The Art of War: A Novel

by Stephen Coonts

  “Carmellini. Chu out there?”

  “Yeah. Watching the fire department. The smoke stopped rolling out about two hours ago, but they are still doing hoses and stuff.”

  “Grab Chu. I’m coming down.”

  “Arrest him, you mean?”

  “Grab him. One man on each arm. Then get his keys and search his car.”

  I picked up his laptop and walked out. The door locked behind me. No one in the hallways.

  They had Chu standing beside the van. He was surrounded by four agents. He saw me coming toward him carrying the computer. Our eyes locked as I walked up. This guy was probably Kerry’s control, and he had helped kill Anna. I handed the computer to an agent, spun him around and made him lean against the side of the van with his hands on it. Spread his legs.

  “Am I under arrest?” he said tightly.

  I began feeling him all over. The agents had frisked him for weapons, but I wanted everything in his pockets. I turned them inside out. I laid everything on the ground. The phones and thumb drive had to be on him or in his car.

  And by God they were on him! A thumb drive in his left coat pocket. Three cell phones. I jerked his belt off. Made Chu take off his shoes.

  “Cuff him,” I told the agents. As one of the agents bagged his personal possessions, I took the computer, thumb drive and phones into the van.

  “You got something?” Nate asked.

  “We’ll soon see,” I muttered. “Let me borrow your computer.”

  He pointed toward it. It was already on. I slipped the thumb drive into a USB port and clicked on the icon when it appeared.

  A logo came up. Under the logo were the words Whitewater Encryption Systems. Under that was a prompt for a password, which of course I didn’t have.

  A sense of relief flooded over me. Yes!

  I managed to smile at Nate. “He had it on him,” I said.

  *

  When I called Jake Grafton to give him the news, he listened without a question. After I ran down he remarked, “The folks at the FBI and Justice aren’t going to like that warrantless arrest.”

  “They aren’t,” I agreed.

  “Why did you do it?”

  “He was a neatnik. Nothing personal in the apartment. It felt like a hotel room, but with a little food and coffee. Whatever he had had to be on him.”

  “Well … let’s hope what you found takes us somewhere. I’ll call Harry Estep and kiss his ass, and you give Sarah that stuff as soon as you can get here. After she’s mined it, she can pass it along to the FBI.”

  “That will add to their unhappiness.”

  “Everyone’s unhappy,” Grafton shot back. “All of us.”

  He hung up.

  *

  FBI Interim Director Harry Estep had already heard about the arrest when Grafton called him.

  “That son of a bitch Carmellini was just supposed to search,” Estep said bitterly.

  “I know. He used his judgment and discretion, based on experience. We have Chu’s laptop, a thumb drive with an encryption system on it and three cell phones. I’ll let you know what we find, then send them over.”

  “Grafton, you bastard! Counterespionage is our goddamn turf. Not to mention the two agents that traitor Zoe Kerry shot dead. I agreed to let Carmellini search because I thought he knew the rules. I should have known better. You damned people don’t play by the rules. I want that gear and I want it right fucking now.”

  “Get a warrant,” Jake Grafton said, and dropped the phone onto the cradle.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  For to win one hundred victories in one hundred battles is not the acme of skill. To subdue the enemy without fighting is the acme of skill.

  —Sun Tzu

  When Captain H. Butler Spiers, the commanding officer of Naval Base Norfolk, got home after McKiernan’s brief he poured himself a glass of Jack Daniel’s, added one ice cube and, still wearing his coat, went out onto the enclosed porch of his quarters. The temp was about fifty, and there was a breeze. The lights of the base made the overcast glow. He lit a cigar to go with the whiskey.

  He knew what he was going to do, although he had refused to admit it to himself. When he had told Admiral McKiernan he wanted leave because his daughter was going to have a baby, he had been a wee bit less than honest. His daughter lived in an apartment complex just a few blocks from the community college where her husband was a history instructor. In Norfolk.

