The Joe Brennan Spy Thrillers

by Sam Powers

  ‘Sorry I’m late,’ Brennan said as they covered the distance to the end of the platform, where short steps led to the parking lot. ‘My route was convoluted.’

  The Russian driver chuckled. ‘Not to worry, my friend. I understand the rationale; there is no way you could fly directly to Harbin. Chinese security has facial recognition at all major airports.’

  ‘And most of Russia...’

  ‘But not in Blagoveshchensk, a place Muscovites forget exists, until there’s a need for a political crackdown of some sort. It’s because of a paranoid cultural tradition, you see, the belief that the ancestors of the Czarists, the White Russians, live almost exclusively out here now -- well, mostly in Harbin, but also here.’ The man spoke quickly, then puffed on his cigarette. ‘You want one?’

  ‘I don’t smoke.’

  Yuri looked amused. ‘Another sure sign you’re not local.’ They arrived at his car, an aging steel-grey sport coupe. ‘Out here, you better believe everybody smokes; well... not always tobacco, but something.’

  The socializing was mildly irritating. ‘When do we cross?’ Brennan asked.

  ‘You get right to business, eh? Okay my friend, I get that. Get in.’

  Brennan checked the back out of habit before climbing into the front passenger’s seat. Yuri just barely fit behind the wheel. ‘We go in two hours, just after midnight. My cousin Sergei...’ he grunted slightly as he settled into his seat and looped on his seat-belt, ‘... he’s going to handle everything on the other side for you. I’m told you have a cover already for once you get to Harbin?’

  ‘There’s a film director who was supposed to be shooting a documentary on the local Jews; he’s been unfortunately temporarily detained due to a glitch in the U.S. We already look fairly similar once I’m wearing glasses and no one there has met him yet, so there’s no one to vouch against my identity.’

  ‘And it’s not like Harbin is the middle of nowhere,’ Yuri said, backing the car up, then navigating it out of the lot and onto the exit road. ‘Ten million people, western amenities. They have two Pizza Huts now, and a really good Wal Mart. It makes all of this seem a little silly, really, having to smuggle people over.’

  ‘The games politicians play,’ Brennan said, ‘when the rest of us are busy getting things done.’

  The car followed a brand-new two-lane road adjacent to the Amur River. Grey apartment buildings and cement slab office blocks filled most of the left-hand side of the road. Then the road diverged, forking to the left and the right. They took the left fork, separating themselves from the view of the water behind older apartment blocks. The road began to break up in spots from neglect and the grass was muddy, dying. There was garbage strewn about, a cinder block lying beside the road without purpose.

  ‘‘It is harder on this side of the border, you’ll see,’ Yuri said. ‘The Chinese, they treat Heihe like it’s the crown jewel of the fucking west or something. The road between it and Harbin is so smooth it’s like glass, for six hours. Heihe’s waterfront is like Las Vegas or EuroDisney over there, there’s so much neon. New buildings, new roads, new shopping malls full of consumer junk. You’d have a hard time guessing which one was the Communist country these days.’

  Brennan could tell what he meant. On the Russian side, it appeared as if development had stopped with the death of Yuri Andropov. The buildings were drab, square, dirty. Monuments to the revolution were flung around the town in small, barely used street corner parks. Along the waterfront, the massive anti-aircraft guns from a warship had been mounted to a column and pointed across at the Chinese, as if in a show of obviously mythical dominance.

  ‘The road right in front of the river basically constitutes the border,’ the driver continued. ‘It’s closed to regular traffic and has cameras on it. But not to worry; where there is a will, as you Americans say... there is a dead man’s possessions. No, I kid!’ He chuckled at his own joke.

  ‘Yuri, you seem like a jovial guy,’ Brennan said. ‘But this is serious business tonight. Right?’

  Yuri dropped the playful look and took his eyes off the road for a moment to return Brennan’s stare. ‘Believe me, my friend, I know that better than anyone. You know, guys like me, we’re a big help to guys in your type of business. And I know there’s probably eight guys just like me in every city you go, so you bet I like your business, eh? Don’t ever worry about me, my friend. I stay healthy by staying professional.’

