It was a basic tenet of Buddhist teaching that the lesson is in what is left unsaid as much as in what is said.
When he reached the bottom of the stairs, Bodhi swerved off his course toward the front door and detoured to the kitchen. He plucked the big ring of keys from the hook by the door then hurried toward the front of the house. The keys jangled against one another.
He raced down the porch stairs toward the driveway, gesturing for Bette to get out of the car.
“What is it?” she called as she walked toward him.
“I’ve been enlightened, I think. Leave your car blocking the drive and come with me to the shed, please.”
She arched an eyebrow but strode through the long grass to meet him. “What’s going on, Bodhi?”
“I’m checking out a hunch. I want a witness. And there’s no better witness than the chief of police.”
She fell into step beside him, and they hurried across the lawn to the shed. Bodhi flipped through the keys until he found the one that fit the padlock that secured the shed doors.
He turned the key and pulled down hard on the body of the padlock. The U-shaped shackle swung free. He removed the lock and pulled the doors open. His nose began to burn before he even stepped inside. The smell of something similar to diesel fuel, but sweeter, filled his nostrils.
Beside him, Chief Clark sniffed. “Kerosene.”
“It’s an accelerant.”
Her eyes widened. “And that Crop-Clear stuff is highly inflammable. Supra Seed requires the farmers who use it to sign a statement promising to store it separately from gasoline, kerosene, and paint thinner. But you don’t think …”
“I do think. Feng’s a member of some traditional community gardening group and he’s also a vocal opponent of GMOs and industrial farming.”
“Sure. He’s not the only one. But there’s a pretty big leap from raising objections at a council meeting and setting a field ablaze.”
Bodhi was silent for a moment. Then he said, “It’s a religious mandate for Feng, though. He believes farmers like Mark Olson are violating one of the laws of the natural order set forth by the Buddha.”
“And a Buddhist would destroy property over that belief?”
“Not typically. But, I’m pretty sure this one did. He was nervous last night. I thought he was watching the barn, but he must’ve been watching the shed. He knew people were lurking around the property. He may have been worried someone would come in here and find out what he’s been up to.”
It was Chief Clark’s turn to fall silent.
Then she sighed. “Mark said when he confronted Jason about the fire, Jason denied involvement. Mark pressed him about that gardening group—Jason was a member, too. Mark’s lawyer told me Jason claimed he had left the group over a disagreement but wouldn’t say anything further. Do you think Feng would kill over his beliefs? If Jason knew what Feng had done and opposed it—would Feng kill him to keep him quiet?”
No, never, Bodhi’s soul screamed. You don’t know, his brain cautioned.
He stared at the containers of kerosene stacked neatly on the floor. He thought about how Jason and Feng had both had the same seeds on their shoes. They’d likely been together shortly before Jason’s death.
After what felt like a very long pause, Bodhi shook his head slightly. “I don’t know.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Hannah fidgeted in the back seat of her own car. She wished the five of them hadn’t split up at The Prairie Center. She didn’t know these National Counterintelligence and Security Center agents, and they made her nervous.
Part of it was right there in the name—counterintelligence and security—and part of it was because the female agent, Elise Clausen, had listened to Hannah’s story with a frosty look.
The man, at least, had been kind. Charlie Thurman had consoled her on Zhang’s murder and thanked her for finally coming forward about the night of the shooting at the Durbin farm. She wasn’t as comfortable with him as she would have been with Chief Clark and Bodhi, but at least he’d extended her some human kindness.
But still. All things considered, she’d rather be back at The Prairie Center with Chief Clark and Bodhi.
Agent Thurman met her eyes in the rearview mirror and gave her an encouraging smile. “What do you do at Supra Seed, exactly?”
His tone was conversational, but Hannah really didn’t feel like chatting. “I’m a plant pathologist. I work on creating disease-resistant plant lines.”
The partners exchanged glances. Hannah bit her lip. “Nothing exciting—not like your jobs,” she added. “What exactly do you do?”
“That’s classified, ma’am.”
Of course it was.
“Can you tell me why she has to drive my car? Or is that classified, too?” Hannah regretted her snarky attitude as soon as she’d said the words. It was one of her worst personality traits—when she was nervous, she could be mean. And she was very, very nervous.
Although she’d directed the question to Agent Thurman, Agent Clausen answered.
“Because I’m trained to execute evasive driving maneuvers at high speeds. Are you?” she snapped.
Hannah felt she’d earned the dressing down.
“No, I’m not.”
After a moment, Agent Thurman tried to ease the tension in the car. “Chief Clark says her property has some of the best stargazing in the county. It’s so dark, she can see the Milky Way most nights.”
He made this announcement with the infectious enthusiasm of a puppy. Hannah half-expected him to bounce in his seat.
“That sounds cool. I grew up in San Diego. There was a lot of light pollution.” Hannah smiled at Agent Thurman.
“Where did you go to college?” Agent Clausen asked.
It was a casual question, but everything about Agent Clausen made Hannah feel as if she were being interrogated.
