The Expansion

by Christoph Martin

  “No,” Max said, ruefully. “I can’t say I’ve had a great deal of spare time to learn another language over the past six months. But I expect my schedule will look a bit different from now on.”

  Zhang’s face brightened. “Do you, per chance, play golf?”

  “Many years ago. My father taught me. But I haven’t had a chance to play in a long time.”

  Zhang pulled a pen from his pocket. “May I?” He pointed at Max’s napkin.

  Max handed it to him and, under Panama’s Presidential Seal, wrote down a number. “That’s my direct line.” He folded it neatly and gave it back to Max. “If you happen to have a free weekend, I would be honored to have you as my guest at the Panama City Golf Club.”

  The thought of playing a round of golf suddenly sounded very appealing.

  Far more than facing yet another yacht or island-hopping trip with Godfredo and Sofia and their entourage of partygoers.

  “It’s extremely generous of you,” Max said. “Thank you, I’d enjoy that very much.”

  “Not at all.” Zhang nodded. “Although I should warn you: here in Panama, you’ll need to learn to adjust your swing to accommodate the wind. It can be a bit disturbing.” He looked at Max evenly. “But I suspect you’re smart enough to overcome that particular dynamic.”

  Max laughed. “We’ll see. It’s been quite some time. My driving skills will be a little rusty.”

  “One finds, in life, that one doesn’t unlearn skills such as how to swing a golf club. It’s simply a matter of adapting to new circumstances.” Zhang paused, and bowed. “I look forward to hearing from you, Dr. Burns.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Palacio de las Garzas, Casco Viejo, Panama City

  As the President’s speech wound up and the official papers were signed, the mood in the room soared. Champagne corks popped and people began once more to mingle. Rounds of cocktails were brought out on silver trays.

  Max watched Paco work groups of people into fits of laughter, and rued the fact once more that Alex and Godfredo hadn’t attended.

  Drink in hand, he ventured into the central courtyard.

  In a huddle of people around his own age—over by the colorful, tiled fountain—he caught a glimpse of the long, midnight-blue dress, and Karis’s toned shoulders. She was laughing so hard that she was wiping tears from her cheeks.

  Instinctively, he smiled.

  He looked away, self-conscious; he didn’t want to be that creep who lurked in the shadows, staring.

  When he stole another glance at her, she was looking at him.

  As he watched, she moved away from the group and walked directly toward him.

  “Are you finished with the small talk?” she asked, with a cheeky smile.

  “I am.”

  “So … shall we leave?”

  “You want to leave?” Max looked around him: it seemed there were even more guests than there had been for the speeches.

  “Yes. I thought you’d finished all the important tasks. Haven’t you?” She was still smiling. “Or do you have to sign another contract with the President?”

  “No … Right! Of course. My presence is definitely not required here anymore.” He smiled and held out an arm. “Well, then … after you, Ms. Deen.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Casco Viejo, Panama City, Panama

  At dawn, Max stood on the balcony of his hotel room.

  Beside him, Karis Deen was resting her elbows on the stone balustrade. The sea air was mild, and the two of them were wrapped in only large, white bedsheets.

  Beyond, lay a broad stretch of restless, choppy sea.

  Looking at the turbulent clouds above, smiling, Karis reached out one arm, the palm of her hand facing upwards. She had the look of someone about to leap; to launch herself off into the morning skies. Max wondered what she was thinking. Where she was going.

  “So … you’re absolutely sure you have to be on that flight today?” he asked.

  Her arm dropped to her side and she turned to look at him. He lifted her hand to his lips, tasting the warm rain.

  “I’m sure,” she said.

  “Will you call me when you arrive?”

  She smiled, and kissed him. After a moment, she pulled away and looked directly into his eyes. “I won’t promise to be in touch. But if I ever come back to Panama—that is, if I ever, by some miracle, finish writing up my doctorate—then I’ll definitely reconsider.”

  He smiled. “Please do. You’ll know where to find me.”

  “Yeah, partying with your consortium on a yacht!” she said, laughing. In response to his quizzical expression, she said, “With that … whatshisname? … that younger Roco guy you work with?”

  “Godfredo?” Max grinned. “How do you know about him?”

  Karis pulled him toward her. “Don’t you read the gossip blogs?” He could tell she was teasing.

  He rolled his eyes and wrapped his arms around her waist. “I try not to. Anyway, you can laugh about Fredo if you like—God knows, I do—but that guy was a lifeline after my parents died. They went down in a helicopter accident when I was sixteen.”

  “Your parents were killed?” Karis shook her head slightly. “That’s … I’m so sorry, Max.”

  Max paused, intending to deliver his usual line: It was a long time ago.

  Instead, he gave a grim smile. “I might be able to understand it, except it was a suicide; he left me a note. And he took my mother with him.”

  “Jesus. He must have been really unhappy.” Karis’s tone was soft.

  “It took me a long time to accept that he took her and left me behind. I’m still not sure I understand it.” He paused. “I doubt I ever will …” He looked out at the bay and ran a hand through his hair. “Yes,” he conceded, finally. “He must have been very unhappy. But you wouldn’t have known it. He was such a great dad, you know? Always encouraging me. Challenging me to do better. And he loved my mum. You only had to see them together. They were like Bonnie and Clyde.”

