Chasing the White Lion

by James R. Hannibal

  When the explosion blew the door from its hinges, one guard was knocked back. Another tried to run out, but Thet Ye heard a shout and a smack, and the second guard flew back the same distance as his friend. A huge white man followed him in, and then another man and a woman. They let no one leave until a guard gave them the keys to the cages. Only one guard attempted to raise his weapon. Instead of shooting him, the big man strode up and punched him in the nose.

  With the keys in hand, the white men and the woman let the other adults go, although Thet Ye heard shouts of surprise and a buzzing and popping as soon as they ran through the door. In the next moment, a dozen little flying machines entered the warehouse.

  The boys in the cages clamored for help, and the big man spoke sweetly to them as he unlocked the cages. His smaller friend ushered the boys out of the building in groups. As they ran, the woman walked along the line, calling a name that made Thet Ye’s heart skip.

  “Hla Meh?”

  Thet Ye bolted the moment the big man unlocked his cage. He dodged the arms of the smaller man and ran to the woman. “Hla Meh!”

  The woman scrunched her face in disbelief, as if unsure she’d heard right.

  He said it again, nodding. “Hla Meh. She’s my best friend!”

  The woman didn’t understand his Thai, but the message was clear. They were both looking for the same girl. Then the woman performed a miracle. She pulled out a phone—Thet Ye had seen many before—and showed him his father. Not a picture, or a recording, but his real father, speaking to him in earnest.

  “Thet Ye.” His father struggled to speak.

  Another man appeared beside him, the man who had visited Thet Ye’s parents before he joined the school. “Thet Ye, this woman is Miss Talia. She is looking for the girls. Do you know where they are?”

  “No, I—” Beyond the phone and Miss Talia, he spied the teenage guard. The older boy had not left his place on the floor, knees to his chest. Miss Talia’s friends had overlooked him in the confusion. “I know who does.”

  Thet Ye led Miss Talia to the teenager, and the older boy’s eyes grew wide with fear. Covering him with her gun, Miss Talia tore his weapon away and shouted questions in English.

  The teenager only lowered his gaze.

  Miss Talia grew impatient. She lifted him to his feet, asking again, stern and insistent.

  “Mai chai, mai chai.” No, no. Thet Ye shook his head and waved his hands to stop her. Pastor Nakor had shown him another way. He pushed between them and laid a hand on the boy’s arm. “You don’t have to be afraid anymore. Look around you.” He nodded at the two unconscious guards. “They are finished. You are not their slave anymore. You do not have to be like them.”

  The teenager met his eyes.

  Thet Ye saw him daring to hope. “Yes. You are free. God has done this for you. But he wants the girls to live. Please, tell us where the soldiers took them.”

  “The girls are here.”

  His answer made no sense.

  At Thet Ye’s confused look, the teen pointed at the back wall, entirely engulfed in flame. “There is a second room, with access from the other side.”

  A second room. The back wall was a divider between the two halves of the warehouse, built of wood and paint like the inside of the camp church. Hla Meh had been near him the whole time.

  The fire had opened a gap in the center of the wall, filled with swirling smoke. Thet Ye told the man on the screen what the boy had said, and the man told Miss Talia. And while she spoke in earnest with her friends, Thet Ye stared at the gap.

  “I am Thet Ye. I am Brave Life. I am not afraid of the fire.”

  He spoke the words three times, building his courage, then ran for the wall of flame.

  OUT OF THE CORNER OF HER EYE, Talia saw Thet Ye, Po’s son, break away. He rushed the wall of fire before she could stop him. He didn’t slow. He didn’t falter. He ran at full tilt, leaped through the dripping gap, and vanished.

  Talia was at full sprint by the time he jumped. She jumped three steps later. The fire licked at her arms and neck, but the flame could not hold on. She made it through and heard Finn come through after her. The boy turned and gave them an affirming nod.

  As Finn caught up to her, he snorted and coughed. “Glad to meet this little daredevil’s approval.”

  The second section of the warehouse matched the first, down to the guards and visitors.

  Eddie’s drones flowed through the gap and took them down. Talia and Finn recovered the keys from an unconscious guard and began unlocking the doors.