She answered stiffly. “Berkley, for undergrad. I did my graduate work at the University of Chicago.”
Agent Clausen made a hmm sound.
Agent Thurman said, “You must be really smart.”
“I’m a hard worker. Oh, that’s the turn off—right up ahead on the left.”
Agent Clausen flicked the indicator light, which seemed to be the opposite of evasive driving to Hannah, but then she guessed they weren’t currently being followed.
Were they?
She twisted around and looked through the back window. Nope. They weren’t being followed. Not unless the would-be assassin had hijacked a tanker truck full of milk.
Gavriil trailed behind the milk truck. He’d been using it as cover for miles now. It was obvious from their route that the two agents and the scientist were going to her apartment, having left the police chief and the doctor back at The Prairie Center. But for what purpose?
He shrugged to himself. Until he knew when his reinforcements would arrive, the best thing he could do was keep eyes on the targets. Steal the encrypted book if he could. Kill any or all of them if the need arose.
But there had been no word from Kyrgyzstan. That was beyond unusual. It had been twelve hours and counting. That realization made the hairs on his arms stand up.
Something was wrong. He glanced to his right at the cell phone charging beside him. He jerked the wheel to the right and swerved onto the shoulder of the road.
He picked up the phone and stared down at it. After a moment, he turned it over and popped out the battery. He pushed the button to buzz down the passenger side window. Then he checked the road—no traffic coming in either direction. He leaned across the seat and tossed the battery into the weeds growing alongside the berm. He removed the international SIM card and stowed it in his pocket. He’d dispose of that elsewhere. The phone itself would go in the trash at the gas station when he bought its replacement.
He hadn’t survived eight years in the SVR and another six freelancing by disregarding the gut-wrenching moments when a person knows before he knows that something’s not right.
He signaled to turn left and eased back onto the highway. The dairy tanker was just a pinpoint now. But it was of no concern. He knew where the white car was headed. In fact, he might as well stop at the Go-Now Market and pick up the new phone now.
The federal agents must be providing the scientist with an escort home. They’d probably search her apartment and tell her it was all clear. Their car was still at The Prairie Center, so eventually the police chief and the doctor would drive right by the Go-Now Market to pick them up.
He could wait in the parking lot. He’d use the time to set up his new phone and send a new text to his contact in Bishkek. It was safer than driving back and forth with a forged driver’s license in his wallet, an unlicensed handgun in his glove box, and an illegal silencer and a stolen rifle in his trunk.
He executed a U-turn and headed back the way he’d come, cursing Americans and their love affair with driving.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Friday evening
Thurman leaned on the Chief Clark’s doorbell, a stack of pizza boxes in his arms. Clausen held a six-pack of beer. Hannah carried an overnight bag and wore an apprehensive expression.
Bodhi opened the door and hurried them into Chief Clark’s front hallway.
“The kitchen’s straight back.”
Thurman and Clausen headed for the kitchen. Bodhi searched Hannah’s face. “How are you holding up?”
“This morning I was analyzing a supersweet corn line for fungal sensitivity. Now I’m hunkered down in a safe house with two federal agents, the chief of police, and a forensic pathologist hiding from a murderous Russian spy. In between, I identified a corpse. So to be honest, not so well.”
There wasn’t much to say to that. But everyone wants to know they’ve been heard, so he tried.
“I know it’s difficult. And I’m sure seeing your friend in that condition was upsetting.”
She nodded mutely.
“You’re safe here. And I do know how a day can go sideways on you. I just found out that a monk I know set that big fire at Mark Olson’s farm.”
“Intentionally?”
“Yes.”
She let out a small hiss of breath. “Does Supra Seed know?”
“Yes. After Chief Clark called for an officer to take him to the county jail to be processed, she talked to your company’s security team.”
“Was it Feng? The guy from the gardening group?”
“Yes.”
Bodhi’s heart was heavy. Feng had confessed right away. He’d told Chief Clark that as a former insurance adjuster he knew which accelerant would start the fire quickly and help it spread widely. She’d advised him of his Miranda rights, but he’d wanted to talk.
“I’m sorry.” Hannah put a hand on his arm.
“Thank you. Let’s eat before the pizza gets cold.”
They joined the others around Chief Clark’s solid oak table.
“That one’s got vegan cheese,” Clausen said, pointing with her beer bottle. “After Thurman and I checked out of our motel rooms, we had to go all the way over to the college to find a vegan pizza, so I hope it’s good.”
“Beer?” Thurman offered.
“None for me.” Bodhi took a plate and a slice of pizza.
Hannah accepted a bottle and took the seat next to the chief.
They ate quickly and with little conversation. After the meal, Thurman and Chief Clark went outside to move all three vehicles—his, hers, and Hannah’s—into the big barn out back. There was no need to advertise that the chief had company.
While Hannah took her bag to the room she’d be sharing with Clausen, Bodhi and Clausen cleared the table and loaded the dishwasher.
“I’m telling her about San. She needs to know. Do you want to be there to make sure I don’t say anything classified?” he said to Clausen in a low voice.