  ‘Watch out!’ Brennan yelled. Yuri slammed on the brakes, the car squealing to a halt at a stop sign. In the cross lane, a police car pulled slowly through the intersection. Through the front passenger window, a dour officer watched them with a mix of suspicion and irritation.

  They waited until it had passed, then continued on. ‘Sorry about that my friend,’ Yuri said. ‘Try to look on the positive: I did not hit the police. That would have been bad.’

  Brennan took an inward breath and held it for a few seconds to gather his inner tension, then exhaled deeply to release it.

  It was going to be one of those nights, he could already tell.

  DETROIT, Michigan.

  It had been more than twenty years since Det. Ed Kinnear earned his shield, and he liked to think in that time, his pragmatism and stoicism had made him an even-handed guy, and a fine judge of character.

  Unless Pradesh Patel was a superb actor, the East Indian man was terrified. His eyes had been wide as saucers since opening the door. When they’d told him they were there about a homicide, he’d said, ‘please, come in,’ and gestured with a wave of his arm for them to enter his small rented house, but his face had said ‘what the heck is going on?’

  He’d listened to them explain that they felt he might be a material witness, and that he might have evidence that would help them, but it was obvious all he could hear was ‘homicide’ and ‘police.’

  ‘Mr. Patel, we’re not here to arrest you,’ Kinnear said as they sat across from each other at Patel’s kitchen table.’

  ‘I know nothing of any of this, I swear it!’ he insisted. ‘All I know of them is that he is a foul beast of a man.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘He gets drunk very often, and he stares at me through his kitchen window and through the back door. Last night...’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘We had an encounter, I suppose you would call it. He was following me from work or the bar or somewhere. Anyway, he was very intoxicated! And he kept calling me a Muslim.’

  ‘Did he threaten you in any way?’ Kinnear asked. ‘Did he have any kind of weapon?’

  The man shook his head. ‘He did not have a weapon that I saw, but I felt very much threatened, yes.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because he is a large man, and he was yelling at me in a most aggressive way. He was calling me a Muslim.’

  ‘But that was all? He didn’t do or say anything else?’

  The man looked blank for a moment as he thought it through. ‘Well... there was one strange thing.’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘He got a mobile phone call. He got a call, and he answered it, and then he did not seem interested in our confrontation any longer. He walked right past me... he did sort of bump into me, and then he yelled at me, but I did not understand what he was trying to say.’

  ‘Because he was too far away?’

  ‘No, it was in another language, I think something Chinese or maybe Vietnamese. I am not certain.’

  Kinnear and Underheath stared at him with the same puzzled expression.

  ‘What?’ Underheath said, ‘you mean, like, he was making fun of Chinese people, or...’

  ‘No, I mean he was speaking a language. It was not a sing-song voice, if that is what you are inferring.’

  ‘You’re sure about that?’ Kinnear asked.

  ‘I speak five languages sir, and while I am not a professional linguist by any measure, I do know what it sounds like when someone is trying to make up words. This was Chinese of some sort, I am fairly certain of it; and th
e way he said it, it was an expletive of some sort.’

  The two detectives gave each other the same puzzled look. Underheath asked the obvious question.

  ‘Does that make any sense to you, Ed?’

  Kinnear shook his head. The murder of Mary Gessler had just gone from puzzling to downright weird.

  26/

  KOWLOON, Hong Kong

  The city lights glinted off the black water of Hong Kong Harbor just before midnight. In an apartment block overlooking the water, Daisy Lee stood with her arms crossed in indignation and gazed out of the floor-to-ceiling window.

  ‘You realize that this is complete and total nonsense?’

  The phone was on speaker, her handler’s voice echoing over the line from Beijing. He was officious and pragmatic, a young man with his eyes on a long career. ‘You’re aware this channel...’

  ‘Is being monitored at all times by PLA intelligence? Yes, of course. Right now, I’m too angry to care what the higher ups think of me.’

