Still, in the past 72 hours since receiving his orders, Burke had immersed himself in the study of the entire situation, not merely the political posturing. And so he knew that the talking heads, especially this Allcock character, were making a lot of noise about a topic on which they were essentially clueless.
The phone rang on his hotel room nightstand. The Radisson Blu Plaza was a first-class joint, located on O’Connell Street in the heart of downtown Sydney. Its 19th century style in the midst of a slew of ultramodern high rise office buildings gave it an air of elegance. Burke lifted the receiver.
“Markham,” he said, using the cover name he’d been assigned.
“Mr. Markham, a Miss Gleason is here to see you.”
“I’ll meet her in the bar in five minutes. Will you see to it that she’s made comfortable?”
“Of course, sir. Five minutes.”
He set the receiver on the cradle and took a peek in the mirror. To his horror, he realized he hadn’t changed out of his bloodstained shirt. His efforts to keep Withers alive until the paramedics could arrive had done a number on his white Mizzen + Main dress shirt. He also needed a shave. Pulling the gruesomely stained shirt over his head while attempting to simultaneously drag the hotel’s triple-head electric razor over his ruggedly handsome face was a display of dexterity that would have made the world’s top gymnasts proud, and in the case of the women, perhaps a trifle aroused.
The shirts he’d ordered were still covered in the light-gauge plastic that was the trademark of dry cleaners the world over, and he quickly tore through it and carelessly cast it aside. In three minutes, he was presentable, and in five, he was walking into the bar.
It wasn’t hard to spot Miss Gleason. There were two reasons for this. First, she was the only other person in the bar at 10 a.m. Secondly, she would have stood out in a crowd of a thousand. Dressed in a vintage 1960s mini skirt, she was tall, leggy, and had honey blonde hair that grew down far enough to touch her perfect ass. Burke thought she looked more like a left coast American surfer girl than an Australian spy.
He felt a little conflicted experiencing such a visceral response to the agent. He was still involved with fellow operative Lyndsey Archer, and after their recent experience together in Istanbul, the bond between them had grown. Furthermore, he liked to think he was a little more evolved than this. Surely any SpyCo agent deserved some respect for their skill and cunning or they wouldn’t stay an agent for very long. At least, not a living agent. But a certain part of the male anatomy had a way of overruling both evolution and monogamy. He sidled up next to her.
“Miss Gleason?”
“Hello, you must be Mr. Markham,” she said, her Aussie accent chipping away a few more million years of Burke’s evolution.
“Dr. Markham,” Burke corrected. He offered his hand and she shook it. Her grasp was firm, no nonsense. He liked it.
“Have you heard anything about Withers?” Burke asked.
“He’ll live, the wanker. And he’ll have one more thing to brag about. The man is insufferable. But he’s also got a very long, storied record of success, so I, at least, put up with him. From what I hear, you did nice work keeping him alive.”
“I did what I could.”
“You were also unquestionably made, but I’m guessing you’ve already reached that conclusion.”
“I was probably made when I sat down for drinks with him.”
“Most likely. It will add a layer of complication to your assignment.”
“Which is?”
Miss Gleason looked around to see if the barroom was still empty. Aside from the bartender, it was, but she still leaned in close and whispered. Burke caught a whiff of her perfume and swallowed hard.
“Tiger, this is a quiet place, but I think briefing you would be better done elsewhere. For now, how about a drink?”
Burke smiled. He’d not had time to enjoy the drink he’d ordered with Withers the previous afternoon, and his mouth watered a little at the thought. Hell, 10 a.m. in Sydney meant it was already 7 p.m. in New York. Granted it was 7 p.m. the previous day, but this was no time for semantics.
“Bourbon, neat!” he called to the bartender, who seemed pleased to have something to do other than wash glasses and cut fruit. “And for the lady?” He turned to face Miss Gleason.
“Double bourbon, also neat.”
Burke tried to hide his smile, but failed. “I have a confession. My first impression when I saw you was that of a California surfer.”
“California, pfft. Australia has some of the best surfing in the world. It seems you still have a lot to learn about our fine country.”
“I admit that I do. If only I had a skilled teacher.”
“I’m sure I could teach you many things, Dr. Markham.”
“I think you’ll find me an eager student,” said Burke, mentally abandoning evolution and monogamy in a single swoop.
3
After the drink, Miss Gleason suggested they take a walk, and she selected the Olympic Park. Burke agreed, but asked if she’d mind swinging by the weapons cache first. After giving her the GPS coordinates, she did so, and Burke selected two handguns, a Glock 30 to pack some punch and a Heckler & Koch USP Compact to keep his pocket warm. He also grabbed a shoulder holster and a suppressor for the Glock.
From there it was about an eight-mile drive in her very sweet Porsche 911 to the Olympic Park. The park was so named for being the site of the 2000 Olympics, and the various sports and entertainment venues were scattered around the area. But there was still a good deal of open space that made for a nice walk.
