Iris Rising

by Charles Hubbard

  He looks at his watch turning the corner near Shiguang Road Station, Yangpu district. The meeting location and time converge together in four minutes and under one hundred yards. Thinks, dealing with two kids in a city of millions will be simple enough. Wishes he could spend time in Shanghai before the next assignment, but this is strictly and in and out job. Get it done then disappear.

  Feldman approaches the vendor, orders noodles and sits. Checks his watch. The aroma is familiar to him. He wants to eat at the same place as the targets, to get into their daily routine and habits. No time to waste. Looks up at the encroaching buildings. Thinks, plenty of windows and vantage points to recon. The cook looks exactly like he does in the satellite photo. Spots Agent Tom Winters approaching through the thinning crowd ahead.

  ‘You need a shower,’ Winters says sitting down.

  ‘Yeah, maybe I’ve over cooked it a bit,’ Feldman concedes. He wants to complain to Winters about the last mission, the heavy crate he lifted by himself and the insanely tight timing, but he’s just glad to get out so lets the opportunity pass. It has been a while since they last saw each other. Winters went ahead to locate, follow and document the targets.

  ‘A quick bite and I’ll shower at their place.’

  ‘Agreed.’ Winters holds up four fingers pointing as a bowl is placed down in front of Feldman, says to the cook ‘Four pork dumplings.’ Then out of earshot: ‘The apartment is just around the corner. I had to change positions, think I was made the other day. Bloody reflection, amateur move.’

  11

  ‘That hurt.’ Sparks clutches his nose to stem the flow of blood dripping onto his keyboard.

  The malaise caught the attention of a soldier seated behind Masen who stands and makes a series of suggestive movements.

  Sparks then cups a hand under his nose and relaxes his grip so his words are audible. ‘Japan…’ Raises a hand to the soldier that everything’s ok. ‘We’re heading to Japan.’

  ‘I said to buzz and I’d let you in,’ Masen says looking around the interior of the small plane. ‘Japan?’ Besides Sparks, he only senses the presence of the soldier behind him. ‘That’s where—’

  ‘Yes, Jessica.’ Sparks dabs his nose with a napkin then tears off small pieces taking great care stuffing each nostril.

  The soldier pauses waiting for Sparks to change his mind before sitting.

  ‘Why?’ Masen asks touching the back of his head and winces. His was the last face he saw before blacking out. That short list of trusted friends just halved. ‘Knew I shouldn’t have left the two of you alone.’

  ‘After you left Maloney’s, Bozeman laid it all out for me,’ Sparks says as way of feeble explanation. ‘He works for Army Counterintelligence. He’s been assigned by General Mooney to protect you.’

  ‘That’s the general involved with this DUST program,’ Masen says looking down at the puncture marks scabbed to his T-shirt. ‘Helped rescue Jessica and Kim.’ Pulls his T-shirt free. Remembers the feeling of being helpless as Bozeman took out the syringe. ‘That fat bastard could have talked to me.’

  Masen doesn’t find any solace knowing Marcy was right about him not being a cop. Only that he was stupid enough not to listen to her.

  ‘Amos said he didn’t have time to explain everything.’

  ‘First name buddies.’

  ‘He said your life was in danger. That if we didn’t get you away from Boston and the Barn, you were going to be killed.’

  ‘No Travis, my life’s in danger because you helped to ambush, shoot and kidnap me.’

  ‘… You’re safe now.’

  ‘Really? You think we’re safe? Look around.’

  A seriousness washes over Sparks’s face as if seeing the plane in a completely new light.

  Masen pinches his nose and blows to relieve pressure.

  ‘They made me captain,’ Sparks says.

  ‘Congratulations Captain America, good job. Counterintelligence. You know they lie for a living. So what did you tell Bozeman?’

  ‘Everything.’

  ‘And by everything you mean…Everything about your first kiss in the school playground?’ Then softly: ‘You didn’t say anything about the fake communication?’

  Sparks sheepishly shakes his head.

  Masen leans back.

  ‘Snake eyes,’ Sparks says. ‘The army doesn’t trust us.’ He notices Masen is about to say something so quickly adds, ‘They’re not going to say a word to the CIA, any of it. They’re not going to tell, so we’re in the clear.’

