Chapter Five
As days go, Colonel Bob Pierson thought, I’ve had worse.
The Office of Special Operations Liaison, or OSOL, handled all sensitive special operations outside the United States. They assisted operator teams that needed intel, a favor, or that had just gotten into a jam they couldn’t handle on their own. OSOL also briefed the higher-ups on what was going down when necessary, then relayed new orders to the operator or team in the field. It was staffed twenty-four/seven by higher echelon officers, and could perform just about any service an operator needed done ASAP or sooner.
Pierson’s shift had been remarkably quiet; so much so that he thought he might be able to get out at what was approximately a normal shift-end time. He also knew the approximate odds of that happening, as it was an old maxim in intel analysis: the longer things remain quiet, the bigger the shit storm that’s coming down—
And just like that, the secure phone rang. With a resigned exhalation, Bob picked up the receiver, immediately shifting from slightly tired officer to perfect, precise, professional soldier.
“Office of Special Operations Liaison, US Army Colonel Robert Pierson speaking, how may I help you?”
“Go scramble,” a familiar voice on the other end said.
Bob did so and leaned back in his chair. He knew the caller on the other end well, and also knew that his plans for a quiet, uneventful evening had been shit-canned the moment he’d picked up.
“Aren’t you supposed to be on vacation, Mike?”
“Yes, and here in the land of tomorrow it’s 89 degrees and sunny. How are things in your neck of the woods?”
“Well, they had been quiet until you called. Otherwise it’s about 45 degrees and raining salamanders. I’m sure this isn’t a social call, however.”
With Mike, it never was. Bob had first “met” him during the Syria op, and had been Mike’s handler on the D.C. end of things ever since.
“Is it ever?” Mike briefly outlined what he and his Keldara had run into, including the loot they’d picked up from their captives.
Bob blinked twice.
“Is Vanner absolutely sure about the cargo?”
“We checked with Doctor Death. They’re the real deal. My question is, what the hell am I supposed to do with them?”
“That is a good one. Just sit tight and let me inform some people who need to know right now. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”
“Works. I’ll be around.”
“Okay. I’ll be in touch the second I know what The Man wants done.”
“You’re taking this that high?”
“Not my call. But somehow I have a feeling that I’ll be visiting a certain big white house before the night is over.”
“Good luck. Jenkins out.”
Bob hit the disconnect button, then dialed a number that went straight to the National Military Command Center.
“This is Colonel Pierson in OSOL. We have a situation.”
* * *
Two-and-a-half-hours later, the president, dressed in an immaculate tuxedo, held up a hand.
“Wait a minute, let me get this straight. Computer chips that run a nuclear power plant were found in the possession of ocean pirates off Singapore?”
“Yes, sir. As improbable as it sounds, that is the situation in a nutshell,” Pierson said. “However, to clarify, they are not simply computer chips, but the motherboards that are the brains, if you will, of a nuclear reactor.”
The president rubbed his chin.
“Bob, I know Mike’s intel is on the level. If he says he’s got ’em, then he’s got ’em. But frankly, this sounds like the opening of a James Bond film.”
The rest of the cabinet secretaries and chiefs of staff all smiled or chuckled politely, then their expressions grew serious to match the president’s.
“Do we have any intel on a missing shipment?” he asked.
“Nothing has come across my desk in the past two weeks regarding missing or stolen nuclear reactor operation boards,” the head of the NSA said. “Whomever lost these is keeping it very quiet.”
“Before we get any deeper into this, Mr. President, are we waiting on the NRC chair, or are they not going to be involved in this?” the DCIA asked.
The president exchanged a glance with his secretary of defense.
“Let’s just say they have enough on their plate monitoring current nuclear activity in the U.S., never mind the rest of the world. Post-Fukishima, they’re far too busy implementing the new safety protocols mandated for all reactors around the nation to be involved with something like this.”
The president activated a large monitor on the wall, which showed a picture of the chips in their formerly secure case. The image had been sent as part of a heavily encrypted transmission from the Big Fish.
“What do we know about the shipment itself?”
All heads turned to the secretary of the Department of Energy. He turned to his Deputy Secretary, who cleared her throat.
“Preliminary analysis has determined that the chips are of Chinese manufacture. Working with the CIA, we have traced them to the Semiconductor Manufacturing International Corporation out of Shanghai.”
