by HN Wake
Anatoli grunted, “I’m sure that’s exactly what O’Don’t wants.”
Her sarcasm was thick. “Don’t mind me. I’m just over here typing up a cover letter. A glowing, informational, well-structured cover letter. To go in a nice clean file somewhere. Never to be seen again. That cover letter. That’s the one I’m typing right now.”
She stared at the blank screen and imagined a big number glowing: thirty five percent.
8
Miri, Sarawak Province, Malaysia
During the two-hour flight from KL, Mac read about Miri in the in-flight magazine. It was known for a few things, but mostly as an oil and gas town built up from the exploitation of extractives. It had the dubious history of having the first oil drill in Malaysia—built by Shell in 1910. Palm oil was the second largest industry and timber was the third. It sat on the northern coast of Borneo, an island known for a vast rainforest that spanned Malaysia, Indonesia and Brunei.
The city straddled the Baram River as it wound parallel along the coast and then emptied into the South China Sea. On their descent, she could make out the river cutting the town in two. The sliver of land between the river and the ocean was greener and had fewer buildings. A golf course cut across the strip.
The Miri airport was surprisingly modern. Bright sunlight streamed in through huge, airy windows.
Just past the exit from the arrivals hall, a well placed tourist information desk with a uniformed young woman stood ready to assist. Mac approached the desk. “Hi. I wonder if you can help me.”
“Certainly. What can I do for you?”
“I’m only here for a weekend and I’d like to do some scuba diving. Do you have brochures for a couple of scuba shops?”
The young woman pulled out five brochures of various scuba operators. One of the brochures had a cartoon logo of a red monkey with a respirator in its mouth. “This one looks ideal. Where do I get a taxi?”
Outside, the air was salty and humid and gulls warbled overhead to a cloudless sky. Palm trees lined an airport drive crowded with taxis.
Miri was a medium-sized town with low buildings and clean streets. The mosques were modern and white. Stalls, kiosks, and shops lined the avenues.
The taxi driver took a left on the road skimming the coastline—Jalan (Street) Bakam—and along the green promenade of Luak Esplanade. At this time of the morning, the promenade was crowded with pedestrians carrying fishing poles.
Monkey Divers dive shop, situated half way down the street, was a small space with a bright red Padi logo painted on the wall. Inside, the tools of the trade hung conspicuously: respirators, fins, masks, and wet suits. A small table sat near the front by the open french windows.
A handsome, angular man in his early twenties looked around from a back room. “Hi! Welcome. Can I help you?” Gentle eyes sat above a mustache and small beard. His hair was crew-cut short.
“I’m only here for a weekend,” Mac explained. “But I’d love to get some diving in today if that’s possible,”
“You came to the right place!”—he reached out a warm hand--“I’m Hector.”
She grinned. “Vivian.”
“Hi, Vivian.”
“Can I get out there today?”
“Absolutely.”
“You okay just taking me out?”
He laughed an easy laugh. “If you want to pay for the gas, I can do anything you want.” As with many Malaysians, his English was flawless.
An hour later, Mac, Hector, and a boat captain hurdled across the waves in a small outrigger toward the Miri-Sibuti Coral Reef National Park, Miri fading behind. Ahead, the horizon was empty except for a tanker ship in the distance.
She wondered how often Josh had come diving with Hector. She wondered where he stayed when he came to Miri. “I’m only here for the weekend and came straight to your dive shop. Where should I stay?” she asked over the motor.
“We recommend a few places,” Hector said. “Depends on what you want. Budget or luxury?”
She thought of Josh. “I think luxury. I’ll splurge.”
“Sure, sure, we’ll call over to the Marriott when we get back.”
Thirty minutes later, Mac flicked her fin and effortlessly slid through the water behind Hector. Breathing from the regulator was like sucking between teeth, providing a slight rush of oxygen to the blood. The inflated vest, tight around her chest, balanced the tank firmly along her spine and caught the soft currents, buoying her up and down in smooth swells.
Hector pointed to a colorful reef and they slowed. An octopus ambled on its tentacles across a field of rocks. Bright orange and white clown fish snickered in and out of gem colored anemones. Soft coral swayed in the ebb and flow.
Hector led them over a wall and a mild surge picked them up, floated them along at a leisurely pace. Her mind wandered.
“Want to go for a swim?” Josh had yelled out as she approached along the infinity pool perched over the harbor at Hong Kong Four Seasons Hotel. The temperature was perfectly hot, without humidity, and the sunset was staining the sky purple. The pool lights flickered on, illuminating the crystal clear water.
She reached his lounge chair. “Absolutely!”
They set champagne glasses at the pool’s edge and executed two perfectly matched dives. Anyone watching would have noticed the tiny ripples that ringed out from pointed toes and would have been forgiven for thinking them a long-term couple. They came to rest, arms folded on the pool’s edge, and gazed out at the night’s darkness descending over Kowloon.
She lifted her glass and took a sip. “This is nice.”
“This is the superb.”
