Threat Level Alpha

by Leo J. Maloney

  Then there was movement behind him and he saw the hotel manager and two other staff members hurry toward the door.

  Limousines and black SUVs pulled up. They were all American makes. Conley thought that Dan Morgan would approve.

  The Chinese delegation was large, twenty people in dark business suits, flanked by eight Chinese soldiers wearing sidearms.

  Four of the soldiers entered first, followed by the clear leader of the group. Conley was surprised to see that he recognized the man: it was Cheng Quan, the Chinese Minister of Finance himself. That was impressive. It showed that the Chinese government took this conference very seriously.

  Conley imagined rooms full of analysts at the CIA and State jumping in their chairs all at once. Then again, that might have been the point of sending Quan—misdirection. Perhaps the Chinese were signaling that the conference was of supreme importance in order to divert the United States’ attention from something else.

  It was an interesting question, and he had more patience for those sorts of problems than Morgan, but there was no doubt that Morgan had rubbed off on him. Conley preferred a clear mission, with a clear set of challenges and objectives, to the endless game of feint and counter-feint that made up the bulk of international intelligence work.

  For now, he had a simple mission, and he suspected it would be an easy one. Even if there were a significant terrorist attack, the combination of private security, police, and military from two countries would almost certainly be able to handle it.

  Thus, it was time to focus on the vacation part of his working vacation. However, before he could fully formulate that thought, something caught his eye. No, not something—someone.

  Standing to the left of Minister Quan was a Chinese woman in a no-nonsense business suit. She had the minister’s attention and was leading him to the hotel manager. Clearly, she was one of his top aides, and she obviously commanded respect from the rest of the minister’s entourage.

  That was something. For all of its pretense of communist egalitarianism, China still had a deeply patriarchal culture, and still seemed—from a Western point of view—fairly chauvinist. But this aide certainly commanded the men’s attention—including Conley’s. She was in her early to mid, thirties. And she carried herself with the kind of confidence that was only born of extreme competence.

  She was also beautiful—gorgeous actually. Her hair was past shoulder length and had a bit of a curl. It was light years from the short bob “liberation” hairstyle that most women in China had adopted in the 1950s, and which was still favored by women who wanted to get anywhere in the Communist party or in high-level Chinese business.

  Conley didn’t care for that bob, simply because it was intended to erase one of the differences between men and women. Obviously, the woman he was watching shared his view. That made her, he decided, a bit of a rebel.

  She turned away from the minister, who was bowing to the hotel manager, and directly at Conley. She locked eyes with him and he realized that he’d been staring—like a smitten tourist.

  Well, that was his cover, the tourist part anyway.

  She held his gaze for longer than he would have expected. Her expression didn’t change except for a slight tilt of her head and the raising of one eyebrow. Then she was back to work, leading the minister through the lobby.

  Well, even if the work part of his vacation was uneventful, the vacation part was certainly looking up.

  * * * *

  “You’ve been cleared by all of your instructors. Do you have any concerns about the mission or your preparation for it?” Diana Bloch asked.

  This was it. Alex had wanted it, she’d trained for it, and she thought she was ready for it.

  All she had to do was agree that she was ready.

  “I’m comfortable with the cover, the social aspects, the infiltration plan. However, I do have some concerns about the course material,” Alex said.

  “The course material?” Bloch asked.

  Alex had been an advanced high school student, with a number of college-level courses and college credits from her AP exams. She knew she could keep up in her literature and history classes. However the people she’d be going to class with and hopefully infiltrating were now studying high-level biology and chemistry.

  Alex had studied both biology and chemistry in high school and had even taken AP Organic Chemistry. She was proud of scoring a 4 on the exam, but she was still at a significant disadvantage when dealing with people who were majoring in biochemistry.

  Alex remembered enough from her time with Americans for a Peaceful Society that she knew she could talk the talk. Playing fangirl for a professor who was advocating for the death of every man, woman, and child on the planet would be tougher, but she had studied him and his group enough that she knew she could do it.

  But what about late night bull sessions about the finer points of cloning vectors or viroid propagation?

  Alex remembered her talk with Alicia Schmitt. Just because they are crackpots, don’t make the mistake of assuming they are stupid.

  “I share your concerns. This is why I’ve assigned Karen O’Neal to go undercover with you,” Bloch said.

  “In what capacity?” Alex asked, her tone sharper than she had intended.

  “Professor Spellman finds himself suddenly short a teaching assistant. O’Neal is the replacement.”

  Alex directed her next question to O’Neal. “Do you have a background in biochemistry?”

  “Not really, but I’ve had a week to study,” O’Neal said flatly.

  “And you’ve learned biochemistry in a week?”

  “Not enough to teach a class myself, but more than enough to grade papers and help in the lab. I’ll be a teaching assistant, not a professor,” O’Neal said, shooting an apologetic look at Bloch. “To take over any of Spellman’s classes, I’d need another few—” Bloch raised her hand and O’Neal didn’t finish.