“There’s a familiar name,” NSA snorted. “They’ll manufacture anything to turn a buck.”
“Given China’s very strong interest in becoming a world leader in generating nuclear power, we—” the deputy secretary nodded at the CIA director, “—found it odd that the company would be exporting chips when there are dozens of planned pressurized water reactors either on the drawing board or in early construction stages in China itself. It stands to reason that the company would be ordered to produce chips for its own country’s needs first, and then sell to other nations only after the internal market was satisfied.”
“Therefore, we figure that the chips were being sold on the black market by someone high up in the Chinese government, perhaps a high-ranking military officer,” the CIA director took up the narrative. “That would explain the lack of official markings on the box, as well as its integral high security.”
“Not that high, if one of the Keldara could open it,” the secretary of Defense muttered.
“Apparently you weren’t in the loop on their Italian job,” the DNSA said, shaking his head.
“However, the transport information was apparently leaked, and the illegal shipment was hijacked.”
“Where were the chips supposed to be heading?” the President asked.
“At this point, we have no idea,” DCIA replied. “Even with the chip manufacturing programs throughout South East Asia, there’s no shortage of countries that might want these. My geeks tell me the architecture is a nightmare. Pakistan, India, Indonesia, North Korea, and even such far-away places as Mongolia, Kazakhstan, or Iran, any of them could be a potential buyer. The bottom line is that someone high-up in China is providing vital nuclear reactor technology on the black market to whoever’s got the cash to pay for it.” The director let his gaze play around the room. “I don’t think we need to go into the potential problem this could lead to regarding refining weapons-grade nuclear waste into useable material for the manufacture of nuclear weapons.”
“No, you don’t. I’ve already got that coming out of my ears regarding Iran as it is.” The president had turned to stare at the innocuous-looking chips nestled in their foam beds. “All we’d need is Pakistan or North Korea getting their hands on them.”
“But, Mr. President, the purchasing country would still need a reactor to put the chips into. Surely, these are relatively worthless without the proper facility,” the deputy secretary said, incurring a glare from her superior.
“It’s a point,” the President said.
“Sorry, should have covered that point at the beginning,” the Secretary of Energy said. “These chips can be used to modify just about any PWR into a fast breeder. And it’s pretty much impossible to tell without a very close inspection.”
“O…kay,” the President said. “Yes, that should have been in the very initial brief. Next question: Options?”
The Joint Chiefs didn’t even bother to exchange glances.
“With relations with China growing more tenuous by the month, as well as current OTEMPO, inserting American assets, military or otherwise, into this situation is disrecommended,” the CJCS said. “We jointly recommend it would be best to use on-site resources to identify, analyze and if possible action the supply chain series. However, no action plan should be engaged that might compromise Chinese sovereignty or social integrity.”
“Of course,” the President said with a slight smile. “And the fact that it’s a Georgian group rather than American makes it deniable if the Chinese do get upset.”
“There’s that,” the DCIA said. “I’d rather not put our assets on it, either, sir. Support if necessary, yes. Agents actively involved… Not so much.”
“Colonel,” the president said. “It says here that Mike had discovered the identity of the person who was supposed to be purchasing the boards from the pirates, correct?”
“Yes, Mister President.”
“All right then, see if he can arrange a meeting with the buyer and follow the chain to whoever’s on the other end. It’s bad enough China owns two-thirds of our country as it is. The last thing we need is to have them supplying state-of-the-art, build your own nuclear weapons, reactor control materiel to anyone with the cash to buy it.”
“What about securing the chips, sir, or at least replacing them with dummies or rendering them inoperable? I mean, if they were to somehow get out of this Mr. Jenkins’s hands—what’s so funny?” the Secretary of Energy asked upon seeing smiles and even chuckles coming from the joint chiefs and the CIA head.
The president smiled in genuine sympathy.
“I’m sorry, Tom, the humor is unintentional. Since you haven’t been involved with previous operations where Mr. Jenkins’s expertise has been utilized, let me assure you; he is very skilled at retaining sensitive materials. My only worry is that he’ll use them to install Georgia’s next nuclear power plant in that fortified valley of his.”
The president rose from his chair, signaling the end of the meeting.
“Thank you for coming in on such short notice, and keep me posted on your progress regarding this matter. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to the State dinner before the South Korean president and my wife both start wondering where I ran off to.”
* * *
Thirty-seven minutes later, Pierson was back at the OSOL office and on a video link with Mike.