  Karis held him tightly.

  “Alan thinks that was the problem,” Max continued.

  “Alan?”

  “My uncle. Mum’s brother. And I think he might be right.”

  “How so?”

  “Dad would have done anything for her,” Max said. “I guess I didn’t realize it back then—I was just a kid, and I was in boarding school most of the time—but she was pretty wild. She loved entertaining. There were always people at our house, but not regular people; all kinds of colorful characters.” He paused. “She was the one who introduced my dad to Rupert Garcia: he was one of her good friends from way back.”

  “And what happened?”

  “He’s been locked up since then, thank God, but Rupert persuaded my dad and some of his friends to invest huge sums of money in a scheme that was really just designed to pay off a string of his personal debts. My dad lost everything he and his father and his grandfather had worked for.” He smiled wryly. “The entire Burns family fortune, and then some.”

  Karis sighed. “Wow. That’s rough.”

  “The odd thing is, I don’t think he cared at all about money and houses, or yachts and ski holidays,” Max said. “Even though we had all that.”

  “Really?!” Karis’s eyes sparkled mischievously. “Did you have maids and butlers and people to help you put on your pajamas?”

  Max fought back a smile. “We had home help, yes. In London. And on the Sussex estate.” He grinned, and brushed a hair from Karis’s cheek. “Because it’s what my mother wanted. My dad … He just allowed himself to be sucked into someone else’s idea of a good life.”

  “Your mum’s.”

  Max nodded. “And when it all came crashing down, he … packed it in and took her with him.” He stopped and looked at her. “I’m sorry, Karis. I don’t mean to load all this onto you.”

  “Max …” Karis started. Her eyes searched his. “Don’t worry. I understand.” She paused, as though searching for words. “And I thi
nk most people do their best with what they have, in here …”—she placed her hand on his chest—“… and out here in the world.” She pointed in the direction of the ocean, and Max turned to look. Dawn light had cast the ocean silver and, for a split second, he felt the press of London traffic and chill, dark nights come rushing back, only to subside with the breeze that now played with Karis’s long hair.

  He considered her face for a moment. “How’d you get so wise, Karis Deen?”

  She gave a dismissive laugh. “I’m not wise. I simply have the view from the shore.” She flashed the same beautiful, shy smile that had captured his attention … was it really only yesterday?

  Max felt his blood stirring again.

  “So tell me, Ms. Deen …” he teased. “You’ve told me you’re from Iowa. Where, exactly?”

  “A small town,” she said, brightly. “I’m ninety-nine-point-seven percent sure you wouldn’t know it.”

  “Try me.” He pulled her closer once more and kissed her deeply. He felt her body respond to his touch.

  Suddenly, she pulled back.

  “Shit!”

  “What?!”

  “My flight! It leaves in …” She peered into the room behind them, toward the clock by the bed. “Shit! Less than two hours!”

  In a matter of seconds, she had dropped the bedsheet and was sliding the midnight-blue dress over her head.

  Quickly, Max pulled on his clothes, and the two of them ran barefoot through the hotel and out into the street.

  “Goodbye, Mrs. Señor Max!” came the ever-cheerful voice of the bellboy, as the door closed behind them.

  Max, laughing, pulled opened the door of the first of the taxis in the rank.

  He turned and reached for Karis’s hand.

  “I enjoyed being with you,” he said, as he leaned in to kiss her cheek.

  She squeezed his fingers. “Me too. I guess I wasn’t expecting …” She stopped. “Well,” she said, with a wry smile, “I’ve never been much good at timing. Take care, Max Burns.”

  And, without a backwards glance, Karis Deen was gone.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  CLASSIFIED BY: Roebuck, Ambassador; REASON:

  1.4(B), D)

  August 9, 2009

  1. (C) During an August 8, 2009 conversation with the Ambassador at the signing party in the Presidential Palace in Panama, John Siegel, Jr. (Siegel’s chief engineer) expressed again serious concerns about the British Consortium’s bid, saying, “There is no way an expansion can be completed with CISCO’s winning base price. We see a real possibility they might fail.”

  2. (C) A subsequent email exchange with Siegel outlined a proposal that the Siegel Group keep a skeleton team in Panama, with a view to keeping a close eye on the progress of the British Consortium.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Dulles Airport, Washington, DC, USA

  Karis Deen stepped through the sliding doors and scanned the line of faces.

  She hadn’t really expected to recognize anyone standing so close to the arrivals gate, but she looked at each face, regardless. Force of habit.

  Once she was satisfied nobody familiar was immediately there, she moved her attentions further afield.

  A man stood against the wall on the far side of the terminal, right under the International Arrivals sign. He wore civilian clothes: a Yankees baseball cap, and a faded denim, collared shirt.

  Exactly as he’d been described.

  “Agent Deen?” he asked.

  She nodded briefly, and together they started moving toward the pickup bay out front of the terminal.

  A black SUV pulled up alongside them.

  Karis took the front seat.

