And now I was outside Ellen’s first floor room – the number for which she’d told me over our new “friendly” walkie-talkie frequency a few hours prior.
Ellen opened the door at once. And though she was clearly still exhausted, the few hours’ rest had made a world of difference. She looked more beautiful than I’d remembered.
She took me by the hand, and led me into the room. She sat me on the bed, and removed my clothes – one item at a time – and cleared up my wounds with a first aid kit she’d picked up from a nearby pharmacy. She walked me to the bathroom, and gently showered me down, and dried me off. Then she took me back to the bed – at which point, it was my turn to gently remove her clothes. At first, we simply held one another’s bodies – her breasts against my chest; her thigh against my thigh. From there, it was fumbling and naïve – the sort of fumbling that comes when the person means something to you, and you want to make sure you’re touching them gently and warmly and just right; the sort of fumbling that comes when you know the other person’s vulnerable, and needs to be handled with care. And as we melted into one another, as we ran our hands over limbs and necks and groins, we were finally able to communicate what had gone unsaid between us. Our gratitude for one another. Our respect. Our passion and hunger and desire.
And then, when we were done, we just laid there, breathless and entangled.
* * *
Half an hour later, Ellen rose from the bed, and carried over a small laptop.
‘I bought this round the corner so I could follow the news. I want to show you.’
She brought up the blog TheFreeTibetGuy.com, and I could instantly see what she wanted me to look at. The most recent article consisted of fifteen images along the left-hand side – the victims of the Consulate fire – with text to right: quotes and tributes from the victims’ families and friends.
I looked at each of the photos of these youngsters, each of the plaintive tributes, and let the grief and sadness wash over me. Embraced it. It was cathartic.
But what also caught my eye was the new photograph across the top of his blog. It was a distinctive looking bay, with a field of purple flowers in the foreground.
I pointed to it. ‘Somehow, that photograph seems a fitting tribute.’
Ellen made a plaintive smile. ‘It’s a bay that’s actually near my childhood holiday home in San Francisco – a local landmark. The flowers are Douglas’ Iris. They look beautiful, but they’re actually poisonous. I have a bittersweet memory of walking through them with my father – I must’ve been ten – and coming out with angry red rashes.’ She paused. ‘I also feel the image is a fitting tribute. Yes, it’s beautiful. But the poisonous flowers also signify the fire – the brutal tool that took those lives.’
I nodded contemplatively and put the laptop aside. And as the images I’d seen ebbed through my mind, I again entangled myself in Ellen. Then I told her what had happened after she’d left: the events on University Avenue; Scott Brendan’s true motives; my chasing down the limo. She took it all in calmly. And then, once I’d relayed it all, re-lived it all, I fell into a deep sleep.
Chapter 37
Monday, December 13, 2:22 a.m. – Kings Canyon Motel, 4770 East Kings Canyon Road, Fresno.
‘Saul, wake up – you’re gonna want to see this.’
I opened my eyes to find Ellen fully dressed, leaning over the bed. She looked serious, thoughtful, concerned.
I sat up. The TV opposite was playing the news. And Ellen had news websites up on her laptop, too.
‘A lot’s happened,’ she said, handing me a cereal bar and a cup of coffee. ‘Most recently, they’ve just named the guy you shot on University Avenue.’
She pointed at the TV. The anchor was giving the run-down. The man – who was found entangled in the sniper rifle, and almost certainly fired the bullet – had been identified as Devin Mannford: an ex-Secret Service IT man, and a convert to Islam. It was being speculated as a result, that this was an attack motivated by radical Islam, and that Mannford had used his ex-Secret Service status to orchestrate the attack. What’s more, there was now speculation that the man who’d escaped the skyscraper – who’d previously been thought to be implicated in the attack – may in fact have been a vigilante.