“So, what does The Man want done with these?” Mike asked. He appeared to be drinking a beer.
“How does tracking down both the buyer and if possible the seller, sound to you?” Pierson asked.
“I dunno, how much is it worth to you?” Mike asked.
“Seriously?” Pierson said. “These are bad pieces of electronics going to bad people.”
“Anastasia needs new shoes,” Mike said, referring to his Russian harem manager. “These ops don’t pay for themselves, you know.”
“I know, I know. Send us a bill,” Pierson said, trying not to wince. “Usual rates?”
“For you? Buddy rate, definitely. Only two and a half costs. If it was Vlad I’d have him pay through the nose. I’m still pissed about his Excellent Georgia Adventure. It would be good to give the boys a more in-depth tour of South East Asia anyway.” He chuckled. “They are going to shit a brick when I take them into Hong Kong. And I’ll practically have to put Adams on a leash while we’re there.”
“Just try not to make too big a splash there, okay? The CJCS got all diplomatic and buzzword bingo trying not to say, ‘We really, really don’t want to piss of the Chinese over this!’ And let me know if the trail leads you to mainland China, all right? We’ll definitely want to alert the higher-ups before you set foot there.”
“Don’t worry, Bob, I plan to keep this a sailing tour.”
“Good. Is there anything else you need at this point?”
“Yeah, let the Marshals know we’ll be keeping Big Fish for a couple more weeks. If you’ve never been on one of these, you got to try it. It’s got everything you need, and then some, all at your fingertips. I’m still trying to figure out how I can get ahold of one of them without shelling out eight figures. Our beer sales are good, but not that good.”
Pierson grinned. The luxury yacht had been confiscated by the DEA from a major Miami drug lord only three weeks earlier. It had been very courteously loaned out by the U.S. Marshals from the Central Governmental Surplus Repository in Hollywood, Florida. After the Keldara had blown through during the VX op, the Marshals had bent over backwards to extend whatever service they could to the Kildar or anyone remotely associated with him.
“I’ll let them know tomorrow morning—I’m sure they’ll nod politely and say thanks for the update.”
“If you really want to screw with their heads, tell ’em I said we’ll try to patch all the bullet holes. Jenkins out.”
“Pierson out.” Bob shut down the Skype, hoping he wouldn’t be hearing from Mike for a few days at least. ’Cause if I do, there’s no telling what kind of trouble he’ll be bringing with him…
* * *
“So that’s the long and short of it,” Mike announced to his senior officers. Adams and Vanner sat in brown leather chairs around the mirror-polished teakwood conference table. Neilson was teleconferencing in on a secure satellite feed from the valley of the Keldara. “We’ll be staying in South China Sea for the next several days while tracking down the interested parties. The floor is now open for questions or action items.”
“Is there anything you’ll need from home? Air support, equipment, more ammo?” Neilson asked.
Mike looked at Adams and Vanner, both of whom were nodding. Mike pointed at Vanner first.
“If we’re going to be moving to 24/7 operations, I could use a few more intel girls. Especially if we’ll be accessing multiple countries at once.”
“You just like the idea of the girls walking around in those itty-bitty bikinis,” Adams said with a snort.
“Hey, since I’m a happily-married man, you should be thanking me for this. Besides, it’s hardly my fault the Georgian summer is so short that if you blink, you miss it entirely.”
“All right, three more girls will be on the way within twelve hours. Anything else?” Neilson asked.
Mike caught Adams’s stare.
“Yes, Ass-boy?”
“We’re running low on beer.”
“You guys are lucky,” Nielson said. “Mother Lenka just finished a batch. Since everyone did so damn well on the op, I am sending you a few cases of the really good stuff. The girls and the quill will be heading out this evening via our usual airline. They should be there in about sixteen hours, give or take. We’ll arrange with Vanner for transportation from the nearest port. Kildar, anything else you can think of?”
“No, we’re good for now. From what I heard from on high, I get the feeling they would like us to keep a pretty low profile on this one.”
Vanner snorted this time. “They do understand how we typically operate, right?”
“Hey, Disney World was still standing after we were finished, remember?” Mike said.
“Nope, I was way too busy recuperating at that island paradise you’d set up,” Vanner replied.
“Exactly. Anyway, this should be primarily a littoral mission. We will reevaluate if it goes in-country anywhere, however.”
