Clear Skies

by A. M. Murray

  “Okay. This looks a lot like an illicit sale of military aircraft secrets, and at that price, it must be high-level information.”

  “Yes, but Palmer’s husband heads up the company, and Hewitt is his trusted assistant.” Miles rejoined the discussion. “Why would he sell out his own company?”

  “That’s a good question, and we need to answer it soon.” Slade paused to reflect for a moment. “This could have grave consequences for the US defense sector. I’ll call Bill Deacon and get HQ to check our level of technological exposure to BFI technologies. If the US is at risk, it could make us vulnerable to the Chinese.”

  Slade was about to end the call when Fontaine jumped in again. “I spent some extra time onboard the Chevalier after the cleaners left, and downloaded the recorded history of its integrated navigation system. I’ve forwarded it to Alex already. It could tell us where they went. And one more thing—the Palmers installed cameras in four sleeping cabins, where I assume their Chinese guests were accommodated. They’d concealed the devices seamlessly in the ceiling light fittings over the beds. I nearly missed them.”

  “The Palmer couple’s insurance for whatever they’re selling to the Chinese. Pay up, or we’ll spill the beans,” Slade said.

  The conversation over, Slade knocked on Roche’s door. He brought him up to speed on the briefings from Miles and Fontaine, including the earlier startling revelation about Isa.

  Roche’s eyebrows shot up. “You’ve got to be kidding me. I don’t believe it. Now we know why she insisted on joining us here. She’s one of us but works for a different taskmaster from another angle. The computer she has with her here is clean, by the way. Nothing to raise an eyebrow in her communication links, either open or encrypted, even in reconstructed deleted material dating back two months.”

  Roche brought up a screen on his computer showing an email exchange between Chloe and Isa.

  “Relevant emails are requests like this under Carol Palmer’s name for Isa to work and Isa’s replies of confirmation.”

  Slade breathed a little easier. “Can you look into how the Chinese managed to bring so much cash into Europe for the gambling scam?”

  “Now that we have a name, I’ll check immigration records at Nice and Paris airports to see when they arrived,” Roche replied.

  “I assume that a megayacht like the Chevalier has to register its course with port authorities before it departs. See if you can check the course it took on each of its trips to look for any common factors in the journeys.”

  “Fontaine sent me useful data earlier. I’ll get on it now.”

  Back in his room, Slade called Bill Deacon and reported his suspicions about leakage of BFI aeronautical defense data and the potential for a disastrous impact on the US.

  “I’ll ask one of our researchers to investigate this tomorrow morning.” Deacon paused. “Do you know what time it is here?”

  “Sorry, but we have a highly fluid situation here, and the sooner we have information, the better.”

  “The DOD and DIA are likely to be tight-lipped and deny any connection with Isa Kato. They’re not usually consultative with us. What does Kato say about it?”

  “We haven’t discussed it yet. That’s next on my list of things to do in about five minutes.”

  CHAPTER 21

  (Saturday Night— Monte Carlo)

  Slade glanced at Isa’s computer screen displaying RailEurope’s website.

  “I just reserved a seat on tomorrow morning’s seven-two train from Monaco Station to Paris and the twenty-thirteen Eurostar to London,” she said. “That’ll give me seven hours in Paris for research.”

  Slade raised an eyebrow.

  “Fashion research. I plan to visit Chanel’s iconic boutique in Kambon Street and a bunch of other fashion houses to see what’s trending in Europe right now.”

  “I’ll go with you to the station,” Slade said. “It’s only a five-minute walk from here, but I’m concerned about the Tokyo killer. He’s in France.” He summarized Makino’s report. “You’ll need to watch your back in Paris and London since we won’t be with you for a day or two.”

  “I won’t be alone in London. I’ll be working with Ono’s entourage to prepare her runway show.” Isa reached out to touch his arm in reassurance, her hand lingering a moment longer than necessary.

