by Tom Clancy
Katia tries another kick but I sidestep and try to grab her leg, but she moves away quickly. She circles so gracefully it’s like fighting a ballerina. Before I know it, she’s behind me and slap-kicks me in the kidney. I turn and let her have it on the chin with a right hook. I’ve never before hit my instructor with such force but she’s asking for it! The blow shocks her a little. She rubs her chin, shakes her head, and then glares at me.
“You all right?” I ask. I’m actually afraid of hurting her.
“Shut up,” she says. She’s mad now. Katia comes at me like a wild tiger, leaps onto me, and wraps her lithe legs around my waist. She then repeatedly delivers nerve-wracking ridge-hand blows to either side of my neck. She knows where the exact pressure points are, too, so I feel sparks of pain shooting down my spinal cord like lightning. I can’t help but fall to my knees with Katia still attached.
She then delivers a straight punch to my nose. I swear I see stars. But I have the presence of mind to block the next blow and then spear-chop her sternum, right between her breasts. It does the trick — she releases me from her leg lock and pushes away from me. I just hope I didn’t hit her too hard.
“You all right?” I ask again.
“Shut the fuck up,” she says. Before I have a chance to stand, she propels herself at me, slamming my lower back to the mat. I use the momentum of her own weight to throw her over my head. She lands with a hard slap. I quickly twist to a facedown position and grab her shoulders. Our heads are parallel, facing each other with my chin to her forehead and vice versa. She struggles for a moment and then brings her legs up. With amazing agility, she kicks me in the face with both feet. Needless to say, I let her up.
What’s come over this woman? Does she want a date with me that badly? I admit I’d been thinking about her a lot lately and was wondering whether or not it was time to end my years of celibacy. She’s being very persuasive!
We’re both on our feet now. She moves in to my dead side before I can adjust my stance. This is the opposite angle of the live side. I have my right foot forward, so she steps with her left and moves so that more of her back is to me. I attempt to grab her under the arms in order to apply a full nelson, but she wiggles out of that with ease. At the same time, she back kicks my knee and stomps on my bare foot. An elbow to the lower abdomen sends me to the floor.
The next thing I know, I’m flat on my back again and she’s on top of me. I push her shoulders and am fairly certain I could fling her off of me — but I just don’t want to. This little “exercise” of hers has caused me to become aroused. Katia lowers herself until her face is an inch from mine. I no longer resist.
She kisses me on the mouth. It’s a long, passionate, animalistic kiss, with tongues and biting and sucking. It goes on for at least a minute before we part. Her eyes are alive with excitement and she’s panting with pleasure.
That’s when I throw her off of me.
She topples onto the mat and looks at me as if I’d just committed a grievous sin. I do believe I’ve offended her.
“I’m sorry, Katia,” I say. We’re both out of breath. “It’s just…”
“Forget it, Sam,” she says. “You just don’t want to admit you liked it.”
She’s right. I did like it. And damn it, it has been too long since I’ve had any sort of romantic involvement. Is it time? Can I forget Regan’s ghost and stop ignoring the feelings in my loins and in my heart? Can I do this without someone getting hurt?
“So,” she says, “I pinned you. What time is breakfast?”
And she smiles. I laugh and shake my head in resignation.
9
Sergeant Kim Lee Wei enjoyed his early morning beat in Tsim Sha Tsui East because it allowed him the opportunity to watch the sunrise from the Promenade. This amazing waterfront walkway offered some of the best sights in Hong Kong. Specifically, one could see a postcard-worthy view of the central skyline on the island across the harbor. The scene was particularly mesmerizing at night.
