The first was the airport on Lantau Island, which was reachable by taxi, and since Wu Chee Ming was already in a taxi, it would be an obvious choice.
But there was also the huge train terminal at Hung Hom, which served both the West and East Rail Lines. If Wu Chee Ming chose the West Rail Line, he could travel to the densely populated cities on the western side of the New Territories peninsula. If he chose the East Rail Line, he could travel north all the way to Shenzhen, where more than ten million people lived.
Dragon Head asked Xin Li which choice Wu Chee Ming would make.
“Not to the airport,” she replied.
“Why not?”
“Airports mean cameras and security, and he knows you have many friends. He will take the route of least exposure.”
“Which is?”
“The East Rail Line to Shenzhen.”
Large enough in itself, Shenzhen was also gateway to the massive Pearl River Delta Economic Zone of Guangzhou – the old “Canton” – with a population of over forty million people. Finding Wu Chee Ming there would be impossible.
“Once again, how can you be sure?” asked Dragon Head.
“I can’t,” Xin Li replied. “But I offer this deduction based on his behavioral patterns. It is what I would do.”
Dragon Head glanced at Straw Sandal for confirmation but she was noncommittal. “All right,” he said, “Kowloon. And you had better be right.”
CHAPTER 5
Talanov had been placed in a lone chair in the center of the small windowless viewing theater in Washington, DC. Behind him were four Federal agents, all big guys, with coiled ear wires and suit jackets concealing .357 Sig Sauer pistols. It was overkill, to be sure, but the government was taking no chances with their number-one enemy, which is what the late CIA Director, William Casey, had once called Talanov. To this day, Talanov smiled at what he still considered to be the ultimate compliment.
Mounted on the wall was a mammoth flat-screen monitor, on which Talanov could see his longtime friend, Bill Wilcox, addressing the United States House Permanent Select Committee on Intelligence, otherwise known as the House Intelligence Committee. In appearance, Wilcox was everything Talanov was not. Where Talanov was lean and tall, the five-foot-nine Wilcox weighed in at a solid two hundred and twenty pounds. Where Talanov possessed a full head of dark hair that was salted at the temples, Wilcox possessed a rim of wiry gray hair around the base of a mostly bald cranium. Where Talanov was clean-shaven, Wilcox sported a short salt-and-pepper chin beard, or “Friesen roan,” as he liked to call it. Where Talanov was dressed in a tailored light gray suit, Wilcox was dressed in an ill-fitting blue sports jacket, patterned red tie, and baggy gray slacks.
As a CIA station chief in the American Embassy in London during the Cold War, Wilcox had recruited Talanov away from the Soviets, and as his former handler and now longtime friend, was regarded as the one person who knew Talanov better than anyone. As such, his testimony was vital as to whether or not Talanov would be allowed to officially consult for the CIA.
Talanov had already spent more than three hours yesterday answering questions posed by the committee. Representative Warren Levin, the sixty-three-year-old ranking minority member, did not believe Talanov’s services were needed by the CIA. He believed the CIA was more than capable of functioning on its own, even though Casey believed the KGB had laid the groundwork for virtually all of today’s terrorism tactics, and that former KGB officials like Talanov would be invaluable in identifying agents once trained by the KGB. Levin did not agree. Citing official records obtained from Moscow, which showed the KGB to be clumsy and antiquated when it came to assassination and sabotage, the white-haired Levin believed the KGB’s role in training today’s terrorists had been grossly overrated.
“Are you aware of these reports, Colonel?” Levin had asked yesterday from the paneled dais, where all of the committee members were seated.
“Indeed I am,” Talanov had replied. “I wrote them.”
“Are you saying those reports substantiate what I just said? That the KGB was clumsy in its methods and overrated in its effectiveness?”
Talanov laughed. “Of course not. I wrote those reports and their conclusions so that we could leak them to gullible people like you. It’s called disinformation and we pioneered the concept.”
