Choke Points

by Trevor Scott

  Then she finally saw the businessman come in, followed by a third security officer. Wu was taking no chances. He came directly to her table against the wall and sat down across from her. The rich businessman was short in stature, but had let himself gain flab in all the wrong places.

  The two of them had never officially met, but they had attended official embassy functions in the past her in Lisbon.

  Wu studied her carefully and said, “Chen Fang. Nice to finally meet you. Beijing is happy with your work here in Lisbon.”

  “Thank you, sir,” she said, bowing her head slightly.

  “Dublin went as planned,” Wu said.

  She had not heard anything about the other operations the night before. Her direct responsibility was with activities in this country. Dublin was handled out of their Ireland embassy. She said, “That’s good to hear.”

  While they had talked, a member of Wu’s crew had gotten him a cappuccino, which he set in front of his boss now before taking up a position on the end of the counter with a great view of his boss and the front door.

  Wu sipped his coffee, set the cup back in the saucer, and said, “There was a problem in the Azores last night.”

  Finally, this started to make sense. She had not heard from the strike team leader for an update, and his phone went directly to voice mail.

  “How so?” she asked.

  “All four were killed,” Wu said, and then waited for her reaction.

  “That’s unfortunate.”

  “Yes, it is. How is this possible?”

  “I don’t know, sir. We sent four of our best people to take out two former intelligence officers.”

  “Yet, they still failed.”

  She watched the former general sip down much of his coffee as she tried to come up with a response.

  Instead, Wu said, “You underestimated these people. Especially Jake Adams. We dealt with him in our home country years ago. Somehow, he evaded the entire PRC Army, escaping with vital intelligence. Maybe you should have sent more men.”

  “Did this man and woman escape unharmed?” she asked.

  “We believe so,” Wu said. “But we might have a way to track them.”

  “Give me another chance,” she pled.

  Wu tried his version of a smile, which seemed to pain him greatly. Then he said, “I usually only give one chance. But since you were not in the Azores to personally fail, I could allow one more chance.”

  “This is more than fair, General Wu.”

  He drank the last of his cappuccino and set the cup down gently. “I am no longer a general, Miss Chen. I am a simple businessman.”

  There was nothing simple about this man, she knew. Wu could have her reassigned to any hell-hole in the world, or have her killed for incompetence. She had heard the stories.

  Wu got up and almost left without saying anything else. But he stopped and said, “We will be in contact and let you know how to find this man. I want him dead.”

  “And his girlfriend?”

  He shrugged. “Her too. Use extreme measures.”

  Just as quickly as he had arrived, Wu Li Jin slipped out of the coffee shop like a newspaper in the wind, his men scurrying after him.

  She had somehow contained her anger while the important man had been in her presence. But now she was having a difficult containing herself. How had her men failed so miserably? She would not fail. That man was as good as dead. So was his whore.

  7

  Over the Atlantic

  Jake had been dead on his feet by the time they got to the airport on Terceira Island and climbed into the Gulfstream jet. The flight from Terceira Island to Porto, Portugal was about a thousand miles and would take only a couple of hours.

  Sitting in his plush white chair, he glanced at Sirena and her Mossad friend, Bayla Ganz. Both were sleeping in their chairs, having dozed off almost immediately after take-off. Jake knew he should have been resting also, considering the long transit in the fishing boat between Pico and Terceira Islands. But he couldn’t get his mind off of the events of the last twenty-four hours. What were the Chinese up to? And why did they care about Jake and Sirena, who were no longer in the spy game officially.

  Just as he had gotten on the jet at Lajes Field, Jake had texted his contact at the CIA, the director himself, John Bradford. They had a lot of history, and he wanted to let the man know that he had been attacked on Pico, forcing him to kill the Chinese intelligence officers. There was a slight chance that the Chinese had attacked him based on an old case he had run years ago, but that was a remote chance. It was more likely that somehow these attackers had tracked Sirena back from her meeting with her Mossad friend.

  His phone buzzed and he saw on the screen that his call was coming from a pizza place in Duluth, Minnesota. He smiled, knowing who was calling instinctively.

  Answering his secure SAT phone, Jake said, “I see you’re still in the pizza game, Kurt.”

  Kurt Jenkins had once worked for Jake in the CIA. But Jake had left the Agency and Kurt had worked his way up the chain, eventually becoming the CIA director. John Bradford had taken over the job from Kurt, who had retired restlessly.

  “Officially retired,” Kurt said. “But when John calls me and says an old friend might be in trouble, I decide to go for one more slice.”

  Jake glanced about the cabin and the two ladies were still asleep. “He briefed you on my situation.”

  “Sure did. Something about eliminating a threat with extreme prejudice.”

  “You know I’m an equal opportunity kind of guy,” Jake said. “Someone comes into my house shooting and they can expect to discover if God exists.”

  “They were probably Buddhists.”

  “They didn’t seem too enlightened,” Jake said. “Probably Taoists.”

  Kurt chuckled on the other end. “We need to talk more often.”

  “You should have come fishing in the Azores. Now I’m burned there. How’s your wife and my kids?”

