Sea of Lies: An Espionage Thriller

by Bradley West

  “My man convinced Iran’s rulers to send their chief nuclear scientist to chaperone the toxic cargo under civilian cover to prove to China that Iran already had the bomb. That way, China would be convinced to help upgrade Iran’s trigger and centrifuge designs without technically violating the nonproliferation treaties.

  “The Iranian scientist and the nuclear doodads made for a priceless cargo. Hell, I’d have given a division of Marines for him alone, while the triggers are worth ten thousand civilian lives. We win twice over if the Iranians think their top scientist dead, even as he tells us the program’s deepest secrets.

  “In combination, all this underlines the necessity of the US using Israel to destroy Iran’s nuclear facilities. Next week in Canberra, I’ll present unassailable evidence to our station chief and US ambassador. Before the week is out, Obama will fly me to Washington to make the in-person case for preemptive action. Before the month is over, Iran’s nuclear facilities will be rubble, and I’ll be reinstated as the ADDCO.”

  “In my country, you would be convicted of murder and shot,” said Kaili.

  Coulter took a long look at her. “There’s no turning back for any of us. You’re playing Hold ’em at the top table, darling.” Turning to the guard, he said, “Sandy, please ask Mr. Wong to join us.”

  Sandy opened the door, momentarily blinding them with morning sunlight. The three of them were left alone in the artificially brightened shadows, blinking away tears. Nolan looked at Kaili to see if she wanted to join him in attacking Coulter, but she shook her head. Fair enough: his left arm and hand were still useless. A moment later, their guard returned with one other person.

  “Ms. Yu, meet Mr. Wong, a countryman of yours." The two Asians eyed one another warily. “Mr. Wong, this is one of my oldest ex-colleagues, Bob Nolan.”

  Before Wong could say a word, Kaili spoke. “Zhao Zhiyuan! Traitor!” Zhao started at the sound of his name, and the use of Mandarin.

  In English, Zhao said, “I’m sorry, madam, but you have confused me for another.”

  Kaili switched to English. “This is Rear Admiral Zhao Zhiyuan, head of PLA Unit #61398. Liu Zhenchang long thought you were a spy. And here you are, living proof of your betrayal!”

  Zhao turned to Coulter with an inquisitive look. Coulter waved his arm in an expansive gesture.

  “So you must be the famous Yu Kaili from Counter Intelligence. You were very persistent, but never clever enough to catch me. What brought you here?”

  “Director Liu knew you were involved in the hijacking when he learned you were on that plane. Even while under house arrest, such was Comrade Liu’s stature that he had me reassigned to Singapore to find out more. Nolan was working within the CIA to do the same thing. I convinced Nolan to take me to Sri Lanka. The FSB was trying to kidnap Watermen and Nolan to turn them over to the Americans. Nolan and I barely escaped the Russians, Americans and our people. Nolan determined that Coulter would be here, so that’s where we flew after Sri Lanka. And I thought you would be here, too.”

  “So what is your plan now, Yu Kaili?” Zhao asked archly.

  “I will learn more of your treason, and then I will kill you.”

  Zhao pulled a small automatic pistol out of his right front pants pocket. “Any time you want to kill me, please feel free to try.”

  Coulter stood up and pulled his chair three feet to the left and out of the line of fire. He sat back down and cleared his throat. “Let’s be civil, y’all. Everyone take a deep breath. Bob, I have a question for you.”

  “Shoot.”

  “How do you hope ever to get out of here alive?”

  “I don’t. I spent my life savings, destroyed my marriage and ended my career under suspicion. I wanted to know the truth about MH370 and make certain you were caught. I’m still on the CIA payroll until the end of the month. As long as I die before then, there’s a five-million-dollar death benefit. That’s the least I can do for my wife and children.”

  “You have been on a suicide mission?” Kaili asked incredulously.

  “We’ve both been. I just didn’t know what yours was until a moment ago.”

  Wilbur Wollam burst into the shed, startling everyone. “Sorry to interrupt, mates, but I thought you might like to know that the Yanks and Chinese fought over some disputed islands claimed by Japan and China off the north coast of Taiwan.”

  “The Diaoyus,” said Kaili.

  “No, those aren’t the ones,” said Wollam.

  Zhao said, “Japan calls them the Senkakus.”

