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

by HN Wake

  She turned, raced back to the elbow, banked down the far hallway, and smashed the two dome lights. The whole floor fell into almost complete darkness. 40 count.

  Back at the elevator, the modern lamp on the side table cast a yellow glow. She set the lamp on the floor and clicked it off. The fifteenth floor was completely black.

  In the dark, she dragged the table to the left of the elevator and pushed it up against the wall.

  55 count.

  She jumped up on it.

  60 count.

  She pulled out the pepper spray and Taser, held one in each hand. Clenching the pepper spray near the top corner of the elevator door, she aimed it at the center of the car and waited.

  Stealth and speed were her only advantages.

  The elevator arrived with a ping.

  The doors slid open, lighting up the dark hallway. She squeezed down on the trigger, sending a stream of pepper spray into the Otis.

  A howl exploded from inside the car. Song never had a chance.

  Dropping the pepper spray, she jumped down into the light, lunged forward with the Taser outstretched, and landed it dead center on his crotch. She mashed the trigger. His howl escalated, his body convulsed, he teetered back on his heels, his arms flailing.

  Then, there was silence and stillness. He crumpled to the floor.

  She leaned down, grabbed the nearest ankle, and pulled the body into the hallway. She stepped to the lamp and clicked it on. She pulled out the zip ties, made quick work of his ankles and wrists, and pressed a piece of duct tape across his mouth.

  She hauled him down the left hallway to the stairwell and positioned him just inside the door.

  Lily turned as the hotel door opened. When she saw the red flower in Mac’s hand, her face crumbled. She held out her bandaged wrist, dropped her head, and exhaled the last of the air in her lungs.

  Mac stepped forward and placed the red flower next to the bandage. The petals of the red Gerbera trembled. Lily watched out of the corner of her eye. She shrank away, sagged against the seat, any vestige of strength evaporating.

  Mac tossed the wilting flower into a trash bin. She pulled out her phone and tapped a quick message in the chat room. “It’s still in her. The adhesive is still sucking liquids from her.”

  His reply pinged into her inbox. “I just got off the phone with the buyer. She needs massive IV liquids. He said she sounds like she’s dehydrated, on a significant level. Something about the adhesive. Get her to an IV pronto.” He added,“Odom is hopping mad. Have you talked to him??”

  “Tell your buyer the price just went up to $15 Million.”

  Mac looked up at Lily. “We have to go to a private hospital. Now.”

  Lily’s voice was chesty, raspy. “I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.”

  Mac grabbed her undamaged arm. “We have to go get help.”

  Lily finally broke. “I can’t.” She dropped her face into her hands and began to sob, her chest heaving in time with small mewls. “Please, no more. This has to end. Please, I can’t.”

  Mac knelt, held her slim shoulders, pressed her cheek against her ear, and said, “We did not get this far to let his fucking sample kill you. We cannot let him win. Only a few more hours. We will get you out.” She sat back.

  Lily looked up, her face contorted with pain, her eyes black-and-blue as if she had been hit.

  Mac willed her strength. “Do you want him to win? Let’s get your revenge.”

  Lily went still. A sliver of strength returned. It was just enough to halt the tears. It was just enough to make her sit up straighter. She blinked and her jaw tensed.

  That’s my girl, Mac thought. After all that she had been through, this waif of a woman still had resolve, still had her spirit. She had not been broken.

  “With the money, you can be free,” Mac said.

  Lily nodded.

  11

  16:00

  The waiting room in the small, private hospital was comfortable but utilitarian. The walls were light green, the plastic chairs had standard-issue blue fabric seats, and the floor was a nondescript, linoleum tile. A long, florescent light lit up the space like the interior of a plane at night.

  Mac picked up the call on the first ring.

  “Where are you?” Frank Odom seethed.

  Mac replied, “Macau.”

  “I don’t think so. I can trace this call, Mac.”

  “I’ve got it routed through a cell in Hong Kong.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  She stayed silent.

