Act of War (40 page)

“How many licenses total were on the machine for this guy?”

Roe smiled. “Seven. Just like you suspected, he practiced with a local, Idaho driver’s license first. We’ve already run it. Unlike the others, this one is legit. It belongs to a fifty-seven-year-old naturalized American citizen of Chinese birth named Ren Ho. He lives in Indian Valley, Idaho, about two hours north of Boise. We’re doing a full workup on him now and the FBI has already scrambled an HRT team. DoE is also sending a NEST team.”

Harvath looked at Carlton. “We need to be there, on site, as soon as they grab him, so we can do the interrogation.”

The Old Man nodded. “Who do you want to take?”

“Sloane and Chase, plus Nicholas for anything we find computer-related.”

“Done. Anything else?”

“Stephanie Esposito.”

“The Agency’s China analyst?”

“I want someone who knows the culture,” replied Harvath. “Who can speak and read Chinese.”

“I’ll call the President and DNI and brief them right now.”

Scribbling down his email address and cell phone number, Harvath handed them to Agent Roe and said, “As soon as we’re in the air, I’ll check my inbox. Please send everything you’ve got to that address.”

“Will do,” Roe replied. “Stay safe.”

“I’ll try,” he said, and then, looking at Nicholas, nodded toward the door. “Let’s go.”

B
OSTON
, M
ASSACHUSETTS

F
our out of the five princelings had done a good job. They had practiced excellent tradecraft and had not brought any surveillance with them into Chinatown. The fifth princeling, though, had been atrocious. Not only had she dragged a tail along behind her, but she had also brought her cell phone.

Cheng could forgive her for the tail; even the best operatives made mistakes. The phone, though, was unforgivable. From the moment he had first picked her up on the surveillance cameras, she had been either talking or texting. She was oblivious to the things going on around her. It infuriated him, because if she had chosen to ignore this part of the protocol, she had likely ignored everything else she had been taught.
The arrogance. This was not a game.

The restaurant was noisy, crowded. It was filled with boisterous American Chinese. There was a fish tank with cloudy water. Everything smelled like crab.

Cheng watched to make sure the rude waiter had given the note to the right person and then he slipped into the handicapped bathroom.

When she knocked, he unlocked the door and stood back. She was wearing knee-high boots, a short skirt, and a flimsy top. Stepping into the small space, she kicked the door closed behind her and shot daggers at him.

“Lock it,” he said.

Her cold gaze was averted only long enough to turn and do as he had
asked. When she turned back around, he reached out and wrapped one of his hands around the back of her neck.

“Give it to me,” he demanded in Chinese.

The daggers were gone. Her eyes were now wide with fear. She didn’t like his hand on the back of her neck like that. “Give you what?”

He was done playing games. He ran his free hand over her body until he found it. She had tucked her iPhone in her bra and he brushed roughly against one of her breasts pulling it out.

“Hey!” she exclaimed.

“Shut up.”

“My grandfather will—”

Cheng tightened his grip around her neck, forcing her to look at him. “Listen to me, princess. We are not in Beijing. I don’t care who your grandfather is. I’m in charge. Do you understand me?”

The young woman didn’t reply, so Cheng squeezed even tighter. When she nodded, he released his grasp.

“Do you know that you have an FBI agent following you?”

The girl rubbed her neck, hoping he had not bruised her. “I didn’t see anyone.”

“Of course not. You were too busy talking and texting on your phone.”

“Where is he?”

“Shut up and pay attention,” he snapped.

Pulling out one of the new, prepaid phones he’d had Wei Yin purchase when they had arrived in Boston, he handed it to her. “Take this. Then I want you to go back into the restaurant, sit down, and order dinner. When this phone rings, you will pick it up and you will do exactly as I tell you. Is that understood?”

The young woman shrugged.

He was ready to grab her by the neck again. “This is not a game, Daiyu. This is very serious. Do you understand me?”

“I guess,” she replied. “Now give me my iPhone back.”

“No,” he said, unlocking the door. “Time to go.”

As she stepped past him, the daggers were back.

“Enjoy your dinner. I’ll call you soon.”