  Emergency services had arrived on scene. Sirens surrounded them. Water and soot rained down from above. A team of firefighters broke the door in with a battering ram.

  As the firefighter helped the girls out of the building, Talia called for the one who had brought her there. “Hla Meh!” She had to call only once. Thet Ye found the girl first. The two held hands for a few heartbeats, then clung to each other at the center of the chaos.

  CHAPTER

  EIGHTY-

  ONE

  AERION AS2

  CENTRAL UNITED STATES

  FORTY-NINE THOUSAND FEET

  FROM HIS SEAT IN THE CABIN, Finn glanced at their prisoner, who lay unconscious on a gurney in the center aisle. “He looks so peaceful when he’s sleeping.”

  “Don’t be fooled.” Talia sat across the table from him. “When he’s awake, he’s a handful. Tyler said he made a scene in front of the Thai Ranger colonel, tried to convince the man Tyler would kill him.”

  “How’d that go over?”

  “The colonel knows Tyler too well. He agreed to let us smuggle Bazin out of the country in exchange for full credit for taking down Boyd and capturing the whole pod of black-market whales in the Grand Bazaar.” She laughed. “Tyler didn’t want credit anyway, but he milked the deal. He made the colonel promise to find Lionel a proper home.”

  The colonel had gladly agreed, and his medics dressed the Russian’s wounds for travel and set up a morphine drip. Talia glanced back to check on him. She had little reason to worry. Bazin’s wrists and ankles were cuffed to the gurney rails. Darcy poked at the restraints, and Talia gave her a Stop that look.

  “What?” the chemist asked with a shrug. “I like the clinking sound they make.” Her eyes drifted over to Eddie, who swallowed and looked away.

  Talia turned back to Finn.

  He lifted his chin. “What about the Compassion kids?”

  “Ewan’s got them well in-hand. He said Compassion’s meticulous documentation procedures mean they’ll be back with their parents in a couple of days.”

  He seemed to read the however in her tone. “They weren’t all Compassion’s kids, though, were they?”

  “No. Only our thirty-four. The rest face a mountain of red tape. To both Thailand and Myanmar, they are nonentities. It’s hard to return children to their parents when those children don’t officially exist. But there’s a little hope.” She allowed herself the hint of a smile. “I know one State Department employee who will take a vested interest in this and work tirelessly on every case.”

  “Jenni.”

  She nodded.

  “You love your foster sister, don’t you?”

  “So much.”

  Finn lowered his gaze to his hands, then raised it to meet hers. “I’m glad for you. Family’s important.”

  She sensed the pain and longing in the way he said it. Talia didn’t know what to say. “I . . . have a new addition to mine. The little girl. Hla Meh. She needed a sponsor—someone to write her letters, show love and care from afar, maybe even visit her once in a while. I’m not the best at letters and such. I barely return texts and emails. Maybe you could help.”

  He smiled. “I’d like that.”

  Finn’s fingers made a motion toward hers, but Eddie slapped the table across the aisle and shot a hand in the air. “Something’s wrong. Something big.”

  The team gathered around Eddie and Darcy as the geek sent his tablet display to th
e full-wall screen. Tyler came out of the flight deck, leaving Mac to fly. “What’ve you got?”

  “A message from Franklin—the Dark Web equivalent of a dying rose left on a windowsill.” He tapped away at a keyboard attachment. “Franklin left a trail of breadcrumbs—goblin tracks. I’m following them back through the servers and . . . here.” He looked up at the wall, where a video window had opened. “It’s a live feed. Heavily encrypted. Franklin? Can you hear me?”

  The tech guru did not answer. Instead, Frank Brennan’s mustache and gristly double chin appeared on the screen, marred by waves of static. He adjusted a webcam to bring the field of view up to his eyes. They were grim, and they settled on Talia. “We have a problem.”

  “Hello, Frank. What’s wrong?”

  “You’ve gone rogue. That’s what’s wrong.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Tyler stood shoulder to shoulder with Talia. “She took down not one, but two major crime bosses, freed a couple hundred children, and captured the traitor Archangel’s agent.”

  He’d almost made Talia blush. She elbowed him. “We did those things. All of us. Together.”

