Dragon: Out of the Box (The Girl in the Box Book 37)

by Robert J. Crane

  It took me a second to decode that. “You mean the White House?”

  “Yes.”

  I tried not to frown, tried not to sigh. Failed the former, not the latter, fortunately, since she couldn't see me but could damned sure hear me. “Why?”

  “Because I just got an email formally requesting your presence,” Chalke said, icily. “Which tells me someone at State has already taken your inquiry and passed it up the chain. So get your ass over there and try to help me clean up this mess.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Julie Blair

  Old Executive Office Building

  Washington, DC

  The email from the Department of State had been a hell of a thing. Julie Blair had grown used to being overworked, and being roped into all manner of communications from various cabinet departments and trying to coordinate the low-level executive functions of government so that the White House didn't get blindsided by the FBI making some discovery of a diplomat's corpse in Montana and not hearing about it until the State Department got an official inquiry from Rwanda wondering where their ambassador was. Mostly, though, her job was to put eyes on the communications of a thousand departments and find the diamonds within, the real value-add areas where she could pass along info that looked good for the Gondry administration. Or find the bad stories and find a way to file the edges off them before they became dangerous.

  Overworked, underpaid, underslept, undersexed – keenly feeling it, especially lately – and missing her kids, Julie Blair's job was all this and much more. It kept her glued to her email day and night, even on those increasingly rare days off.

  This State Department email about the pile of passports discovered in the raid on a DC furniture store? This was something.

  She'd forwarded it up the chain as soon as she got it, then moved on to some serious business involving the Department of the Interior. Once she'd done her best to clear that, though, she came right back to the email from State and reread it, not something she usually did.

  A few things drew her attention to it. One, it involved Sienna Nealon, who was definitely a hot topic. One minute she was a force for good, raising their profile in the world in the best possible ways. The next she was standing too close to a scandal, and getting painted by the stupidity of an outside contractor who made an inflammatory social media post. Either way, Sienna was always news when her name came up, and this time was bound to be no exception.

  Second, though, and more interesting to Julie, it involved a stack of passports from the People's Republic of China that seemed to be the genuine article. The story was secondhand, but it sounded like it involved some element of human trafficking/near wage slavery via the visa process, plus a planned, violent kidnapping. And metahuman involvement.

  As a story, it had it all, and she'd forwarded it to her boss immediately.

  Maybe, if she was lucky, this one would get her noticed. She could use some attention, some help – hell, even a day off. The Gondry administration seemed to be perpetually running in every direction rather than trying to push one agenda item at a time, the way President Harmon had. No, President Gondry was trying to do it all, and Julie was on board with that. The world needed a lot of help. Though, privately, she sometimes wished he would focus more on a single area of policy and get some gains in that area before moving to another.

  Still, the work had to be done. Putting aside the passports email, Julie drew a deep breath. Hopefully this would all turn out well. She had a feeling she hadn't heard the last of it, but a huge pile of unread emails had crushed in within the last few minutes, and so, with only a bit of regret, she clicked off the State email and went on to the next thing.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Jaime Chapman

  It's time to play!

  “I gotta step out for a second,” Jaime Chapman said, glancing at his phone, then smiling up at the board of directors. “Please, continue without me.”

  There wasn't any protest; they'd been listening to quarterly results from the various divisions in the company, and there weren't any big surprises. Jaime strode out of the sunlit boardroom, built into the side of the Socialite pyramid tower in Mountain View, California, and into the blue-carpeted and wood-paneled private hallway outside.

  A half-dozen assistants waited on couches and chairs for their masters within. Chapman flicked a look at them and found them glancing at him nervously. All were engaged in their own work, or goofing off while looking like they were working.

  Chapman headed into the private bathroom outside, making his way into a stall under the glowing energy-efficient fluorescent lights. Once he was locked in, he opened his phone and slipped into the Escapade app. Words were already starting to appear in the chat box.

  CHALKE: So there's a thing with China. Nealon unearthed a bunch of Chinese passports tied to a kidnapping attempt in Northern VA this morning.

  BILSON: Interesting.

  What the hell? He was missing a board meeting for this? Who cared about some stupid passports, or some isolated incident in Virginia?

  CHAPMAN: Maybe I'm dense, but why is this significant?

  CHALKE: Nealon thinks – maybe correctly – the PRC government could have a hand in this. Kidnapping an American citizen on American soil.

  Chapman rolled his eyes. Again, so what? But he let the others dig in and just watched.

  JOHANNSEN: Whoa. That's got diplomatic implications, if true.

  CHALKE: Yep.

  BYRD: Huge news, guys. So huge.

  CHALKE: You can leak this on background, but don't mention any names or agencies. It can't come from the FBI. In fact, if you can make it seem like it came out of the White House, that'd be better.

  KORY: No problem. “White House aides said, off the record...”

  JOHANNSEN: Yeah. Easy.

  BYRD: Big scoop! I M live n thirty, I lead with it. U think there will B reaction from Gondry admin?

  CHALKE: Who knows what that egghead will do?

