Lethal Circuit (32 page)

She thought about his naïve blue eyes. About the way he arrived in Hong Kong, earnest, but eager for answers. She thought about how she had extricated him from the bloody scene in Chungking. How she had wanted to help him, but more to the point, how she had seen how he could help her. How what his father might have told him could be a potential asset in her work. But what she hadn’t considered at the time were the inconsistencies. They were subtle, but they were there. Like the fact that Michael seemed reasonably comfortable under pressure; the kind of comfort that comes only with training. Or the fact that he never fully relaxed, not even when they made love, not really. Or even the fact that after what she had done to him, after what she had done to his father, he had simply allowed her to walk away. No one could do that, no one could be that forgiving. Unless he knew she was walking into a trap; unless he had set the trap himself.

Kate flashed to the temple cellar where she had first interrogated Michael. “I’m a spy,” he had said. She hadn’t thought much of it at the time. It was just bravado, a civilian coping mechanism to deal with an impossible situation. But then when Huang had held them at gunpoint in the cave, he had said it again. “I’m a slacker-boy spy come to kick your sorry ass.” Again, it had to be bravado, or was it? When he wasn’t talking about Mata Hari being his prom date he was kidding about espionage being a 24-7 game. Was it that obvious? Could she really have missed it? Kate felt an involuntary shiver run through the length of her body. Then she felt the bile rise from the back of her throat. It tasted bitter on her tongue. It was the taste of deception.

“Where is he?”

“That’s what you’re going to tell us,” Crust said.

“Not the father,” Kate said. “Chase. Where is Michael Chase?”

61

CIA SAFEHOUSE, HANOI, VIETNAM

M
ICHAEL
’
S
FATHER
’
S
FINAL
lesson to him was no test. It was an act. He sent Michael a message. It was on a radio frequency that Michael had never heard of, encoded in an algorithm that Michael couldn’t possibly break. And it had come through Ted. But that didn’t diminish it in any way. Because the message said that his dad needed his help. And Michael did what he had to do. He went to find his father. That’s when Michael learned what his dad had been teaching him all along. From being brave, to reading strangers, to the art of deception and everything in between, his father had been teaching him one thing. The family business. Michael now knew that from his earliest memory, his father had been teaching him how to be a spy.

H
E
AWOKE
TO
the rhythmic sweeping of a straw broom outside his window. Slowly opening his eyes Michael watched as the morning sunlight danced on his pillow. It had been a hell of a night. Now it was time to see if it had all been worth it. The safe house was a simple two-story affair, just far enough outside the city center of Hanoi as to be unobtrusive. From the outside it was merely a well-maintained compound amidst a series of similar compounds; a neighborhood for the city’s well-heeled. Inside, however, it was a sanctuary, and within its walls Michael felt the simple luxury of letting his guard down without the fear that someone might discover that he was more than he pretended to be. It might not seem like much, but to Michael, who had been diligently maintaining his cover since before his arrival in Hong Kong, it was the world. Allowing his eyes to wander to the bedside clock, he was surprised to see that it was nearly nine a.m. He’d gotten less than four hours of sleep, but they’d been good hours. Debriefing had been scheduled for 0900 sharp. He noticed that a fresh pair of jeans and a short-sleeved shirt had been left neatly folded on the edge of his bed. It was time to meet the man.

A quick shower and change of clothes later and Michael ambled down the stairwell to the smell of freshly brewed coffee. The first doorway on his right revealed a bright kitchen off of which sat a garden view breakfast room. Inside he was greeted by the Hanoi Station Chief, Sam Grolling. A tall man with a long chin and deep worry lines etching his face, Michael had briefly met Grolling back at Camp Peary in Virginia. His presence felt noteworthy to Michael because in some small way it signified completion, at least of this leg of the journey.

“Good to see you safe and sound, Agent Chase.”

Michael pulled up a chair. There were three others at the table: a dark haired petite woman whom Michael had never seen before, Song, the bubbly Australian who palled around with Crust, and Ted, his gray ponytail knotted in a clean bandanna for the occasion.

“I believe you’ve already met Song.”

Song rose briefly and curtsied. “My liege.”

Grolling went on. “This is Aimie, our program coordinator, and of course, Mr. Fairfield.”

“Ted,” Michael said. “Glad you made it.”

“I could use about fourteen hours under a hot shower, but yeah, I made it.”

“Well then,” Grolling said, “shall we get started?” He took the quiet around the table as consensus and continued. “As of 0800 this morning the Horten had been transported via a local fishing vessel out of Ha Long Bay and into international waters where it was picked up by the Frigate USS Kingfisher. A CIA science team has already begun the initial examination of the plane and barring bad weather, it should be stateside for further study within ten days.” Grolling paused for emphasis. “Given that the recovery of the Horten was your primary mission objective, Langley is pleased with the outcome.”

“The incoming satellite?” Michael said. “What happened?“

“The clear-code you transmitted reinstated standard operating protocol. It self-corrected its course as of 0300 China Standard Time.”

“So you’re saying it worked. After all that time the transmitter actually worked?”

“We’ll know more once the Horten is examined, but yes. For all intents and purposes the transmitter seems to have functioned perfectly, which is fortunate because we got word late last night that the Jiuquan Launch Facility was sabotaged, most likely by one of their own senior people. They couldn’t have reestablished communication with that thing even if they did figure out how to do it. It’s a national embarrassment. I think unofficially the Chinese were happy for the help.” Grolling took a sip of coffee. “In addition, you’ll be happy to hear, Li Tung and his merry gang of thieves are pleased as punch with what we’ve done for them.”

“Which was?” Ted asked.

