The Mac Ambrose Series: 1-3 (Boxed Set)

by HN Wake

  The old driver hesitated. Mac leaned into his ear and urged softly, “Please, now.”

  The old driver blinked, then gassed the taxi, hurtling it off the curb and into the street.

  Mac turned back. Fang and Gorilla were waving for their limo that screeched forward and slammed to a brake. Just behind them the lobby doors opened, releasing Song and his bodyguard. Fang and Gorilla jumped into the limo, oblivious to the State Security presence.

  As the taxi turned out of the driveway, Herbie’s headlights beamed through their back window.

  Her phone rang. “It’s Herbie. Whoever that big guy was, he and his master just got into a black limousine and are right behind me.”

  “I saw them.”

  “Did you see Song right behind them?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Tell your driver to take Fang Yat-Sen Road. Make it fast.”

  Mac leaned forward. “Take Fang Yat-Sen. Fast.”

  He nodded, stepped on the gas, and the taxi jumped into higher gear. Herbie’s headlights stayed close. Herbie barked, “Tell him to circle into the Prace de Ponte e Horta square.”

  Mac repeated this to the old driver, who nodded.

  “The streets around the square are one-way. Your taxi is going to enter at the far corner. I’ll enter at the near corner. We’ll rendezvous in the middle. When you see my car, you and the girl jump out and join me.”

  Herbie slowed and let Fang’s limo move in directly behind the taxi. The limo’s high beams started flashing as the limo careened close to the bumper.

  The old taxi driver yelled to himself, “Aiyah! Aiyah! Not OK!” and took his foot off the gas.

  Mac placed her hand on the taxi driver’s shoulder. “Sir, they are bad men. We need your help. It will be OK. You will drop us at Ponte e Horta. It will be over soon.”

  In the rearview mirror, he considered her. Something in her sincerity was compelling. He nodded and gassed the taxi back to full speed. He muttered, “Aiyah, Aiyah.”

  The limo stayed close on their tail. Herbie followed. The city flashed by on the right, a blur of colonial buildings, neon signs, brick roads. On the left was the darkness of the ports and the river.

  The old taxi driver bobbed his head, his voice in a panic. “Ahead. Ponte e Horta ahead.”

  “Ok, yes, yes,” Mac encouraged. “Take a right into Ponte e Horta. Nice and easy.”

  The taxi sped past the short side of the square, slowed, turned right into the far northwest corner at thirty mph. Lily reached up and grasped the back of the passenger seat to steady herself. Her beige sleeve fell, exposing the bandage on her forearm.

  Once on the square, the driver sped down the narrow, cobblestone street past the splashing plumes of a water fountain among a tree-lined park. The apartment buildings along the perimeter were old and dilapidated.

  Fang’s limo, in pursuit, took the northwest corner at forty five mph, tires squealing, headlights dipping and righting. Mac thought, if they catch us, they will haul us into that big black limo and we will disappear. Her second thought was that at least she had left the ashtray and whiskey glasses for the cleaning crew.

  The old taxi driver started to tremble, but he took the second right at the northeast corner of the square at high speed. Mac and Lily were tossed across the back seat, slamming into the door.

  Ahead and off to the right, Herbie’s headlights appeared in the southwest corner, beaming diagonally across the fountain.

  Behind them, the limo was closing in, its headlights bearing down on their rear window. The old taxi driver began mumbling to himself. He took the square’s third corner at high speed, letting out a loud yelp.

  Suddenly Herbie’s headlights were beaming directly at them.

  “Aiyah! Aiyah!” yelled the old taxi driver, slamming on his brakes.

  Behind them the limo took the third corner, raced toward them, then slammed its own brakes. It rocked to a stop an inch from their bumper.

  Mac grabbed Lily’s hand, unlocked the door, and yanked her out. In front of them, Herbie was throwing his car through a quick 180.

  Herbie’s brake lights beckoned Mac and Lily forward and they threw themselves into his car. He hit the gas and they raced back toward the main road, leaving the motionless taxi between them and the limo on the old street. The limo honked uproariously, but the spent old taxi driver just dropped his head to his hands on the wheel.

