“You okay?” Tom asked his brother.
Max gave him the OK signal with one hand as he held his chest with another and caught his breath. “Just peachy.”
Tom smiled.
The duo searched him for intel. Tom took his wallet and keys while Max confiscated his cell phone. Max examined the phone more closely—it appeared to be locked with a biometric reader. Max held the spy’s fingers to the reader one by one until the phone unlocked. Then he used it to log in to Young’s website so he could hack the contents of the phone.
Max pulled out his own phone. “I’ll call NCIS to pick us up.” He made the call.
“You know where we are?” Tom asked.
Max shook his head. “Do you?”
“I will in a moment.” Tom took out his phone and checked his GPS. Then he showed the address to Max.
Max requested an extraction from NCIS and gave their location.
After Max finished the call, he said, “We should really go back and apologize to that poor lady. She looked pretty shaken up.”
“Since when do you do apologies?” Tom asked.
“Since now.”
“It’ll be a bit of a walk to apologize to the lady whose moped we borrowed,” Tom said.
“Huh?” Max asked.
As they waited for their extraction, they discussed what they’d do if someone spotted them on the stairs. Minutes later, a pungent stench filled the air. “Did you fart?” Max asked.
“Thought you did.” Then Tom pointed his nose at the spy. “He did.”
“Smells like he shit himself,” Max said.
The spy vomited.
Max scrunched up his nose. “Damn!”
“How hard did you hit him?” Tom asked.
“Not that hard,” Max said. “You hit him harder than me.”
“Not that hard,” Tom said.
The stink of feces and vomit made Max gag. He grabbed the spy and said, “What the hell’s wrong with you? Stop it.”
The spy ceased vomiting, closed his eyes, and became still.
Max used his fingers to pry the spy’s eyes open and looked at his pupils. “He’s unconscious.” Then Max gave him a shake, trying to bring him to. “Something ain’t right.”
The sound of footsteps came from below.
Max’s pulse quickened.
“NCIS,” a voice came.
Hearing the voice was a relief. “We’re up here,” Max said.
The spy regained consciousness, but he seemed too weak to stand, so Max and the NCIS agent carried him down the stairs while Tom covered them. Then they escorted the spy to a vehicle.
In the backseat of the car, the spy passed out again. Max tried to wake him, but this time there was no response. Max checked for a pulse—nothing. He put his cheek next to the spy’s lips to feel for breath—nothing. His chest didn’t rise or fall either.
“He’s dead,” Max said.
17
A glorious sunrise warmed Max as he strolled out of the Navy Lodge on base with Tom and June.
“Max, I’m sorry about what I said about Mom the other day,” Tom said. “I know—”
Max held out his hand to cut him off from saying more. “Don’t start going all Cinderella on me.”
“Okay, freak,” Tom said playfully.
“Ass wipe.”
They both laughed.
Max’s phone rang, but the caller ID displayed a number he didn’t recognize.
“Hello,” Max answered.
“This is Admiral Bolton’s office,” a man’s voice said. Mr. Ice Water.
Max stopped feeling the warmth. “Max here.”
“Admiral Bolton would like to see you this morning as soon as possible.”
“Could you tell me what this is regarding?” Max asked.
“He just wants to see you now.” The voice was impersonal and gave no indication of praise or punishment.
“We’re on our way,” Max said.
The call ended and Max, Tom, and June got in their car.
“Who was that?” Tom asked.
Max took the wheel. “Admiral Bolton’s office. He wants to see us. Probably to congratulate us.”
“I have a feeling he’s not going to congratulate us.”
When Max, Tom, and June arrived in Admiral Bolton’s stateroom aboard the USS Blue Ridge, he remained seated and didn’t offer the three a seat. They waited for him to say something, but he just sat there studying them.
“Twenty-eight thousand seven hundred and fifty-eight dollars,” Admiral Bolton burst out.
“Pardon?” Max asked.