The anchor then discussed the implications the Mannford revelations had on the events that’d unfolded at Secretary Forsyth’s safe-house. The Secret Service had reported that an individual had turned up at Forsyth’s safe-house at the same time she’d arrived, and unloaded a weapon seemingly at Forsyth – and this individual appeared to be the same person who’d escaped the skyscraper. But while at first this had been thought to confirm that this individual was a perpetrator, it’d been complicated by the fact the Secret Service had since found a bomb rigged to a light switch inside the safe-house, as well as these recent revelations about Mannford. So now there was speculation that this individual had fired the shot as a warning that’d in fact saved Forsyth’s life.
‘My God – a lot to take in.’ I rubbed my temples, then downed the coffee. ‘On a personal level, it’s a good thing: I’m not being singled out as perpetrator. I’m pretty certain FBI Headquarters know it was me, but have decided not to go public with my identity. Yes, they probably want me brought in more than ever. But if they name an ex-FBI agent as wanted in relation to this – well, it’d be a fiasco.
‘But the Mannford business – this surely represents Yuelin’s plan coming together perfectly. She blackmailed an ex-Secret Service man into doing this because it provides both a potential means of carrying it out – folk’ll assume he used his past position to undermine Secret Service defenses – and a motive. I’ve no idea what she blackmailed him with. But you can bet it was something that, had he been arrested, would’ve kept him in line.
‘But of course, by killing him, I’ve made life easier for Yuelin. Made it impossible for Mannford to deny the charges.’
I paused, then added:
‘And notice that she never did release the dirt she had on the Command Center agent. You can bet your ass she wants to; but if she did, it’d explode the theory it was Mannford. She’s been flexible. Restrained.’
Ellen nodded. ‘But there’s more. The commentators are drawing links between the Consulate and the attempt on the Secretary. Look, they’ll come back to it in a moment.’
We watched on. A few minutes later, the anchor began discussing events with her pundits. Sure enough, one pointed out that, although the Consulate fire had at first appeared accidental, it seemed far-fetched that it was a mere coincidence that Liang – the Deputy Secretary of State – had been killed hours before an attempt on the Secretary. He then went as far as to suggest that Mannford was responsible for the fire.
Then they discussed the fact that the Consul General and Minxin Gu had gone missing since arriving at the airport, and that eyewitnesses had seen them changing cars near the airport – and speculated on what that could mean.
Then they discussed the fact that, since the Consulate is technically Chinese soil, investigating the cause of the fire would be a diplomatic nightmare.
I got out of bed, and paced in frustration.
‘This is too much to bear. Everything’s falling into place. Again, Yuelin’s been flexible. She knew that if Liang was identified, it’d make it look intentional. And though that compromised her desire to have it parallel the 1999 bombing, she’s wasn’t bothered: she was more concerned about tying up loose ends. She knew it would simply be pinned on Mannford, so was happy to do it. You can bet that the authorities will pin it on him – and the attempt on Forsyth, too. Scott told me that Yuelin had planted Mannford’s fingerprints in the house. It’s only a matter of time before they’re discovered.’
‘But the interesting thing is that nobody has linked these two events with the earlier sniper rifle killings,’ said Ellen.
I grunted. ‘Ultimately, it won’t matter if they do or don’t. Soon enough, Yuelin will make sure the rifles used in those killings are found, and
they’ll be riddled with DNA and fingerprint evidence to incriminate her patsies. And while there’ll be theories about how those disparate patsies are linked, about how they might all be linked to the Consulate fire and the attempt on Forsyth, it won’t matter. The evidence will be conclusive. Everything, as far as the authorities are concerned, will be accounted for.’
I continued pacing. My body ached. But my mind was fresh.
‘So as things stand, Yuelin’s getting away with it. She can fly abroad right now, and nobody’ll lay a finger on her. And not only might she have more up her sleeve, she also has the tech to undermine TOR. We have to be worried about what she’s planning to do with it.’
I looked at Ellen. ‘I reckon her endgame must be to get the technology to the Chinese government. And if she does, the damage’ll be cataclysmic. Every online dissident in mainland China would be outed and arrested. Many even killed.’