  Odom dropped his voice, enunciating each word. “Where. Are. You?”

  “I’m in Macau. In the lobby of the Wynn, drinking a coffee and waiting on Lily Lui to emerge from the Wynn suite with Fang Gaoli. Odom, what’s the news?”

  Odom dismissed her, pressed on. “Can you get her to Hong Kong without Fang noticing? We can arrange for a clinic there to take out the sample.”

  Mac looked around the small, private hospital. “Maybe. What’s on offer to her?”

  “We want to look at the sample first.”

  “You can’t have me extract her, look at the sample, then possibly throw her back to the wolves.”

  “We can’t offer her a full package if the sample turns out to be bunk.”

  “Why not? We’ve done it before. We’re rewarding their risk, not the intel.”

  “It’s not on offer.”

  “So, she dies if the sample turns out to be insufficient.”

  This time, Odom remained silent.

  Mac said, “When I see her, I will make her that offer, very clearly.”

  “No. Tell her she is getting the full package.”

  “I won’t do that.”

  “What?”

  “I said I won’t do that. She deserves the truth. We’re talking about a human being here.”

  “We’re talking about the mistress of a senior PLA. This is no innocent.”

  Mac breathed in through her nose, deeply. “You have no idea who this woman is.”

  “Neither do you, Mac.”

  She hung up on the lie.

  The doctors had put Lily on an IV infusion of fluids and electrolytes for several hours. She had slept through all of it. When her eyes opened, they did so slowly. She looked around the hospital room, saw Mac. Her voice was stronger, clear. “Where?”

  “You’re in a private hospital in Hong Kong. They have jammed you full of fluids. You’re going to be fine.”

  Lily put her hand to the bandage on her wrist.

  “When we took out the sample there were some residual symptoms. It’s over now. Apparently, you just needed a lot of fluids. You’re going to be fine.”

  “How long will I be here?”

  “They are releasing you tonight. I’m going out now. To get you airline tickets.” Mac held up the sealed, steel Starbucks travel mug. “All you have to do is tell me your final destination.”

  Lily’s eyes wandered around the room, giving her addled mind time to think. As they crossed the window, she stared at the blue sky and smiled. It was the first smile Mac had seen in the fifteen hours they had spent together.

  Lily asked, “You have been to the Bahamas?”

  Mac nodded. “Yes, actually I have.”

  “Is it pretty?”

  “Very pretty.”

  “With an ocean?”

  “Yes, an extremely pretty ocean.”

  “And, a beach?”

  “Yes, a lovely beach.”

  “And, the sky in the Bahamas, it is blue, yes?”

  Mac grinned at her. “Very blue.”

  Deceits of Borneo

  H.N. Wake

  Part One: Backlighting

  It seems to me there was something disjointed with Vivian Maier and the world around her.

  - Rose Lichter-Marck, “Vivian Maier and the Problem of Difficult Women,” The New Yorker, May 9, 2014

  1

  Over twelve years ago

  Hong Kong

  Johnson Koh flau
nted his British education with a fake accent and an exaggerated skepticism. As the Hong Kong Director for Worldwide Green, he had an impressive job for a thirty-year-old, but the pretentious, pomaded sweep of his hair suggested a shallow vanity. As he sipped a Martini, he sent a toothpick rolling on a green olive into his lower lip, forcing him to readjust the rim. He noticed her watching. “Mac Ambrose of Legion Bank,” he said, setting down the glass as if readying for a fight. “What’s your story?”

  In the reflection of the mirror above his head, dozens of candles flickered in a synchronized dance around the posh Hong Kong bar. She spoke over the buzz of the crowd. “I’m the same as everyone else. Doing my job. Doing the expat thing. It’s a boring story.”

  “Nobody’s boring,” he insisted, his expression suspicious.

  “Nope,” she replied, “I’m pretty boring.”

  He leaned forward. “Seriously, what’s your story?”