“So, let’s begin by dispensing with the ‘Miss Gleason’ business,” the pretty agent said. “I’m Christina Martin, though I prefer Tina, and you, of course, are not Dr. Markham, but rather the infamous James Burke.”
“Burke? No, I’m Baron Monroe!”
Tina looked at him for a moment, then smiled. “Yes, it’s all in your dossier. Rugged good looks, skilled field agent, lame sense of humor.”
“Wait, let’s revisit the first part. Rugged—”
“Perhaps there’ll be time to revisit that later, but right now, we do have a rather serious matter to work through.”
“The briefing.”
“The briefing, yes. Withers was to fill you in, but obviously that’s not going to happen, and frankly, a briefing from Withers is generally so interspersed with tales of his own glory that if he’d been able to start it yesterday, he’d still not be finished. So let’s get to it. You’re aware of the situation in North Korea?”
“I’m aware of many situations in North Korea. Which one are you referring to?”
“To the one grabbing all the headlines. The missiles.”
“Hard to miss if you own a TV or know someone who owns one. Or have ever seen one anywhere.”
“Exactly. There’s been a bit of controversy hereabouts lately stirred up by a scientist named—”
“Allcock,” Burke interrupted.
“You know him?”
“I know of him. I saw him on the news earlier. I have to say I wasn’t impressed.”
“Neither is the PM, from what I hear,” Tina said.
“I wouldn’t think a small fish like Allcock would be on the Prime Minister’s radar.”
“Dr. Allcock comes across as eccentric and a bit rankling, but he’s actually a top scientist at the Institute for Nanoscale Science and Technology.”
Burke’s brow furrowed in confusion. “I’ll freely admit my marks in science weren’t the best, but what does nanotech have to do with missiles? Aren’t they all about teeny-tiny things?”
Tina laughed. “Basically yes, though they’d probably feel that description was a little insulting. The thing is this: the general consensus among our analysts is the problem the North Koreans are running into with their rockets is they can’t get the power they need into a package small enough to make delivering a powerful warhead feasible. A nuke doesn’t have to be huge to pack a wallop anymore, but they'r
e still not small. And hurling them halfway around the globe is not easy. With the development of the Hwasong-14, they’ve gotten closer, but for all the bluster and show, they still can’t reach America, which is the goal.”
“I follow all that. But where does Dr. Allcock and the teeny-tinies come in?”
“Nanotechnology can significantly reduce the amount of the missile body taken up by navigational and other non-propulsion components. By making everything that doesn’t either propel the missile or destroy the target smaller, they can go farther.”
“How close are Allcock and the Institute to having this tech?”
“It’s already done. They’ve produced a guidance system accurate to within meters, not kilometers, and mind-bogglingly small. Very few people know it’s ready, and for the time being, it would appear Allcock wants to keep it that way. The government is clueless, but they’ve been watching him closely due to his pro-NK statements.”
“So how do we know about it?”
“We have a man on the inside at the Institute. He’s been working on the project for about ten months and has been keeping us posted every step of the way.”
“And do we think Dr. Allcock is going to try to offer the tech to Kim Jong Un?”
“That question remains unclear. There are some indications, however, that the Koreans may also have someone close enough to the research that they know it’s ready. And if that’s the case, they may not wait for Allcock to make an offer.”
“They’ll steal it,” Burke said, reaching the conclusion instantly.
“I think they call it ‘espionage,’” Tina said with a smile that made her deep blue eyes twinkle.
“Well, that I do know a thing or two about. So what exactly is my assignment? I’d like to learn more about the good doctor.”
“You may yet have a chance. He was scheduled to debate none other than our friend Withers on the topic. If they can find a last-minute stand-in, the event is expected to go on. Also, we are nearly one hundred percent certain that an NK operative named Ji-Woo Park is currently in Sydney.”
“Never heard of him,” said Burke.
“Her,” corrected Tina. “I’ve never had the pleasure myself, but the word is she’s efficient and deadly.”
“Just what I look for in a woman.”
“Oh, then you’ll just love me!”
About a thousand responses ran through Burke’s head, but he settled upon, “So am I to take out the deadly Ms. Park?”
“You’re to keep her away from the Institute and from Allcock. At least long enough for either our own operatives or someone from the government to talk a little sense to the good doctor.”
“My first instinct is that goal would be best served by killing her.”
“North Korea would just dispatch another agent. And if you killed that one, they’d send another. Better to keep Park off-balance and busy. Don’t let her get to the device, but don’t let her think it’s completely out of her reach.”
“Keep the cat busy till the mice come up with a plan, huh?”
“Something like that. An interesting turn of phrase. You Yanks do love your animal metaphors.”
“What do you expect from a guy called Tiger?”
“If you have any further questions, you need to ask them now. This will likely be our only contact.”
“Just one. What’s your codename? I prefer to use them exclusively when I’m doing any kind of less-than-secure communication.”
Tina smiled a very alluring smile and all but purred her answer. “Kitten.”
Burke caught himself swallowing hard a second time, and thought, Oh my god, woman. You’re killing me.