She laughed and nodded around at the opulence. “Impressive what working in extractives can do.”
“Trust me, my soul was corrupted long before I sold it to oil. But these five-star hotels, the first-class travel, and the top rated restaurants do not hurt, I must admit.”
Their rapport was natural, easy. She felt herself relaxing into the moment. “Must be nice.”
“It’s really nice.”
“What’s the best part?”
He grinned, “I’m not sure. Maybe being in charge? I don’t have to report to anyone directly, so I get to schedule my own time, my meetings. I get to choose the hotels.”
“You chose this one?”
He puffed his tan, athletic chest. “Of course.”
To distill the slight tingle that ran up her spine, she sipped her champagne and scissored her legs in the water. She wanted the lightness between them to last forever. “What’s your favorite thing to do in Hong Kong?”
He gave her a dramatic, sideways leer full of sexual interest.
She laughed out loud. “I mean other than that.”
He grinned. “I love the boat rides. I am always trying to get people to go with me on a day trip. I hate that everybody has to work so much. If I could get a crowd, I’d hire a bartender and a chef and we’d pack the boat to the gills with booze and go tootling off for the day.”
“Tootling off?” she cracked up. He was unusually carefree and buoyant. It was incredibly appealing.
“Yeah, tootling.” He shifted closer. “How’s Hong Kong treating you?” he asked gently.
“Good.” She deflected, “How’s KL?”
“Same, same.” He took a sip. “How’s work?”
“Fine.”
“And how have you been?” He stared at her intently, suggesting a meaning deeper than the superficial question.
“Good.”
His face softened, his voice was gentle. “You’ve been good?”
She gave him a questioning look. Why was he repeating the question? She nodded.
“I haven’t been,” he said. “I missed you.”
She swallowed. Keeping a safe distance between them was starting to be difficult. In her ear, she heard her mother’s viper whisper, “You are less than I expected.” Turning to him, hoping wildly that this wasn’t some cruel game, she tried to keep her tone light. “It’s only
been a week.”
“A long week. I felt it.” His voice was serious.
She blinked. She didn’t know what to say. His eyes were clear and he seemed sincere.
He asked softly, “Did you miss me?”
Her defenses began to drop. “I thought about you,” she admitted.
“I’ll take that as a ‘yes.’”
He brought an arm through the water around her waist and pulled her to him. His hands on her back were firm. This close, his shoulders towered over her. “Can I kiss you?”
Her instincts told her to trust him. Her nod was slight and childlike.
The kiss was tender.
Just as she closed her eyes and leaned into him, he pulled back. He wanted her eyes open. She smiled to let him know the moment was not lost on her. She thought, all our flirting, our shared jokes, and the sexual innuendos have led to this moment. Yes, Josh Halloway, I will try to let you in. I will try to let you know me. I will try to show you I am valuable.
He smiled, pulled her tightly up against his chest, and kissed her deeply. The world around them faded.
She passed up her tank to Hector who hauled it into the boat then handed over her fins to the captain and pulled herself up into the boat.
“That was fantastic!” she said. “What about that eel?”
Hector nodded enthusiastically.
They stowed away the equipment and the captain started the engine.
She positioned herself next to Hector for the ride home. “How many folks you get coming out here these days?”
“We do a dive probably three times a week. The weekends are better. People come from KL to go diving. The coral is good. The fish are good.”
“A friend came out here a few weeks ago. Recommended it to me.”
“Oh, yeah?” he asked. “Who was that?”
“A guy named Josh Halloway.”
“Sure. I know Josh. He dives with us quite a bit.”
Her heart picked up. Hector was the first human lead on Josh.
She stared toward Miri as the boat dipped and rode the swells. She must tread carefully with Hector. In the past, she would have been direct but she had learned that a source could spook if pushed too hard, too early. In a situation like this, you had to build trust. “When was he last here?”
Hector turned away and blinked quickly.
There. That was something. He knew something.
Hector spoke in Bahasa Malaysia to the captain, leaned over, and started airing out the respirators. He was avoiding her. “I don’t know, maybe a few weeks ago.”
“Did he dive with you?”
“Of course.” He kept his head down and his hands working on equipment.
She let time pass as the boat motored toward the shoreline.
Eventually, she asked, “Does Josh stay at the Marriott too?”
Hector hefted a tank and moved it up to the bow.
She waited him out.
When he returned near her, he tried to appear dismissive. “He stays down at a place out of town. A quiet place.”
“What’s it called? Would I like it there?”
“Miri Beach Resort.”
She nodded. It was enough for now. It was a solid lead. It made her feel surprisingly hopeful. Maybe Josh was hiding out at Miri Beach Resort.
She would visit Hector again later if she needed to.
The drumbeat of the ocean filled the Marriott hotel room as the sun set. Salt was heavy in the air. She logged into the cloud site that housed the video feed from Josh’s oil executive apartment. The grainy black and white image showed an empty apartment. She lit a cigarette, poured herself a white wine, and sat back. There were ten hours of recorded feed to get through. Even on fast forward, that was a two-hour process.