  BILSON: I got a call to come in to the White House for a meeting shortly. Think I'll be talking to the man himself. Will try to get his perspective and coach him down.

  Chapman raised an eyebrow at all this, mind racing. Now they were getting into interesting territory, and he was trying to digest the full implications.

  CHAPMAN: This isn't going to cause a diplomatic incident, is it? Because I don't need any ripples in my new deal with China.

  CHALKE: Doubtful.

  BILSON: Don't worry. We'll smooth it over. But it'll make a great stir for the press.

  BYRD: U know what'd make an even bigger stir? War with China LOL

  Chapman felt his heart skip a beat. That wasn't the sort of shit you just joked about. Of course war with China would be great for the press in their ranks. Right up until the nukes started landing on LA and San Francisco. He wasn't sure if China had the capability to fling them farther, but it wouldn't surprise him.

  KORY: lol, but seriously, the clicks from that would be epic.

  Chapman didn't find that particularly funny, and didn't bother to hide the fact.

  CHAPMAN: War with China would seriously screw up everything. Including for you guys, in ways you maybe haven't considered. For instance, Chris, your network has distribution deals over there which are helping keep you guys afloat. And Johannsen, the Free Press has been taking so much in advertising dollars to circulate Chinese propaganda as addendums to your papers that I'm not sure you'd still be able to keep printing without them.

  BILSON: Relax, all. We're in this together. We can balance ratings/clicks with not messing up the business world. Tension is good for entertainment and keeping people glued to social media/websites. War...not so much, in the long term.

  Chapman had his doubts about these idiots in the press. Brinksmanship seemed to be their game. How could they follow up the tension to a built-up war, after all? He'd seen the traffic numbers going to their sites post-Revelen. They'd been gangbusters up until the so-called war ended. Then their traf
fic fell off a cliff and they had to rebuild with a new narrative to capture attention in a busy world. Dave Kory was probably the only one of the three press people in the Network that realized that, though. Johannsen was more of a straight news man and Byrd was just an empty talking head.

  JOHANNSEN: Agreed.

  BYRD: Totes. Don't want 2 C any 1 actually die, lol.

  Chapman's eye twitched. Of course Byrd wanted to see someone die. It would mean ratings for him.

  But war with China would be a serious obstacle for Chapman, so he sat there and seethed in the bathroom stall while everyone else logged off the chat. These idiots and their games. Inviting press to the Network had seemed like a mistake to him, and it was one that appeared to be borne out in real time as he watched.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Sienna

  Entering the White House as an FBI agent was probably easier than doing so as a member of the general populace, but it still wasn't what I'd call easy. I was subject to search, to body scan, though to my surprise they didn't bother to take a single one of my weapons, making me wonder what the hell the point of the body scan was.

  Then they took my cell phone. And only my cell phone.

  If I'd been running the US Secret Service, and Sienna Nealon had come to visit me at the residence of the president, I'd have done a full strip search, confiscated every weapon, dosed the subject (yeah, I'm talking about me) with suppressant, and then watched her like a hawk with ten agents ready to draw and fire.

  Instead, I was waved through with only a lone agent for escort, still wearing my Kevlar vest, carrying two guns with backup mags, along with my spring-loaded knife and a couple other rainy day surprises for unarmed combat. But no cell phone.

  To be fair, this wasn't the first time I'd been to the White House in the last year. It was, by my reckoning, the third; the first being when President Gondry had announced my new role with the FBI and the second coming after a mission I'd been tasked to with Warren Quincy (who I affectionately called the Terminator) and some Navy SEALs to rescue some kidnap victims in East Africa. That had been a feel-good mission, returning those girls to their parents.

  I doubted I was meeting with the president this time, though. He'd been nice enough last round, pinning a special medal on me and shaking my (gloved) hand. Smiles and photo ops were one thing. This seemed like a dedicated briefing, though, super granular and detail-laden. Way below the president's attention.

  So it was with great surprise that my Secret Service escort led me into the Oval Office and told me to wait, disappearing out into the reception area and leaving me alone.

  In the freaking Oval Office.

  I kept my hands firmly anchored behind my back so no one could accuse me of stealing shit. I took a look around, keeping very stiff, feeling like I might strain something if I came any more to attention. The Resolute desk was smaller than I would have anticipated, but still very stately and imbued with a sense of majesty somehow. It had to be in my head, and related to the history of the thing, because objectively it was just a piece of furniture.

  A quick glance around at the busts that sat on various tables, the blue rug of the National seal, the flawless paint job that suggested that the wall behind the president's desk had not been torn through by a running, screaming Guy Friday a couple years back – all these caught my searching eyes. I tried to imagine Gerry Harmon sitting in that chair – or one like it, since every president's chair was custom molded and also bulletproof – as Jamie Barton dragged him out into the atmosphere.

  I had a history with this room and its previous occupant, and I really tried not to show it as I bumbled around killing time, since I had no phone to dick around on.

  The door to the Oval Office opened a moment later, and Heather Chalke sauntered in, pausing only a moment, eyes flicking over me in cool surprise, then making her way to the sitting area in the middle of the room and sitting down, flipping open a leather-bound notebook, pen white-knuckled in her grip. “Find the place all right?”

