Sea of Lies: An Espionage Thriller (18 page)

The Russians weren’t coming: they were already here.

*  *  *  *  *

At eight o’clock, the guard awakened Joanie, who despite her myriad concerns, had managed to doze uncomfortably. A well-dressed, pleasant-faced man in his mid-thirties and an equally well-coiffed but sterner lady in her forties entered the room. Another chair was brought in along with
congee
, traditional breakfast porridge.

“Good morning, Madam Lam. We are with the Ministry of State Security and require your assistance.”

Holy hell! The Ministry of State Security was China’s international espionage agency, the equivalent of the CIA. She knew that from the escapist novels she read at home. Joanie decided the time had passed for haughty defiance. “Of course. How can I help you?” she said.

“Your husband is Robert Nolan, American citizen?”

“Yes.” How in the hell did they know that?

“Your husband works for the Central Intelligence Agency?”

“I, I, I . . . no! He works in a software development company called Independent—”

“No, that is his cover. He is a cryptanalyst with the CIA.”

“I told you, I don’t know.”

The soft man spoke for the first time. “Madam Lam, the MSS has no interest in you and little interest in your husband. We know he was stripped of his authorities one and one-half years ago. We know he retires at the end of this month. We don’t even want to speak with him. But if you can’t confirm certain information that we already know to be true, how can you expect us to believe you when it comes time to answer our real questions? And if we don’t believe your answers, we cannot release you. Do you understand?”

“Yes, yes I do. I will tell you what I know, but it isn’t much. My husband is in the CIA and he is retiring at the end of this month. That is true.”

“Ten months ago, your husband flew to Hawaii for one day, and then back to Singapore. What did he do in Hawaii?” The female interrogator referred to her notes.

“He said he had to help out his godson Mark. That’s Mark
Watermen
, the NSA fellow.”

“But Mark Watermen was already in Hong Kong by that time, so how could he help him?”

“I don’t know. I know Bob helped Mark’s girlfriend put their house back in order because the FBI and police had been all through it once they found out Mark had taken those files.”

The man spoke. “Did your husband bring anything back from Hawaii? Anything at all?”

“Hmm, I got a tee shirt and a box of chocolate-coated macadamia nuts and—”

“That’s not what he meant,” the woman said. “Think harder.”

“Well, he did mail a small padded envelope to me at my mother’s address. It came from Guam and was very light.”

“And what was inside?” The man’s tone was deadpan, but the gleam in his eyes told her this was what they were after.

“I don’t know. I received it from my mother when we had lunch a little later and gave it to Bob unopened. I never saw it again. I swear—”

“We believe you,” the female boss said.

This was a surprise, as her story sounded like guff even to her own ears.

“Did he ever mention the trip or the contents of that envelope?” he said.

“No, no, not that I can . . . well, wait a minute. I heard him say at a dinner shortly after that he’d worked over thirty years to try to earn his pension, but in the last month he’d spent a little more than thirty hours and had come up with a portable pension plan that was even better. He was drunk at the time, but I remember him saying something like that because it was new to me. I asked him about it the next day and he said he’d made it up because our friends are wealthy finance people and he wanted to impress them.”

“And what did you think?” he asked.

“About what? Whether he had a portable pension plan?”

“Yes. Was he making that up, or was he serious?”

“I thought he was serious when he said it the night before. However, if he said he was lying the next day, maybe that was the case. I never brought it up again and neither did Bob.”

“Does your husband lie?” She was trying to connect, woman to woman, but her attempt at empathy fell short.

“All men lie. You are old enough to know that.”

“Thank you for your cooperation, Madam Lam. Would you like some more
congee
?” The young officer, ever the gentlemen, spooned more porridge into her bowl and freshened her tea.

*  *  *  *  *

Gus Walsh was someone casual observers sometimes mistook for a professional soldier until they watched him move. Then they realized his big pectorals and biceps were the products of genetics, creatine and the weight room rather than athletic skill or martial training. Nolan envied Gus for his 6’3” chiseled blond looks, but spent as little time as possible with the younger man because of his insufferable ego and naïveté. There he stood, combing his hair outside the room, oblivious to anyone who might be observing.