  He elbowed her back. “Hush. The grown-ups are talking.” Tyler frowned at the giant head on his cabin wall. “Is that what you call going rogue, Frank?”

  “Not me. Jordan. Always maneuvering. Always the chess queen. She’s opened a counterintelligence investigation into Talia, and she named you as an accomplice. Touch down at Reagan, and you’ll find a pack of orangutans from Special Activities waiting for you. I doubt you’ll touch tarmac alive.”

  A groan drew Talia’s attention.

  Bazin stirred.

  She signaled Eddie to cut the feed. “Gotta go, Frank. Thanks for the heads-up. We’ll be in touch. Tyler has a plan.”

  “But I—”

  Eddie tapped a key, and the wall returned to live video of the clouds outside.

  Bazin rolled his head over. “Miss Wright? Or is it Miss Inger? I forget.”

  She ignored Finn’s signal to leave it be and walked to the gurney. “Then tell me a name I know you remember. Tell me the real name of Archangel.”

  He gave her a weak smile. “Nice try.”

  The morphine the medics had given him for the pain would not loosen his lips. Finn had suggested torture, cutting off the drip and digging into the wounds. But CIA case officers didn’t operate that way, not the good ones. Neither did Christ followers. No truth serum. No torture. Talia had what she had—her prisoner and her wits. She had a hidden camera on the IV tower, placed there by Eddie for posterity. A glance at the geek told him to hit RECORD.

  “Why should I talk to you?” Bazin said. “You shot me.”

  Talia smiled—an honest smile. “Yes I did.” She tried playing the law enforcement card. “We have you complicit in fraud, human trafficking, and murder. When we land, I’ll hand you over to the Bureau. Give up your Agency contact, and maybe I can work a deal.”

  “When we land, I am dead man.”

  “Then talk to ease your conscience.”

  “No conscience. Spetsnaz beat this out of me decades ago.” He snorted. “When we land, you are dead too.”

  Tyler joined her at the gurney. “Explain.”

  Bazin kept his gaze on Talia, as if Tyler wasn’t there. “I heard your friend. The wheels are moving. As they moved before. You are not first. Many years ago, another CIA officer discover her activities. She stop him then. She stop you now.” He made the sign of a gun with his cuffed hand. “Bang. No problem.”

  Many years ago. Could he be talking about Talia’s father? She leaned in. “How? How did she stop him back then?”

  “She . . . how you say . . . turn tables. She frame him. Rogue spy.”

  So, Jordan was a slave to her old methods. But Bazin wasn’t finished. “She send asset to kill him.”

  Talia felt Tyler tense beside her. She knew where this was going, a place she never wanted to go again. She had told him so from the beginning.

  Bazin gave her a pained grin. “This asset is reason you came to Moldova, no? She call him Lukon.”

  That name—the myth. A knife to her gut. The old anger welled up inside. Talia felt Tyler’s hand on her arm, and she met his eye. She saw the same hurt. For a moment, their anger burned together. The girl whose father had been taken by murder. The man whom Archangel had conned into that bloody act. Together, without words, they gave it to God.

  By goading him into naming Lukon, Talia had gained enough intel, perhaps not for the CIA, but for herself. With nothing more to say, she jabbed a needle into Bazin’s IV port. His eyes fluttered closed.

  She sighed and looked to Tyler. “I told Brennan you have a plan. You do, right?”

  He walked off toward the flight deck. “I always have a plan.”

  CHAPTER

  EIGHTY-

  TWO

  THE METRONOME RESTAURANT

  DUPONT CIRCLE

  WASHINGTON, DC

  “CONTACT.” Eddie’s voice buzzed in Talia’s ear. “Subway cam has positive target ID. Point, be advised, Senator Ramirez and one personal security escort are in tow. Target is wearing a green coat and black knit cap.”

  “Copy. We have eyes on the Metro exit. South side. Standing by for visual.”

  Tyler bumped her shoulder with his, almost knocking her into the bricks on the east wall of the restaurant bordering the alley where they were hiding. “You look tense. Are you ready for this? It’s been a long time coming.”

  “For both of us.” She gave him a thin smile. “Yes, I’m ready.”

