Tabor lifted Zhāng again and started carrying him toward the house.
“Stay!” a soldier shouted after them.
Tabor turned slowly, returning to his spot on the inside edge of the circle. A woman stepped forward into the opening this time. Old, dark with deep wrinkles and rice-paper skin from years laboring in the sun. Who was she? Zhāng had never seen her till now. Glaring around at the jeering crowd, he didn’t recognize half of them. They weren’t neighbors. The soldiers must have brought them.
* * * *
Papa lay on the wooden kitchen floor as Tabor wrung a bloodied rag into a bowl and gently blotted crusted scabs and dust from his cheeks. The stove lay cold, forgotten. Their breath frosted in the cool air.
The crowd had left only after the sun was directly overhead. Many people had come forward, shouting dishonors upon Papa’s back. Never had Zhāng heard such blatant lies. And every time the crowd had calmed, the soldiers yelled and shouted till the frenzy was rekindled. All the time, Papa hadn’t said a word in his defense, but merely bowed humbly before the false accusations.
Now, Zhāng tried to give him a hug, but Mama pulled him back and scolded him. “Not now! You’ll hurt him.” She’d torn their only bedsheet and wrapped it so tight around Papa’s chest and belly he’d objected, “I can barely breathe.” She held back sobs, biting a finger, then stood and walked to the window where the woven grass shade was rolled up, and faced the trampled yard before the barn.
“We knew this day might come,” Papa said hoarsely, tousling Zhāng’s stubby hair with feeble, thin fingers. “The communists are no longer underground. Their lies find a home with people too ignorant to know better. We mustn’t cherish hatred against the renters.”
Tabor’s face grew red. He gritted his teeth. “I know he is your brother, Papa. But please, let me—”
Their father lifted a quivering hand. “It will make no difference, son. One who fights evil with hatred becomes a you hun ye gui, a demon, as well.” He tried to sit up, but grimaced and fell back. Zhāng reached for his hand but Tabor pushed him aside and lifted Papa to sit upright.
Glancing at all seven siblings, Papa said, “We’ve spoken of this many times. And heard of the struggle meetings from Wuhu and other towns. Landowners have been imprisoned, beaten, and maimed. I’m thankful I wasn’t sent to a labor camp. The communists will incite more of these mobs against us. I am certain of it. We survived this one, and will continue to do so.”
“Perhaps.” Tabor glanced at Mama. “But what of our land?”
Papa hung his head, then lifted it again. His chin stuck out farther than usual. “The land is no longer ours. It belongs to them now. The renters. We will find a way. Remember the drought three summers ago? We survived a year then, on less.”
Tabor stood and walked to the window, gripping the rag so tightly it left a trail of dirty pink water. More pooled at his feet.
“I know your thoughts, son. Promise you will not seek vengeance. The family needs you now. If you do something foolish, we will all suffer. Promise me.” Zhāng was amazed. He’d never heard such graven pleadings from his father, who’d always ruled his home with firm words and a leather strap.
More water splashed into the puddle before Tabor’s shoulders finally drooped. “All right. I promise.”
Zhāng stared at Tabor now. He was facing the window, back toward the family. Why had he given in so easily? Surely Papa wanted him to strike back, despite the soft words. Their land had been stolen! The earth upon which even little Zhāng had labored many long summers, seemingly half his life. Whenever any of the brothers had teased him, Papa had set them right. Strength, but with justice, was the law of their family. It was the same law by which he’d governed his land. And now the fields almost ripe with rice were no longer their own. Even Uncle Snake would reap Zhāng’s labors. Everyone but the family who’d done the work.
Tabor might have promised, Zhāng thought, but he hadn’t. The family law had been branded into him by belt and open palm. Justice must be upheld regardless of circumstance. That was what made it justice. Very well, then. He would wait, just as he crouched among the cabbages with the small bow Papa had crafted for him. It was the job of the youngest to wait for greedy rabbits to wander back through the rows, in order to protect the crops. Many times he had effortlessly drawn the string next to his cheek and loosed an arrow, straight to the mark, piercing an animal’s soft pelt.