Nolan unlocked the door, ushered him inside and relocked the door.

“Did you bring a weapon?” Nolan asked.

“No, we don’t have one at the office so I ran over,” Gus replied, still a little out of breath.

“I’ve called Agency security. They have men on the way, plus a crime scene squad. Don’t touch anything in this room.”

“Jesus Christ, Bob. This place is a mess.”

Nolan spotted one of his orphaned socks and fished it out of a pile of Millie’s unmentionables.

“I didn’t know you were into the kinky stuff. What is this, two hookers’ worth of performance gear?”

“Just do me a favor and keep quiet. There’s a lot happening, and I’ll explain when there’s more time. The key point is that an ex-US Special Forces officer in Burma is a big-time arms and drug smuggler. On Saturday afternoon, I was roped into doing a snoop job for the COS when he was shorthanded after MH370 disappeared. I bumped into this ex-Vietnam Ranger named Robin Teller who is the subject of a DEA investigation. That made me a target, too. Teller’s men have killed four to date with credible threats made against my family and me. I couldn’t stay in my own house last night, so I shared a room with a CIA officer—‍”.

“A CIA officer or a French whore?”

Nolan ignored the jibe. “I think Teller works for the Russian mob, and it’s likely that whoever searched this room is either Russian or Eastern European. Keep your eyes peeled once we get out of here.”

“So if this Teller guy has Russian mobsters trying to kill you, why did they turn the room upside down? I mean, they took apart the telephone, the TV set, the light fixtures, the thermostat—”

“Yes, I get your point. They think I have photos and possibly evidence from their smuggling airstrip in Burma. Maybe they think I hid a memory card somewhere in the room. I don’t know.”

“It would have been easier to wait here for you to come back, wouldn’t it?” Gus’s persistence was annoying.

"Did it occur to you that maybe they didn't think I would come back? And while we're asking questions, I have a couple for you. Have you finalized the payment approvals to the two Koreans? What about the feedback from Langley regarding the quote on the worms out of Philippines? I thought both of those would be done on Friday, yet there’s nothing in my inbox. Sri Lanka’s a mess from top to bottom. Any progress there, either?”

“Uh, well, I took Friday off because I’d had a big night Thursday. In fact, the girl I brought back probably would have liked some of this leather your roommate has. Is that a whip on the bed?”

A ferocious knock signaled the arrival of their colleagues. Nolan looked through the peephole and recognized the boss of the four men outside.

“Come on in, Jerry. Damned glad to see you,” was the best Nolan could muster before Jerry Flynn and his three companions were inside. Nolan shared his hypotheses regarding Teller, Russian gangsters and camera cards. He made his excuses that he needed to get to the office and moved to leave.

One of the forensics team, also named Bob, stepped into his path. “Hold on a second. Don’t take that bag with you. We need to process that.”

“No, this is clean. I brought this from home just now.”

“You brought
two
overnight bags from home?” Bob Two's sharp look reminded Nolan of the second bag dangling from its shoulder strap.

“Well, this one has my trip papers and this other one has my clothes. Here, take them both.” Nolan held them out, droopy gray mustache and innocent blue eyes looking into the deeply set brown eyes of his thinner, bearded new colleague. Bob Two hesitated, not wanting to call Nolan’s bluff but not wanting anything to leave the crime scene, either.

“Collins, I know you’re new here, but this is Bob Nolan for Pete’s sake. He won the Distinguished Intelligence Medal a few years ago. He’s been in the Company for thirty years and retires later this month. Cut the man some slack.” Jerry Flynn wanted to get out of that room as much as Nolan did. He was also someone Nolan drank with after-hours, especially overseas on company boondoggles.

“Sorry, just trying to be thorough,” Collins said, raising his palms in a surrender gesture, lowercase version, eyebrows arched in mock apologies.

“Not to worry. Your men will find my prints because I checked my email and showered here last night after flying in from Rangoon. Agent Mukherjee offered to let me sleep in the spare bed. I slept a few hours and left around 06:00 hours to stop by my own home. I don’t know where she is, but she did say that she was headed to the embassy early, so someone should confirm that.”