  “That’s fine, you’ll be there to observe Professor Spellman, not replace him,” Bloch said. Then the director turned her gaze to Alex. “What do you think?”

  Alex was stunned on a few levels. First, this would not be a solo mission, as she and Bloch had discussed, which hit her right in her pride. Second, Bloch had obviously given O’Neal the assignment at least a week ago. And third, O’Neal had—with no prior training—learned enough in seven days to pose as a graduate teaching assistant to one of the top biochemistry professors in the country.

  Alex always knew she was smart herself, but she was once again reminded that O’Neal was in a whole other ballpark.

  With all of that swirling around in her head she couldn’t moderate her answer and said simply, “I’m glad to have the help, especially with the science.”

  Something flashed across Bloch’s face and then the director was unreadable again.

  “And I presume you didn’t tell me O’Neal would be joining me on the mission because you wanted to test my reaction to the news that I would not be the mission primary,” Alex said.

  Bloch raised an eyebrow. “The field is a changeable place, consider this your first lesson. And you are still mission primary. O’Neal will be there for support and help with the course material. The APS is your area of expertise. Your job is still to infiltrate and assess. If appropriate, you may decide to have O’Neal join you at the APS meetings or involve her in any contact you have with them or other radical elements.”

  If anything, Alex realized that this increased her responsibilities. Now Alex was responsible for not only the success of the mission but also the welfare of another agent.

  “Of course, bear in mind that O’Neal is not a field agent. She is there for technical support to you and to help assess the threat level of the group and their activities. I expect you to keep O’Neal out of danger,” Bloch said.

  “Understood,” Alex replied.

  Bloch s
tood up, signaling that the meeting was over. For Alex, it had been a roller coaster. In the end, Alex wasn’t sure if Bloch was testing her or teaching her. Probably both, she realized.

  “Good luck on your mission, agents,” Bloch said.

  O’Neal and Alex walked out together to find Shepard in the hallway, wearing his signature jeans and t-shirt. He didn’t even glance at Alex; he only had eyes for O’Neal.

  “Mom give you the talk before sending you off to school?” Shepard asked.

  O’Neal shrugged awkwardly. “Something like that.”

  Alex was put off for a minute. She’d never heard anyone refer to Bloch as ‘Mom’ and realized it must be a private joke between them. That made sense; they were, after all, in a relationship.

  But that by itself was odd. As smart as O’Neal was, she was a bit awkward socially, often unsure of what to say or do. Though brilliant in their fields and highly respected by everyone at Zeta, O’Neal and Shepard were the organization’s nerds.

  Yet they were very comfortable together. It was cute, Alex decided.

  “Van is loaded. I’ll drive you two to the airport,” Shepard said.

  On the way, O’Neal and Shepard chatted casually, shifting effortlessly between high end computer programming, biochemistry, video games, and T.V. shows and movies—some of which Alex had never heard of.

  Shepard walked them to the security line and said to Alex, “Good luck.”

  Then he turned to O’Neal, who leaned in and kissed him. It was instantly passionate and Alex felt like she was intruding on something private.

  She realized that they weren’t just in a relationship—they were in love.

  Alex, of course, had dated in high school, but that had stopped when she had gotten involved with Zeta and started her training. As she progressed, she’d seen that she had less and less in common with people her own age. And yet she was significantly younger than the youngest agents at Zeta.

  Watching O’Neal with Shepard, Alex realized that she herself had never had a serious boyfriend.

  When they broke apart, O’Neal was silent and Alex was sure she saw tears forming in the young woman’s eyes. Alex realized that O’Neal wasn’t just ahead of her in biochemistry.

  Alex shook off the thought. She wasn’t on a mission to shop for a boyfriend. She was going on her first undercover assignment to develop the skills she would need to make a real difference in the future.

  Chapter 9

  “Dan,” Jenny called gently.

  Morgan put down his book. Jenny was standing in front of him, her hands on her hips. She was still wearing her painting smock—actually one of his old dress shirts—with her shorts peeking out from under it.

  She had her oils out and was working on a landscape—or more likely a seascape.

  “Come on, Mister Morgan. Time to get going,” Jenny said.

  Morgan checked his mental list. “The vintage upholstery show isn’t until tomorrow,” he said.

  “I have something planned for us this afternoon.”

  Morgan perked up. “I hope it’s the same thing I have planned for us.”

  Jenny put on her oversized sunglasses as she took off the smock. “I doubt it. This requires going out.”

  “Then it’s definitely not the same thing,” he grumbled as he got up from the Adirondack chair.

  “What’s the plan?” he asked.

  “A surprise,” she said. “I’ll drive.”

  In the car he asked, “Have you been secretly practicing for this one too?”

  “As a matter of fact I have,” she said.

  “More at the shooting range?” he asked as they pulled out of the driveway.

  “Something new,” she replied.

  That was interesting.

  “Rock climbing?”

  “Nope,” she said.

  “Scuba diving?”

  “Not even close,” she said.

  “Laser tag?”