  ‘You are handling this very unprofessionally, Daiyu,’ he said. ‘Chairman Yan was clear that his personal intelligence suggested Charlie Pang’s source was somewhere in Hong Kong.’

  ‘And after being here for two days, twisting a few arms and paying off a few other less-than-stellar individuals, it’s quite clear to me that this is a deliberate wild goose chase. I’d like to know why.’

  ‘Your instructions were clear. You were to investigate the Pang rumor, then wait for contact from a relief agent.’

  ‘Xiaodang, you have always been straight with me...’

  ‘I am just following my orders. And right now, you should be doing the same. Stay until your relief arrives. It has been two nights; I’m sure it won’t be long.’

  ‘And then what?’

  ‘Then we’ll find out when we’re given more instructions. Aiyah!’ He sounded exasperated. ‘Why are you being difficult about this?’

  Why? Because something felt wrong about the whole trip, that was why. They all knew from the surveillance transcript that Charlie Pang’s source was in Harbin. There had been literally no mention of another Hong Kong connection until the moment she left Mexico. So, she’d been sent on a time-killing wild goose chase; if it had been a matter of allowing her to save face while pulling her off the file, she might have understood. But Yan Liu Jeng was one of the highest-ranking intelligence officers in the nation; there was no reason for him to have made the call, or for him to have intervened with a ‘personal source.’

  But there was no advantage to sharing that with Xiaodang, whom she respected, but hardly knew on a personal basis. ‘It’s just the vagueness, that’s all. You know I hate to operate in a vacuum. I’m used to hard targets, direct assignments,’ she lied.

  ‘Well, just relax. You know what? You should get some sleep. If they have you on the move, it probably won’t be tonight, even if that’s when they make contact. More likely you’ll be flying out tomorrow morning to Macau or another assignment.’

  ‘A good idea. Perhaps... perhaps you’re right,’ she said, selling it as effusively as possible. ‘I am tired, after all. Good night, Xiaodang.’

  ‘Goodnight, Daiyu.’

  She knew as soon as he suggested she get some sleep.

  It was the timbre of his voice, the meter. Something was off. He was a good handler, Xiaodang, but he was a lousy actor. That meant someone was coming for her, for reasons either political or professional. Either one could mean arrest, or detention; but more likely, given her own history, it would involve a bullet behind the ear.

  Lee knew she had to prepare, get ready for visitors. They’d picked the apartment well; it had only two proper exits, with no balcony. If they’d ordered Xiaodang to contact her to make sure she was in place, it meant the exits were already being watched. There would be no easy way out.

  So perhaps it was best to let them come, Lee decided. She crossed the living room to the bedroom door. Her suitcase lay open on the bed, the silenced pistol on top.

  THE AMUR RIVER, Far East Russia/China

  The ferry approached the Chinese side of the river at a leisurely pace, passengers crowded on its top deck. They were all Russian; Chinese visitors to Russia had to go through a laborious visa process, so all of the traffic was one way. It was just as well; there wasn’t much to buy in Blagoveshchensk except for black-market goods that had been bought in Heihe to begin with, the prices marked up to take advantage of those who couldn’t or wouldn’t cross the border.

  But in the Far Eastern fronts of Siberia, Russian did not mean Caucasian. There were very few westerners present, aside from Brennan, Yuri, and Yuri’s cousin, Sergei, who allegedly had great contacts in the Chinese city. According to Yuri, he was ‘the most respected smuggler among the working class of Blagoveshchensk.’

  Sergei was standing by the rail and nodded to his brother and Brennan to join him. ‘See that light down there, near the shore? That’s where we’re headed. There’s a customs office, but they allow free passage for Russians. It’s swarming with cops, and they’re looking for anyone out of place. But as long as we’re with Sergei, we’re okay.’

  ‘Comforting,’ Brennan said. He didn’t trust Sergei as far as he could throw him. He’d been non-communicative, which was fine; but he’d also seemed nervous all night. ‘Then what?’

  ‘Then we drop you downtown. Sergei has some contact who knows everyone in the local black societies. If your guy disappeared in Harbin, they will know where, or nobody does. So we leave you with him, he takes you to Harbin. Then when you return, you call me on the phone I’ll give you, we pick you up and take you back.’