Turning to Walsh, Nolan said, “Come with Jerry and me. We’ll drop you back at the office on the way to the embassy. I’ll alert you fellows if Ms. Mukherjee isn't on site.”

Bob Two closed the door behind them. Nolan felt gravity relax a little and was light on his feet by the time they’d reached the embassy Ford in the garage.

Flynn looked at his watch and spoke to the driver. “Let’s try to make up some time. Chief wants to speak with Bob right away.”

Nolan’s spirits crashed again. He wouldn’t get any sleep after all.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

SHANGHAI SURPRISE

MONDAY MORNING, MARCH 10, BEIJING

Yu Kaili was nervous as she passed through security. Even Ministry of State Security senior officers rarely graced the portals of the Politburo Standing Committee’s squat office building. The metal detector and an aggressive pat down left her unharmed, but in slight disarray. She gathered her belongings and stepped briskly to catch up to Liu Zhenchang. At sixty-eight he could out-walk people over twenty-five years his junior and was proving it.

While they waited for the elevator, he turned. “This is your chance to make a positive impression on Yi Xiubao. He’s very much the president’s man and the newest Central Politburo Standing Committee member.” As the doors closed, he added in a low voice, “If you don’t say anything, I will look stupid for bringing you.” The elevator attendant stared straight ahead, feigning deafness. Doubtless they were on CCTV as well.

Kaili wondered why he said things like this, knowing they were being recorded. “Comrade Liu, we don’t even know why this meeting has been called or who else is attending.”

“It has to be about Iran holding the
Menander
team hostage in that Beirut basement.”

Kaili could think of fifteen other things it might be about, including their dismissals, incarcerations and/or pending executions. However, Liu was well informed about all matters in keeping with his position as head of the Ministry of State Security, the bastion against the ceaseless prying of the CIA and its minions.

A butler showed them to a meeting room with a table for six and a uniformed guard outside. Liu and Kaili stood silently while waiting for the others, scanning the photos of current and past Communist Party greats interspersed with May Day slogans,
Socialist China Stands Rock-Firm in the East
and
Obey the Party’s Command
being the two closest to her
.

Within a minute, a military man in a Savile Row suit joined them. “Comrade Liu! So very good to see you. And who is your lovely colleague?” Kaili and Admiral Wang Gaoli exchanged introductions as the admiral appreciated Kaili’s curvaceous frame. Liu wondered why the deputy head of MSS Counter Intelligence had never met the head of the People’s Liberation Army Navy.

They stood around and fidgeted for another ten minutes, Admiral Wang growing more impatient by the tick. The admiral wasn’t one for delay, while Liu and Kaili had made careers by turning waiting into advantage.

Yi Xiubao was gray-haired and 6’1” tall with an ex-athlete’s physique, his rimless designer eyeglasses one of his few concessions to age. He wore the smile of a professional politician and greeted them by name, having doubtless just scanned their dossiers. “Comrades, please be seated. Would you like some tea?”

Formalities aside, the Secretary of the Central Commission for Intelligence and youngest of nine Politburo Standing Committee members spoke. “President Gao Xiang himself has asked me to work as the senior coordinator of our most delicate—and confidential—interagency operations. We have steering committees, but the president considers them inefficient. He wants me to work at a higher level to ensure that our nation’s leadership is promptly and properly informed.”

Liu Zhenchang hadn’t spent the last decade at the top of the MSS by letting senior party members dictate who was told anything beyond need-to-know. And he hadn’t lived through the Great Leap Forward, Cultural Revolution, Gang of Four and other purges by openly defying anyone on the PSC, either. So he kept silent. A glance at Kaili showed that she was looking down, writing slowly.

Their military colleague broke the silence. “Comrade Yi, our current information-sharing infrastructure is well developed and functions sufficiently for—”

“Admiral Wang, if what I’m proposing isn’t acceptable to you, perhaps the next head of the PLA Navy will be more amenable.”

Wang flushed and his voice was strained. “Comrade, I apologize if I gave offense. Of course, I would be honored to participate in President Gao’s initiative.”