Reload

by David McCaleb

  “But China is an economic ally,” Javlek interrupted. “Hell, they own half the US. Why hurt their investment?”

  Young jerked his chin at Bollywood Mossad. She pushed her mug to the side. “If I may...” she said. “At first we thought this the act of a few smaller parties, unconcerned with the greater good of China. But then our sources in-country discovered a more coordinated effort. Their Ministry of Intelligence is performing a balancing act, ensuring the counterfeit flow is steady, enough to provide benefit, but not so much it would harm Chinese interests. We have no indication the conspiracy stretches into the People’s Bank of China. They would never approve. And since China is the largest holder of US debt, it’s like they’re buying the US, slowly, for free. Since it’s orchestrated by the Ministry of Intelligence, I don’t consider it economic terrorism, but economic warfare. The US versus your largest economic ally.”

  Javlek stared at the camera and yawned. “So why am I here?”

  “We’re proposing a solution,” Young murmured. “One that includes US military assets.”

  Chapter 17 – Turning

  Kanggye, North Korea

  Ko followed the shopkeeper toward what looked to be a closet in a wall of the small North Korean black market coat store. A worn push broom leaned beside it. The man closed a plywood door behind them with layers of thick brown corrugated cardboard stapled to its back. Was he keeping heat in, or preventing sound from bleeding out? Inside was a small room that smelled of kerosene soot. The tiny yellowed heater stood in one corner opposite blue and green plastic tubs with sleeves and socks overflowing.

  The man had lost his meekness. Stern eyes studied Ko. “You followed?”

  “Followed?” Ko had walked his regular route, but hadn’t thought to worry about that. “No...not that I know of.”

  The man huffed, and his voice deepened. “You need to watch now. Check behind. Remember faces. But give the political police no reason for suspicion. When do you start at Hwasong?”

  The mention of his next assignment shook Ko from self-condemnation. “Next week. We’re leaving the day after tomorrow.”

  “This is the last time we meet. You’ll be contacted at Hwasong.”

  “By who?”

  “You won’t know.”

  He frowned. “Why not?”

  “That’s the way it’s done. Better for you, too.”

  Maybe no one was actually going to contact him. Maybe Soo Jin got a government job in Kimchaek after all. She’d always done well in school. Maybe she’d been recruited by the secret police and they were testing him to see if he’d betray his country. “You never told me how she broke the heel off her uniform shoes.”

  “She didn’t. You did.” The shopkeeper made a hammering motion with his arm. “She said you used her shoe to drive a nail in your front steps. The next day, the heel fell off at morning muster.”

  Ko’s neck eased. Soo Jin had given the right answer. As long as he trusted her, he could trust this man as well. She’d protected him so many times growing up. She’d still do it now, wouldn’t she? He grabbed a wooden folding chair leaning against the wall, thinking he’d like to sit, but the seat fell to the floor. “How will I be contacted?”

  “I don’t know. Just go to Hwasong. Give them no reason to doubt your loyalty. Be ready for the contact. Follow instructions perfectly. You’ll get your sister out of the camp, and they’ll bring you out of the country.”

  “What? But...where?”

  “Not your concern. But it’ll be a better place than here.”

  The scarf around Ko’s neck was so tight it itched. He pressed his fingertips against a rickety card table, top torn and sunken in the middle. “There is nowhere better than here. We can stay in-country. Anywhere with a harbor. I know how to fish. I have money saved. They won’t find us.”

  His sister had spoken of other places with plenty of food. And medicine for many sicknesses. Again, he’d always forbidden her to mention it. Lies from enemies.

  “Too much to explain now. You’ve decided to help your sister. This is how it’s done. Both of you will be better off in the end.” He stuck his head out the door, then shut the door again. “But they will require something for getting the two of you to safety.”

  Ko’s fingers balled into fists. “I’m not going to prostitute my sister!”

  The man’s lip curled into a sneer. “No. Not that.”

  “Nor my daughter!”

  The man waved toward the ground, a warning. “Quiet! Or we’ll both be at Hwasong, inside the fence. Listen, you’re going to drive a truck. With some men in it.”