Ellen nodded slowly. ‘It’s crossed my mind that that must be her objective. And yes, it’d be disastrous: the Chinese government are very happy to commit atrocities on home soil. But the real question is, how’s she planning to get this technology to the Chinese government? I can’t imagine she’d send it over the internet: she’s more aware than anyone that sending data over the internet can never be secure – and she won’t want to take any chances with something so sensitive. Hell, she’s using shortwave radio to communicate – that’s how much she doesn’t trust the damn internet.’
‘And I doubt she’d carry the hard-drive through an airport,’ I said. ‘While there’s every chance she’d get away with it, it’s also entirely possible she’d be spot-checked, and her digital possessions examined. And not even encrypting it would help her – that’d only arouse suspicions more.’
We were quiet a spell; then I said:
‘I bet she’s gonna get someone to smuggle it out of the country. And we have to work out who and how.’
‘And how are we going to do that? All we have is a walkie-talkie on her frequency.’ Ellen replied bleakly.
I punched my palm. ‘We have to think of something.’
Ellen just continued to give me the same nihilistic look.
I tore my eyes from hers. I couldn’t cope with what she was saying, because I knew she was right: we were out of options. Yet, at the same time, we couldn’t just surrender.
I dressed silently. Ellen had bought me a fresh set of clothes: jeans, tee-shirt, trainers.
‘There’s a payphone round the corner. I’m gonna call Morton Giles. He may know something we don’t.’
Ellen nodded. Next moment, I was out the door.
* * *
I reached the pay phone round the corner from the motel, and dialed Mort. And though it was only a little past 5 a:m. his time, he picked up instantly.
‘Saul?’
‘No – Batman.’
‘Where are you?’
‘Laying low in Fresno.’
Mort grunted. ‘Well, you actually pulled it off, you son-of-a-bitch. I heard you fought off a goddamn attack dog. How on earth is your jugular still intact?’
‘That was an attack dog? I thought you just hired a freelancer to do something about my snoring.’
Mort hummed. ‘I’m glad you’re in one piece. But you’re gonna want to hear how things stand here at Headquarters.’
‘Hit me.’
‘Well, they’re well aware that you were the vigilante, and well aware, also, that you saved Forsyth’s life. But unluckily for you, that hasn’t put you in their good books: you’re still wanted. If anything, more than ever: again, you withheld information. But luckily for you, going public that an ex-FBI agent is implicated in an attempt on the Secretary’s life would be a fiasco. But I can tell you, they were pissed as hell when they realized you’d escaped the Bay Area.’
I balled my hand into a fist. I was well aware of the FBI’s attitude towards me. But a fresh wave of resentment hit.
‘For God’s sake, Mort – obviously I wanted to tip off the Secret Service. But if I had, she’d probably be dead.’
‘I know.’
That’s how it always went with Mort. Preaching to the choir.
‘What’s Forsyth’s take on this? Surely she’s grateful?’
Mort gave an ironic chuckle. ‘You’d think so, but no luck. She’s aware you saved her skin. But she’s furious you gambled with her life by playing vigilante. She wants you brought in more than anyone. In fact, she’s insisted on staying in California so she can oversee things once you’re hauled in. You put the fear of God into her when you showed up on that motorcycle.’
I sighed. ‘I could save the country from nuclear war, and still be public enemy number one. She’s talking out of fear, but I understand.’ I paused. ‘And I suspect they believe Mannford was behind the fire and the assassination attempt?’
‘That’s the consensus. But there’s plenty more, Saul. Firstly, they also now know the identity of Ellen Kelden – the woman you were with in Las Vegas: they’ve identified her from CCTV at the Bellagio.’
I grunted. ‘I’d suspected they’d have gotten that far.’
‘Secondly, although it hasn’t been made public yet, there’s been developments in the investigation into the sniper killings that pre-dated these more recent attacks. The rifles that appear to have been used were found all together: the LAPD received an anonymous tip, and they were found, all of them, in a small garage, in a sports bag. Each of them had a distinct fingerprint on the trigger, and DNA traces. As a result, there’s already been an arrest – a young woman called Juliette Dein. She admits she shot two people with the sniper, but is refusing to offer a motive. And the authorities are scratching their heads as there’s no indication whatsoever what could have driven her to it.