“No pardons!” Admiral Bolton raised his voice. “Bodywork for one car door, a new front end and alignment for two cars and a delivery truck, hospitalization for one delivery driver, replacement of two mopeds, and glass repair for one sliding glass window. That’s just the start. The Japanese woman whose apartment you burst into is talking about suing the Navy.”
Max looked at Tom and said, “I told you we should’ve apologized.”
Admiral Bolton gave Max the evil eye. “And the man you apprehended is dead,” he said.
“How did he die, sir?” Max asked.
“Heart failure.” The XO pointed at him and Tom. “I should have you two thrown in the brig. We don’t tolerate this kind of behavior. Not on this base.”
“What does Admiral Earp think about our apprehending a spy?” Max asked. Surely the Seventh Fleet commander couldn’t be this pissed, too.
The admiral raised his voice. “Admiral Earp is too busy putting out all the fires you started! He doesn’t have time to think. That’s why he told me to take care of you three. I knew the minute you people first came aboard that you’d be nothing but trouble.”
“If that anthrax is used, there will be trouble,” Max reminded him.
“I’m not going to argue with you. I was up with Admiral Earp until late last night.”
Tom seemed to relish the thought of Admiral Earp and his XO up late at night. Normally, Tom was the steady brother and Max the cheeky, brash one, but Tom had a hard time resisting such an easy dig at the Navy. “Navy,” Tom mumbled, “one thousand men go to sea and five hundred couples return.”
“What was that?!” the XO shouted.
June stood stiff in frozen silence.
Max punched Tom’s shoulder. “Nothing, sir,” Max said. “The last time we met in here, you and Admiral Earp seemed interested in preventing the anthrax threat.”
“There is no anthrax threat. You don’t have any intel regarding when or how. It’s not a threat until it’s actually a threat. I didn’t tell you to wreak havoc on our base and out in Yokosuka.”
“What did you expect us to do, sir, hold hands with the spy and sing ‘Kumbaya’?” Max asked.
“You SEALs are all the same—high maintenance and low output. Basic Under Developed Sense, that’s what BUD/S stands for.” He was slamming Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL training. “I didn’t expect you to do anything. Admiral Earp wanted you here.”
“We’ll try to be more careful, sir,” June said.
“Not on this base,” Admiral Bolton said.
“I don’t understand,” Max said.
Admiral Bolton took a deep breath, and his lips formed into a smile. “You’re finished with surveillance. Base security will take over. Your job is to pack up your things and get out of here. You have twenty-four hours to vacate the base. Dismissed.”
Max fixed his eyes on Admiral Bolton in disbelief. Tom and June seemed just as stunned.
“Dismissed!” Admiral Bolton shouted.
Still in shock, Max departed the admiral’s office, with Tom and June right behind him.
18
Late in the afternoon, in a Chinese safe house, an apartment overlooking the US Navy base in Yokosuka, Zhao and Wei stood on the balcony taking in the view. Zhao pointed to the base with its clusters of buildings and ships tied to the piers. “He’s out there, searching for me,” Zhao said in a meditative tone.
“Who is?” Wei asked.
“The man with no face. He moves like a bai hu, searching.”
“A man who moves like a white tiger, sir?”
“I have a recurring dream of a man whose face I can’t see. He is a warrior, like me, but he’s American. And we meet in the woods—just the two of us. He has his pistol, and I have mine. We stand there like gentlemen. Until one of us makes the first move. The result of the battle decides the outcome of the war between China and America.”
“A duel for eternity,” Wei said. “It is like you, sir, timeless.”
Zhao’s heart pumped large, and his lungs filled with air, expanding his chest. Although he imagined himself big enough to touch the sun, he had to reimagine himself—shrink in stature. Infiltrate the base. “I don’t know who caused yesterday’s disturbance on the base, but it seems to have calmed down. Security has increased, but that shouldn’t be an issue. And I’ve been looking over Admiral Earp’s medical records.” A year ago, the People’s Liberation Army Unit 61398, China’s cyberwarfare unit located in Shanghai, hacked into the US Navy’s medical records and obtained Admiral Earp’s records in support of Operation Autumn Wind. Unit 61398 had also provided Zhao’s team with photos of the admiral, a map of the base, and other useful information. Operator 884, the Freak, had confirmed the intel.
