I nodded. The world seemed to be taking on an unreal quality again, like it’d done just before I’d confronted Yuelin.
‘And what about all the establishment figures that’ve been blackmailed? The ones who we now know have been conducting illegal online activities?’
Forsyth moved her head side to side. ‘The technology will go to the NSA. Some will be caught if they don’t clean up their act. Others’ll get wind and dodge the bullet.’
She paused a beat. ‘So are you in? If so, there’s one more stipulation. You have to keep my involvement in this secret. Keep in mind that I’m doing you a favor by offering you a lifeline – I could just as easily get you thrown in prison. And while I understand that you find what I’ve done reprehensible, you’re just gonna have to deal with that.’ She paused. ‘And when I say secret, I mean not even Ellen Kelden.’
I grinned involuntarily. ‘If I told her, there’s no way in hell she’d get in this chopper.’
Forsyth raised an eyebrow. ‘Do we have a deal?’
The whole situation stunk. But again, there was nothing I could do. Not a goddamn thing. And I was too exhausted to put up a fight.
I reached into my pocket, took out the hard-drive, and lobbed it over to her. She caught it with her free hand.
Without another word, I started approaching Ellen and Chen. As I did so, it crossed my mind to grab the Walther from Ellen, and take a shot at Forsyth’s silhouette, but I knew I wasn’t going to do it. And after a few seconds, Chen and Ellen came into view. There was curiosity on their faces.
‘So what’s going on?’ said Ellen calmly.
‘It’s the Secretary of State, with a handful of her men,’ I said with nothing in my voice. Ellen’s mouth dropped. But before she could ask, I went on:
‘We need to go with her now. She’ll make sure that both you and Chen are safe. We can trust her, but there’s no time to explain. We have to go now.’
Even as these words left my mouth, I felt sickened with myself. Felt as though, by concealing Forsyth’s part in her brother’s death and the attempt on her life, I was committing some awful betrayal. Yet I knew this was the best way to keep Ellen safe.
She gave me the same nod as always. The nod that said she trusted me. The nod that all but broke my heart to see.
I looked at Chen. He made no gesture one way or the other. He was like some nearly blind soothsayer from a classical tragedy. A silent, otherworldly figure who, despite his blindness, sees more than anyone.
Empty and dejected, I led the way back to the chopper, and soon enough, we reached three of Forsyth’s men – Forsyth and one of her men had already disappeared inside the chopper. Without any exchange of words, the three men frisked us, and confiscated all our weapons. Then Ellen, Chen, and I got in, and sat in a line opposite Forsyth and her Uzi carrying guard, both of whom were in seats facing the back of the chopper after which, one of the men who was to be left behind closed the chopper’s door.
Once Forsyth gave the signal to the lone pilot sitting behind her, the rotors started up with their hypnotic whop-whop-whop, and we began climbing into the night’s sky.
I watched out of the window as the ship disappeared behind the rain and darkness.
Epilogue
Friday, January 15, 8 p.m. – Atlas Restaurant, Atlanta, Georgia.
I entered the Atlas Restaurant, scanned the lavish room, and spotted her almost immediately, at a booth against the wall.
Her hair was cut short and dyed a sandy blonde, but it was still unmistakably Ellen Kelden. And she looked beautiful: her face was calm, composed, and touched with that same breathtaking vivacity, and she was wearing a stunning black sequined dress.
As I walked over, she spotted me, and shot me a dazzling smile and, in that instant, my doubts seemed to wash away, and I was glad as hell I’d decided to do this.
Once we’d gotten back to the American mainland in Forsyth’s chopper, we’d been taken to Los Angeles Air Force Base, and Ellen and I had been forced to unceremoniously part ways: Forsyth had been in a hurry to tidy everything up, and so – after sending us for First Aid – she’d organized for me to be taken aside, given a change of clothes, and put in a car to LA’s Union Station, where they’d wanted me to take a train wherever I goddamned pleased. And so I’d taken one to San Antonio, Texas, half-glad that I hadn’t had to talk to Ellen – hadn’t had to lie to her while the wounds were still so fresh.
Then, over the next couple of weeks, I did little else but follow the news.
