For a moment Duan was lost for words.
“The choice is yours. But you’ll need to make it quickly.”
Duan thought about everything that had already happened and was tempted to say that Klein was better off gone for good. The problem was, that wasn’t exactly true. They had needed him for a good reason, and that reason was now more pressing than ever.
“He would still prove useful,” Duan said.
“Very well. I’ll be back in touch soon.”
“What about the other man?” Duan said. “Do you think he knows who is behind this?”
“You let us worry about him. If he has anything relevant to say I’ll be sure to pass it on.”
Duan was about to ask how they planned to get the men out of FBI custody when the call ended. He sat looking at the phone for a long time, as if concentration alone might reveal something more. When it didn’t he put it back in the safe, walked to the window and stood looking out at the city. It wasn’t until that moment that he realized just how worried he had really been. When he finally faded away it was into the first dreamless sleep he had enjoyed in days.
Bethesda, Maryland
Friday 22 June 2007
0500 EDT
As anyone who has ever had a plan would undoubtedly agree, the process would be a lot smoother if you could first consult the mind of God or whatever power brings chaos and order to the universe. Lacking this vital resource, a plan is really no more than a best case scenario. Charles Wentworth learned this lesson—and not for the first time—while standing in the shower of his Bethesda home watching the early morning news on the waterproof screen he had installed as a time-saving measure only weeks before.
It was not until the reporter stepped aside and the camera angled in on the face of Javier Ortega that he realized what was going on. Ortega was being led in handcuffs by two sheriff’s deputies down the front steps of his home in Phoenix. It was dark and the constant flicker of cameras made it hard to focus on the screen. There was no defiance in the would-be senator, just the downcast gloom of resignation.
Wentworth slipped and almost knocked himself out as he scrambled to grab a towel and a phone. When he got to the bedroom he turned on the TV and saw a repeat performance in which Paul Redman was now in the starring role. He looked at his watch and thanked the stars it was only five o’clock. Before he had a chance to pick up his cell phone it began to ring. It was Peter Drake.
“You seeing this, boss?” Peter asked.
“I am,” Wentworth said. “I need you to get to Phoenix as fast as you can. I’m going to call Mike and let him know you’re on your way.”
“You think it was Chandler?” Peter said. “I’m only asking because if he jumped the gun and went to the Feds they’ll find out about the money.”
“Does it matter?” Wentworth said.
“Only if they put him on the stand,” Peter said.
“The election will be over long before these assholes get their day in court,” Wentworth said. “If it
is
Chandler we’ll deal with it then. For now we need to make sure Mike knows what he needs to do.”
“Alright. I’ll call you when I get there,” Peter said.
Wentworth ended the call and dialed Mike’s home number. When a very groggy Susan informed him Mike was in Tucson he made his apologies and tried his cell instead.
“Banner.”
“Mike, it’s Charles.”
“What time is it?” Mike said.
“Quarter past five,” Wentworth said, then realized Mike would be two hours behind and said, “Make that quarter past three. Listen, I’m sorry to be calling so early, but we have a situation. Redman and Ortega were arrested last night. I don’t know who broke the story, but it doesn’t really matter. I’m sending Peter over to give you a hand. In the meantime I need you to get Geraldine up and in front of a TV. She’ll know what to do.”
“Are we—is this going to—”
“No,” Wentworth said. “You don’t need to worry about that.”
“Okay,” Mike said. “She’s in the room next door. I’ll go wake her up.”
“Call me as soon as you’ve had a chat with her,” Wentworth said.
“I will.”
Aurora
Friday 22 June 2007
1230 EEST
Francis and Richelle were in her office. Neither of them had slept for almost two days, a fact that only added to the frustration both were now feeling.
Francis’s brief conversation with Wentworth had confirmed his worst fears. Titov and Jasper were indeed in FBI custody, but that was only part of the problem. With the exception of a short and very vague piece in a local paper, news of the arrest was nowhere to be found. Francis was only too well aware what that meant.
