by Robin Mahle
Greiner began to understand the minister’s meaning. “I’m not seeing that on my end and I have spent a fair amount of time with Yang in recent months. Even after the sanctions, I still believe him to be loyal to the premier and the president.”
“I’m sure you’re probably right. But…” He cast his gaze for eavesdroppers. “Perhaps it’s best if we meet in my office tomorrow. Would that be acceptable to you?”
“Of course.”
“I have something that I’d like to show you. Then you can decide if we are on the same page, as you say.”
“Absolutely. How about another round? It’s on me. Well, Yang, actually.” He nodded to the waitress once again.
“I’d like that, thank you.”
A woman lay next to Greiner in the early hours of the morning, her bare skin exposed. Her long black hair scattered across her pale back. And while she slept soundly, he sat up in bed, staring at her perfectly petite figure. Still jet-lagged, he regretted the late night, too much alcohol, and the energy spent on her. He was no longer a young man who could easily recover from such excesses, though he often pretended to be.
She began to rouse as he stood from the bed.
“I have to leave soon. Please show yourself out,” he said before continuing into the bathroom. Not long after he turned on the shower did he hear the door close. Greiner was an unsentimental man who had never been married nor did he have any children, that he was aware of.
He straightened his tie and glanced at himself in the mirror a final time before leaving his hotel room. Bags in hand, he would head straight back to the airport after the meeting. The quick turnaround was necessary to avoid any concerns on Yang’s part that he’d been gone for too long. Yang had no idea of his whereabouts and it was best kept that way.
He pushed through the lobby doors and made his way to the waiting black BMW ready to whisk him to the offices of the MSS. China’s Ministry of State Security operated out of two locations. The first and public location was near Tiananmen Square. However, Greiner was not headed to that location. Instead, he would be taken to the clandestine compound located in Xiyuan, on the outskirts of Beijing. The MSS employed some 100,000 officers, roughly half of whom operated in-country. The rest were dispersed throughout other parts of the world. Many of its operations ran from this secret location, such as Bureau 17, the Enterprises Division. This was where the minister requested to meet. And Greiner had just arrived.
He stepped out of the car where two MSS guards awaited him. “I’m here to see Minister Cheng.”
Greiner produced the required identification, most of which he’d been given, not by his current employer, but by the highest ranking foreign intelligence officer in the US. Within moments, he was escorted to the appropriate area. The high security measures were far greater than what he’d seen in any intelligence facility in the United States. And he knew that one false step here would mean certain death. Sometimes the thought crossed his mind that he’d played with fire for too long and it would catch up with him. But with any luck, it wouldn’t be today.
In his native tongue, and with stiff arms, the guard slapped the sides of his thighs and bowed. “Sir, Mr. Greiner is here to see you.”
“Thank you, you may leave now.” The minister emerged from behind his desk and offered his hand. In English, he continued, “Thank you for coming.”
“Of course. It must be important, or else why would I be here?”
“Let me show you something.” Cheng approached an adjacent door and opened it. Inside was what appeared to be a surveillance post, manned by four men, none of whom donned the MSS guard uniform. These were likely key operatives monitoring satellite feeds from across the globe or wherever the minister deemed was the biggest threat. And in this case, Greiner noted one such location was the Dalian Company headquartered in Fairfax.
He turned to the minister. “CIA hasn’t caught on to the fact that you hacked into one of their satellites?”
The minister smiled. “We aren’t inside long enough for them to notice. And you can’t pretend they don’t do the same thing.”
“Good point.” Greiner knew well the tactics employed by the Central Intelligence Agency. He should, considering he was one of their operatives many years ago before realizing the money was in selling secrets to foreign entities. It was as simple as that.
“What am I looking for here? What did you want to show me?”
“Since the sanctions were put in place, we had no choice but to establish an organization through which we could fund the purchase of Dalian stock through our American partner and we wanted to ensure our investment was secure.”
“Of course. And as far as I’m aware, that hasn’t changed.”
“Our sources inside have ensured the proper SEC filings and funneled the purchase through several shell corporations in order to avoid exposure. However, and this is the reason you’re here today, we’ve seen some activity at Dalian and Yang’s personal residence that forces me to take pause and question his loyalty to us, as we briefly discussed last night.”
“You’re monitoring his residence too?”
The minister only eyed him. “And at those locations, we’ve noticed a man who has held numerous meetings with Yang over the past several weeks.”
“Since the sanctions.”
“Yes.”
“And who is this man?”
“That’s what I need you to find out. Since you’re operating the bogus fronts, you have Yang’s ear. Right now, we suspect this man could have ties with the Uyghurs and is one of their American operatives.”
“You believe Yang is tied to the terrorist group?”
“That will be your job to figure out. As you know, since the Xinjiang Communist Party chief was appointed to the Uyghur region last year, and is the primary location of dissension, they’ve banned fasting during Ramadan. Changed the prayer callings to playing the party national anthem and doing everything in their power to assimilate their minority Muslim population.”
“Which, let’s be honest here, isn’t such a minority in that region,” Greiner added.