He watched her disappear down the hall and back into the restaurant. He didn’t need to look for the FBI man. He was out there somewhere.

Exiting the restaurant, he turned off the iPhone and then tossed it down a storm drain.
Stupid, arrogant girl.

Back at the safe house, he checked on the other four princelings. They had eaten and were watching a Chinese DVD. He’d been loath to leave them alone, but he’d had little choice. To their credit, they had behaved themselves. Even the smokers had done as he had asked and had limited themselves to smoking in the bathroom with the window cracked. He had no desire to draw undue attention to the safe house, or to his charges. As soon as he could bring Daiyu in, they’d be able to get some sleep, and then they would be on their way.

The FBI agent, though, was now an issue, and there were only two ways to deal with him. Either Cheng could come up with a suitable distraction to help Daiyu slip away, or he’d have to pick the right spot and put a bullet in the back of the man’s head. While a bullet in the back of the head was a lot easier to accomplish, it brought with it a host of new problems, not least of which was the possibility of a police dragnet if they found the body before the Chinese had been able to flee.

He couldn’t risk it. He’d have to find a way to help her shake the tail without the agent’s knowing he’d been spotted. The easiest way to do that was to pick a business that had multiple entries and exits.

After changing clothes, he left the safe house and found a small store where he bought Daiyu sweatpants, a sweatshirt, and a Boston Bruins baseball cap. Just changing her appearance was going to go a long way toward helping her disappear.

Next, he walked over to Avenue De Lafayette to explore the Hyatt Regency Hotel. It was a large, busy building with a restaurant, a café, and, most important of all, many ways in and out. It would be perfect. There was even a lobby bar from which he could take in everything as she entered.

As soon as he had mapped out how it would all unfold, he removed his sterile cell phone and called her at the restaurant.

“Do you know the Hyatt Regency Hotel?” he asked.

“Yes,” she replied. “I know it.”

“Ask for the check then. Once you have paid, don’t do anything differently. Just walk to the hotel. Forget the man is there. Don’t look over your shoulder, don’t acknowledge him at all. Understand?”

“Yes, I understand,” she said.

Cheng decided it would be better to keep her on the phone and talk her all the way in. If anything, it would help keep her calm and prevent her from doing something stupid.

It didn’t take long before she announced that she could see the hotel up ahead. Soon after that, she was outside and coming through the front doors. Cheng told her to walk straight to the main elevators, come up to the lobby level, and then take the guest elevators to the fifth floor. He would meet her there in the south stairwell.

Looking over the lobby, he watched as Daiyu arrived and did exactly as he had instructed. He then waited for the FBI agent in order to see what he would do. Cheng had figured the man would park himself on a chair somewhere in the lobby and wait for her to come back down. Cheng was wrong.

Seconds later, the agent arrived, but with two other agents in tow. This was not good. Cheng needed to act fast.

There was no time to wait for the elevator. In fact, the sooner he got out of the lobby, the better. Keeping his head down, he moved to the stairwell, opened the door, and began taking the stairs two and then three at a time.

When he reached Daiyu, he grabbed her by the arm and ordered, “Move. Now. Up. Go!”

On the seventh floor, he steered her out of the stairwell and down the long, carpeted hallway. At an ice machine station, he directed her into the little room, pulled out the clothes he had purchased for her, and said, “Hurry. Put these on.”

Daiyu motioned for him to turn around. Considering how she was dressed and how she had behaved, he wasn’t fooled by her false modesty. “Make it quick,” he stated, turning his back.

When she had dressed in the sweatpants and sweatshirt, he had her tuck her hair up under the Bruins cap and then looked at her.
Good enough.

Shoving her other clothes behind the ice machine, he stole a glimpse into the hallway to make sure it was safe. There was no one there.

Taking Daiyu by the wrist, Cheng moved quickly toward the stairwell at the other end of the hall.

When they got there, he opened the door and stepped onto the landing, but his heart caught in his chest. There were voices and the sound of heavy footsteps coming up toward them.

“What is it?” Daiyu asked as he backed out of the stairwell and silently closed the door.