There were plenty of agencies and even private individuals in America who could lean on the press and expect at least some cooperation, but a complete blackout was another thing entirely. It brought home to him for the first time since his arrival just how much the world he had left behind was still there. The only difference was that Francis had lost almost all connection to it. Even Fairchild was now retired, and Reginald Styles was lying in a hospital bed somewhere in the Florida Keys with a cancerous tumor in his spine. As for his contacts in the underworld, his long absence would be treated with caution at best and outright suspicion at worst, assuming any of the numbers he still had were even valid anymore. He had thought—had forced himself to believe—that Gandalf would make up for this shortfall in time, and it still might, but as things stood even the all-seeing eye of the Saishans was of little immediate use.
When the phone rang Richelle only looked at it until Francis reached over and picked it up. It was Mitch.
“Hey, Mitch. What’s up?” Francis said.
“Seriously, just get over here as fast as you can.”
“You going to at least tell me why?”
“I think it would be best if you just came over.”
“Fine,” Francis said. “I’ll have to get Yoshi out of bed. I’ll be there in forty-five.” He hung up the phone and turned to Richelle. “I better get over there. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“I’m coming with you,” Richelle said.
“You sure?”
“You said it yourself, I’m the boss. Besides, I’d rather be dealing with a problem we can actually do something about than sitting around here.”
When they reached the helipad above the research station Yoshi was already strapped in and waiting. He pushed the Lynx to max torque the moment the door slid shut, sending Francis stumbling to his seat.
“Did I ever mention how much I hate this ride?” Francis said.
“At every opportunity you get,” Richelle said. “I don’t suppose Mitch told you what’s going on.”
“Only that it was urgent,” Francis said.
Much to Francis’s frustration, Yoshi managed to cut the fifteen minute trip down to ten, punctuating it with a landing that almost cost the helicopter a tire. By the time they stepped onto the bridge of RP One both Francis and Richelle looked slightly seasick.
“This better be important,” Richelle said.
“They’ve got a nuke,” Mitch said.
“Come again?” Francis said.
“A bomb,” Mitch said. “Come take a look.”
The view on the screen looked like night-vision, only instead of a mix of blue and purple it was now orange and red. It showed three of the warehouses inside the compound at Nampo. At the far end of the middle building there was a bright yellow circle in one corner.
“I wasn’t even looking for it,” Mitch said. “We were finalizing the list of filter options when we came across this one. It’s a radiation sensor. We’ve done a little bit of math based on the intensity of the readings and I can tell you that what they have there is a bomb with a yield of over a megaton.”
“Oh Jesus Christ,” Richelle said. “This can’t be happening.”
“Do we know where it came from?” Francis said.
Mitch shook his head. “Afraid not. All I can tell you is that it didn’t arrive by sea. I’ve been keeping an eye on the port.”
“You still think this is a setup?” Richelle said, Titov and Jasper momentarily forgotten.
“If it is,” Francis said, “it’s not going to work out very well for the Chinese. Or anyone else for that matter.”
“Then maybe we should warn them,” Mitch said.
“It might just come to that,” Francis said. “But we’re not going to do anything until we have some idea what they intend to do with it.”
“What does
anyone
with a nuclear bomb intend to do with it?” Richelle said.
“Well,” Francis said, “since 1945, bluff people into thinking they’ll use them. Which is sincerely what I hope our friends have in mind.”
“You don’t seriously think—” Richelle began.
“No,” Francis said. “I don’t think so. But I don’t
know
so either. This entire thing has made no sense from the start, and now it makes even less. If we assume the Chinese are aware of the bomb we’ll need to go back to the drawing board and start again.”
“Do we have anyone who speaks Korean?” Watkins asked.
Richelle considered this and shook her head, “I don’t think so.”
“What about Chinese?”
“Meilin?” Naoko suggested. “In the biology lab?”
“Yes,” Richelle said. “I’ll get her over right away.”
“Now all we need to do is catch someone using a cell phone,” Mitch said.
“You can listen in on calls?” Francis said.
“If we catch someone in the act, yes,” Mitch said. “Although we haven’t yet.”
“They won’t be using cell phones,” Francis said. “Encrypted satellite phones would be my guess.”
