Straw Sandal watched her go. What had aroused such anger? Xin Li had been looking at the photo of Talanov, and while they all knew the importance of their mission, there was something else going on with Xin Li that went beyond this assignment. Something about Talanov that evoked anger to the point of hatred. Did her father, Dragon Head, know what it was? Was that why he had been so adamant that Xin Li bring Talanov back unharmed and alive?
What had happened between Xin Li and Talanov?
Straw Sandal looked at Talanov’s photo. He was handsome and strong, with a determined look that was indifferent and a little arrogant. She opened the envelope and removed the other photos. There were several more of Talanov, and all had been taken more recently. His hair was grayer at the temples, but still thick and dark, and he had a few wrinkles, although mostly surface lines, like he had been squinting into the sun. There was also a photo of Talanov’s blonde Ukrainian girlfriend, Larisa Petrenko, from the hospital where she and Talanov had been visiting CIA station chief Bill Wilcox, who had been shot by the Russian mafia in Los Angeles. Straw Sandal remembered the occasion because she had taken the photos with her cell phone camera.
Her trip to Los Angeles at that time had been their first attempt to locate and apprehend Talanov, which she had almost managed to accomplish thanks to news reports about Talanov and Petrenko saving Wilcox’s life during an operation to stop a human trafficking ring. The news reports described Talanov and Wilcox as being longtime friends, with Petrenko being one of the trafficking victims, which is no doubt how she and Talanov met. Details of a relationship between the two had been supplied by the helpful hospital staff, which would have made her job easy had Talanov and Petrenko not disappeared one night without a trace, after which Wilcox was removed to a secure location, so her opportunity vanished.
Using her cell phone, Straw Sandal retrieved a news article about the incident and scrolled down to a quote from Gustaves, who, on speaking of Talanov saving Wilcox’s life, called him a hero and a good friend whose enduring service to the United States would never be forgotten. The article indicated an ongoing relationship among the three, which was further evidenced by her own photos of Gustaves and Talanov speaking cordially during the congresswoman’s visit to see Wilcox in the hospital.
Laying aside her phone, Straw Sandal looked at a final photo from the envelope, which was of Talanov’s old KGB mentor, Major Zakhar Babikov, who had a thick neck, square jaw, and drilling dark eyes. Records obtained from the Russian government showed Babikov to have been Talanov’s instructor and mentor when Talanov began his military training, which included advanced lessons in Combat Sambo, which was a form of Russian martial arts that got straight to the point. No dancing around. No fancy moves. Just a terrifying assault with both speed and strength. Straw Sandal had once seen a seventh-degree black belt go up against a Spetsnaz commando and get flattened within the first minute. As to what had happened to Babikov after the collapse of the Soviet Union, she had no idea. He seemed to have vanished without a trace, which meant he was either one of the untold casualties of the Soviet collapse or had dropped off the grid like so many others had done.
Standing alone in the rear galley of the Gulfstream with a cup of coffee in her hand, Xin Li stared hard at Straw
Sandal sorting through the photos. If the bitch weren’t Dragon Head’s daughter, she would have killed her months ago.
After finishing her coffee, Xin Li took out her cell phone and dialed. Half a world away, in a windowless room in the Zhongzhen Martial Arts Academy in Hong Kong, another cell phone vibrated.
The owner of the phone was a skinny twenty-nine-year-old Ukrainian hacker named Bogdan Kalashnik, or AK, as he was known in hacking circles because of his last name, Kalashnik, and its similarity to the iconic Russian assault rifle, the Kalashnikov AK-47. Next to AK was a can of milk tea, which contained ginseng, chrysanthemum, guarana, and various herbs, the can advertised increased stamina and beneficial microelements.
Known for designing two worm viruses that crashed the systems of eight different European banks, AK had been lured to Hong Kong by Xin Li with an offer of unlimited wealth, which AK discovered to be a lie once he saw her antiquated equipment and dismal working conditions. Xin Li assured him the wealth was real, although not yet acquired, although within reach if he would help her acquire it.