  “Yes, those’re them,” said Wollam. “Well, it seems Uncle Sam was too much for you lot and sank over twenty ships, and shot down thirty planes without suffering much more than a scratched knee. China’s run up the white flag, and there’s a UN-sponsored ceasefire in effect. Just heard on the shortwave that President Gao resigned a few minutes ago. Does any of this matter?”

  Coulter gave a shrug.

  “Who is the new president of China?” asked Kaili.

  “That I don’t know, but if you’d like I’ll ask one of the guards to tell us when he finds out.”

  “Yes, please,” said Zhao. Wollam left, and the door mercifully swung shut again.

  CHAPTER SIXTY

  OKLAHOMA HOLD’EM

  FRIDAY NIGHT, MARCH 14, WEAVERVILLE, CALIFORNIA;

  SATURDAY MARCH 15, COLOMBO, WESTERN AUSTRALIA

  “What kind of CIA spy names his home after Hitler’s mountain retreat?” Big Duck asked.

  The light from Bert’s phone app showed Kehlsteinhaus carved into a wooden sign hanging from an electric gate that operated remotely. “How do you know this means Eagle’s Nest in German?” Bert asked.

  “Because I’m a modern history major. That was the name of Hitler’s mansion in the Bavarian Alps when he ruled Germany. This house belongs to some sort of Nazi.”

  The gate buzzed open and through a tinny speaker, a woman’s voice said, “Come on up the hill. I’ll turn on the footlights.”

  They looked at each other and Bert shrugged. “Doubt the Brown Turd would have made it up that slope anyway.” The big wire cutters in his hand looked out of place, so he chucked them back into the open trunk.

  Big Duck said, “Don’t forget to lock it. We wouldn’t want Jen’s car to get stolen.” In lieu of a reply, Nolan started trudging up the steep driveway. McGirty called behind him, “When this is over, are you really going to hang with Jen in that cabin? I thought you bought those groceries, borrowed her car and convinced her to hide out on the promise that you’d be back soon for a week of bongo-bongo.”

  “I don’t think Jen and I will be keeping house in the woods anytime soon.”

  * * * * *

  Deshan Pathmarajah adjusted the angle of the hospital bed via pushbutton. Forty-five degrees was high enough so he could see the laptop screen, but not so high that his injured chest began to throb again. Using only his left hand—his right side being wrapped in bandages—he waited for internet coverage.

  He went into his Tor inbox and found Nolan’s email exposing Anatoly Chumakov’s corruption and illegal leasing of Russia’s FSB servers to an international cyber terrorist from Lebanon named Abouzeid, possibly in the employ of Iran. He addressed it to a Colombo-based BBC journalist he knew, and copied it to CNN. Pathmarajah’s cover note suggested a tie-in between the giant DDOS launched against the NGA and this activity, and noted that Chumakov was the same person badly injured in the firefight that took Mark Watermen’s life. He hit the send button, keeping his promise to Nolan.

  Now for reciprocity: Nolan needed to make good on payment of his hospital bills and legal fees. He would need expensive lawyers as he faced a capital kidnapping charge with regard to the death of the train driver at the hands of the China sniper.

  * * * * *

  TAC Communications Specialist Chonga was busier than a one-legged man in an arse-kicking contest. Colonel Jones and Lieutenant McCullough had an argy-bargy without regard to rank, decorum or the finer points of the Australian langua
ge that ended when Jonesy told Macca he was going to be charged with insubordination if he didn’t shut the fuck up. The orders were to remain at Truscott Field on operational standby. Under no circumstances were they to engage or follow anyone or anything. They were to take Bob Nolan into custody should he reappear, and shoot him if he resisted.

  To add insult to injury, the three Black Hawk helicopters arrived and were in position just two klicks to the south. Twenty-four troops were awaiting orders to swoop down and kill an international terrorist and traitor; only Nolan was a fifty-four-year-old geezer with a crook left arm and already someone else’s prisoner. Macca wondered whether Jonesy was dragging his feet before passing along the revised rules of engagement. It smelled more and more of bullshit. Macca fumed a while longer and made up his mind. Maybe lieutenant was as far as he was going to go in this man’s SAS.