  They had escaped Fang Gaoli.

  9

  03:40

  Fifteen minutes later, Herbie slowed at a darkened wharf on the Western tip of the Macau Peninsula. His car’s headlights blazed through an intimidating, razor-wire-topped fence and across a vast, darkened shipyard. A silhouette emerged by a shed, a darkened shadow against the night sky. Jogging through the headlight’s beam, the shadow emerged as a small, bent man. He pulled the gate to one side.

  Herbie edged into the lot and killed the engine, throwing them into darkness. Behind, the gate closed. He looked over at Mac.

  “They’ll be looking for you on the other side, at the ferry terminal. You’re safe here for now. And my captain will get you safely away.”

  The three exited the car and followed the small man toward the end of the pier. Water lapped against pylons. The captain disappeared over the edge of the pier, down into a small speedboat with lit, single-runner lights.

  Herbie helped Lily down onto the boat. Her steps faltered.

  To Mac he said, “This is off the books. The captain does a lot of private work for me.” He waggled his eyebrows and grinned at her. “No one knows about him. He’ll drop you off in Sheung Wan in Hong Kong and turn back immediately. It should be fine. If he gets stopped he has all the right permits. He’ll hide you in the bow cabin.”

  Mac nodded, taking in the measure of Herbie. “You’re a good man, Herbie.”

  He ignored her. “Her intel is worth this, huh?”

  “Yes. And her life was in danger.”

  “You’re going to take some heat from Langley.”

  “Yeah, here’s the thing. If this goes south, then all HQ knows is that she went missing in the middle of the night. We had nothing to do with it. Now, about that passport--”

  “I’m happy to help a fellow good guy, and I really like your style, Mac. What HQ doesn’t know won’t hurt them. I actually have a few backup aliases in my proverbial pocket.” He grinned widely as he pulled two envelopes from his jeans pocket, handed them to her. “If she has to go off the books…I mean, for no reason one could think of, just saying…that if she does have to go off the books, that second one is not in the system. It’s totally clean.”

  Mac raised her eyebrows at him. “Impressive work, Herbie. I think I may seriously owe you now.”

  “Just remember me in your memoirs. And, when I say remember, I don’t mean this meeting, or this pier, or the car chase. Cause none of this happened.”

  “If I don’t use the official one, I’ll bring it back tomorrow and no one will be the wiser.”

  “That’s how we do things out here in the field. Keep ’em guessing back home. And stockpile favors.”

  She snorted, turned, and jumped down into the boat.

  He called out, into the dark, “Safe travels, ladies.”

  Mac was still getting cell reception as the ferry passed under the twin towers of the Sai Van Bridge.

  In the chat room, 89 had left a message. “Frank Odom was just down here.”

  Mac typed back. “What did he want?”

  “He wanted to know if you and I are communicating. He’s flipping out. Waving hands, shouting.”

  Mac waited him out.

  “I didn’t tell him anything,” 89 wrote.

  “OK.”

  “But, be careful.”

  “Copy that,” she wrote.

  “What are you going to do?”

  She clicked off.

  Her phone rang. She picked up. “Yes?”

  Odom barked, “Mac, where the fuck are you?”

  She looked over the
harbour as they passed the looming Macau Tower. “I’m at the Wynn.”

  “What’s that noise?”

  “I’m out front having a cigarette.”

  “Where’s the asset?”

  “Fang Gaoli went up to bed. She’s with him. I think I’ve got till morning.”

  “Goddamnit, you can’t go AWOL like that on me.”

  The boat slid under the lit Old Bridge, the motor churning out a slow, low wake behind them. The Grand Lisboa glittered up ahead, a gaudy pineapple against the darkness.

  Mac asked, “What’s the word from up above. Does she have a deal or not?”

  “We’re still working on it. ”

  “When will they make a decision?”

  “We’re working on it.”

  When Odom said ‘we’ he really meant the Director; Odom wasn’t part of these decisions, he was too low. His imperiousness was enraging.