As I’d expected, the news quickly broke of the Chinese terrorists’ responsibility for the attacks: “national security” had apparently traced a team of Chinese terrorists to a cargo ship on which they’d been attempting to escape the country, and – after the terrorists had managed to conduct one last act of terror in killing crew members – they’d been defeated, and “evidence” had been recovered which demonstrated that these terrorists had in fact been blackmailing the people who’d already been arrested in relation to the sniper rifle killings, as well as Devin Mannford. And though what these individuals had been blackmailed with had been kept from the public, it’d been made clear that these patsies, once confronted with the blackmail materials, had confessed that they’d been coerced.
It was also revealed that, whereas Devin Mannford had been blackmailed to facilitate the attack on Forsyth, it was the Consul General, Hao Ting, who’d been blackmailed to facilitate the fire in the Consulate.
In a sense, these revelations cleared up a lot of questions. They made it plain the sniper killings, the Consulate, and the attempt on Forsyth were all linked. And not only did they provide a motive – a pro-Chinese nationalism, seeking to target enemies of China – but they also gave a clear indication that the victims of the sniper rifle killings were bound up in the pro-Tibet movement, and targeted for that reason.
But while the revelations seemed to answer many questions, they raised a hell of a lot more among the American public. Yuelin and her team were named, and their historical association with the PLA disclosed, and, as I’d expected, the Chinese government condemned their actions, and protested – I knew truthfully – that they’d had no idea about Yuelin’s activities. But either way, Forsyth’s gambit paid off: suddenly, the American people wanted to understand Chinese nationalism; wanted to know about the historical excesses of Chinese hacking. Wanted to know what was being done by Washington to take a harsher line towards Beijing – because even though they may not have been directly responsible for the attacks, they were seen as having cultivated an environment for these terrorists to thrive in.
And once Hao Ting’s part in it all came to light, he was caught in the crossfire. The Americans wanted to punish him themselves, whereas Beijing was insistent he be extradited. And that question had raged on and on.
Of course, while following all this news, I also had Mort telling me what FBI HQ knew, which revealed how Forsyth had covered her tracks. Mort told me that Hoover had largely been kept in the dark as to how the Secret Service had tracked down the nationalists – though the Secret Service hinted that they’d used information found on Devin Mannford’s person, which I knew was bullshit. However, FBI HQ had been given a clearer picture of what’d been found on the ship: a hack of TOR, and a catalog of the precise information used to blackmail the various patsies, both on a single hard-drive. I reckoned the latter was untrue – that Forsyth had obtained that information from Todd Liang – but the former, of course, was true. And that technology had gone straight to the NSA, Mort told me, where the very fact of its existence was to be kept highly confidential.
Mort also kept me up to date with my own status at FBI HQ – and unsurprisingly, it went unchanged. Yes, they believed I’d saved the Secretary of State. But I’d repeated the offense I was already wanted for – withholding information – and so they still wanted me brought in. If anything, more so than ever.
The media was now claiming that the vigilante that’d saved Forsyth hadn’t been a vigilante afte
r all: he’d been a deep cover US agent, whose identity had to remain secret. That suited me fine. And I imagined FBI HQ also preferred things that way: in their view, the less the public knew about me, the better.
But in the midst of all these cover ups and exposés, what I was most concerned about was whether Forsyth had kept her word regarding Vann and Ellen. It quickly became clear she had come through for Vann: Mort told me Forsyth had got Vann off the hook, despite vehement complaints from FBI HQ that he’d fraternized with me. But I wasn’t satisfied: I wanted to know what’d happened to Ellen, since even though her name had been cleared publicly (it was a case of mistaken identity, was the official line), that was no guarantee she was safe. So I had Mort track her down.
Three weeks later, he did.
She was now living by the name Tabetha James in Atlanta. Forsyth had kept her side of the bargain. But instead of leaving it at that, I’d felt compelled – against my better judgment – to go to Atlanta. Compelled to call Ellen, and invite her for dinner, even though I hadn’t had a clue what it was I wanted from her.
And as I sat down opposite her, and took her hands, I still didn’t have a clue.
I only knew it was damn good to see her.
‘Tabetha James, you look just like you did in high school,’ I said playfully.