  “Closer, but no.”

  A few minutes later they pulled into a parking lot and Morgan saw what she had in mind.

  “Why would you practice this? You always beat me,” he said.

  “Yes, but I really wanted to make it embarrassing this time,” she said lightly. “Care to make a wager, Mr. Morgan?”

  “Usual terms?” he asked.

  “Of course,” she said. “Unless you’d like to chicken out. I know the windmill scares you.”

  “Not the windmill, it’s the anthills that get me. Every time,” he said as they paid and collected their balls and putters.

  Jenny won, of course, but it was close enough that Morgan hadn’t shamed himself too badly.

  As they left, she threw her arms around him and gave him a kiss. The game, the kiss—both took him back to their early days. Miniature golf had been one of their first dates.

  “Come on, I want to collect my winnings,” she said.

  Morgan grinned. Those were the terms. The winner got to choose what they did next. Of course, in the unlikely event that he had won, he would have chosen the same thing.

  That’s what he liked about making bets with Jenny. No matter who won, the results were always the same.

  As they headed for home Morgan caught a glimpse of a black, late-model Cadillac. He realized three things at once about the car. First, black Cadillacs were rare in Cape Cod, where the people there for summer vacation favored Mercedes and BMWs, and the locals drove Fords and Chevys. Second, the car had a New York License plate—not unusual by itself since a fair number of the visitors here were from New York. And third, this was the second time in three days he had seen the vehicle.

  The last one was the detail that stuck with him. He was willing to bet it was the only car of its kind in Cape Cod. And yet he had seen it twice—both times, he realized, in his rear view mirror.

  It was probably nothing, he reckoned. He had just come from a mission and while he was better than most at leaving his work at work, it still sometimes took him a few days to shake off his active duty reflexes.

  As they approached their cottage, Morgan felt the twinge already fading. “I hope you’re ready to pay up, Mr. Morgan,” Jenny said.

  “Always,” Morgan said.

  * * * *

  Over the years, Conley had had his problems with the Chinese government, both politically and professionally. However, he would give them two things: First, they had gotten to be pretty good engineers. He still wished he’d been able to log a few more hours on their new fighter. It really was an impressive machine.

  And secondly, they worked hard. Certainly, this group did. Minister Cheng Quan and his group had maintained a grueling schedule. A minimum of ten hours of meetings, presentations, and workshops. There were long lunches and breaks, but for Chinese officials at this level, the difference between work and rest wasn’t as clear as it was in the West. Virtually all lunches were working lunches, either with their Filipino counterparts or with internal meetings for the team.

  Conley’s Mandarin was good enough that he’d been able to roughly follow the few conversations he had overheard. Of course, he hadn’t been able to learn anything useful. Diplomacy was complex enough to make the sort of intelligence work he and Morgan did look simple. And economic diplomacy was the most complicated of all. Trade agreements had relatively long terms, and small details could have long and costly repercussions, both financial and political.

  Conley watched as Minister Quan, his delegation, and the Filipino team emerged from the back room of the restaurant. It was only nine in the evening, early for the end of the day for this group. However, he knew it wasn’t really the end.

  The minister and two of his aides said goodnight to the rest of his delegation, including the woman who had caught his eye on the first day. He’d since learned that her name was Danhong Guo.

  He’d been able
to learn that much on the Internet. However, the dossier that Bloch had provided had been much more informative. Ms. Guo was thirty-four and had graduated from Fudan University in Shanghai with degrees in both finance and computer science. After college she also earned a number of technical computer certifications. And then she had worked for the Chinese government for most of her professional life, almost all of it in the Ministry of Finance.

  There was nothing unusual in her background, except for the fact that she wasn’t a member of the Communist party. However, given her work schedule and career trajectory Conley suspected that had more to do with time than anything else. She excelled at everything she did and he suspected that she would have little interest in membership in any organization to which she could not give her all.

  Bloch had been mildly surprised when he had asked for the dossier on the delegation but had accepted Conley’s explanation that he was curious and simply wanted more info to assess security.

  That was true, at least partly. The fact was that he found her very interesting—an interest that was only compounded when he read her bio.

  Conley watched as Ms. Guo and the lower-level Chinese delegates said goodnight to Minister Quan and his top three male aides.

  From the dossier, Conley knew that Guo outranked one of them and was more valuable than the other two. However, Quan, his top male aides, and their Filipino counterparts would be exploring the nightlife—some of which would be unseemly, and none of which, he knew, would be interesting to a woman.

  So much the better. Perhaps Guo would take the opportunity to explore the hotel bar and other amenities and he could meet her there. He was disappointed to watch as she promptly disappeared into the elevator.

  Well, he was still at a hotel on the beach in Manila. There were worse places to be. He knew that for a fact, because he and Morgan had been in quite a few worse places.

  He opted for a drink at the outdoor bar that was literally right on the beach. It was filling up, but he found a table facing the water. He was barely halfway into his drink when he heard a voice behind him say, “Do you mind if I join you?”