“Honorable Shan Zhu sees many possibilities in this,” Mr. Hung explained at last. “What is your suggestion? Explain it for Honorable Shan Zhu as you explained it to me.”
“Professor Gomulka will be at Jekyll Island this summer for the Civic Circle’s Social Justice Leadership Forum. He will be part of the Civic Circle delegation to the G-8 Summit the following week. This summer, Professor Gomulka will meet a new online girlfriend, one he cannot resist, one he will fall in love with. She will be moving to this country to begin her new life with him, and she will need his help to receive a shipping container of her possessions. When the shipping container arrives and he claims it, the container will be full of heroin or some other illicit drugs.
“His online girlfriend will have duped him to smuggle in the drugs and equipment to keep the Civic Circle’s wild parties well stocked and supplied. Or maybe he was in on the plan all along. Or maybe he was working directly for his superiors in the Civic Circle and doing their bidding. No one will be able to tell. It will be a huge scandal with Professor Gomulka and the Civic Circle right in the middle of it, pointing fingers at each other, discrediting them all. It works on many levels… We break their resistance. We disrupt their plan to lead my country into war. We win a great victory without needing to fight at all.”
I could see Shan Zhu frown as Chen translated.
“Many containers ship from China,” Mr. Hung acknowledged, “and we have many friends. Honorable Shan Zhu says we can prepare an appropriate… surprise for this Gomulka. But the Civic Circle will know they have been duped. They will see our hand in this thing. There may be reprisals. The risk is great.”
“We must give them what they expect,” I replied. “It will confirm their own biases and expectations. At the Social Justice Leadership Forum, they aim to prepare our country for war with Iraq. Many powerful parties seek this conflict and would benefit from the destruction of Sadaam Hussein: the Israelis, for example, or the Iranians, or the Kuwaitis. The shipment will be traced to China, perhaps to a rival you can afford to put at risk. They in turn will have been hired by an anonymous third party with nebulous ties to some party with a plausible motive. Layers upon layers of cutouts. Someone is trying to influence them, to bribe them to do what they want to do anyway. They expect this. The pattern is plausible.”
“Your professor,” asked Mr. Hung, thoughtfully, while Chen was translating, “what will the Civic Circle make of him?”
“Perhaps they will realize he was a puppet, a victim of a con,” I replied. “Then he is an unreliable fool. Perhaps the online seduction is merely his alibi and he was in league with the puppet masters all along. Either way, they will never trust him again, and his career is finished.”
Shan Zhu spoke with Mr. Hung at length. Finally Mr. Hung replied.
“You saved our nephew, Professor Chen. We repay that debt by doing as you ask. Professor Gomulka attacked our nephew. We avenge him. We bring confusion and dishonor to our ancient enemy. The potential rewards are great. The risks are manageable. We will do as you ask. We will prepare a suitable ‘surprise’ for Professor Gomulka. The surprise will arrive at the Port of Brunswick just before the Social Justice Leadership Forum. We will trust in you to entangle Gomulka, to ensure that he shows up to claim the shipping container.”
“I have your word?” I asked. I saw Mr. Hung stiffen, and I knew I’d put my foot in my mouth somehow.
“A Brother does not make promises,” Professor Chen explained my mistake. “When a Brother speaks, it is a vow. Everything a Brother says is a promise. If a Brother says he will do something, then it will be done.”
“Please pardon my ignorance of your customs,” I bowed my head in apology. “I intended no offense.”
“No offense was taken,” Mr. Hung nodded in response. “We will arrange the shipment you request, the details of which we will define later.” Then, he began lecturing me on communications security. “Oh, you already use Lavabit?”
“Yes.” The encrypted email service was the backbone of our communications within the FOG, the “Friends of George,” the covert group we’d set up among the students of Georgia Tech.
George P. Burdell is a legend among Tech students. Back in the 1920s some resourceful students got hold of an extra enrollment form and submitted it on behalf of the fictional George P. Burdell. They enrolled him in classes and took turns submitting homework and exams on his behalf. Since then, George P. has received multiple degrees from Georgia Tech. It’s a running joke to page him at events where Georgia Tech students and alums congregate. When Amit and I needed an anonymous figurehead to rally the campus against the Civic Circle’s attempt to take over, we used George P. Burdell’s name.
