Point of Contact

57

Jack headed for the living room, searching for Paul. Maybe he was passed out on the couch.

Jack turned the corner and stopped in his tracks.

The glass coffee table, lamps, mirrors — all smashed. Pictures were knocked off the walls, sofa pillows scattered everywhere, chairs overturned.

It must have been one helluva fight.

“PAUL!”

Jack dashed through the living room and back into the kitchen, then out the back door and into the pouring rain toward the garage. He kept calling out Paul’s name, but there wasn’t any response.

Jack ran back into the kitchen, socks soaking wet, water dripping onto the floor from his jacket. He pulled out his cell phone. No texts from Paul, no e-mails, no voice mails, no missed calls.

Jack punched the speed dial for Paul. The phone rang. It went to voice mail.

“Paul, where the hell are you? Call me as soon as you get this. You all right, buddy? I’m worried.” Jack hung up.

What to do? His phone rang.

“Paul?”

“Sorry, just me,” Gavin said. “You want me to call back?”

“No, Gav. Sorry. What’s up?”

“Those photos you sent? The fingerprints? Man, what have you got yourself into?”

“What did you find out?”

“Three of the guys came up zilch. I think I know why. The fourth I found — but it wasn’t easy. In fact, it was a real bitch. I don’t know how many DoD alarms I might have tripped getting it, either.”

“If it wasn’t easy for you, Gav, it would’ve been impossible for anybody else.”

“That’s nice of you to say, Jack. It’s totally true, of course. But still nice.”

Jack bit his tongue. “So, what did you find?”

“The one hit I got was for a character named Wang Kai, age fifty-one or thereabouts. He’s a colonel in a PLA SOF unit, currently attached to Department Fifteen in the Ministry of State Security. His last known location was in Damascus as a so-called diplomatic liaison to the Assad regime.”

“How in the hell were you able to hack into the PLA and MSS databases?”

“I wish I could, but I didn’t. I just used my NSA back door to access the DoD mainframes. Turns out this Wang Kai guy attended a U.S. Army training program in 1998—an officer-exchange deal, back when we were trying to cozy up to the ChiComs. Anyway, the DIA guys were lifting fingerprints and DNA samples from cups, towels, silverware, and anywhere else they could get them from all of those visiting PLA comrades in the exchange programs. Photos, too. Of course, your guy was a lot younger then. He’s a real badass. Or at least he was — until you wasted him.”

“I didn’t tell you I killed him.”

“He looked deader than a doornail to me, and I doubt he would have voluntarily given you any of his fingerprints unless they were attached to a large-caliber bullet.” Gavin chuckled. “Unless you’re claiming you just found those four dead guys.”

“You should’ve been a detective.”

“It’s not hard to guess that Wang’s three friends were either PLA or MSS as well. They just weren’t in any of our databases.”

“Good work, Gavin. I appreciate it.”

“Oh, there’s more.”

“Shoot.”

“That license plate you sent me? On the truck?”

“A rental, stolen, or both.”

“Why do I even bother.”

“Because you care so deeply.”

“Well, you asked for it.”

“And I appreciate it. I just wanted to confirm what I suspected.”

“So back to my other question, Jack. What have you gotten yourself into?”

“I’m handling it.”

“Four dead Chinese spies can only lead to more live ones, and pretty pissed off. They’re not exactly the forgiving types.”

“Anything else you can tell me?”

“Maybe we should read Gerry in on this.”

“You tell Gerry anything and I’ll blood-eagle your ass.”

“Nice Vikings reference, Jack.”

“I try. And by the way, I’m not effing kidding.”

Silence on Gavin’s end. Finally, “Okay. I’ll keep quiet — for now.”

“One more favor. Can you ping Paul’s phone?”

“Why? Did he lose it?”

“You ask too many questions.”

“Gimme a second.”

Jack heard keys tapping on the other end of the line.

“Found it.”

“Where?”

“About fifteen feet behind you, and to your left.”

Jack headed for the kitchen. Paul’s phone was on the counter. The text display read Hendley Associates. Jack turned it off.

“Find it, Jack?”

“Yeah. Now help me find Paul.”