Uncle would pay, along with the soldiers. They would all scream like skewered rabbits before he was finished with them. Zhāng was patient.
Chapter 7 – First Suspect
Red stared at the Glock 19 in Lori’s hands. It fired and lurched up, toward the indoor pistol range’s low concrete ceiling, bumping her arm like a piston. Her legs were spread shoulder width apart, one ahead of the other, her weight on the balls of her feet as she leaned forward slightly. Dominant arm almost straight out. Overall, a nice Weaver stance. Pretty good for an accountant. Guess the CIA makes even their analysts practice every once in a while. Funny seeing a woman fire a weapon in a pencil skirt and two-inch heels. Curiously, the pistol seemed fitting, snug as the dress cradling her ass.
He stood in a hallway behind the range, separated by inch-thick glass. A glance to Carter, next to him, just to make sure his eyes were on the target and not elsewhere.
The alley had only two narrow stalls, and maximum target distance looked to be fifty feet. Buried deep in the basement of Merkel Research in Fairfax, Virginia. Some sort of political think tank, whatever the hell that was supposed to be. Red had visited Lori here only twice before. Merkel was a cover, a company owned by a venture capital firm, buried beneath a network of other corporations, investors, and filings. All to camouflage a CIA branch operation.
Lori was tall, blond, gorgeous. How had he married so far above himself? He was short, pale, with a flaming red beard and skin that freckled in the summer. Her father was a three-term state senator who had previously worked his way up to a deputy directorate position in the CIA, and before that even played pro ball for the Colts out of college. Red’s father was an aged, crippled Vietnam vet with PTSD who only now seemed to be getting it under control as his body was failing. Her entire family was a bunch of A-type high achievers, her mother even a concert pianist. She found terrorists just by looking at bank accounts. And now it seemed she could handle a pistol as well. The only negative was that Lori’s relationship with her parents always seemed oddly distant and strained.
A hushed pop sounded through the glass with each muzzle flash.
“There she is,” said the escort, hair slicked back like a Geeks on Wheels intern. A round, flesh-colored Band-Aid stuck to his forehead. He smelled of plastic. “Need anything else?”
The intern smiled, but didn’t move. Red glanced to the door. “We’ll take it from here.”
“I’m not supposed to leave anyone with—”
“She’s my wife. We’re not going anywhere, son. You’ve got our weapons, and she’s armed. Plus you’ve got cameras on us.” The boy rocked on his heels, then turned and trotted toward a stairwell.
Pop, pop. Lori paused when the heavy door closed with a bass resonance like far-off thunder, looking over her shoulder. An awkward wave to Red, then she finished the magazine. The walls pressed in. The air was stale, cramped.
Carter stood stiffly, as if at parade rest. “Those last five shots were off. Till then, she was keeping a four-inch group.”
Why did Carter need to question Lori? She’d already said she didn’t have any idea who might be after them. Waste of time. “I still don’t understand why this can’t wait.”
Carter’s reply was a sneer, but his deep-set eyes were soft. “It’ll just be some questions. If it were a real interrogation, you wouldn’t be along. You’re only here to encourage her to open up. This’ll tell us if I need to dig deeper. Detective work is methodical, boring.” His eyes brightened.
“We need to start at the top and nail down unknowns.” Pop. “She’s a big one.”
The range door squeaked open and Lori emerged with a scent of spent gunpowder. Hair pulled into a ponytail, she swung her head in a follow me. She led them through a narrow door into a hallway with a workbench on the side, a four-inch vise bolted to it along with a drill press. Pliers, screwdrivers, and other hand tools hung on the wall. A miniature gunsmith nook. She placed the Glock, slide locked, on an oil-stained brown T-shirt. She cracked another door and peered in, then swung her head again, motioning for Red and Carter to follow.