  Mac was annoyed by most people. But this Johnson Koh annoyed her immensely. The fake accent pierced her ears and that smug skepticism made her skin itch. She insisted, “Nothing to tell, Johnson. I just started at Legion Bank. I’m settling in to Hong Kong.”

  “You were in Indonesia, right? Jakarta before this?”

  Her throat constricted. She didn’t want to think about her first assignment for the Agency. But shadowy images flashed across her mind: a silent, humid apartment; dark, congealed blood pooled on white tiles; a dense, rancid stench that clung to the back of her throat. I’m in Hong Kong to forget about Jakarta, Mr. ‘I’m-impressive-because-I-save-the-planet’ Johnson Koh. Out loud, all she said was, “Yup.”

  The single word hovered in the silence between them.

  “Didn’t you like Jakarta?” he pressed.

  This Johnson Koh was maddening. She imagined spitting out the truth to chasten him. It would be so cathartic to dump the whole, awful story in the middle of this chic bar. How she had found the body of her asset. How the Indonesian secret service had slit the throat of one of their own. How she had been unable to prevent his death. Instead, she turned to Johnson’s companion and said, “Aiden, how long have you two known each other?”

  Affable Aiden Reese, a human rights activist who had successfully escaped Wisconsin, lounged on the bench beside Johnson. Four months ago, he had befriended her at a democracy rally near the Star Ferry Terminal. She shouldn’t have been at the rally, and she shouldn’t have become friends with an activist. It would be frowned upon.

  Aiden’s grin was lopsided. “Johnson and I did a project on the dams in China. We worked on the relocation of local communities.”

  Johnson was scrutinizing her. “So, Mac Ambrose, why did you leave Jakarta?”

  A hush fell over the bar, and her heartbeat spiked in her chest. Something vibrated in her purse against her thigh. Welcoming the interruption, she grabbed her bag and stood. “I gotta use the ladies room.”

  She made her way through the crowd, pushed into the restrooms, and stepped into a stall. Her bag was still vibrating. It was her Agency Blackberry—the exact brand and model of her Legion Bank Blackberry—with a note from Frank Odom. Her handler for the last three years, Odom was a cautious, timid man who resisted innovation and avoided risk. “You up?”

  She typed back. “Yes.”

  “You know Josh Halloway, right?”

  Josh Halloway was another deep cover operative in Asia. She hesitated, typed. “Yes.” It was the minimal response, it revealed nothing.

  “He’s missing.”

  In her mind, a needle screeched its way across an LP.

  “I’ll be on a secure line in 30,” she typed back.

  Sitting back down in the bar, she said, “Time to head home, I think, gentlemen. But to your question, Johnson Koh of Worldwide Green, I left Jakarta because Legion Bank made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.”

  Aiden asked, “Speaking of, how’s the new job, Mac?”

  “Good, not too hard.” From her wallet, she pulled bills for her tab. “Legion Bank is one of the better ones. High flyers. Hyper smart. Bankers are super quick. I get emails volleyed back to me in under a minute. From senior management no less. Totally different from the Chamber of Commerce where forty-eight hours was a quick response time. Government versus private sector, right?”

  “What do you do at Legion?” asked Johnson.

  Chafed, she said, “I am on the risk team. I follow government regulations and assess their impact on the bank.”

  “You ever assess the bank’s clients?” he asked.

  Next time she met up with Aiden, she’d tell him specifically how much she disliked Johnson. “Not yet, not really,” she said. “I look more at the external things that impact the bank.”

  “So what happens if you see the bank is getting in bed with a client that is, say, environmentally dodgy?”

  She narrowed her eyes. “I’m hoping I don’t.”

  “You might.”

  “I doubt it.”

  “You might.”

  Aiden touched Johnson’s arm. “Dude, what’s with the twenty questions? Mac just got the job. Give her break.”

  Johnson held up both hands in defeat, but his eyes were steely. “All I’ll say is that we can help you figure out how bad a client is.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked impatiently. But she knew. Johnson worked for an environmental organization. Insider banking information on a dirty company would be valuable.

  “I’m just saying.”