After rebuking Talanov for his lack of respect, Levin then asked, “Have you ever been a member of the Communist party or any party advocating a violent overthrow of the United States?”
Talanov shook his head with disbelief. You really are stupid, he thought, and started to offer a sarcastic reply but noticed the ranking majority member, Diane Gustaves, glaring at him. It was a warning not to make things worse than they already were. Dressed in a power suit of bright yellow brocade, Gustaves, who chaired the committee, was Talanov’s only firm ally in the room right now. In her sixties, she was one of the most powerful congressional leaders on the Hill.
After a calming breath, Talanov politely asked Levin if this wasn’t the primary reason he had been asked by the CIA to serve as a consultant, which was to identify agents trained by the KGB, how they had been trained, and where they were now.
“How are we to know you are still not a communist who is committed to the violent overthrow of the United States?” pressed Levin.
“I believe Colonel Talanov’s record speaks for itself,” answered Gustaves.
“Perhaps,” responded Levin. “But if Colonel Talanov was once a communist, not to mention the youngest colonel in KGB history – a rank earned, no doubt, by his contributions to communist principles and ideals – then how are we to know he is still not sympathetic to those ideals and in fact may still be committed to the violent overthrow of the United States?”
“Aside from my Cold War service as a spy for America,” answered Talanov, “which would have resulted in my being executed had I been discovered, I’ve identified and stopped no less than seventeen terrorists and embedded agents operating within the United States. Those individuals had all been trained by the KGB.”
“How are we to know that you simply identified what I would call the low-hanging fruit, while leaving the much more dangerous agents tucked safely out of sight?”
“Then let’s compare records,” answered Talanov. “In addition to what’s already been mentioned, I also tracked down and pinpointed nine KGB-trained terrorists operating within Europe and the Arabian Peninsula. Special Ops teams were able to kill two of them, four are still at large, while three others were captured and taken to Guantanamo Bay. You then voted to release those terrorists, who are on record as having stated their hatred toward America by advocating its overthrow and destruction. So, thanks to you, they are now safely back home, where they are recruiting and radicalizing more terrorists to attack American interests. I also recall you arguing for an open-border policy for the United States, which would allow those very same terrorists get-back-into-America-free cards. So you tell me whose record of common sense and loyalty speaks loudest to us here today?”
“Thank you, Colonel,” declared Gustaves with a whack of her gavel while Levin’s face flushed red with fury. “This committee will recess for lunch.”
The thought of Levin storming out of yesterday’s hearings brought a brief smile to Talanov’s face while he watched Wilcox raise his hand and swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.
Levin skipped the courtesy of thanking Wilcox for his service and jumped right into a blistering tirade about Talanov’s irreverent behavior toward congressional authority.
“You’re right,” confessed Wilcox once Levin had finished. “Talanov is annoying, pugilistic, flippant, arrogant, and dangerous.”
“That’s kind of harsh,” remarked Talanov inside the viewing theater. He glanced around at the semi-circle of big guys, who looked back at him but said nothing. Talanov shrugged and looked at the monitor again, where Wilcox was scanning the faces of each committee member. All were startled by Wilcox’s rema
rk and none of them knew what to say.
“Are you surprised by that statement?” asked Wilcox.
“Frankly, yes,” answered Gustaves.
“Don’t be,” Wilcox replied. “He was trained by our enemies. He kicked our asses on numerous occasions.” He then smiled and leaned forward for emphasis. “Which is precisely why I recruited him. We needed him on our side.”
“Are you certain he’s on our side now?” Gustaves asked with a drilling stare.
“You know my answer to that.”
“For the record, you need to say it.”
“He’s absolutely on our side,” said Wilcox. “I staked my career on it then and I’m staking my life on it now.”
Once the morning session had adjourned, Talanov was ushered out of the building by two of the big guys, where Wilcox was pacing back and forth on the sidewalk with his cell phone to his ear.