“That should suffice,” he nodded, “but never speak specifically about what we are doing. We are ‘the waiter.’ You are ‘the busboy.’ The cargo container is the ‘fortune cookie.’ This Gomulka, he is ‘the guest.’ Get it?”
“Got it,” I confirmed. We ran through more options and permutations in our scenario code, and exchanged email addresses.
“Let us drink to the beginning of our partnership.” Mr. Hung actually smiled one of his disconcerting smiles. I realized his smile bothered me because it seemed unnatural. Mr. Hung had so trained himself not to show emotion, that when he did, even a genuine smile seemed forced.
Ding Li brought a crystal decanter and poured four small glasses of the dark liquid. It smelled fruity.
“Plum wine,” Professor Chen explained.
“Death to the Circle!”
I took a sip to Mr. Hung’s toast. It was a bit too strong for my taste.
Shan Zhu said something in Chinese.
“Drink up,” Mr. Hung translated.
I took another sip and set my glass down. “I have a long drive ahead of me,” I told him. “I will need a clear head.” I hoped I wasn’t causing offense, but it seemed unwise to overindulge in the potent wine.
“We would gladly extend our hospitality to you,” Mr. Hung offered, “should you wish to spend the evening.” Ding Li smiled sweetly at me. “She is a skilled masseuse, and well-schooled in the Eight Ways of Pleasure.”
Ding Li gazed at me and licked her lips, expectantly.
Oh, my. I took a deep breath and steeled my resolve.
“I must regretfully decline,” I broke eye contact with her and looked at Mr. Hung at last. “I have… places to go, and promises to keep.”
“How very unfortunate,” Mr. Hung replied. He gestured, and Ding Li cleared the table. He gave me his contact information after assuring himself I understood online security.
I returned the bows of my hosts. “Thank you Honorable Shan Zhu, Mr. Hung, Professor Chen for your hospitality.” Then, I shook their hands. Mr. Hung escorted Shan Zhu out a back way, and Professor Chen accompanied me to the door.
“Peter,” the professor said softly. “The Brotherhood may be trusted to do what it says…”
Before he could finish, Ding Li somehow appeared in front of me. “I will escort our honorable guest.” Professor Chen nodded and turned to follow Hung and Zhu. “This way,” she held the door for me. Two guards were standing just outside. I stopped and looked at them. They seemed familiar – probably the guys who’d roughed me up the last time I was there. The last thing you want to do with guys like that is show fear. I stood impassively, making sure I could remember their faces if I saw them again. They returned my stare, doing a marvelous job of hiding how much I intimidated them. “This way,” Ding Li insisted, taking my arm and leading me through another door and into the crowded restaurant.
The clanking plates and noise of conversation combined with the odors of the food and the spicy, oriental fragrance of Ding’s jet black hair to assault my senses. The receptionist hastened to open the door for us as Ding Li escorted me outside.
“I work next door.” She pointed to the massage parlor. “My hands very good.”
I swallowed. It would be easy to accept her offer. I couldn’t, though. “No, I need t
o be leaving. Thank you.”
I started to move to my truck.
Ding Li grabbed my arm. “Will I see you again, soon?” she asked, looking up at me hopefully.
I was getting really tired of this turbo-charged come-hither business. I reached down, removed her hand from my arm, took it in mine, and drew her closer to me as if I were about to kiss her. She tilted her head back, narrowed her eyes, and closed the gap between us. I felt her silken curves against me.
I looked deeply in her expectant eyes from inches away and placed my other hand on her shoulder. “Yes,” I answered. “The tea was delicious, and I will be sure to ask for you to brew some more for me when I return.”
I released her, turned deliberately without waiting for her reply, and walked slowly but purposefully to my truck. I drove off, my hormones still percolating furiously. Was that business with Ding Li some kind of a test to see if I would succumb to a honey trap of the Red Flower Tong’s making? Well, if so, I passed, but my head was still spinning with the thought of her as I made it to the Perimeter. While I stopped at a light, I pulled out my burner phone, and texted Rob the code to let him know I was done and safe. There wasn’t much traffic, and I gunned the engine up the on-ramp to put the Tong’s machinations further behind me.
