by Ben Coes
Dewey smiled but said nothing. He put his hand on her left thigh.
“That’s classified, sweetie,” he said.
“You know I can find out, Dewey. Was it Delta or later?”
“It was an operation. A week in Buenos Aires. Interdiction. We were chasing a narco. Colombian, some sort of money guy. Bad dude.”
“Did you get him?”
Dewey nodded.
Jessica took his hand, leaned forward, and kissed his ear, clutching his neck.
“I think I’m starting to like you,” she whispered, laying her head on his shoulder, shutting her eyes, pushing away all thoughts except for the simple thought of them.
10
MINISTRY OF STATE SECURITY
INTERNET DIRECTORATE
BEIJING, PRC
By 5:00 A.M., Fao Bhang was seated in the conference room next to his corner office at the ministry, reading Dewey Andreas’s file. He held a cup of coffee in one hand and a cigarette in the other. With him was Ming-húa and Hu’ang Li, head of the ministry’s intelligence-gathering unit, the intelligence bureau.
Several other senior ministry staffers were also present. Cigarette smoke was cantilevered across the air. Through the conference-room windows, Beijing was beginning to turn gray as dawn approached.
On the wall, two large plasma screens were lit up. The first showed three photos, all of Andreas, taken at Odessa International Airport a little over three months ago. The first was taken at a distance, from a side angle. Andreas towered over Ukrainian customs agents as he handed them his passport. The second photo was head-on, from a distance and blurry, as Andreas unwittingly approached a security camera in the main terminal of the airport. A third photograph was clearest. It showed Andreas up close, looking at the same camera. A blank, calm expression was on the American’s face. He wore a blue suit, no tie, and had a few days’ worth of stubble. The camera seemed to capture not only Andreas’s cold suspicion, it also showed a flicker of intelligence and, in some sense, enjoyment.
The second plasma had a file sheet on Andreas: one slide, upon which was highlighted everything that was known about him:
ANDREAS, DEWEY
Citizenship: USA
DOB: unknown
Home: Castine, ME
Boston College: May 93
English B.A., 3.1 GPA
Varsity Football 90–93(captain 92–93)
U.S. Army: enlistment Jun 93
U.S. Army Rangers, Fort Benning, GA
Winter School: Jan–Mar 94
Rank: 1 in class of 188
1st Special Forces Operational Detachment, aka Delta Force: Recruitment Mar 1994, Graduate Dec 96, Fort Bragg, NC, Rank: unavailable
CAREER (known):
• Lisbon, POR: Jan–Mar 96: (mission unknown)
• San Isidro de El General, COS: Oct 96–Jan 97: Anti-narcotic: NIC, COL, VEN
• London, ENG: Apr 97: Assassination (attempted) Subhi al-Tufayli / Hezbollah (mission failure)
• Munich, GER: April 97: Exfiltration Constantine Vargarin (wanted by GUR-RUS) (mission success)
• Buenos Aires, ARG: Sep–Dec 97: Anti-narcotic: ARG, COL, CHI, and BOL
• Montreal, CAN: Jan 98: Assassination Constantine Vargarin (mission success)
• Lisbon, POR: Mar 98: Assassination Frances Vibohr (Siemens VIP suspect in sale of TS info to SAU) (mission success)
• Bali, IND: Aug 98: Assassination of Rumallah Khomeini (mission success)
• Jun 00–Dec 11: (nonmilitary) roles offshore oil & gas industry
Aberdeen, SCO
Edinburgh, SCO
Belfast, IRE
Cardiff, WAL
Valparaiso, CHI
Buenaventura, COL
• East Hampton, NY: Dec 11: Andreas kills Alexander Fortuna (sanction: believed to be unofficial)
• Washington, DC: Jan 12: U.S. Presidential Medal of Freedom and U.S. Congressional Medal of Honor
• Islamabad, PAK: Jun 12: Overthrow of Omar El-Khayab (sanction: assumed to be official JSOC/CIA)
• Broumana, LEB: Jul 12: Assassination of Aswan Fortuna (sanction: believed to be unofficial)