  Slade took Isa’s hand and pulled her into his arms, his attraction to her sweeping away controlled reason. Despite learning of her professional training as an Aculeus agent, he still viewed her as vulnerable and needing support.

  His emotions roiled, but he managed to push her back an arm’s length. The easiest way to broach a difficult topic, Slade knew, was fast. And objectively.

  “Isa, we have to talk. You haven’t been honest with me.”

  Her brow furrowed and an unsettling emotion sped across her face at his physical rejection before she regained her composure. He led her to sit on the edge of the bed.

  “Fontaine received a report from HQ. It seems your skills run to more than fashion design and part-time maid duties. Rather than repeat what I know from that report, I want to hear the truth from you.” Slade noted that Isa now sat rigid. She remained silent for a few moments before she spoke.

  “I can’t say anything. I signed a non-disclosure agreement with a higher authority than you. If I infringe the terms of my agreement, I’ll be liable for prosecution and incarceration, probably even without a fair trial,” Isa said without her usual defensive attitude.

  “I know you work for a private defense contractor. Their authority does not outrank the FBI’s.”

  “A senior official of the DIA countersigned my contract, not the private contractor. I answer to the upper echelons of power in government.”

  “Look, we’re both connected to the Tokyo killings. You discovered Palmer’s body and had links to all three victims. Tokyo CIB assigned me to find the killer, and the FBI has tasked me to unearth what’s lurking behind the murders. And we both work for clandestine organizations that serve our country—me for the FBI and you, at least indirectly, for the DIA.”

  Slade sat on the bed beside her. “Come on, spit it out. With greater trust and collaboration, we can achieve more.”

  Isa remained impassive, prompting him to add, “I also need to know your capabilities and how well you can protect yourself. And how effectively you can provide me with backup if I need it.”

  Still, Isa did not speak.

  Slade, semi-paralyzed by the still of silence, shifted uneasily and braced himself for her response to his next comment.

  “And to be brutally honest, the Tokyo CIB and Makino in particular still view you as a promising suspect in the Tokyo murders. The evidence is ambiguous enough to implicate your involvement in some capacity. Honesty and cooperation will help me ease his concerns and bring both of us closer to delivering answers to our respective employers.”

  Isa, her face unreadable, stared at her feet, motionless for several hour-long minutes. He did not speak or try to force a response any further. An even heavier silence crept through the room, and he wondered for a while if her mind had slammed shut like a prison door.

  But then she spoke.

  “All right.” She looked everywhere except at Slade’s eyes before speaking again with palpable reluctance.

  “I trust you. You deserve that.” She paused and another period of silence overwhelmed the space between them before she spoke again.

  “Despite the circumstances and pressure on you from the Tokyo CIB, you’ve trusted and protected me. And I believe—or hope—you feel a bond of understanding and attraction between us, just as I do,” she said.

  Slade’s heart skipped a beat, and he felt childishly pleased. He stretched out on the bed and placed an oversized pillow between his back and the headboard and put another beside him. He patted the bed and took her hand. “Sit here beside me. I’m all ears.”

  Isa stretched out beside him, and he kissed her forehead, surprising them both. He pulled her hair
back raising her face and kissed her lips lightly at first, then with increasing passion when he sensed her response.

  This time, Isa ended the moment.

  “You want my story. Let’s keep feelings and sex out of it until you’ve heard what I have to say,” she said. “It started with my sister. I assume you know about that already.”

  Slade nodded. “A little.”

  “Problems with Naomi sped out of control in high school. She was the quintessential teenage rebel, and I was the good kid. Because of this, our parents focused their attention on me, which, I can see in hindsight, made things worse.”

  Isa continued, her narrative coming faster the more she talked. Slade did not interrupt. Questions on points needing clarification could come later.