This room was even smaller, no windows, with one row of shelves holding a few boxes of ammo. Buckets of spent brass were stacked in the corner. When the door came to, she leaned against the far wall with crossed arms. “How’d you get in, Tony?”
Red flashed a federal marshal star from his pocket. “Got a drawer full of these things from other agencies. But your employer has access to my file. Did you know CIA doesn’t issue creds?”
“I need to ask some questions,” Carter interrupted.
Lori kept her eyes locked onto Red. “Carter your bloodhound?”
He dipped his head.
She gave a scoffing smile to the detective. “I’ve been expecting this. Just thought Tony and I could talk it through first.”
What the hell did that mean? What were they supposed to talk through?
Carter gave a dismissive wave. “We need to—”
Red gripped Carter’s elbow and pulled him back a step. “You don’t need to be in her face. Give her some room.”
Carter jerked his arm free, keeping his gaze on Lori. “Start us from the top.”
Red interrupted, “But the wet team wasn’t after her.”
Carter squared up to Red. “We had a deal. I’ve been on the clock an hour and you’re already slowing my investigation. Shut up and listen.”
A metal shelf protruded from the wall behind Carter’s skull. A quick smack would be all it took to drop the man. “I’m not leaving her with you. I’ve seen you work an interrogation.”
“Tony, it’s OK. Let’s just get this over.”
“Good,” Carter said, tugging on the hem of his coat. “We’re in agreement. Start with what you do here.”
“I can’t tell that. You’ve got to go through channels.”
Carter turned to the door, fists clenched. “What the hell is the matter with you two? You want to figure out who’s trying to kill you or not?”
The detective had a point. Red reached for Lori’s hand, but she pulled away. What the hell was that about? “Carter may be right. This is about our family. The kids. Their safety.”
She stuck out her chin. “They’re safe. I’ve made sure of it.”
“Like Penny and the horse?” No good. He didn’t mean for that to slip out. No sex tonight.
Her stare iced his spine. “That’s low, Tony.”
“I didn’t mean it like that. Just an example. We can’t be overconfident.” She shifted her feet uneasily. “Look, this sorry-ass ammo closet isn’t bugged. Carter’s off the record. Plus, he’s got no dog in this fight. You know he’ll get the job done. We can’t wait around till we’re hit again.”
She gazed up, eyes glistening. Was she really that upset about Carter suspecting her? Her mouth opened several times, but nothing came out. Her tongue finally slid across her tightened lips. “OK... For the kids.” She bumped her shoulder against Red’s, almost playfully. “And for us.” She eyed Carter. “Quick and dirty?”
He lifted his chin, as if peering down his nose to her.
“The CIA recruited me at graduation. Approached me in Harvard Yard. A blond lady with a program in one hand, her card in the other. Said Dad had told her I might be interested in a job. I had already nailed one at the UN as a translator, a starter position. Even so, we met later for coffee and that’s how I found out who she was with. I kept my UN job, but drew a check from CIA as well. Not a bad deal. Eventually did some fieldwork out of London. About that time is when I met Tony. Dropped out of fieldwork. Started a family. Been an analyst ever since.”
Not exactly how Red understood it, but not far off.
Carter raised an eyebrow. “You were shooting a four-inch group.”
“Like I said, did a little fieldwork.”
What did she mean by fieldwork? Red cocked his head. “You saying you were some sort of spy?”
Carter held up a hand to Red’s face, gaze locked on Lori. “And now?”
Lori tightened her arms across her chest. “Financial intelligence. Terrorism funding tops the list, but we deal with all economic espionage. Anything that threatens the financial standing of the US.”
“Anything that would make personal enemies?”
Red almost laughed. How would a government financial analyst do that?
She grunted. “Of course we’ve made enemies. We screw up terrorists’ bank accounts. But they don’t know how or who. Merkel Research is a well-respected firm. It’s a real think tank with real contracts. A good cover. Plus, I’m smart as hell and fit the role.”
“Humble, too,” Red added.