• Mahdishahr, IRA: Oct 12: Infiltration/theft nuclear device (sanction: unknown)
ACTIVE FILE(s):
• VEVAK Tehran, IRA
98–05: (inactive: kill or capture)
12–pres: (active: kill or capture)
• IRG Tehran, IRA: 12–pres: (active: capture)
• AL-MUQAWAMA/Hezbollah
Tehran, IRA: 98–01: (inactive: kill or capture)
Tehran, IRA: 11–pres: (active: kill or capture)
Damascus, SYR: 12–pres: (active: kill or capture)
• HAMAS
Gaza, ISR: 12–pres: (active: objective unknown)
• GRU
Moscow, RUS: 97–04: (inactive: capture)
MISC:
• Fort Bragg, NC: May 99: Wife (Holly) dies: Andreas charged with murder
• Arlington, VA: Jul 99: Discharged from 1st Special Forces Operational Detachment, U.S. Army, and stripped of all honors
• Fort Bragg, NC: Jan 00: Acquittal on all charges
• Nov 12: Engagement to U.S. National Security Advisor Jessica Tanzer Date of marriage: (unknown)
Several photographs were imposed on the right side of the file sheet, including a photo of Dewey taken as former U.S. president Rob Allaire awarded him the Presidential Medal of Freedom, as well as a photo showing Dewey many years ago, when he was a soldier. The photo showed Dewey in a military uniform, a Ranger tab visible on the right arm. Despite its age, this image was the clearest of the lot. He held an M60 carbine targeted at the sky, his hair was short, he was tan, and beneath his eyes were two black paint stripes.
Bhang walked to the plasma screen and stood in front of the photo, staring, then pointed at the tab.
“That’s a Ranger tab,” said Bhang. “Do you know why it has white thread?”
“I believe they were out of black thread,” replied Ming-húa, laughing. He was joined by the others.
Bhang abruptly slammed his right hand down on the table.
“Does anyone know why the American’s patch has white thread?” Bhang repeated, an edge to his voice.
The men at the conference table grew silent.
“It’s an honor,” continued Bhang. “Soldiers who make it through Ranger school during winter are allowed to sew on their patches with white thread. It’s the hardest time of year to do it. We’re dealing with an unusually talented individual here.”
“I have no doubt he’s a threat, Minister,” said Ming-húa, chastened. “But not to us.”
Bhang glared at his deputy.
“We’re not here to discuss your opinion as to who does or does not constitute a threat to China,” said Bhang, icily. “The loss of Dillman is the single greatest intelligence loss the ministry has incurred in the past decade. This meeting is to determine how we are going to terminate Dewey Andreas. Whether or not he’s a threat is no longer relevant. The decision has been made.”
Ming-húa nodded.
“My apologies, sir.”
“Where is Andreas now?” asked Bhang.
“On a plane, minister,” said Hu’ang Li. “Flying to South America. We are fortunate in that he purchased his tickets using an American Express card.”
“Tickets, plural?” asked Bhang.
“Yes, two tickets to Córdoba, near the Sierras Chicas.”
Bhang’s mind raced.
“What do we have in the theater?” he asked.
“We have a woman in Santiago, Chile,” Ming-húa said, looking at his laptop. “She’s junior. I don’t think she’s the best option. I have a contractor—a sniper—in Lima. Very talented. He could be in Córdoba in a matter of hours.”
“What else?”
Ming-húa typed on his keyboard, and a map suddenly lit up one of the plasmas on the wall. On the map, in different colors, was a manifest of all active MSS agents. Ming-húa pointed a red lase
r at the map.
“We have a team inside the United States,” said Ming-húa, “a cell we could, theoretically, pull out, but it’s a couple; the woman is inside NSA, a subcontractor. They’ve been in the U.S. for a decade. We’d be foolish to risk the loss of this project.”
