Spy Games (Tarnished Heroes)

by Bristol, Sidney

  The last couple of years, they’d found a reason to cross paths during the festival. That was when their date had happened. The moment when everything between them changed. And now, she’d never see him again.

  Charlie was dead.

  And it was her fault.

  “Sarah? Sarah, look at me.” Rand grasped her by the shoulders, his gaze gone stormy blue, almost a gray.

  “Charlie’s dead.”

  “Focus, Sarah. You have a job to do, whether or not Charlie is dead. We don’t know that yet.”

  “But they said—”

  “Sarah, listen to me, this is the part of what we do that’s the most difficult. You have to put your emotions aside and work. I can’t do this without you. You’re the only one who speaks Mandarin.”

  She hiccupped, her eyes blurring with tears. She was in over her head. But Rand was right, this could be her chance to make this right.

  “What else are they saying? Focus on that.”

  She nodded and swiped at her cheeks. One deep breath, and then another. “Someone just came in.” Her voice wavered, but she could do this.

  Rand furiously tapped at the laptop, accessing the security feeds.

  Sarah swallowed. It was him.

  Zhang Wei.

  Her insides quaked. The only thing separating them from one of the most dangerous men on the planet was a bit of drywall.

  “He…” She tilted her head to the side, parsing out the words, translating them. “He delivered the case after they talked. I guess he was here earlier. Maybe before we got set up? They’ve had the package rescanned, and it’s as they…as he said it was. I guess they X-rayed it or something and saw the security.”

  “Okay.” Rand scribbled away.

  …

  Zhang Wei stood amid the swirl of activity, waiting for silence. It wasn’t his place to speak first. He was the tool the arm of China wielded.

  “Wei, what did they find?” Wang Ping braced a hand against the back of a chair.

  “The security on the case cannot be bypassed.”

  It was as Wei had told them earlier. Still, a second opinion and X-ray were needed to verify his assessment. It was a waste of time, but once more, Wei was only the arrow, pointed at the target and released to do his part in things. It wasn’t like he had experience.

  “We paid for nothing.” Ping pounded the back of the chair with his fist.

  “The security indicates that it is keyed to a person, or persons. You said when you bought the intel there was more?”

  “Yes, the man.”

  “Charlie Liu?” Wei frowned. He’d killed Charlie Liu.

  “That one.”

  “There has to be someone else.” Wei frowned.

  “We know there are twelve operatives in the greater Asian continent, and ten times that many people working for the Americans. It could be any of them.” Ping threw up his hands, the lines around his mouth deepening.

  “Are you at liberty to share your source?” Part of Wei’s job was making people talk.

  “I can’t.” Ping pulled out his phone and tapped the screen. “I’ll work on it.”

  “I await your orders.”

  Silencing traitors was all the reward Wei wanted.

  …

  “I just sent the contact protocol over.”

  Mitch glanced up at Irene, one shoulder braced against the door. She was the best thing he’d seen all day.

  “Hector gave them to you?” Mitch was only a tiny bit bitter about that. What the hell? They were in this together. It was time they started acting like it.

  “Had to. We now share operational control. I should be in contact with my girl before the day is over.”

  “That’s such a relief to hear.” Mitch pushed a hand through his hair. Damn, but that was the last thing he wanted her to say.

  “What about your man? Did they…?”

  “Nothing yet.” He ducked his head, the better to mask his worry as grief.

  “I’m so sorry, Mitch. It’s hard to lose ’em that way.” Irene shook her head, as if she were some sort of guardian angel.

  The leak had to be her.

  The freelance handlers were mercenary. She was the type to wring her asset dry, then shoot them. After all, how many times did they get tasked with putting their assets down? Some of those guys were too dangerous to let loose without the right kind of mission. With the war in the Middle East at least attempting to wind down, they were culling the flock, so to speak.

  Mitch didn’t buy the personal time-off bullshit for a minute. She’d been gone at the right times, her access was complete, it just made sense. Charlie was dead because of Irene, and Mitch would prove it.

  “Well, let me know if you hear anything.” He smiled, but it was all for show. Being polite.

  “You wouldn’t know anything about the medical report the camp staff filed on my girl, would you?” Irene’s voice made chills go up Mitch’s spine.

  “Uh, yeah, they did field surgery to remove her tracking device.”

  “Hmm.”

  Mitch watched her face. Had she known about that? If she was the mole, she’d have to. But all she did was frown, as if she didn’t like that particular bit of information.

  It was Irene.

  It had to be.

  Chapter Ten

  “We need to call…someone.” Sarah paced the length of the surveillance suite. It was that or huddle on the bed, trembling. She was tired of feeling powerless and afraid.

  The Chinese had split off, once more discussing interoffice politics and drama that was nothing more than soap opera material.

  “Who should we call?” Rand asked.

  “Hector? Maybe Irene is back or answering or, God, something.”

  “What will they do?”

  “Get everyone out. Bring them home.”

  “Some of the operatives embedded in Asia are in so deep that if they try to get out, they’ll be killed.”

  “Okay, then those stay, but the rest can come home, right?”