The Promenade became crowded with people as the day went on, so Sergeant Wei relished the quiet and relative emptiness at dawn. Of course there were the usual early morning tai chi practitioners, joggers, and fishermen, but the number was negligible. Later the walkway would be full of musicians, photographers with tripods, strolling couples, mothers with prams, clowns and jugglers, and an overwhelming horde of tourists. During the Chinese New Year, which had recently occurred, the Promenade was the place to watch the harbor fireworks display. The June Dragon Boat Festival always drew a mass of humanity as well. Sergeant Wei was grateful that his beat was almost always in the morning and he didn’t have to work those chaotic evening events. Like a good session of tai chi, the Promenade-at-dawn patrol was good mental therapy.
The policeman usually walked back and forth between the Star Ferry pier and the Hong Kong Coliseum. In his ten years of pounding the beat he had never encountered any serious trouble. Once he came upon a group of teenagers attempting to paint graffiti on the wall. There had been his share of drunks that had spent the night on benches. And there was the time he had found a woman’s purse. She had reported it stolen the previous day and made a big stink about it. Everything was intact within the purse, including her money and credit cards. Sergeant Wei figured she had simply dropped it and not noticed until later.
On this particular morning, the sergeant strolled west from the ferry pier, past the clock tower, and on around the southern tip of Kowloon. Near the New World Renaissance Hotel, Wei always encountered “Jimmy,” a fisherman who tried to catch his breakfast every morning. Wei didn’t know Jimmy’s full name but they always greeted each other with respect and friendliness. Wei figured the vagabond to be in his late sixties and had most likely seen it all. Jimmy never bothered anyone and was always gone by seven o’clock.
“Good morning, Jimmy,” the sergeant said in Cantonese.
“Good morning, Sergeant,” Jimmy replied. “It will be a very nice day, I think.”
“Looks that way. Catching anything?”
“Not yet. The fish are not biting. Something else has their attention.”
“And what might that be?”
Jimmy shrugged. “I don’t know. If you find out, you let me know.”
Wei laughed. “Will do. Have a good day.”
“You, too, Sergeant.”
Wei continued up toward the East Ferry pier and smiled to himself. Had he ever known Jimmy to actually catch a fish? He wasn’t sure.
When the sergeant reached the point where the Hong Kong Bypass was directly overhead, he noticed something odd. A metal stake had been hammered into the concrete at the edge of the walkway. A rope was tied around it and connected to something in the water. The line was taut.
What the hell? Wei thought. He had never seen that before.
He stepped over to take a closer look and saw that there was indeed something in the harbor being kept from floating away. Wei moved to the very edge, supported himself on the rail, and began to pull the rope. It was surprisingly heavy. After four hand-over-hand tugs, a burlap bundle broke the surface. It appeared to be elongated, roughly five or six feet long and maybe one or two feet wide. Wei continued to pull it up until he was able to grab the bulky end and drag it onto the walkway.
There was no doubt about it. It was a body.
An hour later, the Promenade was swarming with policemen. Sergeant Wei had provided a statement and the homicide detectives had taken over the case. Wei couldn’t believe he had run across a murder. A Caucasian man had been shot in the head, wrapped in burlap, and dropped in the water. The strange thing was that the killer or killers wanted the corpse to be found; hence, it was tied to the waterfront.
The dead man was logged as a “John Doe” at the morgue. It would take several days before the corpse was successfully identified as Professor Gregory Jeinsen.
* * *
It was crunch time again at Third Echelon.
Carly St. John sometimes brought a bedroll with her to work w
hen things got bad. As temporary technical director, she was more or less second in command of the team, reporting only to Colonel Lambert. Anna Grimsdottir, her superior and the regular technical director, was on the Company’s mandatory annual psych leave and was due back soon. In the meantime it was Carly’s responsibility to make sure Third Echelon functioned efficiently and accurately — mistakes could come back to haunt her and everyone involved in the security of the nation. That was why last year’s leak of Splinter Cell names to the Shop was so demoralizing. She’d never rest until she learned how it had happened.
She had stopped working at twelve-thirty A.M. to try to get a little sleep so that she could be up and pounding on her keyboard before the colonel arrived at seven. But something was nagging at her brain and Carly knew she was close. When she realized she’d never get to sleep, Carly sat up in the bedroll — still dressed in her work clothes — and decided to go back to the computer. The clock in her office told her it was three o’clock in the morning.