  “Are you suggesting I be a mole for you?”

  His stare was piercing. “I’m just saying…”

  She dropped the bills on the table and stood. Her voice was testy. “We have very strict client confidentiality policies. I practically signed away my life to the bank.”

  “I’m just saying.”

  “The answer is no. I’m not going to be a mole inside the bank for you. I just got there. It's a fresh start for me.”

  “All I’m saying is that if you do see a client that is bad, call me,” Johnson said. “You know, on behalf of the planet.”

  On the twentieth floor, Mac let herself into the silent sparsely-furnished apartment. Through the floor-to-ceiling window, the shops along Conduit Road glittered on nighttime display. She closed the door, turned the heavy lock, dropped her bag on a chair, and—using toes on heels—slipped off her pumps.

  Sitting down on the couch, she lifted the lid of the laptop and logged into a private internet chat room. “How long has he been missing?”

  “I lost touch five days ago,” Odom responded.

  Non-Official Cover (NOC) operatives like Josh and Mac didn’t check in that often. Maybe once every two weeks? The fact that Odom was concerned meant Josh was onto something important.

  She typed, “Is anyone looking?”

  “No.”

  She wondered why the Agency folks in Kuala Lumpur weren’t helping to track him down.

  A new line from Odom popped up in the chat room. “I need you to find him.”

  She typed back quickly, “What about my cover at Legion?”

  “It’s taken care of. You are on a Cathay Pacific flight to KL tmrw at 6 am. Attached latest photo.”

  Josh Halloway’s handsome face popped up on her screen in vibrant color. The photo knocked the wind out of her.

  She had first seen Josh Halloway at a networking reception for the US Consulate General of Hong Kong two months ago. The bar had vaulted ceilings, glass, chrome, pea green leather, and was thick with the Embassy crowd—staffers, policy wonks, visa section. They all wore name tags. If asked, she was prepared to explain her new job at Legion.

  She had been pressed between two tall cocktail chairs, ordering a glass of wine at the bar when she noticed him. He was above average height, athletic build, dark haired, and wore a blue suit with thick bold pin stripes. The fabric was impeccable. The fit was immaculate.

  Then she heard him laugh. It was deep, infectious and it travelled across the crowded room. His smile was huge and his teeth were pe
rfect and white. He was all swagger.

  She stood in a corner nearby and sipped her wine. The Consulate General, Heath Busby, an extremely tall, thin man, recognized her but didn’t acknowledge her. He was far too experienced. He was one of two in Hong Kong who knew her real Agency identity. The other was the Chief of Station, but he didn’t come to these kinds of receptions.

  Turned out the one with the swagger was American. She listened as he captivated the crowd. He handed out his card, shook hands, glad handled. He was in extractives. In oil. He explained to them he was out of Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. Then he answered his phone, smiled, and said something. He shook the hands around the crowd and left the bar.

  At the time, Mac had wondered if her interest in him had been professional or personal.

  She saved the photo as another Odom message pinged in the chat room. “I may need you to clean up.”

  It was an ominous message. Odom thought something bad may have happened to Josh. He may have been compromised, he may have been hurt. A wave of fear washed through her as an image of a bloodied Josh flashed across her mind.

  Of course she would go to KL. Of course she would help. Despite what Josh had done to her, she was going to find him. That’s what you did for Agency colleagues. Especially ones you knew well. Especially the NOCs.

  Only four months in Hong Kong and already she was back in the game. It hadn’t been much of a recuperation. She blew out her cheeks and typed back. “Roger.”

  Her handbag at the end of the couch vibrated. She pulled out the bank Blackberry and pulled up the newly arrived email. It was from her boss at the bank, Meredith Coldwell. “I need you to do due diligence on a client in Malaysia. Sending you to KL. We’ll have a call with the team on Monday morning.”

  Mac responded, “No problem.”

  “Thanks. Attached documents: background on the client.” The document attached was titled AlghabaFinancing.doc.

  “Received,” Mac typed. “Have a good weekend.”