  “And what about the relationships they’ve spent so long creating?”

  “People have emergencies all the time.”

  “Sarah—”

  “What? I just don’t want anyone else to die because of me. Because I screwed up.” She jabbed her finger at her sternum, keeping her tone low. As easily as they were spying on their neighbors they, too, could be spied on.

  Rand stood, stretching to his full height, towering over her. “Come here,” he whispered.

  She didn’t want a hug, she wanted solutions. But a hug wasn’t all that bad, either.

  He tugged her in close, his chin resting on top of her head, his heartbeat thudding against her ear.

  “Doing what we do, we can’t panic. People can’t be extracted without losing a lot of headway. A move like that could set us back a decade in intelligence work. Yeah, if they figure out a way to open the case then a lot of people will die. We’re gambling with a lot more than human lives—we’re gambling with the future of the world. Imagine what would happen if America and China broke treaty? If they were enemies? It could be another world war all over again. That’s what we’re fighting for.”

  “Then why are we the only ones fighting?”

  “Because the fight for many has always been fought by the few. You remember watching Men in Black?” Rand leaned back, peering down at her.

  “Uh…yeah.”

  “You know when Will Smith is freaking out because someone is about to blow up the planet…and no one knows?”

  “Yeah… Are you saying I’m Will Smith and you’re Tommy Lee Jones?”

  “Pretty much. There’s always some crisis, some emergency, that’s got us on the brink of a world war, some sort of catastrophic event, and our job—if done well—means that no one ever knows they were in danger.”

  “Oh, boy. I think I need to sit down.” Her knees gave out and she perched on the foot of the bed. Rand knelt in front of her, staring into her eyes. “I’m not cut out for
this, Rand. I’m just not.”

  “Sure you are. You’ve done so well and been so brave. I’m proud of you, Sarah.”

  “I just… Charlie’s dead. Because of me.” She swallowed, but the tears wouldn’t go away.

  “Hey. No. No, he didn’t die because of you. He died because someone chose to do that. You didn’t.”

  “So where’s the rest of our men in black? Why are we the only ones doing this?”

  “Because…” Rand sighed and perched on the edge of the bed. “Because if we screw up, if we fail, we’re just two people who died in some random mugging. We aren’t covert operatives. We aren’t employees of the government. We’re just a guy and a girl, in the wrong place at the wrong time. It’s the other reason why we’ve never had another all-out war. Too often the spies people capture are really doctors, engineers, contractors doing a job under the table.”

  “We’ve been hung out to dry, saddled with all the responsibility and none of the tools. We’ve got—what? Duct tape and chewing gum?” She snorted. “We’re, who, MacGyver now?”

  “That’s one way to look at it.”

  “How are you okay with this?” She twisted to face Rand, searching his face.

  “Everything we do makes a difference.”

  “I don’t know if I can do this.”

  “You can.” He wrapped his hand around hers. “Look at what you’ve already done. You’ve been an undercover operative for years. You’ve outsmarted MSS agents, some of the most ruthless men on the earth. You’re part of a covert surveillance operation. And you have all the power in this one little hand.” Rand lifted her right hand to his lips, kissing each knuckle.

  “You’re doing everything. I’m just…here.” She flopped her hand toward the rumpled bed where they’d been listening to the other suite.

  “Not true. You’re half of this operation. Sure, I’ve done this more than you have, but I can’t speak Mandarin. I can’t make nice with the people we’re watching the way you can. You’re far more dangerous than I am. You’re the danger in plain sight. The one they’ll overlook until we get the case back. We know they have it because of you.”

  “Does this ever get easier?”

  “Sometimes.”

  Sarah blew out a breath, the knot of nerves still firmly lodged in her chest, making it hard to fill her lungs up with oxygen.

  “What do we do now?” She hated to agree with Rand, but he was right about a few things. She was the only person who could open the case, and he didn’t have a hope or a prayer of understanding the Mandarin without her.

  “We figure out how to get inside the embassy and get the case back.”

  “How do we do that?”

  “Let’s check it out online.”

  “What? Seriously?”

  “Sure? Come on.” He patted her leg, then turned and crawled up the bed.

  What the hell?

  Sarah settled in beside him, finding comfort leaning against his shoulder and soaking up his confidence. This whole thing was a mess. A nightmare. And she wanted it to be over, but that wasn’t likely to happen any time soon.

  “Okay, here’s the official calendar of the Chinese embassy and…huh.” He clicked a blocked out date two days from now. “They’re throwing a party in honor of the new Secretary of State.”

  “Is that important?”

  “Only if we want to get inside and have a look around.”

  “That’s…like…a bad spy movie plot point.”

  “You’d be surprised how much truth is in those things. Think your friend would invite us?”

  “Li?”

  “That one, yeah.”

  “I don’t see why he would.”

  “Hmm. Then maybe I can figure something out.”

  “Is that really a good idea? I mean, they know who I am.”

  “You’re the danger in plain sight.”

  “I have a bad feeling about this.”