  She hissed, “Odom, I’m not liking where this is headed. We can’t just leave her.”

  “We do what we have to do.”

  She imagined him in his basement office, so far away, so removed, so impersonal.

  He broke through her train of thought. “Let me get back upstairs, see if we can make this decision. And Mac, you can’t go AWOL on me again. You need to check in.”

  “I’ll check in when I can.”

  “Jesus. Don’t start with me.”

  She stayed silent.

  “Mac, you need to check in with me.”

  Silence.

  His voice turned menacing, “Mac, I will get you fired if you fuck me on this.”

  The boat rumbled under the Old Bridge, lighting up their cockpit. She squinted against the stage lights and said softly, “Threats don’t work on me, Odom. You should know that by now.”

  “It’s not a threat. It’s a statement of fact.”

  “Yeah?”

  The stage lights swept across her face before the night returned to darken it.

  “Here’s the thing about a threat from HQ and the facts on the ground. You don’t know what’s happening out here. You’ve got no idea what I’m doing, where the asset is, if this has all gone tits up, or if it’s smooth as silk and she’s walking right into our hands. You. Have. No. Idea. Because you’re exactly 8,000 miles away. And, you can’t take any action until I report in. Without me, you have no actionable intel.

  “I’m here, Odom. Here, in Macau, doing the job our country wants me to do. I’m getting intel, picking up an asset, extracting a human being. All to prevent attacks on our own soil. I’m telling you that’s what I’m doing. That’s what you know. That’s the intel you now have.

  “However this goes down is the way I say it went down. Chew on that a little bit harder before you go threatening me. Because I can throw blame around too, and mine only needs one witness. Me.”

  She heard him breathing heavily down the line. “Now, I’m going back to my cigarette and my stakeout. I’ll check in when I check in.”

  She turned the phone off.

  Soon, they were out into the South China Sea. The small boat’s running lights bounced faintly off the inky water. The motor revved into higher gear.

  Down below in the cabin, Lily leaned against a cushion, her legs resting lengthwise on the small bunk. Mac stepped down the few stairs and sat across from her. Lily seemed paler, lighter, less real.

  “It’s weird to not have a phone,” Lily said. “To not have him checking in on me.”

  “Are you OK?”

  “I don’t know.” Her honesty was heartbreaking. “I am a bit dizzy.”

  The speedboat had reached the deeper sea and began hitting swells. In the cabin, they rode the swells in an isolated, dreamlike exhaustion. From the darkness, the ocean spray slapped the portal glass.

  Finally, Lily looked over at Mac. “Did you have choices?”

  “About what?”

  “About what you wanted to be?”

  “Yes, I suppose.”

  “Why did you become a…”

  “A spy?”

  “Yes.”

  It took a long moment for Mac to respond. “I’m not sure.”

  “Can anyone in the United States become a spy?”

  “There is a pretty rigorous selection process.”

  “But if they passed this process, I mean, can anyone be a spy?”

  “Yes.”

  Lily took a long time to find the word in English. “Extraordinary.”

  Mac wondered, was it? Given the Agency’s aversion to risks and maddening bureaucracy, she wasn’t sure it was good that just anyone could join. “How’s your wrist?” she asked gently.

  “I’m OK. I’m just tired. I could stay here. On this boat. Forever.”

  “We’ve got about two hours.” Mac motioned her to lie down. “You should catch some sleep. That wound has traumatized your body. But, at least that thing is out. Sleep. You need your strength.”

  The waves tilted the ferry left and right as it cruised through the night. Lily slid further down along the bunk, her exhaustion and shock palpable. Within minutes, her head was bobbing in deep sleep.

  Mac woke her when the glow of Hong Kong emerged in the gloomy night.

  10

  06:30

  From the window on the twenty-first floor of the boutique hotel in the Sheung Wan neighborhood, Lily watched the sun rise. The dawn brought an unusually clear day with a cloudless, blue sky. Her eyes tried to follow three seagulls as they rode a slipstream out over the skyscrapers. She squinted in frustration, deep wrinkles forming in the dark skin around her eyes. For the second time in twenty minutes, she asked Mac, “If I take the money, I can live anywhere?”