When AK hesitated, Xin Li said with a pleasant smile, “Either that or I can shoot you.”
After a nervous laugh, AK chose wisely, which was why he was very much alive sipping milk tea at his worktable in the darkened computer room, where he was surrounded by a series of monitors and routers. Harnesses of cables connected those routers and monitors to a series of processors crowded together on the floor, with other cables connecting those processors to a manifold on top of the worktable, which in turn was connected to AK’s laptop. Beneath the worktable and across its top were dozens of tiny red and blue lights – LEDs, or light-emitting diodes – some of which were blinking while others were glowing steadily.
One monitor featured news coverage from around the world. Two others featured digital maps, one of which showed flight patterns over the Sea of Japan. Blinking triangles indicated aircraft and there were flight numbers beside each triangle. In the lower corner of the screen was a countdown clock, with green numbers ticking off seconds. The other monitor showed crisscrossing satellite orbits above the earth. The orbit paths were in four colors: red, green, yellow, and blue, with a legend in one corner indicating which colors belonged to which countries. The red paths were GPS and belonged to the United States. The green paths were Galileo and belonged to Europe. The yellow paths belonged to Russia and were marked Glonass. The blue paths belonged to China and were marked BeiDou.
The bulk of the satellites were Russian – more than thirteen hundred – followed by the United States, with just over six hundred and fifty. The European network, Galileo, and the Chinese network, BeiDou, had insignificant numbers. The altitude of the satellites in all four networks ranged from between a few hundred kilometers to as high as thirty-six thousand.
A fourth monitor showed a real-time satellite image of the aircraft carrier USS Ronald Reagan on maneuvers in the Sea of Japan, with a fifth monitor showing arrangements of fighter jets on the deck of the carrier. Sailors and pilots could be seen walking around. Even their shadows were visible.
AK did not hear his phone vibrating because he was wearing headphones. But he did see the screen light up, and after checking the Caller ID, slid the headphones down around his neck and quickly took the call.
“Sorry, I was busy,” he explained.
“Have there been any changes?” asked Xin Li, speaking in Russian.
Wheeling his chair over to another laptop, AK entered a command on its keyboard. A monitor lit up with a record of internet activity on a particular IP address. “Normal activity, most of it encrypted,” he replied, also in Russian, knowing he was to speak only Russian when the two of them talked so that no else in the academy could understand what they were saying.
“Which confirms she is there?” asked Xin Li.
“No question. Same starting time, same stopping time, like clockwork.”
“And Shāng Yī?” asked Xin Li about a special program AK had designed.
“On schedule,” AK replied, glancing at the live-feed image of the USS Ronald Reagan.
“Are you certain our signal cannot be traced?”
“I’m certain. I rerouted it using a series of electronic mirrors. They will never know what hit them.”
Xin Li smiled and ended the call.
CHAPTER 13
Over the years, Talanov had faced many opponents. He had faced them in the forests of central Europe and in cities like Berlin, Nairobi, Sydney, Algiers, Marbella, St. Petersburg, and London. He had even faced them in the remote mountains of northern China. But never had victory seemed as uncertain as it did right now.
Yesterday’s flight from Washington to San Francisco was not to blame. The food
in first class had been spectacular, as had the wine, and he had slept soundly until the flight attendant had gently awakened him for landing. Nor could he blame it on the fact that he and Zak had stayed up late last night talking. They hadn’t. That’s because Zak insisted he get some rest in preparation for today’s contest.
Few of those observing the contest were on his side. Most were children and young adults between the ages of six and twenty-four. Some had been abused, others were runaways, and there were a number of young mothers, too – teenagers, mostly – plus several trafficking victims and dozens of neighborhood children who simply wanted a safe place to hang out, which the community center was known to be.
As a whole, the crowd was on the side of his opponent, a feisty French beauty in her thirties named Ginie Piat, who was coach of the Quiet Waters Community Center basketball team. Ginie was a full head shorter than the six-foot-one Talanov, but every bit as capable and competitive.