  “Worst case scenario, we try to get in, we don’t, and we have to wait for some other opportunity. The Chinese will either try to figure out the identity of the person who can open the case, or they’ll sell it. If they try to sell it, there’s a very short shelf life for information like this unless you’re dealing in mass amounts of intel.”

  “This just seems like so much for us to do on our own.”

  “We won’t be on our own.”

  “What? But you said—”

  “I said that the company will keep their distance, but there’s a sort of unity in us contractors. If we need help, I know some guys we can call in for back-up that won’t ask questions.”

  “And you’re just now mentioning this?”

  “I haven’t reached out.”

  “So why not call in whatever cavalry we can?”

  “Because doing that takes them away from their own very important cases to watch. Besides, unless another opportunity comes up, we’ve got two days to kill while we wait for this party.”

  “We can’t wait that long!”

  “Sarah, almost ninety percent of covert work is sitting around, waiting for something to happen. Think about it, in all the years you’ve done this, has anything remotely weird happened?”

  “No…”

  “See?”

  “But…shouldn’t we do something?”

  “We are. We’re here. We’re listening. We’re watching. We’re doing our job. Look—they have dinner reservations tonight in the restaurant upstairs. We should to be there in case they start talking.”

  “Won’t that be suspicious?”

  “I’d find it more suspicious if two low-income people staying in a hotel this fancy didn’t make use of some of the amenities. Come on, let’s go see what we have that might work for dinner.”

  …

  Zhang Wei kept his head down. The camera at one o’clock was positioned at a steep angle, so it wouldn’t catch his face this way.

  The long line of people at the concierge desk made him want to grind his teeth, but there was no way around waiting. He opted for the longer line on the left, just out of sight from the camera at nine o’clock.

  Person by person, the line inched forward.

  Wei turned his back toward the camera aimed at the concierge counter and stared at the email one last time.

  This would only work once, if it worked at all.

  He wasn’t as trusting of their American informant as the others. Wei wanted to know—why? Why sell out people that had sheltered the traitor for so long? What was there to gain? Money? Was loyalty and honor worth so little? And why wasn’t anyone telling him who this source was?

  On the other end of this phone number was a person, or persons, who were going to wish they’d died when Wei was done with them.

  He had a sneaking suspicion their informant knew more than he was sharing, only doling out the smallest crumbs while bleeding them for more money. But that was the way of their world.

  He who held the secrets controlled the world.

  And so far, the informant hadn’t shared the details behind how, exactly, the case could be opened.

  This whole operation was about reducing the Americans’ control. Knocking out a leg from under their operation would go a long way in restoring the balance, the natural order of the world. If Wei had his way, America would never again meddle in what did not concern it. The self-righteous big brother to the nations was nothing but a coward, too scared to face China and her people. The day was coming when no one would look to the supposed great United States for leadership ever again. They were a toddler, playing at being a grown-up, pretending they were ready to be treated as such.

  Two people peeled out of line, leaving only one person between Wei and the counter. The moments dragged on. People chatted.

  The woman finally turned, her tittering laugh like sandpaper. “Oh, sorry about that, I just prattle on. Thank you!” She wiggled her fingers at the desk clerk.

  Wei hit dial, then mute on his phone, waiting for the call to connect, before approaching
the concierge.

  “What can I help you with, sir?” The man had a pleasant disposition, friendly expression. A people-pleaser.

  “I’m trying to reach Mr. Juan Martin.” Wei leaned on the counter.

  Hotels might update the flooring and fancy fixtures, but the phone systems were still the same ones from decades back.

  “Let me see here,” the clerk said slowly, plugging in the alias. “All right, one moment, please.”

  Wei pretended to glance at his cell phone, while he was really watching the display on the concierge’s desk.

  1036.

  Next door to their suite.

  “No one is answering, sir.” The clerk shrugged.

  “Thanks.” Wei tapped his knuckles on the counter, turned, and ended the cell phone call.

  The bastards were watching them.

  He popped the back of the phone off on his way to the elevator, prying the battery out and effectively killing the device.

  How much had they heard?

  Wei took the elevator up to the tenth floor, took a left and followed the signs. 1038 was the corner suite. 1036 was a single occupancy room squeezed in next to it. They’d been watching the whole time.

  Wei passed the door to 1036 and entered the suite. It was quiet.

  Everyone was going out to dinner, which meant no one would be watching an empty room. That was likely the real reason no one answered the room registered to a nonexistent Juan Martin.

  Wei went to his bag and pulled out a key card breaker. It appeared as nothing more than an average, plastic keycard with a magnetic strip, only this had a handle on it. It could engage the locking mechanism and cycle through until it found the code that allowed entry to the room.

  The code was just ones and zeroes; the problem was finding the right combination.

  He pulled out his pistol, a QSZ-92 that’d been handed down to him, and clipped the holster onto his hip, under his jacket. Chances were low whoever was surveilling the place was still present, and it wasn’t as though Wei needed a gun in the first place, just his hands.

  The hall was clear of guests, not a sound to disturb the peace. He slowly approached the room, waiting, listening. Someone was watching TV down the hall. There was a faint aroma of pot smoke. Bed squeaking could be anything. They were distant noises, peripheral.