  The green coat stood out among the blur of jackets and overcoats emerging from the Metro station. Talia swallowed to banish the dryness from her throat. In her position—accused of a crime, so close to the op—running point was a rare privilege. “Red Leader, I have a visual. Stand by.”

  Despite every instinct screaming for her to rush into the circle, Talia waited until Jordan’s face was unmistakable to her naked eyes. She raised two fingers pressed together, signaling Tyler, and he matched the gesture, confirming recognition.

  Talia let out a breath. Here it comes. “Red Leader, Point confirms positive ID. We are a go. Move, move, move!”

  Talia and Tyler rushed out of the alley, weapons up. Both carried Glock 26s with real bullets—none of Tyler’s nonlethals.

  “Mary Jordan!” Talia shouted. “Freeze!”

  Tyler covered the senator’s personal security guard. “Weapon down! Weapon down! Put it away!”

  Any Capitol security man worth his salt would have ignored such commands from a man in an overcoat and flatcap, but Talia and Tyler were not alone.

  Red and blue lights flashed. Sirens wailed. Black sedans sped into the circle from P Street and Massachusetts Avenue. Twenty plainclothes FBI agents and two CIA liaisons rushed out from their hiding places, all shouting at the same time.

  Jordan retreated toward the Metro, but a pair of plainclothes agents blocked her path.

  The senator’s security man placed his weapons on the ground, both his primary and his backup, and slowly straightened, hands in the air. Watching him, a few frightened pedestrians also raised their hands, but they were yanked away to safety by local uniforms.

  Only Senator Ramirez had the audacity to fight back. “Do you know who I am? Senator Daniela Ramirez, chair of the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence.”

  “Back off, Senator.” Talia kept her Glock trained on Jordan. “This doesn’t involve you.”

  “I’d say it does. Mary Jordan is a good friend. We’re on our way to dinner.”

  “Mary Jordan is a traitor. And she’s on her way to jail.”

  As one FBI agent slapped on the cuffs and another read her Miranda rights, Jordan glared. She didn’t let the agent finish reading from the card. “You’re going down for this, Talia. I opened an investigation into your activities”—she thrust her chin at Tyler—“and his. This stunt is nothing more than a delay tactic.”

  “Oh, it’s more than a tactic.
” Talia returned the Glock to its holster. “We have proof you traded criminal favors for intelligence.”

  Jordan laughed. “Standard Agency protocol.”

  “Not this time. Your operations were personal, unsanctioned. And one involved an attempted missile attack against this very city.”

  Several FBI agents glanced her way. Apparently they hadn’t read the entire brief.

  Talia ignored their questioning looks. “We have Alexi Bazin. It’s over.”

  Jordan played it cool, refusing to react. “I don’t know any Bazin. All you have is his word against mine. You’d better come up with something more definitive, honey.”

  “You think I haven’t? Tyler’s people were on to Boyd’s encrypted network before Volgograd. We couldn’t quite crack it, but after gaining access during our infiltration into his black-market competition, we pulled a ton of data. We got everything.”

  “For instance,” Tyler said. “We found an order dating back one week, in which Boyd had a syndicate member bring down half the traffic cams on Route 123. On the same morning, the syndicate dispatched a Bratva hitman to take out Officer Inger. That was enough to raise eyebrows at the Bureau.”

  “You’re talking about communications that have nothing to do with me. You’re reaching.”

  Talia shook her head. “He wasn’t finished. We knew we needed to connect you to the syndicate. Yesterday, while I was still inside, the Jungle syndicate received a message warning that CIA operative Vera Novak had infiltrated the White Lion’s game, including a picture. The message came from Cobra One Four Seven. You’ll remember him as Oleg Zverev.”

  Tyler gave Jordan an Ooh that hurts cringe. “You should have notified your pal Bazin that Oleg was dead. With no body, the Russian cops never got involved. Word never got out. Bazin opened our photo file, and with it, he unleashed a virus engineered by Specialized Skills Officer Eddie Gupta.” He glanced back. “Eddie, come over here.”

  The geek peeked out from the rear doors of an unmarked van. “Really? I thought you might leave me out of this, just in case it goes south. Then I’d, you know, still have a job.”