He smiled again. “You won’t.”
“And that’s because…”
“Who did Stokes get the drive from, Ellie?”
I bit my lip.
“Even though Stokes is dead, you would be accused of espionage. Delcroft would be the victim. You would spend the rest of your life in prison. Probably in a cell next to Edward Snowden. If he ever comes back.”
I felt my throat closing up.
Phillips looked at his watch. “I’ve enjoyed our talk, Ellie. But I need to be going now. I hope we stay in touch. I’d like you to finish that video.”
Chapter Seventy-six
Two weeks later, the daffodils tentatively poked through the dirt, and the sky was that deep azure that accompanies a beautiful high-pressure system. Susan and I power walked around the village. The snow was gone, and a warm breeze danced to the rhythm of our steps. We got back to my house by four.
“You have time for a glass of wine?” I asked.
“Of course.” Susan and I have concluded that wine does not cancel out exercise. The two activities work together organically to make us fit. And happy.
I opened a bottle of Chardonnay and poured us both a glass. We sat at the kitchen table. A cone of late afternoon sunlight streaked across the floor.
“You’ve been through hell,” Susan said.
“I know.” I sipped my wine. “I’m still edgy.”
“Who wouldn’t be? How’s Rachel?”
“Probably better than me. She’s sleeping through the night.”
“Is she still here?”
“Just for a few more days. I want to make sure she’s ready to go back.”
Susan nodded. “So it’s over? Everything?”
I lifted my hand and flipped it up and down. “Pretty much. There are still things I’ll probably never know for sure.”
“Like what?”
“For one thing, who edited the videos of the Uyghurs I watched at the library. Whoever did it obviously knew they had been viewed.”
“Who do you think?”
“I think somehow the Chinese did it. They have incredible hacking skills, as you well know.”
Susan nodded. “What else?”
“Remember when we were walking a few weeks ago and we saw the SUV?”
“And you wouldn’t tell me what was going on?”
“Right. Well, there was a pickup there, too. Remember? It sped off when we approached.”
“Oh yeah. What were they doing?”
“They were watching the watchers.” I sipped my wine. “I recognized one of the guys in the pick-up at the airstrip. He was walking Rachel back to us.”
“Really.”
“Yeah. But now I don’t know exactly who planted the bomb at Dolan’s office. I thought all along it was Stokes. He seemed to take credit for it. But now I’m not so sure.”
“You think it was the Chinese?”
“Chinese, the US military, who knows?” I finished my wine and poured more. “I’m still not even sure who tapped my phones or who was tailing me.” I took a sip. “We know Stokes’ men did, we know Grace Qasimi did, but who else? The military? The Chinese? I don’t know.”
“Don’t you want to find out?”
I thought about it. “Actually, I don’t.”
“Because…?”
“I don’t want to be disappointed.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve learned too much about the people at the highest levels of power in our country and how they operate. I don’t think I want to know any more.”
Susan narrowed her eyes. We didn’t say anything for a moment.
“And then there was Grace Qasimi’s death.”
“Gregory Parks’ fiancée.”
I nodded. “It was totally unnecessary. But LeJeune said he’d keep on it. Make sure someone is held accountable.”
“Do you think he’ll follow through?”
I ran my tongue around my lips. “Actually, yes. He turned out to be a pretty good guy.” I paused. “But there’s still one missing piece.”
Chapter Seventy-seven
“What’s that?” Susan asked.
“Charlotte Hollander. I told you how she disappeared in the middle of the mess when everyone thought she’d committed treason. Well, now she’s a hero. But she hasn’t come back, and people are worried.”
“About what?”
“That maybe Stokes killed her, like he did Parks. Or maybe the Chinese did.”
“Really?”
“The point is if she were still alive she would know it’s safe for her to come back.”
“Maybe she doesn’t know.”
“That’s what Phillips said.” I took another sip of wine. “But someone with her resources doesn’t disappear without keeping up with developments that involve her.”
“Why not?”
“She was totally plugged into Delcroft. To the military as well. At the very least, she could have gone to an Internet café and catch up on the news.”
“Unless she didn’t. If you want to stay hidden, you have to give up some things. You know how easy it is for the NSA to find people if they’re motivated.”
“Again, that’s exactly what Phillips said. Do you two have a secret relationship I don’t know about?” I smiled and picked up the wine bottle. Then I stopped, the bottle in midair. “Say that again.”