As she sat in front of her monitor, the same thought kept coming back to her.
What am I overlooking?
After all the time she had spent hacking into every employee’s computer, examining every byte of the firewall, and reprogramming the security system, Carly St. John was finally on the verge of learning how sensitive information had been leaked. But something was eluding her.
She sighed and decided a pick-me-up was needed. She left her office and went to the kitchen to make some coffee. Even though her mind was racing, her body needed some caffeine to catch up with her gray matter. When she finished the preparations, she heard noise coming from Mike Chan’s office. Carly moved to his door and gave it a tap.
“Mike? You in there?”
“Huh? Yeah.” Chan sounded sleepy. After a couple of seconds, the door opened. Carly was startled by his appearance. He was unshaven and appeared to be wearing three-day-old clothes.
“What do you want?” he asked. No hello. No smile.
“I didn’t know you were working late,” she said. “I thought I was alone, that’s all.”
“Nah, I’m here. I’ve been here since yesterday morning.”
“What are you working on?”
“The usual.” Mike Chan was one of Third Echelon’s research analysts. He reported to Carl Bruford, the director of research. Carly had never found Chan particularly friendly. Chan was very no-nonsense with regard to fellow employees. He was a serious guy, difficult to get to know.
“Okay, well, I’ll leave you alone, then,” she said. Carly started to walk away but Chan stopped her.
“Wait, Carly. Sorry, I guess I fell asleep and you woke me. You know how it is.”
She turned and nodded. “Yeah. You want some coffee?”
“I’d love some.”
“I’m making some now. In the kitchen.”
The brew was ready so she took two mugs from the drainer sitting next to the sink. “These look clean,” she said. “I think.”
Chan followed her into the kitchen and stretched. “So how you coming with your project? Do we still have a firewall?”
“Yeah. I don’t think anyone’s going to be hacking us again.” She handed him a cup. They took turns putting in cream and sugar. “Actually, I think I’ve almost solved our problem. I’m this close.” She held her fingers up to indicate an inch.
“Really? How’s that?” Chan asked.
“Oh, I don’t know. Thinking out loud.”
“No, I’m interested. Try me.” Carly was surprised. Mike Chan had never paid much attention to her before.
“Well, I discovered a back door in the old firewall that was breached. Someone from our office created the back door. Someone outside the office breached it with the insider’s help. That much I know.”
“Jeez,” Chan said. “Who could it be?”
“That’s what I’m trying to find out. There are traces of two ISP addresses that have gone through the door. Would you believe that one of them is in Washington, somewhere near the Senate building? The other one originated right here at Third Echelon.”
“Holy shit,” Chan said. “Does Lambert know this?”
“I’m going to tell him this morning when he comes in. I was hoping I’d be able to tell him even more by then. Hey, that reminds me. Do you know anything about Triads?”
Chan blinked. “What?”
“Triads. You know, Chinese criminal organizations.”
“Yeah, I know what they are. Why do you want to know?”
“I uncovered an encrypted e-mail that mentions a Triad in Los Angeles called the Lucky Dragons. Ever hear of them?”
“Um, no, I don’t think so.”
“I’m trying to figure out who received that e-mail. It may be a part of the puzzle.”
“You think you can?”
“Wish me luck.” She gave him a little wave and walked out with her coffee. Chan watched her go and shook his head. Carly St. John was a little dynamo. She was less than five feet, five inches tall, was twenty-nine years old, and possessed a brain that could power a computer. The joke around the office was that she should wear a sticker on her head that read INTEL INSIDE.
Chan went back to his own office and looked around the mess until he found the backpack he always brought to work with him. He opened it and retrieved a Smith & Wesson SW1911.45-caliber semiautomatic. He checked to make sure it was loaded, attached the sound suppressor that was custom-made for the weapon, racked the slide, and carried it with him toward Carly’s office. Chan couldn’t concern himself with the security cameras that lined the hallways. The situation had reached the breaking point and there was only one thing to do.