  ‘So the army is giving you sanctuary?’

  ‘I can’t go back.’

  Masen chuckles. ‘You don’t just leave the CIA and join the army.’

  ‘Apparently I’m going to have a bad car accident. Bozeman said it’ll be fatal. Plop. I’ll skid off a stretch of road and careen through a barrier and into the icy Charles River.’

  ‘And what about those Chinese students you’re so passionate about saving? Are you just going to forget about them?’

  ‘Actually, I’m chatting online with one of them now. You need to see this.’ He spins the laptop around so it faces Masen.

  ‘Can I have a Red Bull and something to eat?’ Masen raises his voice to no one in particular. The plane isn’t large, and thinks someone up front might overhear the request and oblige. ‘Some way to get me to talk to you about Byzantine Candor.’

  Scrolling through the communications log between the Chinese hacker and Sparks, Masen can’t believe what he’s reading. Intertwined with quotes of ‘your life is in danger’ and ‘this is how your assassination will likely happen.’ There are discussions about Lì’s favorite pork dumplings vendor, some cranky man who sets up early only a few blocks away who sometimes greets him with a phlegmy cough, and a shared opinion about a certain online game.

  Sparks leans over the screen. ‘Lì has to convince Fāng the threat is real.’

  No kidding. ‘The way Lì describes the situation,’ Masen says, a finger following the words. ‘“I need to convince Fāng” as he puts it, you’re not some “twelve-year-old American kid” just messing with him.’ Masen then looks up with a large dose of skepticism. ‘And you haven’t told your new superiors in Army Counterintelligence any of this?’

  Judging by the silence and the appreciable look Sparks gives to the steward as a cup of coffee and nuts are brought over, Masen is convinced he hasn’t.

  ‘No Red Bull?’ Masen looks up smelling coffee.

  ‘No, but there are a few vending machines that dispense Red Bull on the base. Only a few, now you hear, building C,’ the woman replies in a similar hypnotic Southern Belle accent as Jessica. It casts Masen’s mind back to that warm summer day he last saw her.

  Sipping with a tilted head to keep one eye on the screen, it’s been a while since he last drank coffee, but it soon does the trick. Masen focuses on the remaining communication thread scrolling down the page. Increasing speed at which the lines fall down the screen, searching for keywords or phrases that spark a memory, a name, place, anything.

  ‘Hold on.’ Masen backs up reads one particular line slowly, then the lines before and after to contextualize this part of the conversation. Looks up and catches a yes-that’s-right look, and without a word spoken shakes his head and continues reading.

  ‘Yes,’ Sparks says registering the look on Masen’s face. ‘You’ve seen it, haven’t you?’

  ‘I’m not sure…’

  ‘But you had to look twice.’

  Masen looks over the sentence again. No coincidences right. In black letters that seem to pulse, Lì mentions a name, Amanda Lane. The very name spoken by Black in Pascal’s office. There is no casting it aside. It connects them to Black and to the Barn.

  ‘He had De Luca killed and kidnapped Jessica.’ That’s the connection. Black and Lane are working together. ‘We need to take this to—’

  ‘I’m already there,’ Sparks says. ‘Lì’s onside, but there’s no time,
the hit will happen soon.’

  ‘No, I mean this general. He doesn’t know it was us who sent the message so he might listen.’

  Sparks fidgets with his nose. ‘I only discovered the link myself earlier, about two and a half seconds before you punched me in the face.’

  If the comment was meant to make Masen guilty, it failed miserably. ‘We need to tell the general about this ASAP. Maybe we can get Black arrested. We need to have all his access to the Barn cancelled.’

  ‘I think we land in about three hours,’ Sparks says. ‘We can tell him to his face.’

  Staring in a haze at his empty coffee cup, Masen thinks back to his first day in the Barn. He can clearly make out Pascal and Black talking about Amanda Lane.

  He stands, makes small circles with a clenched fist, and walks the aisle glancing out the window at the rippling blue ocean that burst through clumps of clouds with the shining brilliance of a million diamonds, and ahead, the crisp barren azure sky. The air-conditioning vent hinting at what lays outside the thin tin shell. He walks over to where the steward who brought over the snacks is seated, busy playing a game of solitaire on her cell phone. She is only mildly surprised as a shadow casts over her.