“Say what?” Susan asked. ”About Phillips’ and my secret relationship?”
I shook my head. “About how easy it is to find people if you’re motivated…”
“That’s just it,” Susan said. “It works both ways. The only way to stay completely off the grid is not to keep track of what’s going on.”
I set the wine bottle back on the table, an idea taking shape. “Hey. Do you remember a few years ago when Edward Kaiser died? And his wife, the trophy wife, ran away with all his money?”
“I do. And I remember how they caught her. You had a lot to do with it.”
“Yeah, but do you remember how?”
Susan cocked her head. “Wasn’t it something about your Rachel and her son emailing even though they weren’t supposed to?”
“Exactly.”
“I see that gleam in your eyes, Ellie. What are you thinking?”
“Hollander has a twelve-year-old son.”
“So?”
“She didn’t take him with her. He’s living with his father in Ohio.”
“And?”
“What kind of mother could give up talking to her child indefinitely? Think about it. Could you?”
“Never.”
“Neither could I.”
“Where are you going with this?”
“Well,” I said, “we already know the NSA, the FBI, Homeland Security, military intelligence, and every other intelligence agency in the country has probably hacked the kid’s computer and cell in an effort to find her, right?”
Susan tapped her wineglass on the table. “If you say so.”
“And they haven’t found anything. Nada. No evidence they’ve been in touch.”
“Right…”
“But what if she found another way to communicate with him? A way that bypassed everything NSA and their minions track?”
“It would have to be something like carrier pigeon.”
“Not necessarily.” I jumped up from the table. “I need to talk to your husband.”
“Doug? Why?”
“He’s a ham radio freak, right?”
“He’s been that way since high school.”
“Well, so is Hollander’s kid.”
Susan’s voice rose to a squeak, which is the way I can tell she’s excited. “How do you know that?”
“Hollander told me when we were having drinks at the Happ Inn.”
“Do you think they’re in touch by ham radio?”
“I think it’s possible. Can you call Doug? Please?”
“Aye, aye, capitaine.” She punched in a number on her cell. After a moment, she said,
“Can you talk to Ellie for a minute?” A short pause. “Great. I’ll put you on speaker.” She pressed the “Speaker” button.
“Hi, Doug. Thanks so much for talking to me.”
“No problem, Ellie.”
I explained.
“So…,” he said. “You want to know if—hypothetically—two people could communicate by ham radio, and the NSA or any other intelligence-gathering organization wouldn’t know about it?”
“That’s it.”
“Of course. It’s absolutely possible.”
“Really?” Susan and I exchanged grins.
“I won’t bore you with the technical details, but essentially, you can use the high-frequency bands on ham radio to contact anyone on the planet. All you have to do is prearrange a time and frequency. The conditions have to be right, but if you choose something in the middle of the frequency spectrum, it’ll probably work.”
“So if you were in Barbados, and the person you wanted to talk to was in Ohio, you could, as long as both people knew the time and the frequency in advance?”
“Absolutely.”
“But how do you avoid detection?”
“Anyone searching for their conversations would have to know where and when to look. They can’t just monitor the entire high-frequency spectrum, as far as I know. They would need the same information as the people who want to talk to each other. In fact, that’s why ham radio is so effective. It’s like hunting for a needle in a haystack. It’s well-known that drug runners use it all the time.”
“That’s it, then!” I clapped my hands.
“What’s it?” Doug asked.
I told him. “I have to call Delcroft. Phillips. He needs to get someone to talk to the son and pass the all-clear signal to his mother. The kid probably won’t have a clue what’s been going on, but Hollander will. Thank you, Doug. You’re a lifesaver!”
“Glad to help. See you later, sweetie.”
They’d been married for more than twenty years, but Susan blushed. “Bye, honey.”
I poured a bit more wine for us, and we clinked glasses. Then I picked up my phone to call Phillips.
Epilogue
The crowd began to assemble in Tiananmen Square well in advance. The crisp spring day, sunny and bright, was perfect for a parade. Little children waved flags. Students sunned themselves, happy to be away from the tedium of school. Even the elderly gathered to watch the festivities and gossip among themselves.
The parade, when it began, did not disappoint. Rows and rows of soldiers marched, goose-stepping in tight formation. They appeared to be younger and younger every year. But they were soon replaced by a phalanx of tanks and trucks and even airplanes rolling by. The government flexing its military muscle, reminding the world of their might. The vehicles were followed by marching bands playing patriotic music that brought cheers from the crowd. Then came more soldiers with helmets, rifles, and shiny knee-high boots; young girls in short red uniforms; and giant Chinese flags, borne proudly by eager boys and girls.