  “Chonga, call Perth and get the MH370 task force comms officer on the line. Tell him I need to speak with Air Marshal Dallas Finch, personally and urgently. Say it’s Malcolm McCullough’s boy Ian, and I’ve got something on MH370 for his ears only.” Macca had no idea if Nolan or this situation had anything to do with MH370. What he did know was that earlier this week, the prime minister had hauled Air Marshal Finch out of retirement to head up the Perth-based air-and-sea search operation for MH370. So if he wanted to go over Colonel Jones’s head, he’d have to grab the old man’s attention.

  Frankie Chong grinned and shook his head. Macca had the balls of a Mallee bull, that was for certain. He went back on the radio.

  * * * * *

  “Yu Kaili, do you know why China’s defenses were impotent against the US? Because I sabotaged them.”

  “That’s preposterous. You run a drab building in Pudong full of pimply-faced hackers and pretend it’s a grand patriotic undertaking.”

  “Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong. I play many key roles. Did you know I was responsible for China’s contributions to the DDOS against the NGA? Did you think for a second that this attack could succeed when I’d tipped off the CIA months ago? It was through Operation Menander that I persuaded Farrokhzad to travel to Beijing. That fool thought he would show off bomb-grade U-235, and China then would give Iran the designs for missile warhead triggers while helping to repair their pathetic centrifuges. Who do you think encouraged this delusional thinking? Me.”

  Nolan decided Zhao was the most arrogant person he’d ever met, including Lloyd Matthews and Dick Constantine. “Where is the nuclear scientist?” was the question he asked.

  “In the interrogation shed over there,” Coulter said as he gestured over his shoulder.

  “So you’re torturing him?”

  “Does that surprise you? Dr. Farrokhzad would detonate a dirty bomb in a Dallas elementary school as soon as step on a bug. He’s the number one man on the Mossad’s assassination list. We’re de-risking this adversary one piece at a time.”

  Nolan shuddered inwardly, knowing this description could well end up fitting him. “It sounds like you already have everything you need to prove your case. Why torture?”

  “Oh, I’m sure he’s told us many lies since my man took charge yesterday. He’s cross-checking the information already in hand to resolve inconsistencies. Sometimes interrogation subjects require additional inducements to help their memories.”

  Kaili’s question brought Nolan back to the present. “So what does a failed DDOS have to do with China’s inability to defend itself against the US?”

  Coulter supplied his Ah, shucks grin. “Because China’s next-generation offensive and defensive radars rely on friend or foe identification codes. We had our people on the inside tap the network generating the codes so our aircraft could penetrate the mainland’s air defenses without drawing fire. The new USAF electronic countermeasures were tailored to the specifics of the ground-to-air missiles’ targeting algorithms, so these were defeated as well. It’s amazing how persuasive evidence of large-scale corruption can be, particularly when your illicit life savings are subject to confiscation in Singapore, and you and your family’s and lives forfeit.”

  “Prentice Dupree!” spat out Nolan.

  Coulter looked at him quizzically. “Of course! You’re the one who restaged the crime scene. Yes, Dupree provided the information on the military figures others we later blackmailed. That young woman was a genius. Without her, we’d have never been able to convert five percent of the PLA senior officer corps into Agency assets. She was burned out. If she had talked to the press, we’d have never won this war.”

  “You ordered her death, didn’t you? How could the retired ADDCO order the murder of an agent? You want us to believe that you alone organized and funded the biggest hijacking in history? This is CIA top to bottom, with plausible deniability layered on top. Perkins has to be in on it. It was probably his idea in the first place.”

  “Billy Perkins only had one original idea in his life,” Coulter said with a smile, but his eyes were filled with hate.

  Nolan looked around. Kaili sat in shock. Sandy stood by the door with a smirk. Zhao was a devil with dead eyes and a toothpaste commercial smile. Coulter and Zhao were going to get away with it, and they knew it. He snapped. “Well, it didn’t all work out as per the plan, did it? Let’s not forget your pal Rob Teller. He died screaming in agony.”

  “Tell me about Robin’s death. I haven’t yet received the details,” Coulter said with exaggerated calm, eyes averted, but body stiffening.

  “His head was sawed off by Wa Army troops that he’d cheated previously. The Wa took their time over him. And the hijacking copilot, Mullen. He confessed and—”

  Coulter burst out laughing.

  “Matthews, Burns and Constantine are all locked up. You’re not home free by any stretch,” Nolan said, but he could see he’d missed the mark.

