The operator’s eyes blossomed. “But what do I do . . . I’ve never—”
Wang cut him off. “Relax. When you arrive, just give these to Zu Peng. She will take over.”
He shifted his stance, obviously relieved.
“Go ahead and take off.”
“Yes, sir.”
As the van pulled away, Wang used his cell phone to check on the standby recovery unit. The janitors were ten minutes out.
With the other remaining zhongdui standing watch in the carport, Wang returned to the secondary’s room. He rifled through a compact purse he found on the bedroom dresser. Besides the driver’s license and the usual credit cards and cash, he discovered a color snapshot of a fortyish male with two young children—boys—sitting in his lap.
Wang wondered if they were the secondary’s family. Although the ruthless nature of his business had become commonplace, the photograph did not sit well with Wang. He wished that he’d left the wallet alone.
Wang removed Sarah Compton’s pistol and her other gear and personal effects from the room, stuffing them inside a canvas bag he always carried on ops.
The two-man recovery team arrived as scheduled in another Ford van. They slipped the corpse inside a black heavy-duty plastic body bag and zipped it shut. The men dragged the container down the stairs to the first floor and loaded it into the van.
After recovering the victim, the janitors attacked the kill zone with practiced efficiency. They used a mini-vacuum to extract the partially congealed blood from the hardwood flooring. Wang and the other shooter had already policed their spent casings.
The cleanup crew extracted a slug from an oak strip in the bedroom floor, left over from Wang’s kill shot. They injected a fast-setting epoxy resin into the cavity. A color additive in the resin, mixed on the spot by one of the janitors to match the floorboard color, partially concealed the bullet hole.
After recovering the spent bullet inside a blanket in the dresser, the janitors repaired the entry penetration. They also removed the blanket and other linen torn by the errant round.
None of the repairs or cleanup procedures would defeat a determined forensic team. Their sole purpose was to buy time.
When the cleanup team completed its work, just before dawn, Wang released them. The janitors’ next task was to drive the van to a mortuary in Seattle. The owner, already alerted, would be waiting alone for their arrival. The Chinese immigrant was on call for special duty like today. The welfare of his family members still in China guaranteed his cooperation. He would cremate the corpse on arrival.
After the janitors departed, Wang and the remaining operator removed the monitoring cameras and completed one last check of the house. One of the janitors had disabled the GMC’s GPS tracking unit, rendering the vehicle’s onboard navigation and digital communication system electronically impotent.
Satisfied, they drove away in the Denali, using Compton’s smart key to start the vehicle.
CHAPTER 40
“We were forced to accelerate matters. I need your Wassistance now.”
“You want me to come to Seattle—today?”
“Yes, this can’t be done over the phone.”
Elena Krestyanova was astounded that Kwan Chi had risked calling her at the trade mission. Russia’s increasing belligerence over tensions in the Arctic had sparked a new round of electronic communications snooping by the RCMP.
Elena glanced at the digital clock on her cell phone: 8:25 A.M. Her meeting with the chief of mission was about to start. She sat in the conference room alone waiting for his arrival and the other staff members to show up for the meeting.
“I can leave at noon,” Elena said.
“You can’t leave now?”
“No, that’s impossible.”
“Very well, come to me.”
“Same place?”
“Yes, we’re still there.”
Elena switched off her cell. She took half a minute to think through the significance of the call and then it jelled.
Yuri Kirov—he’s up to something!
* * *
“I know something’s wrong,” Yuri said. He stood on Ella Kay’s aft deck, staring at the waters of Fidalgo Bay. It was 10:35 A.M. in Anacortes. “I’ve called the house and both of their cell phones all morning long but all I get is voice mail. They never made it to the office. I just spoke with Laura’s assistant. She’s heard nothing from her this morning. Laura had a staff meeting scheduled for ten, which she missed. And that never happens!”
“I understand your concern, Mr. Kirkwood,” said the CEO of the security firm. “I’m going to dispatch two of our operatives to the house right now.”
“When will they get there?”
“Half an hour.”
“Tell them to call me direct—on this line.”
“I will.”
Yuri returned the smartphone to his pants pocket. Something’s wrong, I just know it.
His stomach roiled as a deep veil of despair engulfed his being.
This is Elena’s work!
* * *
Lieutenant Commander Wang Park and his driver were northbound on Interstate Five in a Toyota 4Runner at 1:50 P.M. They were about an hour away from Anacortes. The rush of the op had long since dissolved, but he still fretted about an esoteric detail.
By now, Wang expected that the armored SUV had been loaded into a steel shipping container and was probably stacked up in one of the Port of Seattle’s terminals ready to be loaded aboard the ship. The Chinese shipping company’s website reported the ship would sail for Shanghai tomorrow morning at seven.
Wang wondered how the recipient in the MSS’s Beijing headquarters would react to the gift. Kwan Chi had made the arrangements. If it had been up to Wang, he would have shipped the “Beast” to South America.