  “Yeah,” I said, pushing down all the sarcastic responses. There were so many.

  “Good,” she said, back to business. “I need you to soft-play this, you hear me?” She looked up at me very seriously. “You need to–”

  Whatever other instructions she was going to give me got lost to the opening of the door as President Richard Gondry came bustling in with an entourage behind him. “...Make sure you schedule that call with Cam Wittman after lunch,” Gondry said, speaking over his shoulder and past Secretary of State Lisa Ngo, who was following him in. Someone called an affirmative response to that, and the Secret Service agent on the door shut it behind them, leaving me, the FBI's former Number One with a Bullet on the Most Wanted List, alone in a room with the FBI Director, the Secretary of State...and the President of the United States.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  I tried not to act like the slightly mad lunatic that I was often accused of being as I took a deep breath of the heady atmosphere. I was in the Oval Office with the President of the United States, a Cabinet official, and my immediate boss, the FBI Director, after all. This was not a usual thing for me.

  “Thank you ladies for coming,” President Gondry said, taking a quick lap around behind his desk and looking at something there. He only lingered there for a moment, then made a hand gesture for all of us to sit.

  I hesitated as SecState Ngo grabbed a spot on a couch opposite Chalke, and reluctantly slipped in next to my boss and sat on what was, to my surprise, one of the most mediocre couches I'd ever put my ass on. I bet it was expensive, too. What a waste of my tax dollars.

  No one spoke as the president sat in a freestanding chair at the head of our respective couches. Chalke seemed to ignore my relative proximity; the couch wasn't so small I was on top of her, thankfully, and she'd seated herself to be closest to the president, which I'm sure was the sort of power game Chalke would have been into. Ngo had firmly claimed the entire couch opposite us, plopping right in the middle of it. Sure, it was big enough and she was small enough that I could have sat down on either side of her, but I admired her claiming that land entirely for her ass and sort of pushing me to be on Chalke's side or taking one of the independent chairs opposite the president.

  I was on a side, whether I liked it or not, so I sat accordingly. Now I was just interested to see which symbolic side I'd landed on, and whether I'd stay there once this conversation got rolling.

  “Talk to me,” Gondry said, crossing his legs a little more tightly than I would have liked to see from the most powerful man on the planet. “I only heard of this an hour or so ago. Bring me up to speed.”

  “Not much to say so far,” Chalke said, stealing a glance at me and putting some emphasis on her look.

  Yeah, yeah, I got it. Don't say much. “Mr. President, we just started the investigation this morning,” I said, trying to keep myself stiff and business-like. Professional, even. “There was a kidnapping attempt on a first-generation Chinese immigrant by what may be China-connected persons. How they're connected is a mystery.” I tried not to look around nervously, but my gaze fell on SecState Ngo regardless.

  She took up the glance, sparing me from going any further – yet. “I've directed my people to look through customs records. Near as we can tell, only the primary set of passports has been used, not any of the duplicates with other names. So...” She pulled out a paper, “...this Cheng Yu entered the United States through LAX about two weeks ago. He listed a hotel address in New York as where he was staying while in the country. Hotel has no record of his check-in.” She smiled tightly. “Similar for the passports of the other accomplices.” Her eyes slid down the page. “As to the passports of the furniture store workers, they all came in on work visas in the last twelve months to three years.”

  “Hmmm,” Gondry said, head inclined thoughtfully. “Why would China want to grab a college professor from Northern Virginia?”

  “Well,” I said, as Chalke turned to watch me speak, giving me a v
ery frosty look as she did so, “as I mentioned, the victim is the child of Chinese immigrants – dissidents, actually, they came over post-Tiananmen.” Here I stole a glance at Ngo. “Have you heard anything about reprisals against dissidents carried out in the US?”

  “Something like that happened in London last year, but through the local police, not direct Chinese action.” Ngo's eyes got a little bigger. “You think they're looking for revenge, or to suppress these people thirty years after the event?”

  “I have no idea,” I said, watching Chalke's eyes get angrier and angrier, though only I could see them, “we're lost as to motive here. We can't even prove the PRC is responsible for this crime. It could be criminals who have access to their equivalent of the State Department's passport office supplying Triad agents for all we know.” I tried to keep a straight face as I posited this.

  Ngo gave me a near-pitying look. I was pretty sure she could see Chalke's shut the hell up expression, in spite of the director's attempts to hide it. “While there is plenty of corruption in the Chinese government, the most probable explanation is that these passports were made with the full cooperation of their intelligence agencies.” She shrugged. “It's impossible to prove, though. I've sent out feelers, and I expect a strong denial and a flimsy, nonsensical explanation blaming dissidents for this outrage, along with a statement that they'll be taking firm action against the people responsible.”

  “Sounds like we're nowhere with this, then,” Chalke said, shifting around so the president could see her. Her face had melded back to completely neutral. “The Chinese will deny any involvement, we won't be able to prove it. Case closed.”