Zhao continued. “The admiral was an asthmatic child, but swimming helped him overcome it. Recently the asthma returned, and he swims at the base pool two evenings a week before he goes home. Operator 884 reported the days and times.”
“It’s useful information, sir.”
“Yes, I think tonight I’ll go for a swim. And kill him at the pool. Then the first phase, Autumn Wind Horizontal, will be complete.” He strolled into his bedroom and stripped naked. He put on a pair of triathlon swim shorts, and he envisioned blending into his target area—the pool. He would have to travel unnoticed across the base to get there. Over his shorts, he put on a US naval officer’s trousers. Then he donned the shirt of his uniform and buttoned it. Piece by piece of his disguise, he transformed into another being. He picked up a wallet and fingered through the American dollars. Behind the dollars were a couple Japanese bills, which an officer would likely carry for using off base. He checked his Navy ID. The money was real, but the ID had been forged by MSS. The idea was to be prepared at a moment’s notice to launch Autumn Wind. He was happy to have secured the ID before his falling out with them.
For this target, he carried no weapons other than himself.
He returned to Wei on the balcony and said, “After I finish, I’ll return, and we’ll vacate the safe house. Our pilot is standing by with our private jet to fly us out of here.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll be ready. See you soon.”
Zhao left him without a word and exited the apartment. For convenience and to conserve energy, he rode the elevator down. Outside of the building, the air was cool. He walked several blocks to the US Navy base’s gate, and his body warmed. He showed his ID to the guard and looked him in the eye. The guard saluted him, and Zhao crisply returned the salute before strolling through.
On base, wearing his uniform and seeing the other uniforms, he felt at one with his surroundings. Operator 884 had provided him a current map of the base, and he’d memorized his route to the target area, along with possible escape routes. It was helpful that he’d covertly infiltrated the base years ago as part of a practice run, but this time was for real. The sidewalk curved to the northeast, and he turned right and cut through the hospital area. A group of women sailors saluted him. In China, the female sailors required separate berthing, separate shitters, and separate washing machines and dryers for their clothes—an unnecessary burden on the men. And Zhao guessed that these women were a burden, too. Window dressing. He returned their salute and passed them.
Soon he passed the fast food restaurants, and the drive-through reminded him of Americans’ lack of patience. A fat man in civilian clothes walked into the restaurant, symbolic of Western gluttony. But these thoughts from an outsider wouldn’t help him blend in, so he cleared them from his mind.
He found Building 3354. Except for the number, the building appeared similar to the other white and tan buildings on base. He casually walked inside and showed his ID to an Asian man who smiled with stained teeth and held out his hand. Zhao passed him the card, and the Asian man ran it through a card reader. Then the man returned the card. Zhao proceeded into the dressing room, where he found a locker. There he disrobed and showered, then entered the pool area.
The Olympic-sized Navy pool had less of a “clean smell” to it than mainland China pools, but many people didn’t understand that the clean smell was actually piss and sweat mixing with chlorine to form chloramines. In other words, the Navy pool was quite clean. But whether the water was clean or dirty, Zhao had a job to do. He would accomplish his mission, even if it meant crushing his own bones into glue.
Among the swimmers, loungers, and lifeguard, the admiral was nowhere in sight. But that was okay, because Zhao didn’t expect him for another hour. He entered the heated pool and swam for fifteen minutes, being careful not to swim too fast or for too long and draw unwanted attention. When he stopped for a break and discreetly looked around, the lifeguard and the others in the pool didn’t seem to notice him. The water didn’t sting his eyes as much as pools in China. It surprised him how fresh the pool was. Maybe they’d just cleaned it.
Zhao killed some time by stepping out of the pool and sitting casually on a bench, absorbing his surroundings. The recreational pools in China he’d experienced were too crowded for swimming, and Zhao avoided them. China’s military training pools were scarce and small in size. It was difficult to comprehend that the US had both recreational and training pools on base. He was jealous and could understand the admiral’s fondness for coming here.