Grolling looked to Ted. Everybody here, especially a long standing agent like Ted, knew that information was doled out on a need to know basis, and this item was not, strictly speaking, need to know. However, Grolling thought, the mission had gone well, and in all fairness, he had brought it up.

“Which was help Mr. Tung with a particularly worrisome problem his only son was facing stateside. In return for the help he extended us within China’s borders, we agreed to extend our help within ours.”

Ted smiled. “So let me guess, we sprung his little boy from an as yet unnamed facility.”

“In so many words. Yes.”

“What about the other reason we’re here?”

Ted was not one to mince words, but still the directness of the question hit Michael like a knife to the heart. He wanted to ask if there was any more information regarding his father. He had wanted to ask since he awoke. The only reason he had even considered working for the CIA back when Ted had approached him a few weeks after his father’s funeral was to get closer to the mystery of his dad’s disappearance. But now that there might actually be some solid information, Michael didn’t want to hear it at all. He didn’t want to listen because he didn’t want to be disappointed.

Grolling wavered. “The secondary mission protocol was less conclusive.”

Michael finally opened his mouth. “How much less?”

“A lot less.”

“Hold on,” Michael said. “I risked my ass delivering you Kate Shaw. I want to know what you’ve found out.”

 
“Not so fast, Agent Chase. We’re questioning Ms. Shaw as we speak. We’re following up on the information she provides.”

“But?”

“I didn’t say ‘but.’ We’re following up.” Grolling turned away from the table. “As far as your mission is concerned, the Director and I have agreed, we would like you to keep operating here in the field. Your backpacker cover is intact. There’s no telling where we may use you.”

Michael nodded. He knew he was tangling with the bureaucracy of the world’s most powerful spy agency. He knew that they would let him know what they had learned when they were good and ready to do so. And he knew that the best way to hold his cards was quietly and close to the chest. But he also knew that he didn’t give a damn. This man, Grolling, had made his case to him over six months ago when his dad had been missing only four weeks. He had told Michael that the country needed his help. Grolling had personally fast tracked Michael’s path through the Farm. He had guaranteed that if Michael would help with the very sensitive mission of investigating his father’s disappearance, Michael would be given priority clearance. And most importantly, Grolling had said unequivocally that in return for his help, Michael would never, ever, be left out of the loop. And now it looked like that loop was closed. Protocol be damned. It was time for the CIA to pay up.

“I went along with recruitment to find my father. I trained at your facility to find my father.” Michael looked the Station Chief directly in the eye. “Then I risked my life finding your Nazi airplane and stopped a Chinese satellite from blowing up half the West Coast. I’ve paid for my ticket. Now, you’re going to tell me what you know or I’m done here.”

“Think about what you’re saying.”

“I already have.”

“Michael,” Ted said, but Michael rose from the table regardless.

Grolling said, “We thought you might feel that way.” He reached into the pocket of his jacket and retrieved a letter sized envelope, handing it to Michael.

“What is this?”

“You know your father’s video message was a digital composite. We faked it to acquire the target’s interest. But it was based on a real intercept from eight days ago. The waypoint that led you to the factory, that was real.” Grolling turned his gaze to the garden where the rich pink peach blossoms were blooming. The others around the table were silent, waiting for him to go on. “We don’t know where your father is. We don’t know if he was captured and managed to escape or if he’s still in their custody. We’re not even certain precisely who they are, not yet anyway, but thanks to your work bringing in Kate Shaw, we’re closer than we were.”

“So again,” Michael said, holding up the envelope. “What’s this?”

“Open it.”

Michael tore open the envelope. Inside was a slip of paper no bigger than a grocery receipt. It consisted of a string of numbers which Michael immediately recognized as a GPS waypoint. He committed the waypoint to memory. From the look of it, it was a location in Turkey, Istanbul most likely.

“An NSA analyst picked it up last night. It was identified on the same frequency where we found the first message.”

“So you think it’s him again?”

“It’s no more than a series of digits so it’s impossible to be sure. But it’s his assigned frequency. And the coordinates were encrypted in his preferred algorithm. So yes. We think it’s him.”

Michael sighed. The news was not definitive. But it offered hope. Real hope that his father was still alive. And Michael would go to the ends of the Earth for that.

“You’re willing to have me investigate his whereabouts in my current capacity?”

“Yes we are.”

Michael sat there, considering what Grolling had just said. “Same rules apply? Special liaison to the CIA. Current cover. No long-term contract?”

“No long-term contract,” Grolling said.

“And full disclosure regarding any new messages or intelligence as to where he might be.”

“Yes.”

Michael didn’t need to think about it. He could feel it. Before that fateful day, just over half a year ago, he had been floundering. Even before his father had gone missing he was unsure of his course in life, bouncing from option to option, waiting for something that felt right. That his purpose had been revealed to him in the horror of his father’s disappearance was unfortunate, but it didn’t have to be tragic. Even the events that had marked him so many years ago didn’t need to be seen through that lens. His experiences had changed him. But they had also made him stronger. He knew that now.

He also knew in his gut that his father was still alive and that working for the CIA offered the single best shot he’d have at finding him. Plain and simple. But he didn’t have to make it easy for them. Not if he got even a hint that they were holding back. Still, almost in spite of himself, Michael felt a smile growing on his lips. At some point over the course of the last few days he had become something. He had become an intelligence operative. And for this small moment, in the confines of this room, he didn’t care who knew it. Ted must have known the feeling because he lifted his cup.

“Kid,” Ted said.

“Yeah, old man?”

“Welcome to the Circuit.”

LETHAL CIRCUIT

A Michael Chase Thriller

by
 

Lars Guignard

***

Copyright (c) 2011 by Lars Guignard
 

Published by: Fantastic Press

www.fantasticpress.com

E-book ISBN:
978-0-9877753-0-6

Version 2011.11.15

***

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