  Spiers was never going to make admiral, and he knew it. Command of NB Norfolk was the final tour of a thirty-year career that had started in minesweepers. He then went to destroyers and after commanding one had been chief of staff for an admiral. After a tour as an instructor at the War College in Newport, he became CO of the base here, which was, by the way, a major command for an officer of his rank.

  He and his wife, Katherine, Kat to her family and friends, had only one daughter, even though they had tried for more children. Her name was Ellen, or Ellie. She was something of a flake. She had never been a good student, yet, poorly informed or misinformed with only a few facts, she arrived at opinions about people, politics and morals that were unshakable, and always Liberal with a capital L. For Ellie, life was not complex but simple. And everyone who disagreed with her was wrong. She walked through life with a certainty and confidence that were awe-inspiring. The truth was, her father didn’t like her.

  Nor did he think much of her husband, Harold, another mediocre intellect who had managed a master’s in history from some little college in Georgia that no one ever heard of and wormed his way into the substrata of academia, where he would undoubtedly spend the rest of his working days, happy as a termite. Harold and Ellie. A perfect match.

  Kat was the one he cared about. She had doted on Ellie, everything for Ellie, and no doubt spoiled her. The news of Ellie’s pregnancy had filled her with joy. She was going to be the world’s best grandmother, just as she had been the world’s best mom; it was her destiny, the yardstick by which Kat measured the value of her life.

  She should have had three or four kids, Butler Spiers thought again tonight, as he had many times through the years. The real problem, Butler told himself, was that Kat hadn’t really been cut out for life as a naval officer’s wife. The constant transfers meant that she couldn’t have a career. For a woman of her intelligence and education, that left her only one outlet, her daughter. Kat had concentrated too much love on one child, one of average intelligence, physical ability and attractiveness. The incandescent glow of her love had merely reinforced Ellie’s inability to see the world from any vantage point other than the pedestal on which her mother had placed her.

  Now the grandchild, a boy, was due in three weeks.

  With a possible Chinese nuclear warhead ready to detonate at the naval base. Jesus Christ!

  If it detonated, Kat and Ellie and Harold and the boy yet unborn would instantly perish. Kat didn’t deserve that.

  He had about finished the cigar when he heard her car in the driveway. He left the cigar in an ashtray and went inside. He had poured himself another drink when she came in, smiling.

  She had spent a few hours with Ellie, talking about the baby to come. “They decided to name the boy Harold Butler,” she told him, a grand announcement.

  “At least they didn’t decide to name him Herman,” he said. Herman was his first name, and he hated it even more than Butler, which had been his mother’s family name.

  He took another sip of whiskey and led her out onto the porch. She hadn’t taken her coat off, and he was still wearing his. He stubbed out the smoldering cigar and faced her.

  “I want you to go back to Ellie’s, get her and Harold and take them to your mother’s place in Massachusetts. Ellie can have the baby there over the holidays.”

  She stared at him, trying to understand. “Harold won’t be done with school until the end of the semester, five days from now. He can’t leave.”

  “He can call in sick, and if that doesn’t work, he can quit his job. He can get a
nother job in New England. We’ll help with the family finances until he does.”

  “Butler,” she said, shaking her head, “I won’t do it. And they won’t go. Harold had a devil of a time finding this job. The baby shower is three days from now. Invitations have been sent. Two dozen women are coming, her friends and—”

  “You must talk them into it.”

  “I can’t. It’s silly. I won’t try.”

  He leaned forward and looked into her eyes. He didn’t want to tell her classified information, but there was no other way. So he told it.

  She had a few questions, then sat processing it.

  “You can’t tell them the reason,” he said, even though in the back of his mind he knew she would have to, as he had. “If this gets out, there’ll be mass panic. Everyone on the peninsula and over in Newport News will try to leave, and the roads are just too small. Worse, the watcher may hear of it and decide to detonate the weapon without waiting for the carriers. We don’t know that he is waiting for the carriers, but it’s almost a certainty. If the mission was simply to blow up the place, he could have already done it.”

  “Maybe the SEALs will find the bomb,” Kat whispered.