At the 6 p.m. time stamp, the cast of the sunset angled down across the wall and shadows filled in behind its retreat. The glow from a lamp widened around the room.
When she reached the 11:15 p.m. stamp on the video, she sat forward, and quickly tapped the laptop’s space bar to pause the video. On the screen, an extremely large, muscled man stepped from the shadows of the hallway and into the dark living room.
She lightened the screen and zoomed in on the image.
He was exceptionally large with thick arms that hung away from his body.
She tapped the space bar, moving the video forward in spurts. On the screen, the huge man stepped into view. His movements were calm and deliberate like a shark circling prey. He stood and examined the room, then walked to the window and closed the curtains. He flicked on the lights.
She leaned in and dimmed the screen’s brightness.
With languorous movements, he tossed sofa cushions on the floor and rifled through the drawers. He lifted the coffee table on an angle and examined its underside. Effortlessly, he turned over a chair.
She watched him with an intense stillness.
His calm was unsettling, but these were rookie moves. Nobody leaves important items in a couch or taped under a coffee table. He missed the larger items, the heavy items. The huge man was wasting his time.
He walked out of the frame.
She lit a cigarette and continued to tap the space bar, advancing the video a minute at a time. She imagined he was in the bedroom, flipping the mattress and ripping open the drawers. She inhaled deeply, glued to the screen as her finger hit the keyboard.
Tap, tap, tap.
He stepped into view.
She lifted her finger.
He stared at the TV on the stand.
She leaned in close. He looked Samoan. He had large ears and a huge jaw. Dark skin.
Tap, tap, tap.
He stepped into the center of the room.
What was he doing?
Tap, tap.
He turned.
Tap.
He tilted his face upwards and pitch black eyes stared directly into the hidden camera. He never blinked.
She pushed back in her chair.
The Samoan squinted at the camera.
Tap, tap, tap.
His hand reached out, looming large.
Her heart beat raced.
Tap, tap.
Languidly, the hand grew larger.
She held her breath.
Tap.
The screen went black--he had pulled out the camera.
She sat back and let out a long slow exhale of smoke. What was this guy doing in Josh’s apartment? The fear returned like a cold mist in her veins. This had to be related to Josh’s disappearance. It was too well timed—less than a week after Josh had disappeared and now this creepy Samoan was searching the apartment.
Her mind spun through the possibilities. She doubted he was government. His search techniques were too basic. It had taken him some time to figure out the hidden camera. She concluded Josh wasn’t caught up in a government trap.
Perhaps the Samoan was involved with Josh on a personal level? But he hadn’t appeared to know Josh’s apartment well—it was as if it was his first time there. So probably not personal.
The Samoan had to be related to something private. Corporate. This wasn’t good. Individuals working for the private sector didn’t follow the same rules. Often they broke the law. And got away with it.
Josh, what have you gotten yourself wrapped up in?
She couldn’t shake the fear. She reversed the video and watched the entire sequence again in real time. He hadn’t hesitated in his actions, but they didn’t appear to be planned. He was there to search the apartment, but not for anything in particular. He was after Josh.
She copied the image of the Samoan’s face and logged into an Agency sanctioned chat room. She left a message addressed to someone code-named 89, “42 here.”
Five minutes later, a message appeared in the chat room. “Hey 42. Waz up?”
“I need a job done. Fairly quickly. You got time?”
“Abso. What project code do I need to use?”
“I don’t have one assigned yet. And I need it fast.”
“Dude, you know that’s against Agency policy.”
She smiled. 89 had no idea she was a woman. She typed, “Yup.”
The chat room remained silent for a long time. Finally 89 responded, “That important?”
“Yes,” she typed. Then she added, “It’s for Josh Halloway.”
He was quick to respond. “Okay. Farthest left grape.” He had supplied her with a website address which she opened. It was a sub-site on the Met Museum webpage—a past exhibit with a painting by Caravaggio called the Musicians. She ran her cursor over the farthest left grape in the painting and double clicked.
A new chat room opened up. He had already left her a message. “For Josh, I’ll do anything. What do you guys need?”
She loaded up the face of the Samoan. “Can you ID this guy?”
A few minutes later, he typed again. “Nice mug shot. That guy looks like he eats 200 lb. weights for breakfast.”
Mac’s lips tightened into a straight, grim line. 89 was right. The Samoan was huge and sinister. She did not like where this op was going. She suddenly feared what she would find tomorrow at Miri Beach Resort.
Josh, damn it, what are you messed up in?
9
Langley, VA
Instead of writing the cover note as instructed by O’Dore, Joyce Terrell Tattle had spent another three hours on the internet trying to find out more about Malay Petro Reliance. She had failed to turn up anything.
She said to the felt cubicle wall, “I need to find out who bought this shelf company.”
From the other side, Anatoli answered, “Dude, O’Dore called you off that hours ago. You need to write up that cover note.”
“What if—just hypothetically--the new owner is somehow related to Islamic extremists or some terrorist group?”