As the time approached for the admiral’s arrival, Zhao slipped back into the water. A large clock on the wall displayed the time: 1800. It was the time when the admiral normally arrived, but he wasn’t present. Zhao began to wonder if Operator 884’s information was inaccurate, or if something happened to make the admiral change his schedule. He pretended to relax in the water, but he couldn’t help think: Maybe this is a trap.
At 1813, Admiral Earp exited the locker room and entered the pool area. Zhao swam slowly, using his peripheral vision to watch his target without thinking about him. Zhao cleared his head except for the foggy thought of his mission floating in the back of his mind. The admiral laid a simple white towel on a bench, entered the pool three lanes away from Zhao, and swam a lap. The admiral was a strong swimmer, especially for his age, and smooth. Zhao’s asset had reported that the admiral usually swam for half an hour, but today he only swam for twenty minutes. The admiral pulled himself out of the pool and grabbed his towel before exiting the pool area. Zhao climbed out of the water and left the pool area, too.
Inside the shower area, the admiral stripped off his Speedos and entered a stall, second on the left. During normal pool hours and with people around, the admiral would feel a false sense of security. Zhao needed to give him a minute to lose himself in the hot water, allow him to lose some of his awareness to his surroundings. On a bench, a young athletic man with a military haircut finished dressing. Zhao did some swimmer stretches. The young man got to his feet, grabbed his duffel bag, and walked away. Now there were no immediate witnesses on the shower side of the locker room. Good.
A wet man with longish hair and wearing only swim shorts entered the shower area. Piss. He appeared to have a waterproof music player, and rhythmic vibrations came from his earbuds. Immersed in his music, he entered a shower stall. Excellent.
Zhao swiftly advanced to the admiral’s stall. He gently parted the curtain enough to slip inside. Then he closed it behind him. Water bounced off the admiral’s body and landed on Zhao’s.
“Excuse me?” Admiral Earp said, and he turned around. His movement was quicker than Zhao expected. The admiral’s large eyes gl
ared through the steam and locked on Zhao’s, and he pushed at Zhao, who ducked and shot his upper body forward, beneath the push, and drove a shoulder into the admiral’s naked hips, pinning him to the shower tiles. Zhao drove his shoulder in deeper, taking his target off balance. The admiral let out a weak grunt, signaling that Zhao’s technique was effective. Zhao locked his arms around him and used an outside leg to trip him further off balance and lighten the admiral’s weight. Then Zhao lifted him until he was completely off balance, aimed the admiral’s head at the floor, and slammed him down. His head cracked against the tiles, sounding like his skull had been fractured. This wasn’t the first head that Zhao had bounced off the deck.
Zhao studied his face. People mistakenly believed that a man dies with his eyes closed, but the opposite was true. The admiral’s eyes were wide open. His feet poked through the shower curtain and out of the stall. Zhao tucked them in neatly so no one would see. Then, to make sure the job was complete, he snapped the admiral’s neck. His head drooped as if it was no longer properly connected. Hot water sprayed directly on Zhao, filling the stall with more steam. The admiral’s bleeding nose discolored the water as it swirled down the drain. Staring at the dead admiral, Zhao whispered in Chinese, “I love it. I love killing more than life itself.”
Zhao stepped out of the shower stall. A fully clothed man traversed the shower room as if something was wrong. Had he heard Zhao kill the admiral? But the man didn’t pay special attention to Zhao and kept moving. In his peripheral vision, he double-checked to see if any of the admiral’s appendages protruded from the shower stall. Clear. Zhao picked up the admiral’s towel from the bench and dried himself off as he proceeded to his locker.
His mind screamed at him to hurry and get out before his deed was discovered, but he dimmed the switch on his inner voice. Both his pulse and breathing rates surged, but he dimmed those, too. One by one he dimmed switches. Reverse the actions you took to arrive. Leaving will be as effortless as arriving. The singularity and simplicity of his purpose, now achieved, freed him to disappear.
Autumn Assassins: [#3] A Special Operations Group Thriller Page 13