Toward the middle of the procession rolled three open limousines, German made, slowly advancing to the tempo of the bands’ music. One carried the president, one bore the premier, and the third was occupied by General Gao Zhi Peng, who had recently been promoted to chairman of the Central Military Commission. There was no higher military position, and it was rumored that he might even become the next president. As he passed, cameras snapped and smartphones clicked, and the roars of approval swelled. He acknowledged the cheers with an occasional salute. He had ascended the pinnacle of Chinese power, and his beaming expression indicated he intended to stay there.
• • •
While the parade consumed Beijing, the people of the Xinjiang Uyghur Autonomous Region in the Tarim Basin desert mourned their dead. The relentless drone strikes were taking their toll, and there were funerals every day. Children buried parents; parents buried children; and the sight of tiny coffins, each symbolizing a future cut short, brought anguished cries from the grieving.
One mother suppressed her sorrow and shook a threatening fist at the sky, as if daring more bombs to drop. Her husband grabbed her hand and lowered it. “There is nothing we can do. And if the soldiers see you, they will take you to prison.”
“I do not care. I should be dead too; I do not want to live anymore. We mean nothing to those who destroy us. To them we are mere specks on the ground to be swept away by the fires and forgotten.”
“You must not talk that way. Allah will protect us. He will vanquish the infidels.”
The woman threw her husband a look that said he was crazy. “Allah? You think Allah will save us?” She spat on the ground. “That is what I think of your Allah. Unless he sends us guns and weapons that will shoot the enemy out of the sky, I have no use for your Allah.”
The woman’s husband blanched. “You must not talk that way. If someone hears you…”
Suddenly a man wearing the uniform of a soldier approached, attracted by their squabble. The couple said nothing as the soldier slowed, stared at them with a scowl, but then eventually passed.
“You see?” the husband said. He took her gently by the arm and led her away from the grave site.
Grace and Yusup’s mother clenched her jaw. She had lost both her children to the Americans and the Chinese and their weapons. She had no more words to express her anguish. No answers. No hope. For one brief moment she had thought it would change. A bright shining light for her people would burn. Her daughter had assured her it would. But Grace had been wrong. It was not to be. It had always been thus.
It would always be so.
Acknowledgements
I am indebted to a number of people, some of whom did not want to be named. Their expertise in encryption and hacking into corporate systems was fascinating—and disturbing. Thanks also to Fred Rea and Detective Marc. A debt of gratitude to Kevin Smith, a terrific editor; as well as to Jan Gordon, Cara Black, and Kent Krueger, all of whom always tell it like it is. Special thanks, too, to Don Whiteman, who knows something about everything, including drones; and to Eileen Chetti, whose eagle-eyed copy edit picked up issues I never would have. And to the Red Herrings who listened—and critiqued the entire manuscript over the past year. My research took me from one end of the internet to the other, but I especially want to credit an essay, Anatomy of the Deep State, by Mike Lofgren on Bill Moyers.com, which I quote in the book. Finally, I am delighted to once again be working with Poisoned Pen Press. Thanks Rob, Barbara, and Diane.
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THE ELLIE FOREMAN SERIES
“Libby Fischer Hellmann has already joined an elite club: Chicago mystery writers who not only inhabit the environment but also give it a unique flavor… her series continues in fine style… (Ellie)… lights up the page with courage and energy.”
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“Hellmann owes a debt to fellow Chicagoans Sara Paretsky (complex plotting) and Barbara D’Amato (excellent research)—but she’s the brash young thing making this formula new again. I can’t wait for the next book!”
—Robin Agnew, Aunt Agatha’s
“Hellmann has surpassed herself. Well-crafted, intense and exciting, right up to the last page… a must read!”
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“A masterful blend of politics, history, and suspense… sharp humor and vivid language… Ellie is an engaging amateur sleuth.”
—Publishers Weekly, November 4, 2002
“Ellie is a particularly believable protagonist… she’s a pleasure to spend time with.”
—Reviewing the Evidence
“Libby Fischer Hellmann has indisputably crossed the l
ine into the realm of great crime fiction writers.”
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SET THE NIGHT ON FIRE
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