The Quiet Waters Community Center was a two-story brick building located uphill from Highway 101 as it cut through downtown San Francisco. Ginie had helped Zak revitalize the rundown center by raising funds to renovate the building. She then formed a basketball team, which she then volunteered to coach, after which she began teaching art classes and dance lessons. She even roped Talanov into teaching karate lessons whenever he was in town.
With the score tied 20-20, Ginie stood in center court in possession of the basketball, and when she began dribbling in place, the auditorium fell silent. “You do know there’s a lot more at stake here than dinner,” she said with a mischievous grin. Her black hair was tied back in a loose mess that was bound by a colorful scarf. Her green eyes danced with laughter. Like Talanov, she was dressed in baggy mesh shorts and a tank top. “I mean, how are you going to feel when you get your ass kicked by a girl?”
Talanov made a “bring it on” motion and Ginie tossed him the ball. With a smile, he tossed it back just as the kids began clapping and chanting, “Go, Coach Ginie! Go, Coach Ginie!” The kids had even learned to pronounce her name as Ginie had taught them, which sounded like Jeenie, not Jinnie.
“Go, Alex!” yelled eleven year-old Su Yin Cho. Su Yin had shoulder-length black hair and a beaming smile that lit up her face. She was dressed in a pink dance leotard.
Talanov gave Su Yin a thumbs up, then focused again on Ginie.
After dribbling several more times in place, Ginie faked right and drove left before cutting right again to drive
diagonally toward the far right corner. With Talanov matching her step for step, Ginie paused, faked a baseline drive, then cut left to the top of the key for a fadeaway jump shot. The ball sailed in a clean arc toward the basket, hit the rim and bounced high in the air. Ginie went for the rebound but Talanov out-jumped her and sprinted down court for an easy layup.
A hush fell over the crowd like a wet blanket, except for Su Yin, who rocked her hips back and forth while pumping her fists up and down in the air.
Ginie walked over and gave Talanov a winded high-five. “Good game,” she said.
“Backatcha,” Talanov replied.
“You were lucky, though, you’ve got to admit. I mean, I matched you point for point, and would have won if my last shot would have hit.”
Talanov smiled and shrugged.
“How about a rematch?” asked Ginie. “Double or nothing, winner takes all.”
“Winner just took all. Dinner for two, you pay, restaurant of my choice.”
“Then I say we eliminate any ambiguity.”
“I won. Nothing ambiguous about that at all.”
“Except you almost didn’t win.”
“Except almost doesn’t count.”
“Except I almost almost did.”
“Almost almost? What does that even mean?”
“You’re afraid of taking me on again, aren’t you?” said Ginie, who began flapping her arms like a chicken. Many of the kids followed her lead. Others made clucking sounds.
When the clucking reached a crescendo, Talanov held up his hands. “All right, all right,” he said. “Double or nothing. Shot for shot.”
“Agreed,” Ginie replied, tossing him the ball. “You won, so you go first.”
Talanov dribbled casually to center court, turned, and shot. No calming breaths. No setup. No hesitation. Just a simple jump shot that was smooth and simple, and with a collective gasp, Ginie and the kids watched the spinning ball sail toward the basket.
Swish.
No rim. No bounce. All net.
Another deafening silence fell over the kids, except for Su Yin’s clapping.
Talanov retrieved the ball and brought it to Ginie, who was staring soberly at the basket. “If you want to play hoops with the big guys,” he said, allowing his sentence to dangle. “I mean, we can call this off, if you’d like. You know, to save you the embarrassment of losing again. Or is it not almost almost winning? What time were you picking me up?”
Seeing a momentary flash in Ginie’s eyes, Talanov decided to stoke the fire.
“Why don’t I give you a handicap?” he said. “Say, a few steps closer to the net? You know, like girls getting to do girl push-ups from their knees?”
Ginie snatched the ball from Talanov and waited until he backed away a few steps. Once he had, she dribbled in place several times, and with a calming breath, paused and focused on what seemed like an impossibly small target a hundred miles away. After adjusting the ball into a predominantly right-hand grasp, she brought the ball up over her head and launched it gracefully toward the hoop.