Wang Park shifted his thoughts from the predawn assault to Yuri Kirov. The Russian intelligence officer remained elusive and unpredictable. Wang worried that Kwan Chi might have been too aggressive with the immediate action. Kidnapping the man’s lover and her child would without doubt gain his attention. But would that extreme measure also result in his improved cooperation?
Wang wondered if he had been too rash in his judgment that Kirov was stalling. Maybe he’d missed something and the underwater machine really needed repairs. But then he remembered the technician’s report. There was nothing wrong with the AUV.
Wang dismissed his misgivings. He would follow his orders as trained.
Born thirty-two years earlier in a village two hundred miles northwest of Beijing, Wang Park was the product of China’s grand experiment—the one-child family. Doted on by his proud peasant parents—especially his mother—Park performed exceptionally well in elementary school. Alerted by his teacher, the local Communist Party official began following young Park’s progress.
Most of Wang’s graduating senior middle school classmates were destined for the farms. A lucky minority received permission to move to the burgeoning urban centers to take construction and manufacturing jobs. The elite attended colleges and universities with the requirement that they would fill Party-controlled positions in business, government, and military.
The Party official selected the People’s Liberation Army-Navy for Wang Park. After four years of academy-level training, Wang graduated as an ensign in the PLAN. For several years, he served as a line officer with sea duty aboard several combat vessels before earning a command position with China’s naval special forces—zhongdui.
For the past several years, Lieutenant Commander Wang and his detachment of seaborne commandos had conducted numerous clandestine operations throughout the Pacific Rim. Sea Dragon was his most complex and dangerous assignment by a wide margin.
Wang embraced the challenge with gusto and fierce determination—following the lead set by his mentors, instructors, and commanding officers. War with America was coming. Sea Dragon would provide the time China needed to prepare for and win that war.
CHAPTER 41
Laura woke up lying on her right side atop a bed. She tried to prop herself up with an arm but discovered her wrists were bound in front; ditto for the ankles.
“What’s going on?” she muttered, still lying on her side. Laura had no concept of how long she was unconscious or how she ended up in the bed.
Then the nightmare replayed in a memory burst. Barely able to move under the attacker’s bulk, Laura had just started to twist her torso in an attempt to break his grip when a searing sting erupted in the side of her neck.
Maddy, where’s Maddy?
Laura struggled to sit up, using her bound arms as a strut. She surveyed the windowless enclosure. About ten feet square, it was a sterile white environment with a single overhead light fixture. The bunk butted against one wall. Several feet from the foot of the bed was a half-open door to what appeared to be a compact bathroom. Along the wall opposite the bed was a built-in desk with an empty bookshelf above and a single chair in front. At the far end of that wall was a closed door with a digital keypad above the lock.
Laura slipped her legs over the edge. She stood, leaning against the bunk—her ankles tied together. Still groggy, she took a deep breath before bunny-hopping across the hardwood floor to the door. She pulled on the handle with her lashed hands, but the door remained locked. That’s when she put it together. This is some kind of a lockup.
Laura slammed the palms of her wrists against steel door. She shouted, “Open this door! What have you done with my baby!?”
* * *
Yuri watched the Cessna 180 as it taxied across the placid waters of Fidalgo Bay. The seaplane powered up to the floating dock and the engine stopped. The pilot opened a door on the fuselage’s left side and stepped down onto the aluminum flotation pontoon. After securing the pontoon to the floating pier, the pilot stepped up onto the pier. She wore khaki trousers and a stylish blouse with captain epaulets on the shoulders.
“Hello,” Yuri said.
“Mr. Kirkwood?”
“Yes.”
“Hi. I’m Jennifer.” The thirty-four-year-old charter pilot offered her right hand.
Yuri accepted the handshake.
“Do you have any luggage?”
“No, it’s just me.”
“Great, then why don’t we get started?”
“Okay.”
Just as Yuri stepped onto the pontoon, Tim Dixon rushed down the dock. “Where are you going?” he called out.
“Seattle—I have business to take care of.”
“David Wang’s on his way. He’ll be here in half an hour.”
“Tell him to call me on my cell.” Yuri turned and climbed into the cabin.
Dixon remained on the dock, clearly annoyed.
Jennifer released the mooring lines, reclaimed the command seat, and started the engine.
As the floatplane cruised away from the dock at high idle, Jennifer turned to face her passenger in the adjacent seat. “Please make sure your lap and shoulder belts are fastened. Feel free to use the headphones if you like—it can get loud in here. There are also earplugs in the side pocket.”
Jennifer next went over additional safety items.
Yuri buckled up. He raised his voice over the din and said, “How long will this take?”
“About fifty minutes.”
“Great.”
Yuri stared through the windshield as the Cessna passed over the town of La Conner, headed southward across Skagit Bay. He avoided the headphones, not wanting the distraction of listening to the radio traffic chatter. The earplugs helped attenuate the power plant’s persistent drone.
Yuri ignored the scenery. Instead, he weighed his options.
Sarah Compton’s supervisor called Yuri from the Sammamish residence. With all doors locked and windows closed, there were no visible break-in points. The Yukon Denali was missing. Yuri told the supervisor where Laura hid the spare key for the front door. He also provided the code to disarm the security alarm.