“That’s good news, Charlie, thanks,” he said, hanging up just as Talanov came down the steps. Charlie – Charunetra Suri – was Wilcox’s twenty-six-year-old technical analyst at Langley. Originally from India but having moved with her family to Texas when she was two, Charlie, who doubled as Wilcox’s executive assistant, had mocha skin and long, thick raven hair.
“What’s good news?” asked Talanov, approaching Wilcox.
“Walk with me,” Wilcox replied.
“Where are we going?”
“To meet someone.”
“Who?”
“A friend.”
Talanov stopped abruptly on the sidewalk. “If it’s Dr. Monahan, forget it. I’ve had enough therapy for today.”
Wilcox laughed. “That Pam, she’s quite a kick, but, no, that’s not who we’re meeting.”
“Then, who?”
“A friend. I told you that.”
“Does your friend have a name?”
“A friend, that’s all I can say,” answered Wilcox, glancing discreetly around before continuing along the sidewalk.
“And I have a plane to catch.”
“We have time.”
“We don’t have time. My flight leaves in two hours. That’s two hours to get back to your house, grab my things, then hope there isn’t traffic on the way to the airport.”
“Don’t worry. I had Charlie change your ticket.”
They had just started across the lawn of the Capitol grounds when Talanov jumped in front of Wilcox and stopped him. “You did what?”
“Had Charlie change your ticket,” answered Wilcox matter-of-factly, “which will be waiting for you at the gate, along with your new seat assignment . . . in first class, of course. I also sent an agent to get your suitcase, which will be waiting for you at the counter. Feel free to thank me later.”
“How about I strangle you later?”
“You crack me up,” said Wilcox with a laugh. “Now, come on, we need to keep walking.”
Wilcox stepped around Talanov and continued on while Talanov remained standing in place. After a few steps, Wilcox realized Talanov was not beside him, and after glancing around nervously, returned to where Talanov was standing. Behind them now was the gleaming dome of the Capitol.
“Alex, we need to keep moving,” Wilcox said quietly but emphatically.
“I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on.”
“Nothing is going on.”
“Then why do you keep glancing around?”
Wilcox did not reply.
“Have you forgotten what I do?” said Talanov. “I notice things. People, patterns, irregularities, inconsistencies, and subtleties. And what I’m noticing right now is making me uneasy. So either you level with me or I’m gone. What’s it going to be?”
Wilcox bit his lip in frustration.
Talanov turned to leave.
“All right,” announced Wilcox. “You win. But we really do need to keep walking. Now, come on, there’s no time to waste.”
CHAPTER 6
The red and white taxi emerged from the harbor tunnel in Kowloon and stopped at the brightly lit toll booth. The expressway was jammed with traffic and there were headlights and taillights everywhere.
Wu Chee Ming glanced anxiously out the rear window of the cab. It was impossible to tell if he had been seen or if he was now being followed. He knew Dragon Head would try to anticipate his next move by thinking logically and then acting on that logic.
But Dragon Head was also a linear thinker. Logic to him was different than it was to Xin Li. He remembered peeking out through the slatted blinds and seeing Xin Li across the street, standing in the shadows, watching and waiting. He hadn’t seen her when he arrived, and it was simply a stroke of luck that he had seen her when he did. How on earth she had managed to locate his Wan Chai apartment, he had no idea. But she had. And that meant she knew how to anticipate. It also meant she thought laterally, which both terrified and encouraged him.
It terrified him because if anyone could calculate his next move, it would be her. It encouraged him because lateral thinkers were generally not linear thinkers, which meant she may well be looking so far to the side that she would miss what was right in front of her. Plus, she would already be divided in her focus by their one and only backup option, Talanov.