Talanov and the kids watched it spin noiselessly toward the basket.
Swish.
As one, the kids began clapping and cheering.
Pumping her fist, Ginie trotted down court, retrieved the ball and dribbled it back to center court, where Talanov was nodding with both incredulity and admiration. And with a sigh of resolve, he motioned for the ball.
“Sorry, my turn now to shoot first,” Ginie said with a smile.
“But . . . I thought I got to go first.”
“You were the first to get to go first. That’s different from getting to go first every time.”
A wrinkle of concern creased Talanov’s brow.
With pursed lips, Ginie stared at the faraway hoop for a long moment, then walked to the basket and stood directly beneath it. After looking up, she took several steps toward the free throw line, where she laid down flat on her back, with her legs extended toward center court, her feet slightly spread.
“Wait a minute,” objected Talanov. “You can’t just lie down on the court like that.”
“Says who?” Ginie replied. “In HORSE, anything goes.”
“This is shot-for-shot basketball, not HORSE.”
“Same thing.”
“Says who?”
“Me. My town, my court, my rules.”
With a grin of disbelief, Talanov shook his head.
Lying flat on her back while holding the basketball in both hands between her knees, Ginie craned her head back, and with stiffened arms, launched the ball. It sailed toward the goal in a high arc, where it bounced off the backboard and down through the hoop.
The kids began cheering and clapping.
“I don’t believe this,” said Talanov.
Ginie stood. “Hey, if you want to play hoops with the little guys . . .”
Talanov responded with a quizzical look.
“Grade school kids,” answered Ginie. “These are the kinds of shots you’ve got to learn if you don’t want to get whipped by a nine-year-old.”
After retrieving the ball, Ginie tossed it to Talanov, who walked to the exact spot where Ginie had been, and after a steadying breath, lay down on the court, spread his legs, positioned the ball between his knees, then craned his neck and looked at the hoop. Sighting in on his target, he launched the ball, which sailed straight up in the air. No arc, no spin, dead weight going straight up and coming straight back down.
Seeing the ball plummeting
straight for his face, Talanov rolled quickly aside to avoid getting hit just as the entire assembly of kids began jumping and cheering.
A grinning Ginie walked over and offered Talanov her hand. Talanov grabbed it and Ginie pulled him to his feet.
“Nice try, old man. I win,” Ginie said with a grin.
“Another showdown. Winner take all.”
“Are you kidding? I’m not that dumb.”
By now, the kids were giving each other high-fives and mobbing Ginie with hugs. Standing beside Ginie, Talanov looked down at Su Yin, who had joined them. Her arms were folded in front of her and her tiny brow was furrowed.
“An admirable effort, Alex,” she said, “but your exclusive association with adults is what led to your unfortunate defeat. Even Jesus commanded His disciples to hang out with kids. Now you know why.”
Talanov opened his mouth to reply but was absolutely stumped as to what to say.
“I have to go practice,” Su Yin said. “But I do have some time later, after BMX practice, if you want me to teach you some better shots.” She hugged Talanov around the waist and ran toward the stage, where several girls were practicing ballet routines.
“She’s a very smart little girl,” Ginie said.
“Did you hear what she just told me?” asked Talanov. He watched Su Yin jump up on stage and begin doing cartwheels. “She said, ‘An admirable effort, Alex, but your exclusive association with adults is what led to your unfortunate defeat.’ She’s, what, eleven? She’ll be a lawyer by the time she’s thirteen.”
Ginie laughed.
“She’s a good little athlete, too,” added Talanov. “Look at her up there doing cartwheels.”
“You should see her on the BMX track. She gives her big brother, Kai, a run for his money, and Kai is good, believe me.”
Talanov chuckled and shook his head while kids ran in circles around them, laughing and shouting and playing tag.
“Okay, everyone, gather around!” yelled Ginie, clapping her hands.
Dragon Head Page 7