The minister glowered at him. “You need to find out who this man is and whether he has ties to the group. And—if Yang is working with them, he will need to be replaced at Dalian.”
“Of course. But you understand, if that is the case, the US government will grow increasingly concerned and perhaps begin to look closer at the shell companies—and me.”
“Let me deal with that. You handle Yang.”
Chapter 4
Under cover of Lacy’s front porch, Will stood wrapped in a black overcoat that fused into the night sky. He was about to knock, but with his knuckles at the ready, she opened the door.
“I saw you pull up. Come in before you freeze out there.”
“Thanks.” Will rubbed his hands together before pulling off his coat. “Sorry I’m late.”
“Don’t worry about it. Lasagna keeps. Here, let me hang that up for you.” She approached the coat hanger to the left of the door and draped his coat over the top hook. “Can I get you a beer, wine?”
“I’ll take a wine actually. It’ll warm me up.” He followed her into the kitchen. “Smells good.”
“I went ahead and had the kids eat with Celeste. She’s upstairs getting them ready for bed now.”
“Aw, man. I was looking forward to having dinner with them. Oh well, it’s not like I’m Uncle Aaron or anything.”
Lacy peered over her shoulder on the way to the kitchen. “What’s that?”
“Nothing. How about I pour the wine and you can dish out the plates?”
“Sure.” Lacy returned to the oven and retrieved the leftover lasagna. As she set the portions on the plates, she began, “Listen, I appreciate you coming over. You didn’t need to, though. I’m fine, really.”
“After what happened? I didn’t want you to be alone.”
“It wasn’t the first time and I’m sure it won’t be the last.” She sat down, placing her n
apkin in her lap. “People are upset. I can understand that.”
“I get they’re upset, but this isn’t your fault.”
“Isn’t it? I was the one who came out in front of the world and told the truth. Now look at what’s been happening. People have lost their jobs. Riots have cropped up everywhere.”
“That’s no excuse for some damn reporter to shove a live mic and camera in your face as you’re leaving HQ and ask if you regretted coming forward. He harassed you. He followed you to your car.”
“What did you think would happen, Will? I wish I would’ve had the courage to respond to him. Instead, I crawled into my car and drove away.”
“This country owes you, Lacy.”
“Not everyone sees it that way. They want things the way they were. It made them feel safe.”
“It was a false sense of security. No one’s safe. Not anymore.”
“Exactly.” She sipped on her wine. “I didn’t tell Trevor. Aaron knows, but I figured Trevor had enough to deal with right now. But I do appreciate you checking up on me. I do feel safe here, though. The association put in a guard shack. And the guard’s a good guy. He already said he wouldn’t let, oh, how did he put it? He wouldn’t let those leeches in unless I said it was okay.” She took a bite of her food and the two were silent for a moment before she continued.
“Look, this whole joint task force thing? It is kind of crazy. I mean, you and I work at Headquarters, do our jobs, and then have to make time to go to our new digs and do a whole other job. I’m glad to be a part of it, don’t get me wrong. But I feel as though we’re living double lives. We can’t talk about the task force—to anyone. My staff is starting to think I’m trying to skate my way through the job because I’m hardly ever there. I feel as though it could come to a head. That we could be exposed. And frankly, I don’t know what that might do. I suspect Trevor’s feeling some of those same pressures. Like we’re all double agents.”
“You’re right about one thing,” Will began. “It does feel like I’m leading a double life. I can’t tell SSA Kelly what’s going on, or anyone on my own team. Makes it hard to work on the kind of stuff that drew me to the CTD in the first place.”
“Fighting terrorism.”
“Yeah.”
“You’re still doing that, but on a different front.”
Will swallowed down the rest of his wine and began to cut away a piece of lasagna. “Lasagna’s great, by the way. Family recipe?”
“Yes and no. It’s Celeste’s recipe. Can’t take the credit for the food, unfortunately.”
Celeste soon approached. “Sorry to interrupt, but the kids are asking for you to tuck them in.”
Lacy wiped the corners of her mouth and stood from the table. “Excuse for a minute, would you?”
“Of course,” Will replied.
She walked upstairs and into Olivia’s room first. “Hey, sweetheart. All ready for bed?”
“Yeah.” Her favorite stuffed animal was by her side and the covers pulled to her waist.
Lacy sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled them up to her chin. “Goodnight, baby. Sleep tight and I’ll see you in the morning.” She leaned over to kiss her cheek.
“Don’t forget Bunny.”
“How could I forget Bunny?” Lacy held the pink rabbit and kissed it on its nose. “Goodnight, Bunny. Sleep tight.”
Olivia had come a long way to forgiving Lacy for putting her in danger. She didn’t really understand the kind of danger they had been in, but that it took her away from her mother shortly after her father died. That was all she cared about.
“Goodnight, Mom.”
Lacy walked to the door and switched off the light. Jackson’s room was just around the corner and she continued inside. “Hey, buddy. You ready for bed?” She noticed he was already asleep. A smile spread across her face and she pulled the covers up over his chest and kissed his forehead.
It was times like these that made her miss Jay all the more. The children had already grown taller, their faces looking more and more like young kids’ instead of toddlers’. And of course, all they’d been through. That aged them perhaps more than anything. As it had her.
