
Steve had a look on his broad face like he had something important on his mind, but he wasn’t sure how to ask the question. Finally, he stooped down low, looked around behind him, and whispered, “Aren’t you working the ABL project?”
Cliff stood up and peered over his cubicle at the spaces on either side. They were both empty. Then he sat and turned to Steve. “Even if I was, I couldn’t tell you.”
Steve smiled. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
“No—”
“Don’t worry. I’m not gonna tell anyone.”
The ABL project was a government contract for Airborne Lasers that Cliff had worked on for the past two years. It was highly compartmentalized among various government agencies, the Air Force, and at least three private corporations-with Brightstar the lead contractor. The system was in place for major testing of their new software in the next few weeks.
“What do you want from me, Steve?”
“Nothing. Just making conversation.” He hesitated and glanced behind him. “A bunch of Group Five are going out for drinks after work tonight. Down at the Hard Drive Bar. Thought you might like to join us. Five o’clock.”
Group Five was Steve’s team; his was Group Seven. They usually didn’t mix for fear of slipping up and mentioning their current projects.
“Better not,” Cliff said. “I have a date tonight.”
Steve look surprised. “With a girl?”
“No, a dog. What the hell do ya think?”
“Damn. Communications needs to put out a press release. Programmer gets date.”
“Bite me!”
“Is that B.Y.T.E.?”
Cliff stared at his friend for a moment, and then said, “Thanks for the invite.”
Steve took that as his cue to leave. “Bring her by. Group Five is a wild bunch.”
Cliff nodded and waved as his friend left. Then he stood up to make sure he was really gone, and spotted him making his way toward the restroom.
He took a deep breath and noticed his hands shaking. He shook his hands until they settled down. Then he went back to his computer, found the files, and stopped. Could he do this? He sighed and clicked away at his computer. First he bypassed the firewall software to make sure he could send without being interrupted. Then he entered the router and disabled the physical firewall.
Now he had thirty seconds.
He clicked the keyboard furiously, sending the files. But, even zipped, they were large and needed time.
Twenty seconds.
The physical firewall would automatically reset after thirty seconds and could alert security that files were leaving the internal system.
Fifteen seconds.
And there was still forty percent to send.
Come on, come on.
Ten seconds.
Lag. Damn it. Thirty percent left.
Five...four...three.
The Files Sent message came up, and Cliff quickly worked his way out, enabling the software firewall as he got out. That was too close, he thought. Now his whole body was shaking and sweat streaked his forehead. Damn. He clicked into his registry and found the record of his sending the files. He deleted that and the backup. That was too close. Maybe Steve’s little reminder had saved his ass this time. “Back it up and make a copy.” The Brightstar system was programmed to do just that, even if the users forgot.
He checked his watch. It was almost time to quit for the day. He had to compose himself. He wiped his forehead with a tissue and breathed in deep, just like Li had told him. Settled, he shut down his computer and gathered his jacket from a corner stand. Now he just had to stay calm long enough to get through security.
●
At home in Fremont, Cliff got onto his computer. He quickly accessed the files he had sent, and, satisfied that they would be safe in their new home, he got off the computer and went to his refrigerator for a beer. He shook his head at the contents of his refrigerator. There was a six pack of a microbrew from Bend, Oregon, and that was ironic. His old college friend from the University of Oregon had sent him the beer from his hometown. Cliff had gone there skiing two months ago, just before Christmas, and had set up a server in the man’s house in the quiet sub-division along the Deschutes River. His friend had no idea that Cliff had just sent him some of the most classified programming in the world. Programs that would control the firing system of the Airborne Laser, and eventually the entire land-based laser system. But he had sent more than just programming. More than just the project that he was working on. He had sent schematics of the entire Airborne Laser project. Files that were supposed to be compartmentalized. But fear of loss had worked in his favor. Brightstar had been so worried about losing data to computer failure, that they had opened themselves up for a loss far more damaging. That is, if he went through with it.
He checked his watch. He had just forty-five minutes to meet Li at her house in Union City. His heart raced just thinking about their meeting.
He hurried from his house and drove off in his Camry.
Just as she informed him, he took a different route to her place, doubling back and constantly checking his rear view mirror for a tail. It was all so cloak and dagger, considering he had really done nothing wrong to this point. Nothing had transferred hands.