She turned from the sink. “You don’t know anything classified. But I don’t think you should tell her.”
“Agent—”
“I’m not sure if you’re thinking with your big head or your little head, but she’s not telling us everything she knows.”
Bodhi felt his temper rising, recognized his anger, and then acknowledged that he was attracted to Hannah. He paused to search his conscience. No, he wanted to tell her because her friend had been murdered because he was a spy. She deserved to know the truth.
Clausen was watching him.
He gave her a level look. “I’m not going to lie to her by omission. Your partner agrees with me, by the way.”
She shrugged. “Suit yourself. I warned you.”
Footsteps sounded in the hallway then Hannah appeared in the doorway. “Do you two need any help?”
“We’re finished. If anyone needs me, I’ll be in the chief’s study. She said I could work on breaking the code in there.” Clausen filled the dishwasher with detergent and started the cycle then left the room.
“I don’t think she likes me,” Hannah said.
“She’s just not a very warm person,” Bodhi answered.
Hannah smiled. “Not very warm? More like frozen.”
“Can we talk for a minute?”
Her smile wobbled. “Sure. But, what code is she trying to break?”
“That’s what I want to talk to you about.”
She pulled her shoulders back as if she expected a blow. “Okay.”
“There’s no easy way to say this. Zhang San was a spy.”
She said nothing, just watched his face with big eyes.
“He was working for the Chinese government. The NCSC believes he was trying to reverse engineer the makeup of Maize46 and how to best grow it. I’m sorry, Hannah. He was probably using you.”
She shook her head. “No. That’s not right. He wasn’t.”
Bodhi paused. Of course he was. But he let the comment pass unchallenged.
“Gavriil Fyodorovych was working on behalf of the Russian government in an effort to get the same information. He killed your friend to get his hands on a diary or journal that was written in code. I found it in the basement of the monk’s farmhouse.”
“You have it?”
“Yes. Agent Clausen is an expert in manual decryption. She’s trying to find out what it says. But that’s why we have to be so careful. Fyodorovych is willing to kill for that book. And he knows we have it. And we have to assume he knows you had a connection with Zhang San.”
Hannah closed her eyes and sagged against the wall.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Hannah couldn’t face Bodhi anymore.
Correction, she told herself, she couldn’t face her own lies anymore.
So she mumbled something about finding a book to read and escaped into the study. Too late, she remembered Agent Clausen was working at Chief Clark’s desk.
The agent was staring down at Zhang’s notebook, concentrating so fiercely that she seemed not to have noticed the door open. Hannah hesitated in the doorway, unsure what to do.
Without looking up, Clausen said, “Can I help you?”
“Oh, um, I’m sorry. I just wanted to get something to read … I forgot you were working in here. I don’t want to disturb you,” Hannah said to the top of Clausen’s wheat-colored head.
“Too late.”
A wave of irritation stirred inside Hannah. “Why don’t you like me? What have I done to you?”
Clausen put down her pencil and marked her place with her finger. Her pale blue eyes seemed to see right through Hannah.
“Since we’re not in seventh grade, I’m not dignifying your first question with an answer, Ms. Lin. As to the second, it’s not what you’ve done to me. It’s what you haven’t done.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Really? So you’ve been completely forthcoming about your Chinese friend?”
Hannah’s cheeks blazed. “Bodhi just told me you think he was a Chinese intelligence agent.”
“I think that because he was one. And I don’t believe that you’re as
innocent as you pretend to be.”
Hannah’s heart jumped in her chest. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Well, for starters, anyone who knows even the most rudimentary Mandarin knows that Zhang San isn’t anyone’s name.”
Clausen’s eyes drilled into her. Hannah tried to speak but her throat was dry. She coughed and tried again.
“It is so.”
“It’s a placeholder name, Ms. Lin. It’s the Chinese equivalent of ‘John Doe.’”
“You know Mandarin?”
“I know enough to know that’s not a real name.”
Hannah exhaled. What the woman said was true, but what she was about to say also true.
“I swear to you, that’s the name he gave me. It’s the only name I know him by.”
Clausen searched her face. Hannah tried to keep her expression neutral and wondered if Clausen found what she was looking for.
The agent returned her attention to her work. Hannah stood there feeling stupid.
After a moment, Clausen looked up again.
She waved a hand at the bookcases. “Well, go ahead and pick out some reading material.”
Hannah walked over to the shelves, trying not to make any noise.
She kept her eyes on the spines of Chief Clark’s book collection and asked, “Do you need any help with the code? I mean … I do know some Chinese. If you want …”
“No thanks.”
Hannah nodded and grabbed a memoir at random.
She craved Agent Clausen’s approval, which was pathetic. She didn’t know the woman. She also wanted to see herself as a good person. She tried to be a good person. But, deep in her heart, she knew she wasn’t.
She fled with her book before Agent Clausen could see the tears shining in her eyes.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Bette and Bodhi sat on the back porch. He was looking up at the stars. She was staring down into her vodka tonic.
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