On her return to the kitchen, she spotted Will at the sink washing the dishes. “You don’t have to do that.”
He turned, wiping his hands on the towel that was draped over his right shoulder. “I know. But I have to repay you somehow for the meal. If I was at my place, I’d be eating ramen noodles and drinking a Bud Light.”
She grabbed the towel from him. “Fine. You wash and I’ll dry.”
With his feet resting on the coffee table and his arm hanging over the top of the sofa, Trevor raised the shot of bourbon to his lips and tossed it back. He pressed a few more keys on his laptop and continued to search for the man he’d seen more times than could be considered a mere coincidence at the Dalian Company offices.
And there were still so many unanswered questions as Wendell Turner faced his upcoming trial. The defense still hadn’t had the two witnesses to attest to the act of treason, a requirement in order to be convicted of the crime. Bryce Dunn was the only one. Everyone else was dead. Strange how it was harder to be convicted of treason than it was to be convicted of murder, which in most states required substantial proof, DNA, prints, motive, etc. But for treason, the act itself was defined as charging war against the United States or giving aid and comfort to its enemies. A crime punishable by death, but mostly, and most recently, punishable by time in prison and a fine. Hardly seemed equal to the crime, in his opinion. Wendell Turner was complicit in the cover up in order to save his own ass, but to prove treason was a different ball game. And of course, there was still the question of the murder of Camden Meeks and his wife. That was what Trevor had wanted to prove more than anything, but his efforts had thus far amounted to zilch. Nothing he could find in phone records, emails, or anything that tied him to that. He suspected it had gone through Lei Jian and if that was the case, then there was no case. Jian was dead and his secrets along with him.
But Trevor had to remain focused on the task at hand. He was responsible for uncovering any wrong-doing on Dalian’s part in the wake of the economic sanctions placed against China. What he hoped to accomplish was discovering that wrong-doing and tying it together with Wendell Turner, but he was running out of time.
Turner’s trial had been expedited and a case of this magnitude should have taken a year or more to come to trial, but it was in the president’s best interest to bring this to closure. The public demanded it. So they found loopholes and Turner’s lawyer had exhausted his resources.
Trevor zoomed in on an image on his screen. He studied the man in the photo. White hair, stout, above average height. This was the man they knew to be Matthew Greiner. But Trevor knew him as someone else. And began to recall their last meeting.
Egypt, 2001, a few months before the attack on the towers, before the world flipped on its end. Trevor was an intelligence officer at the Cairo station. He remembered well the day he met Casper Janz, now known as Matthew Greiner. The man had arrived at the station and met with the Station Chief. In an infamous program begun by former President Bill Clinton and significantly ramped up after 9/11 by then President George W. Bush, the program was called the Extraordinary Rendition and Detention Program. CIA operatives from around the globe in conjunction with several other participating nations hunted down suspected terrorists, flew them to other parts of the world, and detained them for months.
While Trevor hadn’t been one of the operatives involved, he certainly was well aware of the program. And the day Janz arrived with one such suspected terrorist, who might or might not have been involved in the bombing of the USS Cole in October of 2000, was a day Trevor would never forget.
He’d been witness to the “enhanced interrogation techniques” employed by the CIA and other intelligence agencies. His job in Cairo was to recruit assets and nothing more. But he witnessed this man, this man who now stared back at him in the photo s
ome sixteen years later, interrogate his prisoner. Ultimately, the man was following orders and so Trevor didn’t question it further. It wasn’t until after 9/11 that the program had grown nearly out of control and he watched as several of his colleagues participated. At the time, of course, he agreed that this was what the terrorists deserved. And perhaps that was still how he felt, especially in light of his current task. But Janz took a little too much pleasure in the torturing of others. And that was what frightened him now. He was older, grayer, but those kinds of people didn’t change. The lengths he would go to ensure he remained Matthew Greiner were lengths Trevor didn’t want to test. So far, he’d kept his knowledge of Greiner’s true identity a secret from his team. Something he hated doing. But until he knew what Greiner, aka Janz, was up to, he felt it was better to keep them in the dark. Especially if it involved Argus Solutions. Lacy didn’t need to be made aware of anything potentially damaging on that front. It was a decision he might regret.
Trevor checked the time and retrieved his cell phone. “Hey, it’s Axell. Listen, I need a favor.”
The J. Edgar Hoover building loomed in the distance as Lacy approached the parking garage. On her arrival, she stopped in to Michelle Vogel’s office. Her supervisor and friend had helped Lacy through much of what she’d faced this past year. And now, she wished she could tell her about the task force, but it was something that couldn’t be shared—with anyone. “Morning.”
“Lacy, how are you?” Michelle removed her reading glasses. “Come on in. I feel like we haven’t talked in a while.”
“I know. Things have been pretty busy around here.”
“Uh-huh.”
As Lacy took her seat, she realized Michelle must’ve had an inkling as to what was happening. After all, she was an intelligent woman. How could she not?
“Listen, I’m sure you’ll hear it soon enough, but I wanted to tell you that Eckhart is putting in for a transfer.”