  “By the time Naomi left high school, she had a drug problem, had aborted a pregnancy, and physically attacked our parents in fits of alcohol- and drug-fueled rage. She escaped arrest a few times for minor pilfering from shops.” Isa lapsed into silence again for a few moments as if trying to pick up the thread of her account before continuing.

  “After several stints in a rehabilitation facility, she entered college and obtained an accounting qualification. I’d already graduated from college and worked as a PA for a small business owner, a job I hated, by the way. This was the period when our parents died, a year apart, as I told you in Tokyo.”

  This was one of the few facts about her life that she had explained in Tokyo, Slade reflected while her narrative continued.

  “My parents left our family’s assets to me, part of the cash for immediate access and most held in a trust fund until I turn thirty-five. Their house is on the shores of Seattle’s Puget Sound, and it’s been in my mother’s family for two generations—three, now that it’s passed to me.”

  “It must be a high-value property,” Slade said.

  “Yes. So I decided to leave my job and study for a formal qualification in fashion design. The cash legacy paid for my course, and I rented out the house for income while I studied full time.” Isa paused. She seemed uncertain about how to continue.

  “How did Naomi react to that?” asked Slade.

  “She took exclusion from the will badly. She broke off contact and has not spoken to me since, even though I’ve tried many times to reach out and discuss sharing the legacy.” Isa fell into a prolonged period of introspection again.

  “Is that all?” Slade broke the uncomfortable silence.

  “No, of course not.” Isa’s hands shook. “It’s just that my memories are painful. I feel responsible for her death and should have done more. Naomi got herself into trouble at her workplace and never threw off her drug habit entirely. My involvement in resolving problems she created for herself was, and still is, classified information. I never told her about it, and now she’ll never know.”

  Isa hesitated. “And I’m left wondering if I made the right decision. She’s dead, perhaps as a result of it. I don’t know why she came to Tokyo, but I feel it’s my fault.” Isa stopped again.

  She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and twisted on the bed to face him. “Please understand. This is difficult,” she said.

  “Take your time to tell me about it.”

  Slade took her hand and stroked the back of her fingers with his thumb, partly in an attempt to keep her calm and talking and, if he were honest with himself, partly from affection.

  Isa took a deep breath and leaned back on Slade’s shoulder. “What follows is based on what the DIA and Aculeus told me, because Naomi and I were not communicating,” she said before resuming her account.

  CHAPTER 22

  (Saturday Night— Monte Carlo)

  “Naomi landed a job in the accounting department of American Aeronautics Corporation and moved to Bethesda, Maryland.”

  Slade listened and mentally ticked off what he knew about AAC. A corporate giant and major supplier of US military fighter planes, the company collaborated with BFI, which supplied designs and know-how, while AAC and its affiliated firms manufactured the aircraft. Slade knew that AAC had become dependent on BFI for state-of-the-art technology over the past twenty years.

  Isa’s voice penetrated his thoughts, bringing him back to her narrative.

  “After she joined AAC, Naomi was responsible for some of the accounting files related to business with AAC’s partner, BFI,” she said. “Frankly, I was stunned to learn they’d entrusted her with accounting for a key partner in such a sensitive sector. She was not experienced, trustworthy, nor even soundly rehabilitated, and her qualifications were not top-notch. A simple background check would have presented the risk.” Isa paused to pull hair back from her face. “She soon developed a romantic interest. Her boyfriend moved in, and she started using drugs again, presumably under his influence. He was away for long periods, and Naomi needed money to pay for her worsening habit.”

  “So let me guess. She embezzled from the company,” Slade said.

  Isa nodded. “Apparently, she set up a bogus special purpose account to siphon money from AAC’s bank accounts through trumped-up payments to BFI; not too much, just enough to support her drug habit. A few months later, her supervisor learned about the embezzlement and called the police to investigate.”

  “So things went from bad to worse, fast.” Slade squeezed Isa’s hand.