  “Ha, ha. That never gets old. Can we get to the point?”

  Jake checked his watch and realized that it was after midnight in Kurt’s location. “You called me.”

  “Right. Well, the Agency is concerned about all the moves the Chinese are making.”

  “Same here. We should have never let go of our base at Lajes Field.”

  “I agree. That came from the White House. Former administration.”

  “I know. But that’s not their only interest in the Azores,” Jake said. “Their move into Santa Maria Island has nothing to do with satellite missile launches.”

  “The Agency suspects that much,” Kurt said. “They’re working that area.”

  “What’s to work? Portugal is a NATO country. That’s like us basing missiles on Hainan Island.”

  “Or Taiwan,” Kurt said.

  “The Chinese haven’t owned Taiwan for seventy years.”

  “I know. But they have great memories and patience looking forward.”

  That was the problem with American politicians, Jake thought. They only thought in two-year political cycles. He glanced at his sleeping girlfriend before casting his gaze upon the Mossad officer, who seemed to be less content in her slumber.

  Finally, Jake asked, “What do you want me to do?”

  “Who says the Agency wants anything?”

  “Because if they didn’t want something, John Bradford would have called me himself,” Jake said. “This way, you get to play messenger boy and the CIA director gets plausible deniability.”

  “It’s not like that, Jake.”

  Yeah, it was always like that. “What does John want me to do?”

  Hesitation on the other end of the line. Finally, Kurt said, “Have you heard about what’s going on in Venezuela?”

  “It’s a shit-storm like every other failed socialist communist utopia. What about it?”

  “The Chinese are basing long-range strategic bombers on an island off the coast.”

  “I read about that online. Back in
the day that would have been considered an act of war, if not a huge provocation.”

  “I know. Americans are more concerned about how they look in selfies and how many likes they get in social media. They have no stomach for reality.”

  Kurt Jenkins was preaching to the choir. But what did the man really want from Jake?

  “Listen,” Jake said. “We land soon and I really need to drain the lizard. Can you get to the point?”

  “I should have known better than to try to soft shoe the issue,” Kurt said. “Anyway, our friends would like you to dig into the Chinese.”

  Jake laughed under his breath. “Seriously? The Agency has enough officers to fill a football stadium. Why do they need an old beat-up guy like me?”

  Hesitation on the other end.

  “You want this off-the-books,” Jake surmised.

  “Maybe. John thinks he might be on his way out with this new administration. He keeps on briefing what they know of the Chinese actions, and he gets shot down on nearly everything.”

  That’s because it was hard to make waves with the people who supplied cheap cars and TVs, Jake thought.

  “What’s the plan?” Jake asked.

  “Then you’re in?”

  “Provisionally. I’m not an Agency puppet anymore. You tell me how high to jump and I’ll tell you to go fuck yourself. We do this my way. Information flows from the Agency to me, and I’ll give my intel in due time. Understand?”

  “Of course,” Kurt said.

  “Compensation?”

  “I thought you didn’t need that anymore.”

  “Are you fucking kidding me? The government pays for shrimp on a treadmill, so they can sure as hell throw some money my way. I’ve got a daughter who needs a college fund.”

  None of this was true, of course. Jake had already placed enough money in investments to send Emma to any college in America beyond the master’s degree level. She was set, but he needed some money flowing into his off-shore accounts to keep the bastards honest.

  “I’ll let them know,” Kurt said.

  “I’ll secure text my account and routing numbers,” Jake said. This account had been set up to accept money from the Spanish billionaire, Carlos Gomez. The incoming money sat in that bank less than a few minutes before it automatically split into smaller denominations and was wired into multiple off-shore accounts in Andorra, Lichtenstein, Luxemburg, Panama and Belize. He even had a small amount going into a Canadian bank to support his persona there, automatically paying off his Canadian credit card.

  Kurt Jenkins explained briefly what they wanted from Jake, but he left out any details. Jake guessed the Agency wanted him to come up with his own conclusions. Finally, that made some sense.

  “Jake, be careful,” Kurt said. “The Chinese are getting reckless. They’re like the Russians in the nineteen fifties. Their intel officers are getting more and more brutal.”

  Jake already knew this after the incident his son had experienced going up against the Chinese recently in Boston.

  Jake hung up and went back to the bathroom. When he was finished, he opened the door and nearly ran into the Mossad officer.

  She leaned into Jake and said, “Don’t trust anyone.”

  “What?”

  Bayla Ganz squeezed past Jake and whispered, “Not everything is as it seems. Trust will get you killed.”

  Then the Israeli woman seemed to undress Jake with her eyes as she closed the bathroom door.

  He shook his head and went back to his seat.

  Sirena swiveled her head to Jake and said, “Did she ask you for a three-way?”

  “No. Why do you say that?”

  Shrugging and closing her eyes, Sirena said, “Because she asked me if you might be into that.”

  “And you said?”

  “I’m not your wife.”

  It was back to that subject. They had discussed marriage, but both of them thought it wasn’t necessary. They loved each other. Would die for each other. What more could they get from a license?