She had left her door ajar. He peered inside and saw her sitting at her desk. Her fingers flew over the keyboard as she stared at the monitor.
Chan knew that Carly St. John would solve the puzzle. It was only a matter of time. For months he had kept a close watch on her, trying to intercept any information she provided to Lambert. If Carly said she was close to uncovering the traitor in Third Echelon’s midst, then it had to be true. And if she exposed the Lucky Dragons…!
Chan couldn’t allow that.
He quietly pushed the door open wider and stepped inside. Chan raised the pistol, pointed it to the back of Carly’s head, and squeezed the trigger. The gun recoiled with a PFFT! and the woman slumped over the keyboard. She might have appeared to be asleep if it weren’t for the mess that was made over the desk. Chan grimaced and moved closer. He aimed at the computer tower on the side of her desk and emptied two cartridges into it. The machine sparked and went dead. Chan then kicked it over and stomped on the casing. The covering came off and he was satisfied that the hard drive had been destroyed.
He quickly went back to his own office and stuffed his personal belongings into the backpack. His heart was beating furiously and he had to sit a moment to catch his breath. Picking up his cell phone, he dialed a number and waited.
“This better be good,” the voice answered in Cantonese.
“I’m sorry to wake you,” Chan said in the same language. “I have to get out now.”
“What’s the problem?”
“I’m blown. And I’ve killed someone.”
“Shit.”
“I’m leaving for L.A. right now.”
“Right. We’ll be expecting you. How are you coming?”
“I… I don’t know.”
“Don’t fly. They’ll catch you.”
“Yeah.”
“Stay away from the trains and buses, too. You’ll have to drive. But don’t drive your own car.”
Chan was now so nervous he couldn’t think straight. “What else am I going to drive? Tell me that!”
“Buy a new car! Rent one! But not under your own name. Don’t be foolish.”
“You’re going to get me out of the country, right?” Chan asked.
“Of course. Just as we agreed.”
“To Hong Kong?”
“I’ll begin making the necessary a
rrangements. But you’ll have to get to L.A. on your own without being caught. You must keep calm. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Then I suggest you leave now.” The man in California hung up.
Chan closed his phone, put it in his pocket, and grabbed the backpack. His final act was to delete everything on his own computer’s hard drive. He then took one last look around his office, made sure he wasn’t leaving anything important, and left. To hell with the security cameras, he thought. Third Echelon would know soon enough what he had done. The main thing was to get away as quickly as possible.
On the way out of the building, he avoided Carly St. John’s office.
10
I keep a small amount of weights, a bench, and a punching bag on the lower level of my town house. The entire bottom floor serves as my library, office, and gym. I used to go to a real gym in Baltimore where a motley assortment of boxers, gang members, and toughs hang out. That was okay, but now I prefer to do my workouts at home.
I’m in the middle of bench-pressing on the lower level of my town house when the doorbell rings. The clock reads 8:30 and I wonder who the hell is at my door at this time of the morning. Then I remember — damn, it’s Katia. Today’s my birthday and I agreed to let her come fix breakfast for me. How the hell could I forget that?
I run up the stairs to the ground floor and open the door. There she is, looking marvelous. She’s wearing tight-fitting jeans and has a winter coat on — that’s all I can tell at the moment — but she’s done her hair and is wearing makeup, which is something she doesn’t normally do at the Krav Maga class. And here I am wearing a T-shirt and sweat pants.
“Katia!” I say. “Is it eight-thirty already?”
Her smile becomes a frown. “Don’t tell me you forgot, Sam.”
“No, no, I didn’t. I was working out and the time got away from me, that’s all. Come in, come in.” I don’t think she believes me but she doesn’t mention it again. I take her coat and see that she’s wearing a red cami with spaghetti straps. The thing accentuates her cleavage in a most alluring way.