  Ko’s pacing foot hit a long black tire iron propped against a plastic tub. He flinched as it clattered to the floor. “Where? What kind of men?”

  “Sangsa, you don’t ask questions. You’ll be driving a truck with men in back. Go where they tell you. Whoever contacts you will explain what you need to know. It isn’t risky...if you follow instructions. If you don’t, you’ll join your sister on the inside. If you do, you’ll save her from a wasting death and be able to nurse her back to health.”

  “And my daughter. These men, they’ll take my daughter along, too. My parents and wife are dead. They take all three of us, or none.”

  The shopkeeper’s lips drew tight. “So be it.”

  * * * *

  Agent Young’s shoulders had started to droop a half hour earlier, Red observed, as someone offscreen passed the man yet another refill in a maroon Virginia Tech Hokie mug. He took a swallow and continued. “The FBI has been surveilling the fed for two years, trying to determine where the leak originates. They recently intercepted communications indicating the mole is meeting with North Korea’s Ministry of State Security, at their insistence, at the counterfeit printing facility. We’re requesting approval on a covert military action to eliminate the mole, destroy the production facility and the Ministry of State Security’s data center. They’re colocated in Chŏngjin, North Korea.”

  Javlek glanced off camera. “Still haven’t told me why I should care. Or why I want to take out their data center.”

  “During surveillance of the fed, the FBI initially got nothing. But we now know the mole is not in the fed, but within the borders of the CIA, stealing info from the fed and leaking it to North Korea. At the same time, Mossad has been investigating a separate, related leak. Stay with us a couple minutes, sir, and it’ll be clear how your interests are involved.”

  Bollywood Mossad remained stone faced. “Our leak was resolved a couple hours ago. Both Mossad and the Det utilized a freelance agent, Jordan Leman. At one time he was Russian FSB, even KGB decades ago, though not born within their borders. He retired and posed as an international businessman, fifty-six years old, black. We used him sparingly, buying humint only, but I understand the Det used him to a greater extent.” One eye opened wide. “As an operator, for language skills, I believe.”

  Red pressed his elbows onto the hard table. His calves started to jitter as he listened to this crap. “You talking about Marksman?”

  Young nodded. “I believe that’s what you called him.”

  Yeah. Whatever. “You think he was a leak? The reason someone took a shot at my wife tonight? That’s bullshit.”

  Young’s hands slid a paper to the side. “We have surveillance confirmation.”

  “Don’t care what you’ve got.” Red pushed away from the table and stood. “He was a solid operator. Several of my team, myself included, owe our lives to the man.”

  Young held his palms toward the camera. “He was only doing what was in his own interest. He played you, for years. Then betrayed you.”

  Red clenched fists, pacing behind his chair. “No. Marksman would never—”

  Javlek slapped the table. “Major, quiet! Agent Young, stop wasting my time. Get to the purpose of this damn call.”

  As an operator, Red had never bee
n concerned with Marksman’s true identity. He’d been cleared as an asset, so that was someone else’s job. Sure, he was probably a spook of some flavor, but he’d saved Red’s life on their first op in Brazil, and he’d trusted him implicitly ever since. Now he’d saved his life again, at the cost of his own.

  Young continued. “The CIA utilized Marksman just like Mossad. He provided humint only. He had no access to anything deeper. But he sold the intel gathered from his experiences with the Det to China, then to North Korea not long ago after the Det blew up their newest ballistic missile, the KN-08, on the test pad. Thus the Det is compromised with both China and North Korea.”

  Javlek leaned in. “So you’re proposing...”

  “A joint op. To erase any records leaked, and destroy North Korea’s counterfeit capabilities at the same time. The CIA will take care of China. The Det can handle North Korea. We will execute simultaneous strikes on three Chinese data centers. All fintel leaked was electronic. Each center backs up to the other two. Hit all three, they’ll have nothing left. It’ll take five or six years to fully recover.”

  Javlek furrowed his brow. “You’re asking me to authorize an op to blow up the entire data system of China’s Ministry of Intelligence?”