‘They’re also scratching their heads at the fact that each of those sniper killings appear to have been carried out by someone different, and there’s little sign as to what connects them. The consensus is: they’re probably a team of loosely associated copy-cats.’
‘But ultimately, even if they can’t find what’s motivating them, the case will be closed, right?’ I said. ‘After all, they’ve got their culprits.’
‘Precisely. They’re relieved it looks like they have solid, conclusive perpetrators.’
This didn’t surprise me one bit. It was just as Yuelin had planned.
‘Anything else?’
‘Well, Minxin Gu and Hao Ting. They’re confused as to what happened to them. The last time they were seen was changing vehicles on the main road leading into San Fran from the airport, in a chaotic scene with a man fitting your description. The driver was utterly bemused, and thinks they were kidnapped. The theory here is that you knew what was coming at the Consulate, and intervened to save their lives. Of course, even if they show up, things’ll be tricky: the Bureau can hardly grill them – diplomatic immunity. And since the Americans that died were technically trespassing, it makes things very difficult.
‘But either way, there’s anger that you withheld information. There’s a sense here that, had they known, they would’ve sent a SWAT team in advance.’
‘Another one to add to my long list of crimes, eh?’I paused. ‘So, what’s happened to Vannevar?’
‘Arrested. Once the SFPD realized they’d arrested an ex Bureau man, they were ordered by FBI Headquarters to keep it quiet, and put Vann on the next flight back to DC. He’s been grilled; but from what I’ve heard, he’s kept mum. But they can see from the images in Las Vegas that he was with you.’
My heart sank. With everything that’d gone on, I’d all but forgotten about Vann. But he was yet another individual I’d roped in who was now suffering serious consequences.
I said: ‘My God – this is a mess.’
‘So now what, Saul?’
‘Things are still bad, Mort. Still big trouble on the horizon.’
‘I think it’s time you gave me the full story.’
I gave Mort a run-down.
‘So Scott Brendan i
s dead?’ he said slowly, after I’d finished my piece. There was real pain in his voice. Scott was his protégé – like a son to him.
‘I’m so sorry, Mort. I didn’t mention him last time we spoke, because at that point, I didn’t know the truth. Didn’t want to tell you he was a traitor. But in fact he was the greatest hero of all. He saved Forsyth’s life.’
All of a sudden, emotion tightened my throat, and it felt like I was drowning. The truth was hitting home: Scott was dead.
‘Okay. There’s time for mourning later,’ Mort said at last. I could hear him grappling with emotion, too. ‘So there’s nothing we can do to stop her leaving the country? And she’s got a hard-drive containing revolutionary tech, which, if it reaches the Chinese government, will mean hundreds die – and yet you have no idea what her plans are to smuggle this hard-drive out of America? And you’ve no clue if she’s got some other attack planned?’
‘That’s about it.’
‘So what now, Saul?’ he said again.
I still didn’t have an answer.
‘It looks like we’re goddamn powerless.’ He sighed. ‘Look, keep me in the loop. And give me a call in an hour or so – in case I come up with something.’
He sounded defeated – nihilistic. Like Ellen. And though a part of me wanted to make a speech, rouse his spirits, in fact the reverse was happening: I could feel his nihilism seeping into me. And it was hard to resist – after all, we were up shit’s creek.
‘Okay Mort. I’ll let you know.’
* * *
‘There’s more news, just breaking,’ said a grim-faced Ellen as I re-entered the room. ‘You won’t be surprised, but you’re not gonna like it.’
I turned my attention to the TV, and though it was mid-way through the report, I quickly caught the gist. Another small town rifle killing – in Vacaville, CA. Two victims, found in a public place. But unlike with the previous killings, though the two victims had been killed with one bullet, and had been sat one before the other, the shooter had used a Glaser Round: a round consisting of metal shards crammed within a Teflon-sealed copper case, which, after it’d penetrated the first victim’s head, had then fragmented meaning the second victim was mangled all over by shards.
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