Gavin muted the Bluetooth device planted in his ear as he thumped across his office floor with his booted broken foot, checking the hallway to make sure no one had been listening. He shut his door.

He wasn’t sure what he should tell Jack about Paul. Neither Paul nor Jack knew that he’d been working for both of them. In fact, Paul had demanded he not tell Jack about their working together in order to protect Jack. Isn’t that why Paul had him send that capture software?

But now it was Paul who was in trouble. And maybe he was to blame.

“Gavin? You there?” Jack spoke in his earpiece.

Gavin unmuted. “Yeah, Jack. I’m here.”

“Did you hear what I said? I need you to help me find Paul.”

“Yeah, I heard you.”

Jack was silent for a moment. “What aren’t you telling me, Gavin?”

Gavin fell into his chair. “Paul and I were working on a project together.”

“You mean apart from his work in Singapore?”

“Mmm, not exactly.”

“What exactly?”

“Paul asked me to write him a piece of capture software.”

“Capture software? To capture what?”

“He never said. But it was something on a USB. An encryption code.”

“Why?”

“He didn’t say.”

“And you just wrote it for him? Hell, Gavin, if I’d known you had that much spare time, I could’ve found something interesting for you to do.”

“Technically, I didn’t write it. I mean, I jazzed it up a little, but the main code I got from somewhere else.”

“So tell me why you got this for him again?”

“Paul told me he was worried that the woman you’re having sex with is a Chinese spy.”

Jack stared at the phone, his face flushed with heat. “What the hell are you talking about? I’m not sleeping with anybody.”

“Paul said you were sleeping with Lian Fairchild.”

“That’s complete bullshit.”

“I’ve seen her picture, Jack. She’s a looker.”

“Shut your piehole, Gavin. I’m out here to do a job, not a girl. I’m telling you, there’s nothing going on between us.”

“Paul thought there was, and that maybe she was working for the ChiComs.”

“Why didn’t Paul tell me he thought she was working for the Chinese?”

“He thought you were sweet on her, and he wasn’t sure she was a Red. He was looking for proof. At least, that’s what he told me.”

“And that’s what the capture software was all about?”

“That’s what he told me.”

“And you believed him?”

“Why shouldn’t I? Besides, he was just trying to protect you. So was I.”

Jack’s temperature dropped, his anger morphing into regret. “Yeah, I guess so. And you’re right, she’s a looker. But no, I wasn’t banging her, and I’m pretty sure she isn’t a Chinese spy.”

“But you had a run-in with at least four of them now. So Paul’s instincts were right.”

Jack glanced around at the destroyed living room. “Paul’s instincts have gotten him into big trouble. Without his phone, there isn’t any way to track him, is there?”

“No. Well, one.”

“Tell me.”

“Give me a minute. Hold on.”

Jack heard the phone click. He wondered what Gavin was up to. Jack paced the living room floor, his eyes scanning for clues. He racked his brain. There was something needling him. He couldn’t put his finger on it. Gavin was right. He had been dealing with some real characters the last few days. First the Aussies, then the Chinese — the guards at the first warehouse, and then the hit team at the second. Not to mention the truck that slammed into his van — who the hell were they? If he had to guess, the Chinese drove that, too. According to Lian, the Aussies were just street punks, not operators. But they might have been sent by somebody, including the Chinese.

Or were the Chinese working for somebody else?

Something about the white Australians was bugging him. Most of the Caucasians he’d bumped into in Singapore were tourists; a few were businessmen. Jack scratched his head. But… wasn’t there somebody else?

Yeah. A blond guy, shouting into a phone. Where was he?

Jack shut his eyes tightly, trying to play the videotape in his head. It was dark, then a flash of light. That’s when he saw the blond shouting into a phone. That’s right — a van. A Toyota van. And sitting next to him, the Turk with the bushy unibrow, staring back at Jack. The night Jack drove to the warehouse, he passed the Toyota van on the way there, parked in the opposite direction.

Wait! The license plate. What was it? Jack rewound the tape. The lightning flashed, snapping the fleeting image like a photo in his mind. He saw it clearly. White letters on a black plate. A partial. SAM 00.

The phone clicked on.

“Jack, it’s Gerry Hendley on speakerphone.”

Oh, shit.