“What else?”
Ming-húa scanned the map, then pointed.
“We have a kill team in Caracas. They’re excellent.”
Bhang picked up a photo of Andreas. He stared at it for a few moments.
“I want the sniper on a plane immediately,” he ordered. “Use a charter out of Lima, and make sure he knows he’s responsible for bringing in any weaponry necessary for the operation. Also, get the Caracas team in the air.”
“Yes, sir.”
Bhang quickly rescanned the dossier on Dewey. “Castine, Maine. Find out if he still has any family.”
“And do what?”
“Send them flowers, you imbecile,” said Bhang, seething. “Find out if he has family! Period!”
11
SIMÓN BOLÍVAR INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT
MAIQUETÍA, VENEZUELA
Two men moved through the central terminal at Maiquetía. It was early morning and Maiquetía was packed.
“I’m going to duty-free,” said Chang, the younger of the two. He had an easy way about him, unlike Hu-Shao, who, while only two years older, looked and acted like he was from another generation.
“Why?” asked Hu-Shao.
“Cigarettes.”
“You should stop smoking.”
“And you should start,” said Chang.
Chang walked toward a line of retail shops in the central terminal. At duty-free, he spent a few minutes ogling the exotic European vodkas, vodkas he could have purchased any day of the week in Caracas but that somehow looked more tempting here at the airport. Finally, he went and bought a carton of Marlboro reds. On the way back to the gate, he stepped inside a sunglasses boutique and bought the first pair he tried on, a pair of white Guccis that made him look, at least he thought, like a movie star.
At the gate, Hu-Shao did a double take as Chang walked up with his sunglasses on.
“You look like a fool,” said Hu-Shao. “Please. Pretend you don’t know me.”
Chang ignored him. He was sick of his colleague. Any man would be sick of someone they spent day and night together with, months on end, living and working together. In truth, Hu-Shao had taught him much. He’d taught him to be an operative: surveillance, infiltration, weaponry, how to kill. But sometimes his partner’s cold demeanor grew old.
On the LAN Airbus A320, they sat in first class. Bhang believed agents should be comfortable during operations. Once airborne, they took turns studying the fifteen-page briefing sheet on the American, Dewey Andreas. The file contained everything the ministry had pieced together about the former Special Forces soldier they were now going to find and kill.
Had anyone somehow gotten hold of the papers, even if they could read Chinese, what they would have found was illegible. The briefing papers had been sent in one of the three encrypted alphabets every agent was trained to memorize, alphabets that were reconfigured every six months. It was one of the hardest parts of being an agent.
The two men spent several hours reading about Andreas’s background. The summaries of his operations were staccato, devoid of wordy descriptions, in many cases incomplete. Yet even without the sort of descriptive detail that would have made the reading more pleasurable, the document was formidable and sent a wave of anxiety through each man.
Chang read the mission summary four times in a row, each time feeling increasingly sick to his stomach:
PROJECT:
816G
TARGET:
ANDREAS, DEWEY
PRIORITY:
2
1. Recent activities by Target resulted in the loss of key ministry assets. Target is an enemy of the State.
2. Target is classified as a level 1 combatant. He should be considered extremely dangerous.
3. Previous attempts by others to kill Target have failed, and the result has been, in virtually every known instance, the death of those attempting to harm him.
4. Target has extensive combat experience. He is a gifted face-to-face combatant and received advanced training in various CQB systems, including KAPAP/LOTAR and Eskrima while in Delta.
5. Target will be proficient with cold weapons, including knives and implements, and will be prepared to improvise with nonlethal objects.
6. Target is expert in all aspects of firearms and explosives. If Target acquires arms, proximity to Target should be considered an active kill zone.
7. Team should expect the mission to be highly treacherous and should take precautions, both in terms of settling up affairs at home as well as in-theater tactical design.
8. Target is traveling with a woman who is a VIP in the United States government. Assume Target will be guarded and/or under surveillance.