  “No, sir.” Young tapped his chest. “CIA takes those. All three will be hit by electromagnetic pulse—an EMP—erasing the data. We already had a solution in place for this eventuality.”

  Javlek snorted. “Sounds like a convenient excuse. The CIA’s been waiting for this opportunity?”

  Young allowed a small, tight smile. “We’re only seeking your approval on the Det striking North Korea’s Ministry of State Security facility in Chŏngjin. Where the mole is scheduled to make the final transaction. The MSS keeps things centralized. They don’t have funds, like China’s Ministry of Intelligence, to run three data centers. Just one in Chŏngjin. The printing facility is in the same complex. So, we’ll erase any leaked records of the Det, and take out their counterfeit abilities at the same time.”

  “And why kill the mole? Why not grab him?”

  “I never said it was a he, sir.”

  “Don’t deflect the question.”

  “US Code allows the death penalty for treason, sir.”

  “But with a trial. Innocent until proven guilty, Agent Young.”

  He shrugged. “The mole being on-site, treason is certain. It’s the act of a single party. Eliminating them would be...much less painful than the alternative. The CIA’s action in China will go forward regardless of your decision. We’re simply requesting your approval for a discreet Det op. If a CIA mole is killed in the process, that would be most delightful. The Det has previously proven their ability to operate within those borders. With this action, the effects of the leaks, through CIA and through Marksman, will be alleviated.”

  Red turned away from the monitor and folded his arms. “Why don’t you know who the mole is?”

  “Short answer: well trained. A skilled field asset based on how they’ve covered their tracks.”

  The allegations against Marksman were crap. Except...Young had said they had surveillance confirmation. But why would he give his life to save Lori and himself just a few hours earlier? A change of heart? What had Marksman meant by saying, Lori’s not the enemy? His head throbbed and he rubbed temples. Marksman was an operator, and you always trust your team.

  Still, if the Det could pull off the op, it could mean no more threat to his family. “Sir, we can be discreet. If you approve, we’ll get this done without any trace left behind. Agent Young is right. If they take care of China, the Det can take care of North Korea.” Red hoped Javlek would accept such an arrogant statement, considering he hadn’t even looked at a map to see where Chŏngjin was.

  Javlek massaged between his eyebrows with a thumb, pinching and yanking, as if pulling a hair from the root. He swept his hands across the desk. “Fine. But I want final approval on your mission plan.” He leaned into the camera. “Major, your predecessor and I had a unique relationship. I loved the man, but also fantasized about killing the prima donna. His saving grace was he confided everything about the Det to me. Everything. If you’re to enjoy the same free-range discretion, I expect that transparency to continue.” He slammed a fist on the crimson surface, not as hard this time. “The geezer was past his prime. Got himself killed. Had a nasty habit of leading his own ops, and I hear you’re cut from the same cloth. This is one op you’re not attending. Stay home. Take care of your family.”

  Javlek stood and walked out of the camera’s view. A door latch opened and the screen went black.

  Red’s predecessor, as Javlek had called him, had been a close friend, Colonel Jim Mayard. To be certain, titling him a prima donna wasn’t far from the truth. He had been a sonofabitch, but he also got things done. He’d use any tactic at his disposal to accomplish a mission, even blackmail. Stay home? Yeah, right. Red had learned from Jim taking care of family often meant getting dirty.

  Chapter 18 – Locker

  Carter laid Marksman’s black battle dress uniform on the polished gray concrete floor of the Det’s cavernous hangar on the far side of Langley Air Force Base. He ran thick fingers across the fabric, smoothing out wrinkles. The knees were threadbare, faded. He glanced up at Red standing a few feet away, eyes swollen and pink. He appeared worn as thin as Marksman’s pants. “You look like hell.”

  Red rubbed the bottom of his nose with a knuckle. “Maybe. But I can get a shower and some sleep. At least I’m not plain ugly.”

  Carter snorted. “You’re a dick.”

  “And you’re a Wop with a subscription to GQ.”