  “Perhaps,” her husband admitted. “And maybe they won’t. Do you want to save Ellie and Harold and the baby? Or not?”

  “You’ll still be here.”

  “I’m a naval officer. This is my duty post. I’m not leaving.”

  She went upstairs to pack.

  Butler Spiers sat huddled inside his coat feeling very old. He had just betrayed classified information for personal reasons. If the powers that be ever learned of this, he was ruined professionally. He might even go to prison. If the bomb hadn’t already killed him.

  Yet he had to do it. He owed it to Kat. Owed it to her for the thirty years of her life that she had given him.

  He finished his drink and went inside and poured another.

  He almost wished the damn bomb would go off. For him, that would not be a tragedy.

  *

  The news about the routine security exercise at the Norfolk naval base made the Norfolk/Virginia Beach television stations’ ten o’clock news. Choy Lee and Sally Chan watched some footage of ships and the base public relations officer’s explanation on one of the channels as they lay in bed. They had eaten a nice dinner at a seafood place on Route 60, just west of the navy amphibious base at Little Creek. They ate and drank wine at a table by the window and watched the lights of ships come and go in the bay. Night had already fallen under an overcast sky. Afterward, they went to Sally’s apartment and made love. Finally they turned on the news.

  Zhang had never told Choy that the Americans were going to have five carriers in port over the holidays. Still, Choy was worried. Both he and Zhang were spies, reporting on ship movements, and the Americans were taking steps. Choy reflected that there were undoubtedly a lot of things Zhang knew that he hadn’t told Choy.

  Then there was Zhang’s new Boston Whaler, with an iPad wired to the radar. At least, Choy thought it was wired to the radar. What it was for he had no idea, but it worried him. What would the Americans say if they found it? And they might. A Coast Guard boat could stop them at any time for an inspection. Safety or otherwise.

  “What’s wrong?” Sally Chan asked, snuggling against him.

  The devil of it was that he was in love with Sally. At first this was supposed to just be companionship and sex, but somewhere along the way it had become more than that. Much more.

  And Sally Chan was as American as apple pie and the Fourth of July. So were her parents. Oh, they were proud to be Chinese Americans, in the same way Italian Americans, Irish Americans and African Americans were proud of their heritage. But this was their country! What would Sally think if she knew he was an agent of the Chinese government? A spy? Reporting on U.S. Navy ship movements? Would she dump him? Call the FBI and report him?

  Then there was Zhang. Somehow, lately, the mission had subtly changed. It was no longer photographing warships and reporting on their movements—Zhang was watching the carrier piers. The area around the carrier piers. Looking with binoculars at every harbor craft, watching for something. What? He never said, and Choy never asked. Somehow he knew that was the wrong thing to do.

  Now a “routine security exercise.” There hadn’t been a security exercise at the base all summer and fall. Why now? Were the Americans looking for him and Zhang? Had the mission been compromised? Or was he just suffering the intelligence agent’s normal professional paranoia?

  “I love you,” Sally whispered.

  Choy had other things on his mind. He distractedly pecked her on the forehead.

  *

  When Jake Grafton got home that evening, Callie had beef brisket, salad, and cucumbers and onions marinated in vinegar waiting. They ate at the little round table just off the kitchen where they normally ate breakfast.

  “When are you going to have Tommy take this security system out?” she asked. Jake had told her several days ago that the bomber had been arrested, although it hadn’t been in the newspapers.

  “Oh, I dunno,” he said, frowning. “No one is monitoring it. Thinking about leaving it in place, just in case. You can never predict when—”

  “I want it out,” Callie said forcefully. “I am sick of looking at those little cameras or whatever they are and being constantly reminded that someone tried to murder us. That someone did murder Anna Modin. We’ve got to move on.”

  “Well…”

  “If Tommy’s too busy,” she said, “I’ll call Willie Varner and ask him to come do it. His lock shop is in the telephone book.”

  “Maybe you should call Willie,” her husband said, surrendering gracefully. “Probably be quicker.”

