The Spy Across the Table

by Barry Lancet

  I frowned. We hadn’t discussed the first lady. Gerald had gone on an information-gathering spree since we’d met. The guy had moves—and had just succeeded in pushing me into a corner.

  “This started with the Kennedy Center killings and FLOTUS, but it’s expanded since then.”

  Gerald pondered the problem. “Assuming I can get around the ambassador’s usual reluctance, is this going to help or hurt me?”

  “In the long run, help. Short-term, it may irritate a few people.”

  “The safest way forward would be to table this until tomorrow.”

  “It can’t wait.”

  Gerald sighed. “Fine. Then let me warn you in advance that I will not get past the ambassador’s wife without something more concrete. She guards him like a hawk since his heart attack two years ago.”

  “Fair enough. Here’s what I have, but it’s for the ambassador’s ears only, plus whatever tidbit you need to feed his wife to get him on the phone.”

  Then I laid out Habu’s confession . . .

  With Jo holding the knife edge to the gang leader’s one unblemished cheek, Habu opened up: “There weren’t no names but the guys came through the Chongryon.”

  Which confirmed the gang’s association with the old-school underground group in Japan sympathetic to the North Korean regime.

  Jo put some pressure on the knife. “What else?”

  “They’re flying the girl to Niigata, then shoving her on a fishing boat to North Korea. They smack into the Japanese Coast Guard or military boats, they’ll scoot over to the South Korean coast, then find a ride up to Seoul. There’s a tunnel goes under the DMZ.”

  Unscrambled, plan A was a flight to Japan’s northern coast and a boat to North Korea. If the sea route was blocked, they had a built-in plan B. A tunnel in the demilitarized zone to take them under the border between Koreas and into the North.

  “Dump it all,” Jo said, waving the knife in front of Habu’s eyes.

  “Tunnel’s an old one the South ain’t found yet. It’s burned once they use it, so they’ve been saving it for something big.”

  What on earth, I wondered, did Anna know that got her the wrong kind of VIP treatment?

  “Tunnels are always dicey,” I said. “They have a backup plan?”

  “Course,” Habu said. “They ain’t idiots. The tunnel don’t work, they go across the river.”

  Plan C.

  Jo clicked his tongue. “The river between North and South is blockaded, you moron.”

  True, but defectors seeking asylum routinely fled across the Yalu River, a waterway that ran along the other border. The one North Korea shared with China. Escapees swam or boated across in small rubber dinghies most of the year, or walked across when the river froze over.

  “You’re talking about the Chinese border, right?” I asked.

  Habu scowled. “Yeah. The DMZ don’t work, they fly to China. Meeting up at a place called the Dandong Noodle Shop in Changbai. Hope you choke on it, gaijin.”

  “You left out two things,” I said. “Where along the DMZ? It’s one hundred and fifty miles long.”

  “They didn’t say.”

  “What do you think, Jo?”

  “I’m thinking I’m gonna send lots of small pieces back to my sister.”

  Habu flinched. “Okay. About one and a half kilometers from Dora’s. Don’t know what the hell that is and don’t care. Makes no sense to me.”

  But it did to me.

  “Sounds like a woman’s house,” Habu said with a smirk. “Knew where it was, I’d pay her a visit.”

  “It’s not a ‘her,’ ” I said. “It’s a place.”

  A place deep inside the heavily guarded demilitarized zone on the South Korean side, but within walking distance of the border—if you could get past the military installations and the guards and the minefields.

  Apparently, Anna’s kidnappers could.

  CHAPTER 48

  TO Gerald, I relayed the gist of the kidnappers’ plans, minus many of the specifics. No DMZ, no Dora, no plan C to China. Every word out of my mouth would pass from Gerald to the ambassador and to places and people beyond, which might include Homeland and Swelley. Equally important, with each detail divulged, I lost leverage—and I needed leverage to stay in the game.

  While I talked to Gerald, Noda reached out to a connection at the Japanese police agency, which would contact the Japanese Coast Guard about a blockade. Anna Tanaka’s kidnappers weren’t taking the seaways north.