From his knowledge of the former KGB colonel, he knew most people tended to underestimate him. Several attempts had been made on his life and failed, although one attempt, by the Russian Mafia, saw Talanov’s wife slain at an awards ceremony in Los Angeles. He remembered reading about it last year in the news. But when he tried locating Talanov’s address, no amount of internet searching could provide him with that information, which meant Talanov was skilled at concealment. News reports then surfaced about him saving the life of a government agent named Bill Wilcox, whom he learned worked for the CIA. So he renewed his search to locate Talanov by tracking Wilcox, and once again failed. That left Congresswoman Diane Gustaves as his remaining means of locating Talanov. Gustaves was a longtime friend of Wilcox who recently brought Talanov to Washington to undergo questioning before a subcommittee.
Which meant if he could locate Talanov through Gustaves, so could Xin Li.
He knew she had been trying because of an algorithm he created that tracked keyword searches – in this case, Talanov’s name – as well as which IP addresses had been conducting those searches. To his surprise and relief, Xin Li’s address topped the list, which meant she was already anticipating the need to locate Talanov which he, Wu Chee Ming, would make certain occurred.
The thought of being captured by Dragon Head made Wu Chee Ming shudder. No one could endure his torture. His only chance was outsmarting him. That meant he had to think as Dragon Head would think, or, more accurately, as Xin Li would think, and not simply doing the opposite, but the oblique.
One does not seek what one does not see.
Wu Chee Ming hoped it would be enough.
Fifteen minutes later, his taxi arrived at Kowloon Tong, which was a much smaller station than the larger terminal at Hung Hom, where concealment would be easy because of its enormous size and popularity. Kowloon Tong was an illogical choice, which was why he had chosen it. There would be far fewer commuters on the platform, which was open and relatively small. That meant concealment would be much more difficult than at Hung Hom, where anonymity among the masses was virtually guaranteed. Hung Hom was the logical choice for a person wanting to disappear.
After paying the driver, Wu Chee Ming took the escalator down to an underground concourse. At the other end of the concourse, he took another escalator back up to the long, narrow platform that divided the north- and southbound tracks.
The platform was unusually busy, with hundreds of people – commuters, students, and shoppers – carrying backpacks, briefcases, suitcases, and shopping bags. Which was a better situation than he had hoped, because one more person carrying one more suitcase would be impossible to spot.
One does not seek what one does not see.
Mingling with the crowd, Wu Chee Ming allowed himself
a smile for the first time tonight. He was actually going to escape. He was actually going to live.
All of that would change within thirty seconds.
CHAPTER 7
With Talanov glaring at him suspiciously, Wilcox led the way toward the Russell Senate Building, where people were leaving after a long day at work.
“Okay, Bill, start talking,” said Talanov.
“Not here,” Wilcox replied.
With a shake of his head, Talanov followed Wilcox through the crowd and along a sidewalk that ran beside the building. To their right, four stories of windows rose to a smooth ledge of marble that cut a clean line against the sky.
“Okay, start talking,” said Talanov again.
“Do you remember what you once told me?” Wilcox replied.
“I’ve told you a lot of things.”
“We were in Berlin during the winter of ’eighty-seven. Crummy little coffee shop, colder than hell, snow gusting out of the north. That shop is where you gave me the name of a Soviet mole in one of our embassies.”
“You said the idea was preposterous.”
“That’s because your information didn’t check out, and I had my people run a background check through every database we had.”
“And yet . . .”
“And yet, in the end, you were right. The person in question was a mole who was buried so deep she would have done irreparable damage had you not provided me with her name.”
“Is that what we’re dealing with here?”
“No, it’s not,” answered Wilcox, “and I bring it up here only to remind you of what you told me that day. Do you remember what it was?”
“I asked if Arthur M. Anderson meant anything to you.”
“And I asked if that was a codename for one of your espionage programs.”
“And I laughed outright.”
“Yes, you did, in my face,” said Wilcox, “whereupon you proceeded to tell me how the Arthur M. Anderson was a Great Lakes cargo ship built by the American Ship Building Company of Lorain, Ohio, which got caught in the same storm on Lake Superior that sank the Edmund Fitzgerald.”
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