  “So how was your day at the office?”

  “Oh, you know, the usual. Got shouted at and shouted back. We progress, I think, but slowly.”

  Her voice sharpened just a bit. “Have the people at the White House said anything about nominating a permanent director?”

  “No. I think their plate is as full as mine.”

  “Jake, you can’t keep doing this CIA thing twelve to fifteen hours a day, seven days a week. There are other competent people.”

  “Right now we have a problem that soaks up my time,” he explained. “It will be resolved in a few weeks, one way or another, and then I’ll be a forty-hour-week dude or I’ll resign.”

  She eyed him. “You’re serious, I hope.”

  “I can’t keep this pace up. You are absolutely right about that. I’ll burn out and won’t be any good to anyone. On the other hand, I owe it to the families of the people who got murdered to hang in there. People like Mario Tomazic’s daughter … and Tommy Carmellini. I’m in their corner.”

  “Jake,” she said, sliding her hand over his, “I understand, but I need more of your time. I am still very much in love with my husband. I don’t want to see you just when you bring your dirty clothes home to exchange for clean ones. That wasn’t why I married you.”

  He squeezed her hand and looked into her eyes. “A few more weeks, hon. Then it’ll be over.”

  Or, he thought, I’ll be dead along with a few million other people and it won’t matter. Being Mr. Smooth, he kept that thought to himself.

  *

  Sarah Houston was still at work on the hard drive of Jerry Chu’s laptop when I was ready to leave for the day. I had been watching over her shoulder. It was like watching someone translate Egyptian hieroglyphics; I didn’t understand any of it.

  “I’ll be along after a while,” she said. “Take my house key from my purse. It’s there beside the desk.”

  Her lock was a Yale, and I could do them blindfolded, but I didn’t brag. I took the key. On my way out the door she said, “I changed my mind about Chinese. I’ve had enough Chinese for one day.”

  “So have I,” I said. On the way to her place I stopped at a supermarket and purchased a few items from the deli counter. Gourmet Tommy. Got a bottle of wine�
��twelve bucks—and some more coffee, since Sarah was almost out.

  I was standing at the window thinking about Anna … and Fish and that bitch Kerry and good ol’ Jerry Chu … when I heard Sarah rap on the door. I caught a glimpse of my face in the mirror as I went to open it, and paused a few seconds to rearrange it. Sarah didn’t deserve me in a foul mood. Maybe she didn’t deserve me at all. She could do a whale of a lot better.

  I opened the door. She had a sack of stuff, too.

  She gave me a kiss as she sailed by, headed for the kitchen.

  Amazingly, I felt better. She could do that for me.

  “What did you get out of that computer and thumb drive?” I asked as she put away groceries.

  “It’s going to take a couple more days. I doubt if I can ever crack the quantum code, but there may be a way to get messages before he encrypted them. That may be all that is possible.”

  “Um.”

  “Got all the numbers off the phones and sent the phones by courier to the FBI.”

  “They’ll be pleased.”

  She eyed me. “Why do I have a feeling you shouldn’t have grabbed that stuff?”

  “It was an illegal arrest. No search warrant. No arrest warrant. Any half-decent lawyer can probably get the evidence suppressed, if there is any, and get Chu off … if he ever comes to trial. They have him on a national security hold right now, incommunicado.”

  “So why didn’t you let the FBI get a warrant?”

  “We don’t have a week for them to dither. If a nuke goes off in Norfolk, the judge scrutinizing the affidavits and FBI agents standing in front of him will feel the floor shake and think there has been an earthquake. Poof, another million or two souls on their way up or down.”

  “So what did Grafton say about it?”

  “Nothing to me. He might tomorrow, or he might not. With Grafton, you never know. You take a risk and everything turns out okay, he’s happy. If I’d gotten Jerry Chu arrested on my say-so and nothing was found, not so happy.”

  “We still don’t know if he’s dirty.”

  “Oh, he is. I got a good look at his face.” I yawned and stretched. “But if they want to fire me, I’m ready to go.”