Mitch and Naoko glanced at each other, but it was Watkins who spoke. “Gandalf can relay any signal it finds. We already know the system is aware of the satellite traffic up there. The problem is that it has no way of isolating or decoding individual signals in binary code.”
“Can’t you teach it?” Francis asked.
“If it’s something Gandalf is capable of,” Mitch said, “it’ll be a while before we figure it out.”
“So we’re stuck with eyes only for now,” Francis said.
“We’ll try,” Mitch said. “But I wouldn’t count on anything else.”
Watkins was about to add something to this when Richelle stood up and said, “Listen, guys. There’s something I need to tell you.”
Francis admonished her not to go on with a discreet shake of his head, but she ignored him. “Titov and Jasper were stopped by the police this morning on their way to the safe house at Willoughby. They’ve been arrested.”
This was met with shocked silence.
“Wentworth’s hands are tied,” she said. “Caroline is finding out what she can through our contacts in Zurich, but there isn’t really anything she can do either.”
“Why didn’t you tell us?” Mitch asked.
“Because I advised her against it,” Francis said. “The fact is, we’re juggling problems here, and the more we try to do at any one time, the less we’ll get done.”
“And I agree,” Richelle said. “At least in principle. But I really need to know if there’s
anything
we can do from here. Anything at all.”
“Do you know where they are?” Mitch said.
“The FBI field office in Richmond,” Richelle said.
Mitch thought about it for a moment and said, “What about Mike?”
“Mike’s officially retired,” Francis said. “And even if he wasn’t, there’d be nothing he could do.”
“Your friend in Florida?” Mitch suggested. “What’s his name?”
“Reginald,” Francis said. “Don’t think I haven’t considered it. He might have been able to help, but he’s a very sick man. I’m not even sure he’ll live much longer.”
“Sorry,” Mitch said. “I didn’t know.”
“What about
that
thing?” Richelle said, pointing at the screen. “Can’t we at least use it to keep track of where they are?”
“Sure,” Mitch said. “If we could see them.”
“And the container?” Richelle said, now clearly growing desperate. “Isn’t there something in there we could use?”
When no one answered she said, “Christ people, help me out here! Is there
anything
in this fucking alien marvel we can use to get two goddamned people out of a building? Anything at all? I’ll welcome any suggestion you can make.”
Francis reached for her shoulder. “Richelle? I thought we—”
She pushed his hand away and pointed at the chair Mitch was sitting in. “What good is any of this shit if we can’t even use it to protect our own people? Fuck the Chinese and the North Koreans. If they want to blow themselves to kingdom come, let them. Like you said, it would be two less things for us to worry about.”
“That’s not exactly what I said,” Francis said.
“But it’s true,” Richelle said. “In fact, the whole damn planet can go to hell for all I care. My father was right about a lot of things, but he was wrong on one crucial point; the world isn’t divided between the ruthless and the oppressed, it’s divided between the assholes who want to take everyone else down with them and the assholes who are too stupid to realize it and do something about it.”
In her rage Richelle neither heard the phone ring, nor saw Francis pick it up. Nor did she see the look of relief that came over his face as he listened. He put it back down and began nodding his agreement with her increasingly vicious verbal assault on the world and the people in it until the smile on his face finally frustrated her into asking what the hell he was so damn happy about.
“Titov’s fine,” Francis said.
Her face made a remarkable shift from an ugly snarl of disgust to the blank stare of total incomprehension. It was so sudden Francis couldn’t help but laugh.
“Wentworth just spoke to him. He’s got Jasper too.”
She opened her mouth to say something, but no words came out. When Francis put a hand on her arm and said it was over, the breath went out of her along with the anger, the frustration and what remained of her strength.
“Give us a minute here, guys, would you?” Francis said.
They all stood up and walked toward the gangway. Mitch tapped Naoko on the shoulder, winked and gave a big thumbs up. “Told you there was something going on between them.”
“You’re an asshole, Mitch,” Naoko said. “You know that?”
“Yes,” Mitch said. “But I’m an asshole who knows what he’s talking about.”