“Trouble.”

They moved even faster now, back toward the stairwell they had originally been in. Cracking the door, Cheng listened and didn’t hear anything. It sounded safe until he heard the squelch from a radio. There was only one thing left to do.

Backing out of the stairwell, he dragged Daiyu behind him, his eyes scanning the wall for what he wanted. When he found the fire alarm, he activated it.

Instantly, strobe lights began flashing and the earsplitting wail of the alarm filled the air. Seconds later, guests began to stick their heads out of their rooms, unsure what to do next. Was there a fire? Was it a mistake?

Turning to Daiyu, Cheng said, “Stay close to me. Don’t say a word and don’t let go of my hand.”

The young woman nodded and Cheng led her back to the stairwell. Before he opened the door, he gave her a final reminder to be as quiet as possible. When she nodded, he opened the door and checked to make sure that whoever had been beneath them with the radio had not yet made it to their floor.

Convinced that it was safe, as long as they went up, he drew her into the stairwell and began climbing.

By the time they reached the tenth floor, hotel guests were already streaming in from the floors above and heading down in a torrent of robes, workout clothes, and pajamas. It was exactly what Cheng wanted. It would be impossible for the FBI agents to identify the masses of people flooding down to the lobby and out onto the sidewalks.

Stepping onto the tenth floor, he searched until he found the service elevator and then pulled Daiyu into the vestibule. Depressing the call button, he removed his pistol, affixed its suppressor, and though he already knew the weapon was hot, checked to make sure a round was chambered.

The young woman stared at it aghast. “What’s that?”

“A rice maker,” Cheng replied as he retained his hold on the pistol and concealed it with the plastic bag her sweats had been in.

She resented his insolence. “You do not have my permission to shoot anyone.”

The remark made him smile. “I don’t need your permission. You’re not in charge here.”

“But my grandfather—” she began.

He shot her a stare that cut her off midsentence. “I told you. We’re not in Beijing and I don’t care who your grandfather is.”

“You’ll be made to care,” she replied.

“Perhaps. But until then, you’re going to keep your mouth shut and you’re going to do what I say or you won’t live to see your grandfather again.”

The young woman folded her arms across her chest and refused to look at him.

Obstinacy.
That was fine by him, especially if it shut her up. And as long as she followed orders.

The elevator arrived, they stepped in, and Cheng selected the basement level. The hotel had underground parking and he planned for them to slip out via the side entrance on Chauncy Street.

He watched each floor blink by, ready for the worst should the doors open and they be confronted with a threat. Nothing happened. Even the hotel guests had stuck to the stairwells.

Arriving at the lower level, they exited the elevator into a long service corridor lit by bright, overhead lighting.

“This way,” he said.

They followed the deserted corridor to a door that read
Garage, Exit Only, No Reentry
, all of which were fine by Cheng.

The alarm was still blaring as he leaned against the crash bar and
pushed the door open with his hip. There was no sign of movement anywhere in the garage. They had almost made it.

“We’re going to walk up the ramp and out onto the street,” he said. “Keep your eyes down and stay close.”

Crossing the garage, Cheng kept his eyes peeled. Already in his mind, he was planning what he would do once they were outside. They would take a left on Chauncy, move away from the hotel to Summer Street, and start carefully working their way back to Chinatown and the safe house.

At the top of the ramp, Cheng stuck his head out, looked both ways, and then led Daiyu onto the sidewalk. The sound of approaching police cars and fire engines could be heard in the distance.

The street was lined with parked cars. It was a very long block with a CVS and a Macy’s at the end, and no other streets or alleyways branching off before then.

They had only made it about twenty feet when a man shouted, “Bao Deng! FBI! Stop right where you are!”

The federal agent hadn’t called out to Daiyu. He had called out to Cheng, specifically, and had addressed him by his alias. Somehow, the Americans were on to him. He had been left with no choice. Pushing Daiyu to the ground, Cheng spun, raised his weapon, and began to fire.

The FBI man’s pistol jumped twice in his hands, accompanied by two loud reports, before it fell silent and he dropped to the ground, dead.