  “The police were ready to lay charges against Naomi when the DIA contacted me. In return for a contract with me specifying certain services as an employee of DIA’s close associate, Aculeus, they promised to have charges against Naomi dropped and her file sealed. They guaranteed they would rehabilitate her in an institution and then find her a secure job without responsibilities in a call center. Naturally, Naomi accepted the terms and conditions as an alternative to the usual criminal process, but the DIA did not tell her about my involvement. If she’d known, I’m certain she would have refused.”

  An unconventional offer, but not one Isa could have refused.

  “I don’t think many people would have signed their life away like that.”

  “At the time, I wanted to be able to look back at my life in my eighties and say I’d done the right thing. It was the least I could do for her,” Isa said, her eyes intense.

  “I’m cynical when it comes to our clandestine services and especially contractors like Aculeus,” Slade said. “Ethics get shoved in a corner during the planning phase of an operation. Naomi’s indiscretion sounds like it could have been a set-up. Maybe the boyfriend was a DIA or Aculeus plant and the job created to entrap her in a false-flag-style crime. The entire incident could have been manipulated to ensnare you. She might even have been innocent. Did that occur to you?”

  “No, not with her background. Although when you put it like that, I agree it’s possible.”

  “So the question is, why did they want you?”

  Slade jumped up and poured mineral water from the minibar into a glass.

  “How about whiskey to go with that?” He poured several shots into the water and a similar amount into another glass, straight, for himself. They drank together in silence, and he waited for the alcohol to work its way into her bloodstream.

  “The DIA folks really did their homework. They wanted to monitor BFI’s activity in Japan and knew I speak Japanese and can live comfortably there. They also discovered that I’d been a college acquaintance of the older Harris sister, Chloe, whom, I was told, would soon marry BFI’s president.”

  Slade raised an eyebrow. “I assume your sister lacked fluency in Japanese and didn’t know the Harris family. Is that why they leveraged you rather than your sister?”

  “That and her weak character. She rejected the Japanese language as a kick-out at Dad. We went to different colleges at different times, and she rarely spent time at home. She never met the Harris sisters.”

  Isa took a deep breath before continuing.

  “My DIA contact said the US embassy in Japan picked up disturbing intelligence from a Japanese military industry insider. Japan’s Minist
ry of Defense published a procurement offer for a new fighter plane fleet, and they will choose the most competitive bidder. The word filtering through to the embassy was that BFI intended supplying all its proprietary technical information to Japan under the table to sweeten its tender.”

  “I know,” Slade said.

  “This would tilt the offer so much in BFI’s favor that their bid would win hands-down. The Embassy was concerned about distorted competition and reported the intelligence to the US Commercial Service’s International Trade Administration. They gave the DIA a heads-up on the security aspects of the probable deal.”

  Slade knew the US military industry’s policy was to submit tenders and enter contracts for manufactured equipment and software without releasing anything but minimum levels of technical data. If BFI were to supply a full set of proprietary data, it would place US aeronautics companies at an extreme disadvantage in the bidding process.

  But of more significant concern to the DIA would have been that most US military aircraft used BFI’s black-box technology through the tie-up with AAC. Confidentiality of the technology was assured through tightly stitched non-disclosure agreements. Technology transfer to other major nations would compromise US security if any future adversarial situation escalated to military conflict.

  “Let me hazard another guess,” Slade said. “The DIA narrowed down the problem to Richard Palmer and his wife because her activities in Japan had all the earmarks of a front for something more sinister.”

  “Yes. I was told the DIA wanted to insert an agent into the couple’s personal circle in Japan to monitor their activities.” Isa held her hands out in front of her, stared at her nails and went on. “By taking on this relatively harmless, clandestine role, I would be able to help Naomi.”

  “What happened after you signed on?”

  “I received a month’s crash course in Aculeus’s training center. My father taught me to shoot as a teenager, and I’d worked out regularly at a local gym—I still do—so physical training was brief. They focused on infiltration and surveillance techniques.”