  “Jesus,” Gerald said when I’d wound up my recital. “North Korean agents? Are you quite sure?”

  “Looks that way.”

  “So the Hermit Kingdom is directly involved?”

  One of North Korea’s nicknames.

  “Yep.”

  “No one ever comes back from there. The poor girl doesn’t have a chance.”

  “Unless we give her one,” I said. “Which is why you must get past the wife.”

  “Logic and common decency dictate I should be able to get you an audience, but you’re facing a double hurdle. She’s tough but he’s the real wild card. Between you and me, he’s earned his nickname ten times over since I’ve been here.”

  Despite the obstacles, we banged out a plan to circumvent Inflexible Lex’s defenses. Gerald would call ahead, then we’d meet outside the ambassador’s mansion, a luxurious guarded estate inside the greater American embassy complex surrounded by twenty-foot whitewashed walls.

  “Work some magic,” I said. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. And, Gerald?”

  “Yes?”

  “Be discreet.”

  “Of course,” he said.

  But he wasn’t.

  1:35 A.M.

  AMERICAN EMBASSY COMPOUND, TOKYO

  Noda and I girded ourselves. At best, our late-night arrival would irritate. At worst, hornets would descend.

  Near the entrance to the ambassador’s residence, a policeman signaled for our taxi to pull over to the curb. His uniform was clean and pressed, his hat properly squared. Even this late.

  “Think the TPD will give us trouble?” I asked Noda.

  “Only if things sour.”

  The cop was point man for an extensive protective detail stationed around the clock on all sides of the compound. I spotted four more TPD uniforms, including one in the guard booth talking to Gerald and another on the other side of an imposing twelve-foot-high wrought iron gate.

  Noda and I stepped from the vehicle, wallets flopped open to our picture IDs.

  “You’re the gentlemen Thornton-Cummings–san is expecting?” the policeman asked in Japanese.

  “That’s right.”

  Gerald turned and waved. An open, friendly gesture. So far, so good.

  The badge moved aside and we covered the last ten yards at a brisk pace. Gerald wore a lightweight windbreaker zipped to his chin. His fleshy face was pale and unshaven.

  “Thanks for getting over here so quick,” I said as we walked up to the guard booth.

  He nodded, his blue eyes restless and red around the rims. “All part of the job. Not my favorite part.”

  “Sorry about that.”

  Gerald shrugged, then gave a go-ahead nod to a U.S. Marine in the booth. The Marine punched the screen of a secure phone similar to the one Gerald had used at Narita Airport, then handed the device to me.

  As the ringtone sounded in my ear, I let my gaze drift back toward the first Japanese policeman. He stared back boldly, alert eyes locked onto our every move.

  “Hello, Ambassador Tattersill? Sorry to wake you at such an hour.”

  “It comes with the office, son. We just need to confirm that your situation falls within our bailiwick. Can you give me a rundown?”

  Tattersill’s voice was soft and coaxing and suggestive of instant camaraderie. And yet the word son hinted at a budding condescension.

  I let a hint of exasperation surface. “Is that really necessary? I’m sure Gerald briefed you. Nothing has changed since I talked to him
fifteen minutes ago.”

  Noda frowned. I’d left enough of a gap between ear and phone so he and Gerald could eavesdrop.

  “I make it a point to get the story straight from the horse’s mouth.”

  A sour feeling pinged the lining of my stomach. “There is some urgency here, sir.”

  “Always is, son. Always is.”

  With an inward sigh, I repeated Habu’s story at a fast clip, again bypassing the details I wished to keep to myself.

  “I wonder what result we might expect of the coast guard?” the ambassador asked.

  I relayed the consensus opinion that Noda had received through his backdoor channel. The sea chase would boil down to a nautical game of cat and mouse. The Japanese Coast Guard and navy would move to block the northern passage. They would also be calling on their South Korean counterparts. A defensive line would be strung across the Sea of Japan between the two countries. With radar guidance they could track all approaching vessels. Anna’s kidnappers, no doubt equipped with their own radar, would hide among the numerous fishing and commercial craft on the water at night. Once they saw there was no sure way through the blockade, they would opt for the South Korean coast, not wanting to risk being captured.