  ‘Can I help you?’ she asks looking up.

  ‘Can I borrow a pen and a napkin, please?’

  ‘Sure.’ A little puzzled, she stands and walks over to the coat locker.

  Masen watches as she opens the door and withdraws a silver pen from her jacket. ‘You can keep the napkin,’ she says folding a napkin in his hand. ‘But I want the pen back.’

  He raises the pen. ‘Thanks, I will.’

  The pen is a promotion: a blue silhouette of what he figures is the aircraft he is travelling in printed on the shaft, and the word ‘Gulfstream’ engraved into the metal. Montblanc. The rounded six-pointed star stamped on the cap. He plays with its weight. It’s a pen worth keeping.

  By the time he rejoins Sparks the laptop has been turned around and he is busy typing. Masen unscrews the lid and writes Amanda Lane on the white cloth napkin. Tracing a line under the name he reads the word and pictures Black’s lips moving at the same time, trying to discover anything new. The connection to the operation Pascal was told to keep him away from. Though Pascal used the words ‘keep Masen on North Korea.’ There was now a second common thread running through this, General Mooney. But how does he fit in with Black and Amanda Lane? Are they all partners? No. With all that’s happening, it doesn’t makes sense. They would have to be adversaries.

  Masen thinks out loud. ‘Dana seduced Pascal.’

  ‘Dana?’ Sparks asks, his face in the screen.

  Masen stares at the napkin, dabbing the pen against it.

  ‘She seduced Pascal.’

  ‘There seems to be a few women involved,’ Masen continues.

  Bozeman said a woman shot a cowboy on the same day De Luca and Tripod were killed. And back when Black waited in his apartment when he flew out to visit Nash, he said a woman going by the name Amanda Lane was with Jessica at MIT the day she disappeared.

  ‘She’s involved in the blackmail,’ Masen says lifting the pen off the napkin. ‘But Pascal mentioned a Dana in the letter, not Amanda.’

  ‘Letter, blackmail?’ Sparks says, stops typing and looks up.

  Masen explains he found a letter in his car addressed to him from Pascal. That Pascal was blackmailed and suspected Black and the CIA Director.

  ‘It proves Byzantine Candor is a ruse.’ Sparks folds down the laptop screen and gives Masen his full attention. ‘You suspect the Director has something to do with this?’

  ‘…I don’t think so… I don’t know. How does any of this fit? I mean it looks like Black and Amanda.’

  ‘Or this woman, Dana, who blackmailed Pascal.’

  Masen writes out Amanda on the napkin and underlines individual letters that make out Dana.

  ‘I think this Dana woman is planning to steal DUST for the Chinese government. I doubt Pascal knew more than we do. Maybe he discovered the Director was involved just before he blew his brains out.’

  ‘Maybe Amanda and Dana are working together?’ Sparks says.

  Masen crunches heavily on a fist full of peanuts. ‘Or it’s the one person and she’s working for Black.’ His elbow clips the pen and it falls to the floor making a muted thump on the carpet. Bending down to pick it up, a fragrance wafts up, faint, sweet.

  Musk.

  ‘Maybe.’

  Outside, clouds blurs his vision with a flare of white and clusters of water droplets struggling to cling to the window. He can just make out his shattered reflection in the window; wiry hair, and combing fingers through, it feels dirty. He never did have that shower. Dark circles and smudges of blood pepper his face, and the source of his migraine is located with scouting fingers; a small blotch of matted hair and congealed blood from the blow crusts the side of his head. He starts thinking about Jessica as the plane starts its descent. A large aircraft carrier becomes visible, idle beside the shoreline. The window is cold.

  What will I say to her?

  Sparks watches the bright blue sea almost vanish as his view fills with dozens of densely forested islands. He squeezes his nose and carefully blows. The serene view changes suddenly as they cross the mainland. Scaring from the encroachment of surrounding roads and buildings contrast against a thinning mountainous tree line. Playing on his mind is the short window of time he has of saving the two Chinese kids from execution. Lì needs to convince Fāng they are going to be killed.

  Cherry Blossoms blur along the shoreline as the plane flares a few feet above the runway, with the Seventh Battle Fleet anchored in the harbor looking ominously behind.