After checking every room, the supervisor reported to Yuri that all appeared normal inside the home and Laura’s BMW remained in the garage.
Later the security company implemented a GPS search for the Yukon but came up short. That was an ominous sign. It meant that the automatic interrogation system installed on the company-owned vehicle was purposely disabled or the Yukon had suffered catastrophic damage.
A car crash would explain everything. With the vehicle’s electronics smashed, the GPS system would be out of commission. If Laura and her bodyguard were injured, they might not be able to use their cell phones. That scenario terrified Yuri.
But the security company quashed that horror later in the afternoon. A check with the Washington State Patrol and every emergency room along the I-5 corridor from Bellingham to Olympia revealed no serious vehicle accidents.
That’s when Yuri finally put it together—his ultimate nightmare. Elena’s allies had discovered his stall tactics. To bring him back on mission, they kidnapped Laura and the bodyguard—and Maddy!
The unannounced departure in the floatplane was the first element of his rescue plan.
* * *
Laura held Maddy as she suckled. Sitting on the bunk, Laura leaned against the wall with her legs stretched out. Her hands were free, but her ankles remained lashed together.
Reunited with her child just minutes earlier, Laura was so relieved that she wanted to cry. Yet she held the tears. Instead, she had demanded answers from the woman who’d carried Madelyn into the room but learned nothing.
The guard sat in the chair opposite the bed staring at the screen of a smartphone. Just an inch or so over five feet tall with a petite build, Laura’s minder wore a cobalt blue jumpsuit and a pair of deck shoes. A black ski mask covered her head from neck to crown. Through the slits, Laura noted the woman’s dark eyes and un-madeup lips.
“What do you want from me?” Laura said. She’d asked this before.
The guard ignored Laura.
She was about to ask another question when there was a loud rap from outside. The guard stood up, walked to the door, and entered a code into the electronic key lock. She pulled open the door.
A male entered, wearing a similar uniform with a ski mask. He carried the current edition of the Seattle Times in his right hand.
The two spoke, but not in English.
Chinese! Laura thought, recognizing the dialect.
CHAPTER 42
“She’s here—aboard the Yangzi?”
“Yes, in a cabin below.”
“What about her child?”
“She’s here, too.”
It was 3:40 P.M. Elena Krestyanova had just arrived. She and Kwan Chi were in the main deck’s plush salon sitting on side-by-side sofas. The lounge was spacious with an unassuming Asian design that employed contrasting azure and earth tones to create a welcoming environment.
They were alone. Kwan had ordered all staff not to enter the compartment until his meeting was over.
“Does he know?” Elena asked.
“Not officially, but I’m sure he suspects something.”
“Why?”
“He took off this afternoon in a floatplane, left his machine and our people without any explanation.”
“Where is he?”
“We don’t know. He chartered the plane and it headed south. The charter company would not release any information on the flight. We expect it landed on the lake near here.”
“Have you tried his cell?” Elena said, reaching for a glass of water on an adjacent side table.
“Yes, we thought we might be able to track him, but he’s turned it off.”
“Or he has another phone.” She took a sip.
“Yes, that, too.”
“So you have no way of contacting him other than his cell.”
“Correct.”
“What can I do?”
“First call his cell and leave a voice mail that it is urgent you speak with him tonight. Then call his company and leave the same message with his secretary.�
��
“They don’t know me there, so why—”
Kwan cut her off. “All you have to say is that it concerns Laura Newman. He will call you back.”
Elena shifted her legs. “What do you want me to say to him? And keep in mind that whatever I say he’s going to be hostile.”
“Follow the same script you’ve been using. Blame the SVR and the FSB, say they are running the operation and you’re just the messenger.”
“Yes, he’ll believe that but he’s still going to blame me—I found him and I threatened to expose Newman.” She took another sip and returned the glass to the tabletop.
“All you have to say is that if he gives up his stalling tactics and completes the mission, he and his woman will be left alone—Russia will never bother him again, his duty as an officer would be complete. You can also stress that once the recording pods are retrieved his unique services would no longer be required so there would be no incentive for Russia to try to pull him back in again. If he wants, tell him he can return to Russia at any time to a hero’s welcome.”
Elena sat quietly on the sofa, taking in Kwan’s script. It made sense. One last push and she’d secure the balance of her fee. Still, there were things to tie up.
“What does Laura Newman know about the current situation?”
“Nothing. My operatives removed her and her child from the residence early this morning.”
“Any problems?”
“None.” He neglected to mention the bodyguard’s fate.
“You know he’s going to want proof that they’re okay.”
“Of course. You can send him proof.” Kwan produced his cell phone and activated the screen. He handed it to Elena.
The photograph was in color; Laura Newman sat on a bed, her legs bare but her torso covered in a pajama top. A strip of duct tape sealed her mouth and plastic cable ties bound her wrists. She cradled Madelyn in her lap, wrapped in a baby blanket. The front-page headline of the current edition of the Seattle Times was on display next to Madelyn.
The Forever Spy Page 14