  Touché. At least the man still had a sense of humor, considering his wife was just shot and he’d lost a close friend, a comrade in arms.

  The hangar’s ceiling towered a hundred feet up. This visit, two Bell V-22 Ospreys and a single MH-60 Pave Hawk sat at one end, raptors at rest. The old girl Sikorsky MH-53 Pave Low still sat in its corner. The building was so vast it still seemed empty. The locker he’d rifled through was bolted to the hangar’s concrete block wall.

  Red glanced around, as if to make sure they were alone. Apparently satisfied, he said, “Just got out of a meeting with Higher, FBI, and Mossad. Long night.” He relayed Mossad’s accusations that Marksman had been a mole, then pointed to the uniform. “What are you looking for?”

  Carter sat back on his haunches. “I’m looking for...well, I don’t know. Anything. A clue. I’m starting with the basics. You knew Marksman best, so tell me if you see anything here that says who he was. You pull his file yet?”

  Red jerked a thumb over one shoulder. “Grace is working on it. So his body never made it to the hospital?”

  “No. The corpse I saw belonged to some midfifties lawyer. Died of a heart attack. I even made sure the patients didn’t get switched around at the hospital by accident. The live one in the operating room was a young guy. Looked kinda Mexican. Not Marksman, for sure. Won’t be able to talk with him for at least a week, if he lives. I also reviewed the hospital’s security camera footage.”

  His neck twitched in an involuntary shiver. The janitor had warned him about the night security manager, but seeing her had introduced him to a whole new realm of creepy. Face pale as milk, crew-cut jet-black hair. In her dim office in a video monitor’s glow, at least a dozen studs had shimmered from her lips and eyebrows and ears. Still, all had gone well till she’d caught his gaze and straightened, arching her back, exposing the clear outline of nipple rings beneath a tight black shirt. “Need anything else?” she’d asked, tongue flicking out to lick the corner of her mouth.

  Carter had snatched the stack of DVDs off her desk and was halfway down the hall when he’d run into the janitor again. His expression must’ve told the story. The man had leaned on his mop and grinned. “Guess you forgot yo wooden stake.”

  Carter brushed out the last wrinkle on the dead man’s
BDUs. “The officer in charge at the parking lot said Marksman wasn’t dead. He claimed EMTs took him to the hospital. We’ve got witnesses who corroborate the ambulance, but after that his body somehow...vanished.”

  Carter had even stepped into the fusion cell to track Marksman’s tag, a passive, nonelectronic tracking device half the size of a postage stamp. Each operator in the Det had one surgically implanted into the left buttock. The Det could track tags anywhere in the world, with a few exceptions, but now no one could locate Marksman’s. “You sure he was dead?” Carter asked.

  Red chewed his lower lip. “No pulse. Blew an artery. Amazing the man lasted long enough to say anything. You see all the blood on the ground?”

  Carter closed his eyes, imagining the scene again. “I had to step around some that had pooled there, but it wasn’t much.” He rose, raised his phone, and thumbed the camera icon. The flash fired and he flinched.

  Red smiled. “What you trying to do?”

  “Look at the photos I took last night.”

  Red snatched it from his hands. “Gimme that thing.” He pressed the screen a few times and the flash burst again. “Shit.” His lips pressed thin as he fiddled some more. “OK—there. One shot of a license plate, and a bunch of dark ones of the vehicles.”

  Carter pointed to the one where he’d photographed the VIN. The close-up of the vehicle only took up half the shot. “Look at the asphalt next to the van. That’s the bloodstain I was talking about.”

  Red zoomed in on a dark red puddle. “That’s not right. Would the EMTs have cleaned it up?”

  “No. If he was alive, they’d be more worried about working to keep him that way.”

  “The police?”

  “It’s a crime scene. No one would’ve touched it.”

  Red shrugged. “I don’t know. It was coming in gushes. It stopped when he died. Maybe his clothes absorbed the rest. Either way, the man was dead as any corpse I’ve seen.”

  Red’s voice was steady, but his shoulders, always upright and square, drooped. His head was bowed. Never a tall man, but he looked somehow...diminished.