As he got closer to her house, excitement entered his body. He wanted to be with her again. Needed to be with her again.
He parked down the block a ways in front of a house for sale. The neighbors would think he was checking out the new house. Nothing more. No reason to call the cops for a strange car parking there.
He got to Li’s house and she opened the door for him. She was so beautiful. Her long dark hair flowed straight to the top of broad shoulders. Although she told him her fami
ly was originally from Hong Kong, her eyes seemed more Mongolian to him. At least according to the Discovery Channel special he had watched a few years ago.
“You’re two minutes late,” Li said. Then she smiled and kissed him before retreating toward the living room.
He watched her perfect, slim body move across the room and settle into the leather sofa. She was wearing loose silk pants, and, even though they were black, he could tell through the back lighting that she wasn’t wearing anything under them. On top she wore a Stanford sweat shirt with the sleeves pushed up to the elbows.
The stereo played Bach lightly in the background. Cliff took a seat on the sofa next to her. He wanted her so badly, but he knew not to push the issue. She would want answers first.
“How is your mother?” Cliff asked her. She had gone back to China for a while when she had found out her mother was sick.
“She’s better.”
“Glad to hear that.”
She narrowed her eyes toward him. “How close are you?” she asked.
He didn’t want any of this to end. “Very close.” He ran his hand along her thigh.
She stopped him, grabbing his hand. “How close?”
He thought for a moment. “What about the money?”
“You give me the files, I give you the money.”
“You give me the money, I give you the files.”
“So, you have them?”
Damn. He had to think fast now. “I have access to them. I’ve...found a way.”
She took her hand from his and ran it across the erection that had grown in his pants. “I need the files tonight. You transfer the files and I’ll transfer the money.”
It was a never-ending cycle. How could he get the money before he gave her the files? Then just last night he had come up with a way, which is why he had transferred the files today. He explained the plan to her. When he was done, she simply smiled and nodded agreement. Then she unzipped his pants and took him in her mouth.
7
Beijing, China
Jake walked calmly along the stone sidewalk in a back street two blocks from Tiananmen Square, the darkness broken only by distant street lights and the occasional lantern marking a bar or cafe. Although it was closing in on midnight, the streets were still full of life. Not like Paris or London or New York. But his native Portland would be nearly deserted at that time of night on a Wednesday.
Accustomed to working at night, Jake’s eyes adjusted well to the darkness, and his other senses would heighten along with them, he knew. Time couldn’t dull training and experience.
It was at times like this, when he had no idea why he was here at this hour, that he wished he had his normal 9mm automatic strapped under his left arm. Just in case. But, unlike Europe, he had no contacts in China who could acquire such weapons. Nor did he think, until now, that he would need one. After all, his back story indicated he was only in Beijing to accompany an American businessman, who had just that morning signed a huge fiber optics deal that would link hard lines and speedy data transfer to not only every corner of the city, but also, he hoped, to every major city in China. Jake had learned as much as he could about the man in the last few hours in case anyone cared to ask the question.
But now Jake was on his own. He had followed the American to the airport earlier in the day and then gone back to his hotel in the Qianmen region, just six blocks from his current location. And then, as he rested in his room trying to figure out what the Agency had in store for him in the next few days before flying back to Austria, he had gotten the strange phone call. That was five hours ago. The caller, a man of indistinguishable age or ethnicity, although Jake was sure he must have been Western, had simply said to meet him behind the Museum to Chinese History if he wanted to find out about his old girlfriend, Toni Contardo. It was a ruse, he knew.
He hadn’t heard from Toni in six months. They had been living together in a nice apartment overlooking the river in Innsbruck, he thinking their relative domestication was actually working out, and she obviously thinking the tranquility of seclusion in Austria reason enough to go back to work for the Agency. So, as far as he knew, she had done just that, having first gone through extensive Arabic language training before being assigned to...well, that was the problem. He had no idea where she was.
So the caller would know that, he had said. Then he either had a choice to hit the sack early and take a tour of the Great Wall in the morning, or end up in a dark alley at midnight to meet someone he didn’t know for unknown reasons. Jake didn’t think for a moment that he would find out anything about Toni. But, hope was like the concept of happiness. You never knew you had found it until after it had passed.