  Coulter stood up. “I reckon we’re done here. Thanks for playin’. Sandy, introduce Ms. Yu and Mr. Nolan to Elvis. Admiral Zhao, gin rummy to a hundred fifty, twenty-five cents a point?”

  “Make it fifty cents a point. This is a lucky day; of that I am certain.”

  CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

  THE LIZARD CAGE

  FRIDAY MARCH 14, FORT MEADE, MARYLAND; WEAVERVILLE, CALIFORNIA; SATURDAY MARCH 15, ADMIRALTY GULF, WESTERN AUSTRALIA; TRUSCOTT FIELD, WESTERN AUSTRALIA

  “Director Weill?” The NSA in-house postman was out of breath.

  “Yes, what is it?” Weill was still reeling from the events of the last twelve hours: the euphoria at thwarting the DDOS, the Acapulco double-cross that could still cost him his job, the defeat of China in the shortest war in US history, and the cornucopia of new information that NGA and their NSA customers were processing, both in arrears and real time . . . well, he was overwhelmed.

  “I need you to sign for an Eyes-Only courier packet from our Sri Lanka embassy.” Weill initialed and took the small box into his hands. Dispensing with security protocol on this auspicious day, he decided to open it himself. Inside multiple cardboard boxes was bubble wrap, and inside that, a yellow 64GB thumb drive. The accompanying handwritten note was signed Gretchen Doyle, Chief of Station, Colombo, and attested to this drive’s having been found inside a small plastic bag taped to a cricket ball on the very beach where Mark Watermen had died. It was likely to contain some version of Watermen’s NSA files. Could he see if there were any links to Watermen’s accomplice?

  Of course he could. With pleasure. Weill turned on the squawk box. “Buster! Come in here. I have something new for Team Nolan to work on.”

  * * * * *

  Zhao decided he didn’t want to play gin rummy after all. He stepped outside and trailed the guard and two prisoners down the beach. Inside the high-tide line on the gently sloping sand was a cage wrought from three-quarter-inch steel reinforcement rod, bent and welded into a giant box thirty-three feet long by ten feet wide by five feet high. Inside was an enormous crocodile. Zhao knew Wollam called it Elvis “because he’s the King,” although he didn’t understand the humor that others fou
nd in that explanation.

  It was low tide, so the cage was dry. Flies swarmed around the remains of a water buffalo’s hindquarters. The crocodile looked as if it were fifteen feet long and four feet wide across its shoulders. It was lying next to the carcass, mouth open to shed heat. The croc ignored their approach.

  Zhao stood silently while the guard instructed the two prisoners on the opening of the cage door. “Right-ho! In you go, both of you. Come on now.” Nolan seemed more accepting of his fate than the woman. He hunched and went in without quibble. She resisted and twisted.

  Catching sight of Zhao, the two antagonists stared each other down. Finally he broke the silence, speaking in Mandarin. “Come with me. It won’t save you, but after I’m done I promise you a quick bullet rather than being torn apart in this filthy cage.” She nodded and Zhao said, “One at a time, Sandy. Later, come get her in my cabin. For now, I will play.”

  Sandy’s eyes lit up. “Fair dinkum, Jack.” Kaili closed the gap toward Zhao, leaving Nolan behind without a word or backward glance. Zhao walked up the beach, left hand clutching his prize above her right elbow, small automatic pistol in his right hand pointed casually at her midriff.

  The guard slung the cage door closed and added a large padlock. Nolan stood stooped near the entrance, making his peace with a long-neglected God. Elvis faced the ocean, oblivious to his presence. How long that serendipitous state would last was anyone’s guess. It was already hotter than Hades. Nolan’s mouth was dry and his left arm useless. His only weapon was a plastic knife he’d secreted inside his sling earlier that morning.

  * * * * *

  For the wife of a retiree, Joanna Coulter was young and attractive. Bert put her in her early forties. He rationalized that you couldn’t be ugly or poor and own a wellness center, even if it was in Bumfuck, California. From the front porch of an imposing timber, stone and glass house, she beckoned the young men inside. The living area was breathtaking, featuring a twenty-foot cathedral ceiling, a glass wall with a view down a timber-covered hillside, and a two-story flagstone fireplace fronted by a grizzly rug and heavy wooden furniture. Joanna had a fire burning to ward off the evening chill. They declined the proffered array of spirits, mostly ancient bourbons. She nursed what looked like a Martini.