9. Team will rendezvous with Lima-based contractor in Córdoba. Contractor is a level 12 marksman and will have responsibility for the kill. Contractor will have all necessary weapons and materials for mission. The strike should take place at night.
10. Target is classified as a Priority 2 termination so directed by the minister. He should be terminated with prejudice.
11. Mission success will earn team members two level pay and one level rank promotion and two additional weeks of paid annual vacation.
After Chang and Hu-Shao finished reading, Hu-Shao removed a small object from his carry-on. It looked like a set of binoculars but in fact was a secure photo viewer. They took turns studying photos of Andreas as well as photos of some of his victims.
After they finished, Chang looked at Hu-Shao.
“What will the design be?” Chang whispered.
“Read the sheet,” said Hu-Shao. “A distance kill at night. The merc is a mark twelve.”
“Two level pay increase?” said Chang. “We must succeed.”
“Typical. You should be honored that, of all the agents in South America, you and I were selected for this mission.”
“I could live without the honor,” said Chang. “I could, however, live with two more weeks of vacation.”
12
VISTA TOWERS
1198 MALECÓN CISNEROS
MIRAFLORES DISTRICT
LIMA, PERU
Raul awoke to the sound of his cell phone. He reached to the bedside table and picked it up.
“What.”
“One hour. Be at the private terminal.”
“Where am I going?”
“Córdoba.”
Raul reached up with his left hand and rubbed his eyes. He reached behind him, to the wall above the bed, and flipped a switch on the wall. The curtains moved slowly away from the windows, which took up the entire wall. Sunlight exploded into the room, and he shut his eyes.
“Who?”
“China.”
“How long will I be gone?”
“Well, that depends now, doesn’t it?”
“What time is it?
“Five-thirty.”
Raul’s eyes opened again, as he became more alert.
“Who’s the target?”
“I don’t know. You’ll find out when you get there. You’re part of a team out of Caracas.”
“Who is it?”
“I told you, I don’t know.”
“You forget I know you, Pascal.”
“He’s American. That’s all he told me.”
Raul felt the naked backside of his girlfriend, Marisol, pressing under the sheets against his groin. He was thirty-one years old, still young, but compared to her, he was an old man. They’d had sex twice the night before. How can she still want more, he thought to himself as she continued to grind against him.
“Pascal, I’m back three days,” said Raul into the phone.
“I already wired a hundred thousand. You get another hundred on completion.”
“How much are th
ey paying?”
Marisol turned her head and smiled at Raul.
“Two million.”
“I want half, or else get somebody else. Call me when you wire the other nine hundred.”
“Three hundred. I’ll give you all of it before you go.”
“One million. You heard me.”
Raul hung up. He pulled away from Marisol.
“I need coffee,” he said, throwing the sheets off.
He climbed out of bed. Marisol looked up at him.
“Come back to bed.”
“My God,” he said, shaking his head and laughing. “Did you not get enough attention when you were a child?”
“I still am a child,” she said. “Technically, seventeen is still a child.”
From the floor, he picked up a pair of black silk boxers and pulled them on.
“What’s the matter?” she said. “Can’t you get it up? My old boyfriend could do it like six times a day.”
Raul stared at her for a moment, then lurched forward and slapped her hard across the face, sending her flying to the side of the bed. She let out a scream. Blood trickled from her lip.
“Animal!” she yelled. She started to cry.
“Get out,” he said, calmly. “You’re going to be late for school.”
“It’s Saturday.”
“Whatever. Get out.”
Raul walked to the window. He looked out at the ocean, a bold shelf of glimmering black that spread to the horizon. He walked out of the bedroom, down the hallway, into the kitchen. He flipped on the coffee maker. From the black marble countertop, he took a cigarette and lit it.
A minute later, Marisol came running down the hallway, dressed in a black miniskirt, high heels, and a blouse. She was disheveled. Her long brown hair was tousled, her makeup smudged from tears. She held a small washcloth to the side of her mouth.