Conspiracy

72

Tommy Karr was a dedicated professional, personally chosen by William Rubens as a Desk Three op for his athletic abilities, intelligence, and good judgment under incredible pressure. Karr had disarmed a bomb under fire while dangling from the Eiffel Tower and captured a killer while sick with a life-threatening designer virus.

But Tommy Karr had one serious weakness: he could not ignore a cry for help from a little girl.

He made it to the backyard just as one of the two thugs was about to smack the girl a third time. Launching himself in the air, Karr put 280-some pounds into the man’s back, crushing two of the man’s vertebrae as he hammered him into the ground. For good mea sure, Karr broke the man’s jaw and cheekbone with a hard right before jumping to his feet.

The man’s companion let go of the girl and pulled out a pistol. Karr never saw the weapon — he’d already set himself into motion, bowling into his enemy before the man could click off the safety and take aim. The gun fell to the ground, as did the Vietnamese thug. Karr kicked his face soccer-style, snapping something in the man’s neck.

“Tommy, what the hell is going on?” demanded Rockman.

Karr ignored the runner. He scooped up the fallen gun and went to the three girls, who were standing a few feet away. They stared at him in amazement, tears frozen on their cheeks by awe.

“Hey, ladies, are you all right?” asked Karr. He dropped down to his knees, bringing his six-eight frame a little closer to their size.

“Yi,” said one of the girls, her voice very low. She pointed at Karr. “Yi.”

“Yeah. That’s what it is,” answered Karr. “Yi.” He smiled and nodded his head. “Yi.”

The other girls’ mouths opened even wider. The tallest girl said something Karr couldn’t understand; the others answered excitedly.

“Yi,” they started to chant. “Yi.”

“What’s that mean?” Karr asked the translator in the Art Room.

“Haven’t a clue. Those girls are speaking Chinese.” One of the girls started speaking in a soft voice. Karr nodded and smiled, hoping to encourage her. At the same time he glanced toward the thugs in the corner, making sure they were still out cold.

“Hey, Rockman, can you get someone to figure out what they’re saying?”

“Stand by.”

“Yi,” said Karr. He pointed at them. “Yi.” The little girls laughed and pointed back. “Yi.”

“Well, it’s fun, what ever it is,” said Karr. He started walking toward the corner of the building.

“Yi?” the tallest girl called after him. “Nee chü nar?”

“She wants to know where you are going,” said a new translator, coming onto the Deep Black communications line. Her sweet voice reminded Karr of his girlfriend’s. “Is she calling you Yi?”

“I guess.”

“Hou Yi?”

“Huh?”

The translator gave him a phrase, which Karr repeated.

This elicited a flood of sentences from the older girl.

“They think you are the Divine Archer Yi,” explained the translator. “A mythological hero. Among other things, he shot down the sun.”

“There’s something I’ve never done.”

“They want to know if you will take them to the boat,” added the translator.

“Boat? What kind of boat?”

“America?” asked one of the girls.

“You want to go to America?” Karr asked in English.

Before the translator could give him the words, Rubens cut into the line.

“Mr. Karr, I think what you are dealing with here are refugees who are hoping to escape to America,” said Rubens.

“I believe we may find that Thao Duong is a snakehead, not an assassin. A snakehead,” added Rubens dryly, anticipating Karr’s next question, “is a person who illegally smuggles immigrants overseas.”