She pouted. ‘I may look the same, but I’m not the same shy girl you took to the prom.’
At that, we slipped into easy conversation, as if not a day had gone by. And because we were sitting out of anyone’s ear-shot, I felt comfortable asking her – as we ate – how she was settling into her new life. And whereas most ordinary folk would’ve struggled with the seismic change, I was unsurprised that this never-say-die woman was doing just fine: she was making new friends; had a job lined up at a local high-school, teaching math; and she was just glad not to be fearing for her life. And as she displayed her intoxicating blend of wit and intelligence, I finally realized why I’d come – it was to be with her.
And hardly had this thought occurred to me than I knew I would tell her the truth about Forsyth, and that we’d then make it work between us. And with this decision, I felt a euphoria; a wonderful sense that everything was going to work out fine.
And so, since everything was settled in my mind, I decided there and then – as our after-meal coffees arrived – to broach the subject that we’d both been avoiding. The subject that’d no doubt been plaguing Ellen’s mind with questions the past few weeks.
And I wanted to start by thanking her.
‘El, I just want you to know that I really appreciate everything you did for me that week – the way you kept me sane in those moments of insanity. There were so many things that I wanted to say to you that I never got a chance to say…’
I broke off, thinking how to proceed. But before I could, Ellen replied:
‘I feel the same way, Saul. But I think you’re wrong to thank me: I dragged you into this mess. So I think all the thanks are owed to you.’ She paused. ‘You sacrificed everything in order to help me, in order to keep me safe, and I’ll never forget it.’
This was just the sort of thing I’d expected Ellen to say. But the impact it had on me was unexpected. Because, with a brutal shock, I suddenly realized that my line of thinking just a few moments earlier had been an untenable dream. Not because of what I knew about Secretary Forsyth. It was to do with the fact that my being there put us both in danger: it increased the chances of my eventually being tracked by the FBI, and increased her chance of losing the life she was now building; of being exposed as the woman who was once upon a time wanted in relation to terrorist atrocities. The woman who may still have enemies within the Chinese state. And, as she’d said, I was the guy who made sacrifices for her safety, not the guy who put her in harm’s way. And, though it was devastating to admit, if I still wanted to be that guy, it meant sacrificing my happiness for her.
I tried to smile, but it was a feeble effort. The come-down from my momentary euphoria was devastating.
Ellen instinctively took my hands. She could see my distress.
‘I needed to come and find you – to see with my own eyes that you’re okay. But now that I’m here, I understand – understand I can’t stay.’
Ellen looked at me with heavy, intense eyes; eyes that said she’d already known as much. But of course she had: she was far smarter than me.
‘You don’t want to stay with me: the James family have a history of homicidal insanity,’ she said softly. I smiled, holding back the tears.
‘But you’re wrong that I don’t owe you thanks, Ellen. I owe you more than thanks. Facing down Yuelin may’ve done me serious damage. But my time spent with you – it more than made up for it. You’re the strongest damn person I’ve ever met. And if just one iota of that’s rubbed off on me, I’m the luckiest guy in the world.’
I lowered my head. This was becoming too much to bear.
I could feel a tear on my cheek. I wiped it with my sleeve.
‘Saul, if you hadn’t ruled it out, I would’ve had to, and that would’ve been too painful,’ she said, her voice thick with emotion. ‘So again, I owe you a thank you.’
I looked up at Ellen again, knowing this would be the last time I ever did so. And in that moment, I decided I would spare her the painful truth about Forsyth, but for selfish reasons – I simply didn’t have the strength.
And miraculously – though she knew as well as I did that this was the end – she didn’t ask. Maybe she sensed that ignorance was bliss. Maybe she just trusted that if there was anything to tell, I would’ve done so…
I put a couple of notes on the table. Then I stood and kissed her cheek.
‘I just wish to God that dinner with you was how I usually spent my Friday nights.’
Then, without waiting for an answer, nor holding back the tears one goddamn bit, I walked out of the restaurant, and into the dark of night.
First published in the United Kingdom in 2017 by Canelo
Canelo Digital Publishing Limited
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Copyright © Richard Davis, 2017
The moral right of Richard Davis to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781911420255
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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