He turned from the relatively busy sidewalk down a narrow lane, where only a lone woman shot her eyes away from him and scurried in the opposite direction. After making it halfway down the street, Jake stopped and leaned against a wall in the shadows, glancing across the narrow street at a back gate to the museum.
On both ends of the street was a clamor of voices and footsteps and laughter, but here the street had cleared and he was alone.
His eyes shifted back and forth with each sound.
Suddenly, out of the shadows of the courtyard across the street, behind the gates, there was movement. Then Jake heard the lighter flicker and watched the glow of a cigarette being lit.
That was his sign.
He crossed the alley and opened the gate with a slight squeak, slid inside, and moved toward the glowing cigarette.
“That’s close enough,” came a muffled voice from the shadows. It was almost a whisper. “To your left, into the darkness.”
The cigarette dropped to the ground and the man twisted his foot over it as Jake moved into the shadows.
“You could have just come to my hotel,” Jake said. “We could be drinking a beer right now instead of freezing our asses off out in the darkness.”
Jake was close enough to hear air forcing its way out of the man’s nostrils, so he knew it was the same guy who had called him earlier.
“Asthma,” Jake said.
“What?”
“You have asthma, so the Agency sends you to Beijing in February with all this Gobi sand in the air. How smart is that?”
The man gave a slight laugh. “I heard you were a smart ass.”
Jake flicked on a penlight, illuminating the man’s face for a second, and quickly turned it off.
“What the hell are you doing?” The man whispered loudly.
“I like to see who I’m dealing with. Show me some I.D.”
“Are you on drugs?”
“I must be,” Jake said, “or I wouldn’t be standing in a dark alley at midnight with an asthmatic Agency man who wants to use me for some reason.”
The man laughed again through his nose. It was barely audible, but Jake was comforted somewhat knowing the Agency had actually hired someone with a sense of humor.
“What do you want from me?” Jake asked.
There was silence, so Jake started to walk away.
“Wait.”
A hand grasped his arm, and Jake removed it, twisted the man’s arm around, and jammed the guy’s face into the metal fence. With Jake’s free hand, he clasped his fingers around the left side of his face and placed his thumb behind the guy’s left ear, applying pressure. Most people could last only a few seconds without feeling like their brains would pop out of their ears. This Agency guy made it a full thirty seconds. Impressive.
“All right,” he forced out through his teeth. “Inside right pocket.”
Jake slid his left hand from his grasp and inside the guy’s front pocket, retrieving a passport. He still had a hold of the guy with a right arm twist, but now he needed his light, and that would take two hands.
He took two steps back and let go of the arm. Jake could hear the man rotating his right arm back into place as he pulled the light from his pocket and shone it on the passport, cupped inside his jacket. It was a standard U.S. diplomatic pass
port. Definitely Agency. He turned off the light and slapped the passport against the guy’s chest.
“Okay, Mr. Brian Armstrong...what do you want from me?”
“I need you,” he said. “I heard what you did in Odessa years ago.”
Jake hadn’t thought about Odessa for a long time. So much had gone right, but so much had also gone tragically wrong there. Then it all clicked. The face had looked familiar. And now the name.
“Any relation to Quinn Armstrong?”
The man hesitated. “Quinn was my brother.”
Damn. “I’m sorry.”
“He died for his country.”
Still, Jake might have been able to save the man’s life. They had worked together in Odessa, and Quinn had been killed by his own boss, a rogue Agency station chief.
“I’m sorry,” Jake repeated.
“I read the report,” Armstrong said. “You had no idea my little brother would be killed. And you did bring down the guy who shot him.”
Bring down was not really true. Jake had found out about the corrupt officer and was present when he ate his own gun.
Changing the subject, Jake said, “So why me?”
“Easy. You were with the Agency. I can trust you. And....”
“And nobody knows me in China.”
“Right.”
“What do you need?” Jake asked.
“Meet me tomorrow morning at ten in the center of Tiananmen Square.”
He didn’t hear the sound first, but Jake did see the flash. He grabbed Armstrong by the coat and pulled him to the ground. Now the clinking of metal against metal followed each flash as bullets glanced off the gate and ricocheted into the night.
Instinctively, Jake went for his gun, which wasn’t there.
8
They ran. Then they split up and ran some more. Finding himself in unfamiliar city streets, Jake finally found a cab and told the driver to take him to the China Theatre on the western edge of Beijing near the zoo.