  “Interesting,” Tattersill said. “Perhaps we should wait until we hear the results of the joint maneuvers.”

  “We need to get ahead of them,” I said, “which means making the two-hour hop to South Korea now.”

  Tattersill sounded a different note. “If the kidnappers land on the South Korean coast, I think we can leave the sweeping up to our brethren over there, don’t you?”

  “That’s not what the White House wants.”

  “I do not believe you can equate Joan Slater’s desires with those of the president. I have also been informed Homeland is working this.”

  The sour feeling in my stomach mushroomed into full-fledged nausea. “They are working one end and I’m working the other,” I said carefully. “That was the Slaters’ original intention. So could we get on with the transportation?”

  “When it comes to wielding government assets, one does not simply wave a wand, Mr. Brodie.”

  I blinked. Inflexible Lex had surfaced. For him, that’s exactly how simple it was. He gave an order and people jumped.

  I pushed harder. “Again, this is urgent, sir. Once Anna’s kidnappers get her to the Japan coast, a high-speed boat can cross the Sea of Japan to South Korea in three or four hours. We need to get there ASAP. A quick trip by helicopter to the closest base, then a plane to Seoul ought to do it.”

  “You presume quite a bit.”

  Pursing my lips, I fell silent. The ball was in his court. I glanced over at the gated entrance to the ambassador’s residence. Front and center on the gate was the Great Seal of the United States: an American bald eagle clutching an olive branch in one claw, arrows in the other, signifying peace and power. In ominous contrast, a black windowless police van parked across the street signaled another kind of power.

  Tattersill cleared his throat. “Well, this is highly unusual, but I’m going to make the arrangements. Everyone should be happy then, don’t you think?”

  “Yes. Thank you, Mr. Ambassador.”

  “I’ll be down in a few minutes,” he said, and disconnected a little too abruptly for my taste. But whatever got us across the water.

  Budging the ambassador had not proved the herculean task Gerald had made it out to be. I cast a sideways glance at the attaché. His features had a pinched aspect, as if they were being drawn toward an invisible vortex at the center of his face.

  Something wasn’t right.

  A little too abruptly . . .

  Eyeing the junior diplomat’s expression, Noda emitted a deep rumble.

  In Japanese I said, “You don’t like it either?”

  “No.”

  “Gerald, anything you want to tell me?”

  He shook his head, then darted a look at the Marine.

  I turned back to Noda. “Tattersill should have pressed me for more detail. I wouldn’t have given him any but he should have asked. Anyone would.”

  “People like him don’t come to people like us.”

  A chill edged up my arms. Noda had pinpointed the gremlin in the shadows.

  We’d been set up.

  CHAPTER 49

  I’LL be down in a few minutes.

  The ambassador wouldn’t come down to the guardhouse to meet us. Not only was the gesture out of character, but security protocol would forbid it. If anything, we’d be led inside, either to the residence itself or to an interim staging area safely inside the grounds.

  I fired a look over my shoulder at the first police officer. Two more uniforms had joined him. I cast a look at Gerald. His expression was one of studied indifference.

  I scowled. “What have you done?”

  “Just what you asked.”

  His reply came too fast. And, worse, it trailed off with a trace of defiance.

  With habitual rapidity, Noda and I scanned faces. The policemen’s, Gerald’s, the Marine’s. The chief detective shot an inquiring look toward the cops, a Japanese-on-Japanese communiqué suggesting that they step away from this American-on-American confrontation. An effective ploy most times.

  But not this time.

  I grabbed the young diplomat by the neck and squeezed. “Who else did you call?”

  His blue eyes widened in fear and disbelief. “No one.”

  “You’re lying. Who?”

  He wrapped both of his hands around my arm and tried to break my grip. He couldn’t. I applied more pressure. His breathing became difficult.