THE NONDESCRIPT ASIAN woman sat on a park bench. She wore dark sunglasses and appeared to be engrossed in the book that she held in her lap. Her name was Ji-Woo Park, the same North Korean agent about whom Burke was being briefed. Her innocuous appearance belied the fact that she was collecting an immense amount of high-definition video and crystal clear audio of her targets, the two SpyCo agents she’d been tailing all morning.
The spine of the book contained an HD camera, which both recorded her subjects and projected its feed directly to the lenses of her glasses. She wore wireless earbuds, which picked up audio captured by stereo unidirectional microphones embedded in the frame of the sunglasses.
The tiny camera, capable of recording at high resolution in both video and still photo modes, stared unblinkingly at the attractive man and woman walking along the path ahead. They looked like they should be a couple, but their body language suggested a professional relationship. At least, the woman was being professional. Judging from the man’s sidelong glances, he wanted it to be more. Then again, didn’t they always, the pigs.
Park reached up and pretended to adjust her sunglasses, actually increasing the range of the long-distance audio recorder built directly into them. Wherever she looked, the powerful microphone picked up sounds from whatever range it happened to be tuned.
The voices came through the earbuds. There was some ambient sound, but the conversation was remarkably clear. As the couple drew closer, the mic’s range could be adjusted to its target. The drawback to the higher quality feeds was that Park had to remain in the couple’s line-of-sight and, preferably, turned toward them.
“So am I to take out the deadly Ms. Park?” the man said.
“You’re to keep her away from the Institute and from Allcock,” the woman replied. “At least long enough for either our own operatives or someone from the government to talk a little sense to the good doctor.”
“My first instinct is that goal would be best served by killing her.”
Park suppressed a smile. Good luck with that, you brawny imbecile. I will have you tied into knots within twenty-four hours.
The couple neared and Park rotated just a few degrees on the bench in order to keep the feed quality high. The audio she was getting would be of great value, not only for the information, but also for the voice signatures. That would be added into the database and used to identify these same agents in the future—assuming they lived long enough. The woman might. But the man, no. Park had already decided he needed to die. He practically dripped with testosterone. The mere way he held himself made Park want to pull out her stainless steel PPK .380 and put a bullet in his balls.
The man was saying, “What’s your codename? I prefer to use them exclusively when I’m doing any kind of less-than-secure communication.”
“Kitten,” the woman said, smiling.
Park thought the man might sexually assault the woman at any moment, public park or no. Desire was clear on his face and since when did men resist temptation?
Park had to turn once more to maintain line-of-sight on the couple. It was a minute adjustment, but she froze when the man stopped and gave her a funny look. She remained perfectly still, except for a single movement to turn a page. After an extremely long moment, the man continued, although not without being prodded by his walking partner.
“Did you see something?” the woman asked.
“I’m not sure,” the man said. “I felt like that woman on the bench was watching us.”
“How could she? She’s not even looking in our direction.”
“I know, but she seemed to be turning to face us.”
“Look, just admit you got caught staring at a woman. It’s not like we’re dating, you know. I don’t care what you do, other than the fact that ogling is creepy and makes women uncomfortable.”
“I wasn’t ogling. That woman was much too small and thin for my taste. She seemed to be tracking our progress.”
“If you think it’s a problem, go talk to her.”
Park tensed. She didn’t think either of them would know her by sight, but she didn’t want to test the theory.
“No, it’s fine,” Burke said. “I’d just look like a moron and ruin some poor lady’s only day off or something. Come on, let’s get back to my hotel.”
Park watched them in her sunglasses’ lens
es as they strolled away. She flipped off the audio recorder as they went over a dip in the trail and the audio cut out. They didn’t seem to be giving away much more information anyway. But there was one thing Park was pleased to have learned. The man was willing, and seemed almost eager, to kill her. Although she doubted he’d be able to pull off such a feat, she couldn’t take a chance. Things were beginning to move rapidly and she couldn’t afford to risk running afoul of some fool agent. Only one option was left to her—she would have to kill the man first. She would have been willing to end him on general principle. The additional excuse only added legitimacy and, she admitted to herself, pleasure to the task.
AS THEY CONTINUED WALKING through the park, Burke wondered if it was too early to invite Tina to dinner. He could easily cast it as a professional event. He had many legitimate questions he’d like answered, after all, and would it really be so inappropriate to enjoy the company at the same time? Of course, he knew he had ulterior motives, decidedly unprofessional motives. And then there was the matter of Lyndsey. Now there was a complicated relationship. Theirs was an on again, off again union that seemed married to extremes. Either they couldn’t keep their hands off one another or were on the verge of killing each other. It was a stimulating yet emotionally exhausting routine, and Burke was finding Tina’s company a welcome respite from the high-wire act of his current relationship. And knowing this was likely to be their only meeting made his desire even more intense, not to mention easier to justify. He snapped back to reality as Tina said,
“Before you get too deep into agent mode, you have one other stop to make.”
Assignment- Danger A SpyCo Collection 4-6 Page 2