  He left it alone. With age came the wisdom to know when to keep his mouth shut.

  8

  Porto, Portugal

  The Gulfstream circled over the city of Porto at the mouth of the Douro River, the mid-day sun sparkling off the Atlantic Ocean.

  They landed and taxied toward the private operations building at the far edge of the flight line area.

  “Looks like a nice city,” the Mossad officer said. “Too bad we won’t be here long.”

  Jake glanced at Sirena with uncertainty.

  Sirena said, “I got authorization to accompany Bayla back to her homeland.”

  “It’s your homeland as well,” Bayla reminded Sirena.

  Shrugging, Sirena said, “I haven’t considered it that for a long time.”

  “Home never changes,” the Israeli officer said. “The only thing that changes is where you hang your clothes.”

  Sirena smiled and said, “Well, all my clothes are stuffed into a go bag. So, what does that say about me?”

  “That’s temporary,” Bayla said, touching her friend on the hand.

  The jet came to a halt and the three of them unbuckled their seat belts.

  Jake stood and stretched. His gaze shifted forward at the Spanish flight attendant who had been with the Gomez organization since Jake arrived on the scene. She gave him a smile and shifted her head toward the cabin door.

  “What’s the plan?” Jake asked Sirena and the Mossad officer.

  “We go to Israel and regroup,” Bayla said.

  Jake gave Sirena a long hug and whispered, “We’ll find a new home soon. Let me work on that.”

  “Not so isolated this time,” Sirena said. “It’s not good for you.”

  He knew she was right. His isolation had been a major problem. His drinking had gotten out of control again. And why? Jake couldn’t explain it. Maybe his age was catching up on him, and he had no reason for longevity. Well, he had his daughter Emma in Montana, and his son Karl, who was so deep undercover in Russia that Jake was concerned daily about his safety.

  “We’ll be around more people,” Jake assured Sirena. Then he pulled away from her and pointed at Bayla. “Don’t get her killed.”

  The Israeli put her hands in the air. “I’ll do my best.”

  Without prompting, Bayla gave Jake a big hug and then kissed him traditionally on both cheeks. The Mossad officer left the aircraft and went out onto the sunny tarmac.

  Jake now had Sirena alone for a moment out of earshot of the pilots and the flight attendant up front.

  “Don’t let her draw you into something precarious,” Jake said.

  “It’s strictly surveillance,” Sirena said.

  “Why does she need you?”

  “She trusts me.”

  “And she doesn’t trust her Mossad friends?”

  Sirena considered this question carefully. “She had reported her contact with me in the Azores. Bayla is concerned that either her communications had been compromised, or someone at the Mossad had given up our position on Pico Island.”

  “How did she know where we lived?” he asked.

  “She was going to come visit us during a Hanukkah break, remember?”

  Yeah, he had temporarily forgotten about that. But it still didn’t make sense to him. “What did she tell the Mossad about us?”

  “They already know about me,” Sirena said.

  “I hope they don’t know everything.”

  “They know enough.”

  “What about me?”

  She touched him on the chest. “They probably have a vague idea about your CIA activities during the rotary telephone period.” Sirena held back a smile.

  “Now that hurts, girl.”

  Sirena kissed him long and hard on the lips. Then she pulled back and said, “When are you going to tell me about the phone call you got on the jet?”

  He glanced out one of the windows and saw that Bayla was waiting on the tarmac for Sirena. “It wasn’t o
ur organization. It was Kurt Jenkins.”

  “Kurt? Why? Isn’t he out of the game?”

  “Obviously, none of us are really out. Not if they can exploit our expertise.”

  “Which area would that include?” she asked.

  “Discretion and lack of accountability.”

  She pointed her finger at his chest. “They will hang you out to dry, Jake.”

  He knew what he was getting into. “I’m concerned about my son. If I don’t play ball with the Agency, they can make his life difficult.”

  Sirena moved closer and whispered, “How much more can they do to him. He’s already undercover as an SVR officer. Nobody from the west has ever gotten inside.”

  “I know. But we plan to find out why the Chinese attacked us anyway, so we might as well make some money investigating.”

  She nodded agreement. “They’re paying you this time.”

  “Big time.”

  “You know that with our investments and my future Agency pension we can live anywhere in the world quite well.”

  He knew. Now he kissed her forehead and then her lips. “You be careful.”

  “It should be just a few days,” she said. “What will you do?”

  “I assume I’ll be meeting with Gomez and see what he has planned. He’s been complaining about the Chinese and their business practices for years.”

  “If you need me, I’ll be only a couple of hours away.”

  He nodded his understanding.

  Sirena continued, “We understand the crew needs to eat and they need to fuel the jet. There’s supposed to be a nice deli inside. Join us.”

  “I can’t. I think I just have enough time to get to my meeting with Gomez. They’re sending a car.”

  She rubbed her hand on his forearm. “Alright. Take care.”

  “You too.”

  He watched Sirena leave the jet and meet up with her Mossad friend. The two of them could be sisters, he thought.

  Jake went to the front and met up with the flight crew and the flight attendant. “What’s up?” he asked the Spanish woman.