  The butterflies in Masen’s stomach aren’t caused by reversing thrusters or the heavy breaking as the plane aims for it’s authorized taxiway, but the overwhelming realization that he is about to see Jessica, confront General Mooney and possibly discover the secrets of his old professor that remained hidden for four years.

  ‘Japan,’ Sparks says pressing into the window.

  ‘Technically, we’re on US soil,’ Masen notes. ‘We don’t even need a passport.’

  Passing hangers and control tower, the plane turns and heads to an isolated section of the base. Masen searches unsuccessfully for building C, the view on either side fails to yield a single letter.

  The engine turbines whine down and the plane jolts under heavy breaking. Unbuckling seat belts, both stand and gather various belongings. Masen’s duffle bag is clenched in his hand.

  Sparks turns and smiles all-will-be-alright with a confidence that disturbs Masen who smiles and shakes his head. The door opens and spills in cold air.

  They watch as the steward creates a barrier between them and the door. ‘You have to be debriefed before disembarking.’

  Masen’s attention is drawn outside. A dozen or so soldiers are busy corralling the aircraft, an orange barrier is hastily being erected.

  ‘What do you thinks going on?’ Sparks asks leaning past Masen for a better view.

  ‘It’s your party,’ Masen says stepping back. ‘You’re Army Intelligence, you tell me.’

  Sparks says nothing as he watches soldiers stand to attention.

  ‘We don’t have time for this. We need to see General Mooney right away,’ Masen says to the steward who looks curt and holds out a hand. ‘If you wouldn’t mind.’ Thinks, this isn’t good, then remembers.

  ‘Sorry.’ Masen reaches into his pocket and hands back her pen.

  12

  U.S. Naval Base, Sasebo, Japan

  Mooney and Robertson exit the building to greet the plane. Compared to when they arrived, there’s little activity about. Soldiers are forming a perimeter, but the tarmac farther out is barren apart from two soldiers inspecting a grate, and to the right a pushback moving faster than it should appear to be able to move, shoots past and vanishes beyond a building. The poor suspension make it look like a scene from the Th
underbirds.

  Robertson takes a few extra steps to come level with Mooney and rubs hands watching the plane slowing then turn. Glances down at the two black hoods in Mooney’s tight grip.

  Mooney’s gaze on the plane leans to Robertson. ‘Get anything from those two?’ Referring to Bradbury and Pak.

  Robertson rocks on his feet. ‘Nothing other than I know they’re lying.’

  Instructions from a ground crew making a series of hand signal to the pilot, picks up then chocks the front wheel once the plane stops.

  Engines whine down.

  ‘Masen,’ Mooney huffs shaking his head. ‘Boy Wonder. We did the right thing brining him in.’

  ‘I suspect he was behind the communication,’ Robertson says vaguely which tells Mooney he’s brooding. ‘The perennial thorn in our side.’

  ‘Patience,’ Mooney chews his tongue then claws around his mouth with a finger. ‘Don’t go off script. Black’s lost Nash and now he’s misplaced Boy Wonder.’ Pulls up his collar against the cold wind. He remembers the conversation back in his office. He’d served Nash a howler over a possible delay to the project. Pieces were moving around the board for a full takeover of the project. Black took Nash’s team out of the picture to flush out Mooney’s team waiting in the sidelines. It only shifted a big part of the project to his control. So it wasn’t to his timetable. He had preferred to wait a little longer, but that’s not Black’s style.

  ‘Black has access to the Barn,’ Robertson says.

  ‘I’d say it changes how this thing balances out,’ Mooney says with a wry smile. ‘My guess is Black ejaculates prematurely. Too excited and too engrossed in himself to notice our plan. Loves the cat-and-mouse drama. A kid that rips open the wrapper before Christmas.’

  ‘And without—’

  ‘The data…’ Mooney wraps his big paw of a hand on Robertson’s shoulder. ‘I’m working on it. We’ve outsmarted him so far. And remember, we have the equipment and that paper Nash squealed about.’ Strangles the black cloth. ‘Plus Boy Wonder’s the co-author. So we have the only two people in the world who know how the technology works. Black thinks he’s smarter than us, let him. Arrogance will be his downfall.’