On second thought, maybe that was closer to the truth. Machinations. Maybe Ding Li was a distraction, a diversion, deliberately making my head spin so I would overlook… what? I carefully reviewed my memory of the meeting.
I disclosed that Marlena was alive and well. That may have been a mistake, but Professor Chen was a good friend and colleague. He’d helped me save her. I owed him. I’m not sure I could try to deceive him on that score, even if I’d thought to try in time. Chen confirmed the Circle was still monitoring her apartment and credit cards, not that we hadn’t expected that, but I should pass that on to Rob.
They volunteered more information about the Shadow War behind the scenes and the players removed by Xueshu Quan and the Civic Circle. The insight into this secret history was fascinating, but their willingness to share without some kind of quid pro quo meant it must be old news to the various Shadow War belligerents.
They seemed on board with my scheme to discredit Professor Gomulka, even offended at my suggestion that the deal should be formalized in a promise. Their code of honor was interesting. I felt as if I had only a vague grasp of the rules, yet I was playing a game of chess with a grandmaster. As I left, Professor Chen assured me yet again that the Red Flower Tong would keep its side of the bargain. I played the events over and over again in my mind so I could remember the details later.
As I reached I-75 and curved north toward Chattanooga, I still saw no hidden subtext, no reason for a deliberate distraction. And, wow, was she ever distracting.
I was in love with Marlena. I wanted her, not Ding. Amit kept insisting with picking up girls that practice made perfect, and the more you worked at it, the better you got. That did make some sense. If I got better – more experienced – with girls in general, wouldn’t that help me get better at landing the one woman I really wanted? Would it have hurt to have accepted Ding’s advances?
Even now I was still excited, remembering Ding’s delicate hands, red lips, expectant eyes, and jet-black hair. It must have been a test, after all, to see if I could resist temptation. I passed, I guess. Now, though, I was beginning to regret it.
Would there have been any harm in accepting the Tong’s freely offered gift? Ding Li certainly didn’t seem to be coerced. I could have spent the evening with her, gotten up early the next morning, and completed my drive to Huntsville in time to get settled into my apartment. I might even have saved the cost of the hotel.
I still felt the tension of my stress from the meeting with the Red Flower Tong. A good massage would have felt wonderful. And what on earth were the “Eight Ways of Pleasure?” My mind ran through various speculations of what they might entail, how Ding’s silk dress would feel under my hands, how it might unfasten and slide…
Suddenly, I noted headlights looming behind me, approaching fast. Another truck passed me on the right and… was that Rick waving at me from the driver’s seat? I noted the Lee County Tennessee plates as the truck made the turn to continue up I-75 toward Knoxville. I went the other way on I-24 toward the turnoff to Huntsville.
It was Rick. He’d been following me. The operation he’d mentioned that he thought I was involved in? I had a pretty good idea now what it was. Uncle Rob had a surveillance team on me the whole time.
He hadn’t told me.
He was doing it to me again, wasn’t he?
Yup.
Sigh.
Rob had hidden his involvement in the library fire, sending me on a wild goose chase looking for the culprits. He’d hidden the fact he was training a militia to take action against the Civic Circle. He’d done his best to keep me away from any sort of direct involvement. It was a wonder he’d relented and allowed me to participate in the Social Justice Initiative at Georgia Tech, but the alternative would have been finding some other way to pay for school. I doubted he’d have allowed it if he’d known how much trouble there’d be.
I thought the last couple of weeks had marked a turning point in our relationship. Rob insisted Amit and I leave Professor Chen and Marlena to the Civic Circle. We were supposed to run home and hide as events started going south. I wasn’t about to abandon anyone to the Civic Circle if I didn’t have to, though. I’d saved Chen single handed, and then rescued Marlena with help from Amit and, yes, Rob and his team.
I defied him. I showed I was right and he was wrong. I demonstrated I deserved equal treatment – that I was a partner and a colleague, not a subordinate to be shielded and kept in the dark.