  With only a brief glance at the rear vision mirror, the driver took off.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Panama City, Panama

  It was precisely nine a.m.

  An Asian man hopped out of the front passenger seat, and stepped quickly through the spotting rain with an umbrella.

  “Doctor Burns?” The man bowed his head slightly, extending his right arm to indicate the car. “Please.” He held the umbrella above Max’s head and moved to open the rear door.

  Taking his cue, Max hopped in.

  He scanned the rooftops as the car took off, stopping himself only when he realized the English boy in him was looking for a clock.

  He smiled. Not a single clock on a single building in the Old Town of Panama City worked. They were armless, or rusted beyond recognition, or simply stuck on a random time.

  The land that time forgot.

  A few minutes later, he saw the street that led along the foreshore of the Old Town: Calle 2 Oeste. It was the same stretch of seafront where he’d sat with Karis, on the wooden bench, less than a week before, right before they’d gone back to his hotel room.

  As the car made its way slowly along the street, it dawned on him: this street was a dead-end. A cul-de-sac with a popular tourist bar and restaurant, and several foreign embassies.

  He had the feeling Steven Zhang was not a restauranteur.

  As the car pulled into a battle-axe driveway, the assistant slid the window down long enough for a uniformed guard carrying a rifle and white bayonet to see him and deliver a crisp salute.

  The iron gate slid open.

  At the end of the driveway stood an elegant, white Spanish colonial home.

  At the top of a flagpole flew an unmistakable flag—red with yellow stars.

  Max Burns entered the Embassy grounds of the People’s Republic of China.

  Part Four

  Chapter Forty

  Undisclosed location, Virginia, USA

  September, 2010

  From inside the Bell Huey, Karis Deen couldn’t see much.

  It was only when the helicopter landed and the door slid open that she saw a cluster of austere, sandstone buildings and long, minimalist glass façades overlooking spacious lawns.

  Following her colleagues, she ran, hunched over, away from the heli, as she’d done many times over the past months. All of them keeping pace; all of them wearing marine pattern camouflage.

  And yet this was no forest gap or river trail.

  “This way!” came the instruction from the front of the pack.

  The group was led toward the front entrance of the largest building. Its glass door was acknowledged only by a pair of silk trees.

  Once inside, Karis stopped. The foyer was spacious, carpeted and strangely quiet. Its surfaces and joinery were without blemish or fault, bar a long, raw sandstone wall that stretched the length of the building—a cloister of sorts—with views onto a modern courtyard.

  A Brancusi-esque white, stone figure stood amid sparse, long grasses.

  “Okay, now I’m confused.”

  Karis turned to the man who was standing alongside her.

  “Me too,” she said, her voice hushed. “But don’t you dare pinch me.” She grinned. “If this has anything to do with today’s task, I seriously don’t want to wake up.”

  The two of them moved across the foyer to catch up with the group.

  Jay Stevenson was, by now, a friend. He had been through the entire year with her, the two of them forging a solid camaraderie as the training became increasingly challenging and the numbers of fellow recruits were whittled back from the original hundreds to—now—less than fifteen.

  As they entered the intimately lit auditorium, Karis was surprised to see about forty unfamiliar people—also wearing uniform—already seated in low backed chairs.

  They made their way toward a couple of spare seats at the back of the room. From the fresh smell of leather, Karis suspected they were the first people to sit on the upholstery.

  “Good morning.” A woman’s voice—modular and commanding—broke through the general chatter. “Welcome to the Abbey!”

  The room grew silent, and Karis turned to see a petite woman walk toward the lectern at the front of the room. She had stylishly cropped blond hair, and she stood at ease, hands be
hind her back.

  “I see you’re all ready for the day’s training.” The woman smiled and looked around the group. “Today …” She paused. “Today, your task will be to find your apartments and get to know the place. This is your new home.”

  There was a stunned silence.

  Karis cast a look at Jay.

  “I’m Agent Erika Fisher,” the woman continued. “I’m the Director at our new facility.” She smiled again. “As of this moment, nobody knows you’re here. And you are the only ones who know of the place’s existence.”

  Fisher now looked around the room, her attention resting on individual agents from time to time.

  “Over your past many years of service to the United States, you have proven yourselves by going above and beyond expectations. Moreover, in the past year—since you signed up for special training—you have consistently delivered excellent performance, and you’ve shown us that you take the survival of your respective units seriously. Out of the more than three thousand personnel who applied from the various different agencies and military divisions across the country, you are the ones who have earned the right to sit on these chairs.” She paused. “Congratulations.”

  The people around Karis began to loosen up—they turned to each other with nods or smiles.

  Karis realized she’d been holding her breath.

  “So, where are we?” Fisher began with a rhetorical question. “You may be aware, there were a number of Congressional Committee Hearings a couple of decades ago as part of an effort to get a Defense Clandestine Service off the ground. Are any of you familiar with this?”

  “Monarch Eagle.” A man in front of Karis spoke up. “It was to be under the Defense Intelligence Agency.”

  “Correct.” Fisher nodded. “It was designed to streamline the broader Department of Defense intelligence, which was deemed to be increasingly inefficient. The various units were starting to overlap in their efforts.”

  She paused.