  ‘Both of you?’

  He shrugged. ‘Sergei has contacts at both borders; and on the Russian side they check a lot more closely. Me? I just drive. I’m your ride back to the airport. I get you back there, we get the rest of our bread, everyone’s happy.’

  The ferry pulled up to the dock. Both of the Russians inhaled their Winstons feverishly, the smoke billowing around in the wind. Sergei had his worry beads in one hand and was running them through his fingers, squeezing them each time for tension release.

  ‘You two look nervous,’ Brennan said.

  ‘We’re Russians,’ Yuri said. ‘It’s our nature to be bleak.’

  The passengers began to disembark.

  ‘Where are we headed?’ Brennan asked. He was getting nervous himself. The territory was too unfamiliar. He’d looked over maps of Heihe and tried to prepare but it was his first time with boots on the ground, and his unwelcome status had been made abundantly clear in Jonah’s last meeting with the Chinese.

  ‘Just keep your head down,’ Yuri said. ‘Once they see Sergei, they’ll leave all three of us alone.’

  ‘And if they don’t?’

  ‘Unless your Russian is going to get a lot better a lot more quickly...’

  Brennan answered in Yuri’s mother tongue. ‘My Russian is just fine, Tovarisch...’

  Yuri’s eyebrows rose. ‘You’re full of surprises, my friend. We assumed you couldn’t understand what we were saying. I’m exceptionally glad I did not sound like too much of an asshole.’

  Sergei nodded that it was time, and they made their way down the gangplank to the docks. At the bottom, a policeman was checking papers. ‘Let me do the talking,’ Sergei said to Yuri in Russian. ‘Keep our friend here quiet or the whole thing goes to hell.’

  The policeman eyed them suspiciously but spoke rapid-fire Mandarin. ‘These two are with you?’

  ‘They are.’ Sergei put his beads on the counter and fished in his pocket for the three passports. Brennan only worried briefly about how quickly his had been cobbled together; the forger in Tokyo had been a company asset for years.

  ‘You should give us some notice for something like that. What if a supervisor was visiting for inspection today? We could all be in real trouble.’

  ‘Point taken. But we’re good, right?’

  The man nodded gently but didn’t look certain. He motioned toward B
rennan. ‘Who’s this guy? I recognize your brother.’

  ‘This is Leonid Shevchenko; he’s from Kiev.’ Then he leaned in conspiratorially. ‘He’s got a line on American smokes at decent prices, eh?’

  That caught the policeman’s attention. He looked directly at Brennan. ‘How much for a carton of Marlboros?’

  Brennan frowned. ‘One carton?’ He had to delay. He realized he had no idea how much cigarettes cost in Heilonjiang province.

  Sergei interrupted, recognizing his predicament. ‘Don’t you give him that sixteen yuan bullshit; you give him the price you quoted me.’

  ‘Ten yuan per packet,’ Brennan told the policeman. ‘But at that price, you have to order at least half a case, five cartons.’

  The policeman nodded. ‘Uh huh. When you’re on this side of the river, just remember: I say what I do or don’t do, and I say what you can do, or don’t do. You remember that, you can make some good money here.’

  Sergei interjected again. ‘Don’t worry, he knows the score, right Lenny?’

  Brennan nodded vociferously, his gaze as wide and witless as he could manage.

  KOWLOON, HONG KONG

  It was after midnight when the electronic door lock on the apartment’s front door clicked open. Lee had been dozing in the corner armchair, fatigued after a long day of travel and the anxiety of the anticipated visitor. She’d changed into all black garb, and was barely visible in the shadows. She flicked off the pistol’s safety.

  The door opened slowly, a head poking into the room. But rather than looking for the lights, the figure crept into the room. ‘Lee!’ the man whispered loudly. ‘Are you awake?’

  He crept around the corner of the room and toward the bedroom door. Lee caught sight of his face, moonlight streaming through the tall windows to partially illuminate his right profile.

  Xiaodang.