Heaven help me if I’d actually taken Ding Li up on the offer to spend the night with her. I cringed at the image of Rick, Rob, and his team bursting in to “save me” at the most inopportune moment.
Rob was carrying need-to-know awfully far. Having backup wasn’t a bad idea. Providing me with backup and not telling me about it… I wasn’t a partner. I was a tool, to be kept in the dark while he plotted how to use me.
I’d have to reassert myself with Rob. Again. I filed that away, further down my to-do list. For now, I had to stay focused on the road in front of me. Amit was already a lap ahead of me with his internship at the Civic Circle and his easy Golden Ticket to the Civic Circle’s Social Justice Leadership Forum. I was playing catch up, having to sneak in the back door as a personal assistant to Travis Tolliver and working as Uncle Larry’s mole inside Tolliver Applied Government Solutions and the Civic Circle
If all went well, though, I could look forward to a couple of months of research and contemplation, further piecing together the Civic Circle’s schemes, understanding the ideas they’d hidden, and figuring out how to stop them.
I remember Dad saying, “Preparation is the first step to victory.” Unfortunately, the path to success is never as easy as it first seems.
Chapter 3: An Inauspicious Start
I ate the free breakfast, and I checked out of the hotel early. The apartment office didn’t open until noon, so I passed the time driving around Huntsville and the adjacent city of Madison, familiarizing myself with the area. The move-in itself was pretty quick. I had a table and a chair to use as a desk, and a cot as a bed. It was just like an extended summer camp. I carefully surveyed the apartment, looking for things I’d need, and I made a shopping list. A toilet brush and other cleaning supplies would help. Maybe a couple stools for the counter. There was a Walmart not far away, so I stocked up on groceries, too.
The challenging part was security. That wimpy deadbolt and chain wouldn’t stop a serious home invader for long. I kept my rifle loaded under my bed, and Alabama recognized my Tennessee concealed carry permit – a nice change from having to go unarmed on campus. Still, I couldn’t take my handgun to work, and I’d have to leave it in my truck.
Furthermore, a burglar could help themselves to my stuff while
I was gone – including my rifle. Finding a clever place to hide it would cost me time if I needed my weapon in a hurry, and a gun safe was more money and hassle than I cared to tackle for a few months in an apartment. With theft the lesser of the threats, I left my rifle, loaded, under the cot.
The trickier problem was data. I wanted to be able to continue studying scans of the books we saved from the Tolliver Library, including the MacGuffin manuscript and my and Marlena’s latest analysis. I couldn’t very well leave all that data around in case it was stolen, or worse, discovered by the Civic Circle’s goons in a raid or search. My solution was to store everything on an encrypted flash drive.
Flash drives are small, so hiding them is pretty easy. Mine was sealed in a plastic bag to keep the moisture out and shoved up the hollow handle of a water pitcher in the refrigerator. Even if they got the flash drive, they wouldn’t be able to read it without my encryption key. That’s where Amit worked his cleverness. If I were ever under duress, I could give away one key which would open up a stash of soft-core pornography while randomly scrambling the rest of the encrypted data. “Good stuff,” Amit insisted. “You ought to check it out. Just be sure you’ve backed up the rest of the data elsewhere, because you’re never getting it back.” A different key would unlock all our work in progress.
If you hide something and someone else searches for it, they’re going to keep looking until they find it. That’s why it’s important to give the searcher what they expect to find. Then, they focus their time and energy on what you want them to find, and not on what you want to remain hidden.
I only had a handful of books – a dictionary and some textbooks – to prop along the edge of my table/desk. One of the books was an old hardcover novel from a thrift shop. I’d cut out a big void in the center of the book to make a hiding place for about a hundred bucks as well as a half dozen flash drives. A couple were innocuous – full of last year’s school work and some family photos. A couple were full of 256MB of what Amit described as randomly scrambled data – “Let ‘em try to unencrypt that!” Another couple had more of Amit’s soft-core pornography stash “protected” in an encrypted compressed file format that Amit insisted provided no real security at all. The idea was that a thief in a hurry would find the stash quickly, take it or copy it, and get out. A thief with time to burn would squander it reviewing the material.
The Brave and the Bold Page 5