“Shut up.” Harsh, even for Lori.
Carter pressed. “Any leaks? Moles?”
Lori’s eyes pleaded at Red. What was she hiding? “We need to know,” he said.
“Sharing something like that could mean my life. If it got out I mentioned it, it’s treason.”
Red pointed at Carter. “We really gotta go here?”
He lowered his voice. “Yeah, we do.”
Red drew a deep breath. Story of their life, as of late. Either way, they were damned. He leaned on the wall next to his wife. “I’d prefer this path. The one with Carter. At least then we’ll have some control. If we don’t do anything, we’re acting like prey. A good offense is the best defense.”
Lori rocked across the back of her shoulders. Confidence seemed to build into a soft smile. “Control would be nice.... Yeah, we’ve had a leak. Had it for years. Sensitive financial information. At first, just a trickle. We thought it might have been coincidence, or maybe just good intelligence gathering on behalf of China. But it built until we knew we had a problem. It came to a head recently when a source in China got their hands on a bundle of hundred-dollar bills—the new ones that are supposed to be counterfeit-proof.” She rubbed her thumb and forefinger, as if feeling paper. “They were good. Best we’ve ever seen. That wasn’t the worst of it. What really scared us was the source.”
Red passed his tongue over a chapped bottom lip. “Where?”
Lori glanced at Carter. “Treason. You got it?”
Another nod. The man seemed to have gone mute.
“North Korea. That’s where my efforts have been concentrated over the last year. I’ve been getting close, too. Another few weeks and I should have our mole. No one in CIA knows about my investigation...well, except a couple. Obvious reasons. When investigating a mole, you involve as few people as possible.”
Carter shoved hands in pockets and stepped toward the door. His eyes flashed back and forth, as if reading an invisible text. His shoulder knocked over a short stack of fifty-round boxes of 9mm ammo. He put one back atop the other and paused. “That doesn’t get us closer to your attackers. Last I heard, the only suspected backers were Iran and Israel. Any contact with Israeli intelligence, Mossad?”
“I’ve got contact with them all the time,” she said. “We’re not worried about them funding terrorists, though some consider Mossad a terror organization in its own right. Our relationship is primarily information sharing. We’ve got the technological sophistication to track funding flows that Mossad doesn’t. They sometimes provide the insiders, the human interface, in places we can’t. Overall, it’s rather one sided in their favor, but it’s worth it to us.”
Carter’s eyes drew to a narrow slit. “You’ve got
a leak. Sure, you might have one giving intel to China, but the one we’re after is with Mossad.”
“I just told you we don’t suspect—”
Carter counted on fingers. “One: The only leads the CIA managed to gather regarding your attackers were Iran and Israel, Mossad. Two: You work with Mossad in your job, sharing intel and assets.” He wriggled his fingers. “That’s all I need. One connection can be coincidence. But any detective will tell you two is damning. I’m not saying they ordered the wet team, but there’s your leak.”
This was good. One talk and they already knew the guilty party. But, who in Mossad? Red couldn’t just target the entire organization. “Lori says the CIA has a leak spilling fintel to China. You’re saying they’ve got one with Mossad. Could they be connected?”
Carter shrugged. “Maybe. Methodical, remember? I’ll see where the facts take me.”
But any successful op needed to maintain momentum. An investigation couldn’t be too much different. They were on the move and needed to gain focus. He squeezed his hand into a fist and rubbed his knuckles. “Who you need to question next? I can put out a request to—”
Carter’s hand fell upon his shoulder, his thumb as thick as a big toe. “Your knife stays in the sheath for the moment. Lori continues her investigation. We handle Mossad with tact. If we’re figuring this out now, they’ve known it a long time. They’ve got their own investigation going.”
But Red had worked with Mossad before. They were a co-op sometimes. “Why wouldn’t they tell us?”
Carter smirked. “Would you tell them? This is Mossad. They do what’s in their own best interests. Be realistic.”
Reload Page 5