  “I would say anywhere but Asia. But yes.”

  “Or, I could take US government, CIA, offer? And live in US.”

  Mac remained silent.

  They had become adept at communicating without words. Lily understood the silence. Her unfocused gaze followed the path of the seagulls in the blue sky. “But, you are not confident your government will honor their word.”

  The silence in the room was heavy, long.

  Lily licked her dry, cracking lips. “If I take the private money, we can get some to my parents?”

  “We will find a way, yes. With money, there is always a way.”

  Mac stepped into the bathroom and sent a new message to 89.

  “There’s a problem.”

  “Talk to me,” he replied immediately.

  “She is getting sicker. The sample is out, but she’s sicker. Cracked lips, pale, weak, dizzy, can’t focus. Something is still affecting her.”

  “Give me an hour.”

  Mac wasn’t sure Lily had an hour. She grabbed her courier bag, slipped on a blonde wig, and headed out into the hallway. The small hotel was made up of twenty-one floors with five rooms running along two diverging and dimly lit hallways. The two hallways merged at an elbow where the single elevator door stood opposite a side table holding a modern, glowing lamp.

  She pushed the ‘down’ button repeatedly, impatiently.

  The elevator creaked as it slowly descended to the hotel lobby. Her foot tapped a staccato beat on the ancient tile, her mind sparring with fatigue.

  If the adhesive had leaked before it had been removed, they had to get Lily to a doctor, urgently.

  As the elevator doors opened onto the lobby, she immediately spotted the outsized flower arrangement on a marble table. A rainbow of Gerberas was held in tight, soldier formation within a square glass vase. Green, orange, yellow, pink, red.

  Stepping quickly to the table, she pulled a single, blood-red flower and turned back to the open elevator door.

  Out of the corner of her eye she glimpsed a khaki blazer.

  As Mac stepped into the elevator car, her mind shifted into hyper alert. Song would eventually find them in the hotel; it was only a matter of time. She had to debilitate him quickly so they could escape into the crowded city.

  She hit the button for the twentieth floor. The ele
vator door closed, and she shoved the flower down into the courier bag. Adrenaline coursed through her body, chest tightening, jaw tensing. The hair on the nape of her neck prickled. The only way to beat a physically superior opponent was through stealth and speed.

  She quickly assessed the elevator car. It was a small—6 feet by 3 feet--old Otis model. The drop ceiling held four very bright fluorescent lights with no obvious ceiling hatch. It was a tiny trap, not an advantageous ambush site.

  The car was moving glacially slow, creaking upwards, each floor number displaying overhead with a loud ping. She began counting; it took four long seconds for the car to pass between floors.

  As the car climbed upwards she began filling and emptying her lungs with deep pants. With only a few floors to go, she began springing up and down, awakening her muscles.

  When the door slid open on the twentieth floor, she was ready. She sprinted left down the hallway to the exit stairwell, yanked open the door, grabbed the handrail, and swung herself down the stairs. She began counting: it would take an 80 count for the elevator to return to the lobby where Song was waiting.

  She cornered the nineteenth floor landing at the 10 count.

  She raced past the eighteenth floor landing at the 30 count.

  She swung past the sixteenth floor at the 55 count.

  She landed on the fifteenth floor at the 75 count, launched herself through the door, sprinted down the hallway toward the elevator, and slammed her hand against the panel’s ‘up’ button. By her count, Song would be stepping into the elevator and pressing the twenty-first floor button.

  She pulled in deep breaths and started a new count; Song would reach this floor at the 60 count.

  Off the elbow, each hallway was lit by two dome lights. Racing down the left hallway, she pulled out her flashlight, took a full swing, and smashed the first dome light. The thin, frosted glass and the interior lightbulbs shattered, raining glass on the carpet. 20 count.

  She raced to the second dome and smashed it, dousing the hallway in gloom. 30 count.