  “Swelley,” he wheezed. “I was under orders.”

  “And Tattersill knew?”

  “Of course.”

  “How soon?” I said.

  “Soon.”

  I let my arm fall. Gerald doubled over, sucking up air in large gulps.

  “Why’d you do it?” I said. “Homeland doesn’t run the embassy.”

  He held up a hand, signaling for a moment to catch his breath. “These days . . . security trumps all . . . You don’t cooperate . . . demoted . . . or worse.”

  We were lost. The Homeland agent had dropped out of sight on this side of the Pacific. So much so that while I hadn’t forgotten him, I’d discounted him. But I should have known better. I did know better. Swelley was the gremlin in the shadows. Plotting. Maneuvering. Setting traps and trip wires. My reaching out to Gerald had sprung one of them.

  More damned spycraft.

  I closed my eyes and exhaled audibly, angry with myself. I didn’t need this aggravation. I could be home playing with my daughter, working in my antiques shop. Talking art. Placing meaningful pieces in the homes of appreciative clients. Pieces that could add a spark of inspiration to someone’s life. Except I did need to find out who killed Mikey and Sharon. And more than anything, I wanted to get Anna back.

  Alive.

  Because bringing her home was something I would never be able to do for my two friends. Her return was the only token I could offer up to them—and to myself to assuage the illogical guilt that plagued me.

  I opened my eyes to seek Noda’s opinion but never got the chance.

  On the street, forces were amassing. A fourth uniform now stood with the other three. Behind them, a fifth officer unfolded a collapsible steel barrier. It expanded, accordion-like, into a series of linked waist-high steel Xs with sharpened ends. The bottom leg of every third X was elongated and slotted into a hole in the pavement. Probably into steel tubes embedded in the blacktop. In minutes the assembled barrier was locked into place and blocked the road. It would not only stop a charging vehicle but would also keep us penned in.

  I looked in the opposite direction. Thirty yards down the road another barrier was being erected while a trio of officers stood by, focused on us.

  To my right, the Marine’s hand inched toward his holstered weapon.

  The world had changed.

  Irretrievably.
/>   I’d only closed my eyes for a few seconds but that had been enough.

  I jumped the Marine. I slammed him against the exterior wall of the guardhouse and rammed my knee into his stomach. He doubled over, both hands grabbing for his injured midsection. Then head down, he charged. With less than a foot between us, he gained no momentum. Realizing his mistake, he wrapped his arms around my waist and heaved.

  I held my ground and planted the palms of my hands on the top of his skull. My thumbs crossed, my fingers spread. His hand snaked back toward his weapon.

  “Don’t go there,” I said. “I’ll snap your neck.”

  The hand dropped. He attempted to raise his head.

  I growled. “Don’t do that either. Relax and we’ll be okay.”

  “I get mobile, you’ll be feeling the pain.”

  Pinned between the guardhouse wall and my body, he was going nowhere. Still he resisted.

  “Another inch and my knee comes up,” I said. “You know what that means.”

  He stopped struggling. The threat of turning the nose to pulp would be a potent deterrent for most people. Especially since an inch either way on a second strike could pulverize teeth, cheekbone, or jaw. But a highly trained Marine was not most people.

  I said, “I need to know you understand me.”

  More silence. Which signaled ongoing resistance.

  In a flash, I brought my knee to within an inch of his nose, then allowed my foot to resettle on the blacktop.

  “Next time it’s real,” I said.

  He unwound. The tension in his muscles dissolved.

  “Good. Now shove your hands into your pockets, straighten slowly, and show me your back.”

  As soon as he faced away, I planted a palm between his shoulder blades and slapped him against the guardhouse wall. With my free hand, I unsnapped the cover on his holster and extracted the weapon.

  Then everything fell apart.

  CHAPTER 50

  NODA yelled, “Move, move, now!”

  Before I could respond, short, muscular bursts at the small of our backs shoved both the Marine and myself into the guardhouse. The chief detective charged in behind, pressing us forward, then slamming the door shut and twisting the lock home.