Adams stretched and put his interlaced hands behind his head.
“Another week or two on this floating pleasure palace. If I thought there was a God, he’d be smilin’ down on me for sure.”
“Everyone’s passports are in order, correct? I do not want any red tape if we’re stopped by navy, coast guard, or customs.”
“Everyone’s papers are in order, but how do you expect to explain the thirty sets of Level IV body armor and fatigues, not to mention the heavy weapons?” Vanner’s tone was only half-joking. “Hell, the force we’ve got could probably overthrow one or two governments around here without too much trouble.”
“You’ve got waivers for all the nearby governments,” Nielson said. “I’ll get started on clearance for others. Singapore is always a stickler about this stuff but I’ve got friends in low places. However, the Kildar has a point. You can have anything up to and including a nuclear weapon, and with the right clearance all that a customs guy will do is shrug cause it’s waaay over his pay grade. On the other hand, one itsy bitsy mistake on your passport and they’re all over your ass.”
“All of that stuff will be kept strictly out of sight any time we’re near port. The boat is clear on paper, and I can call in the diplomatic big guns if I have to. Vanner, you’ll have command while we’re ashore, and any pirates thinking they can take this ship will be in for a nasty surprise. Anything else?”
“We are thin on regional intel,” Vanner said. “Right now the girls are scrambling to put together packages for the Keldara but we could really use someone from the area as a local guide.”
“Second that. I even got a guy in mind. Local I worked with in Taiwan a few years ago. Member of the Marines, and served in what they call their Amphibious Searching Unit of the Republic of China Marine Force.”
“‘Amphibious Searching Unit?’” Vanner asked.
“Swim-ops. I won’t call them SEALs but they make noises. And they are pretty good. Up to GROM standards.”
“Okay, see if you can get in touch with him. Vanner?”
“I also know someone who might be able to help us out. Former jarhead named Jace Morgan. Marine Force Recon officer who headed one of the first Marine Special Operations Teams when they were formed in ’06. He served all over the Pacific, including living with the Montagnards in the Highlands of Vietnam. After he left the service, he moved to Singapore, and been there ever since. Speaks a lot of the major regional languages, and can get by in most of the others.”
“Sounds like either could work. Each of you get in touch with your respective prospects, and we’ll get them out here for an interview while we head to Hong Kong. Unless there are any other issues to deal with—” Mike rose from the table. “—I am going to have a little chat with our female captive, see if I can bring her around to our side. After all, we’ll need her to help set up the meeting with this Arun Than.”
“Ah, maybe we should let someone else talk to her first,” Vanner said. “I mean, it’s highly unlikely she’s going to be very forthcoming with the man who just waterboarded her.”
“Actually, that experience usually makes detainees more cooperative, but I’m willing to try another approach. Who did you have in mind?”
“I thought Katya might be the best choice. You know, ex-hooker to current hooker. She can probably relate, having been through something very close to this, and could probably make a better connection with our captive. On the other hand, I suppose you could try to see if the pirate leader himself would set the meet.”
Mike’s lips peeled back in a wolfish grin. “No, your way works just fine. However, I will go extract the contact intel for this guy in Hong Kong. Go tell the boys and girls what’s going on—I am off to talk to a pirate again.”
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Vanner asked.
Mike turned back to him, a puzzled look on his face.
“You better go put Katya on the clock.”
“Oh…right.”
“With any luck, she might even be decent this time,” Adams said.
* * *
Mike stepped out into the red-gold light of the rising sun washing over the Big Fish’s bow. A lone woman was lying on her back a few meters away, dressed in Serengeti aviator sunglasses and three triangles of white cloth than barely covered her amazing tits and tight, toned ass. Her blunt cut blond hair was tousled and damp, as if she’d just taken a shower, and she had earbuds in, listening to something on her iPhone. Her lips were moving, but he was damn sure she wasn’t singing along with a song.
Mike blew a breath out between his lips. Ever since the Florida op, Katya had seized every opportunity to parade around in hardly any clothing, even back home. When he’d tried to call her on it, she had simply told him that she was working on something called “self-aware body image,’ and that Jay, their resident spymaster, had given her the assignment. Mike had confirmed this with Jay, and grudgingly allowed it to continue, despite the constant distractions it caused.
When she heard him approach, Katya raised herself up on her elbows and stared at him. While looking like she was posing for the cover of a swimsuit magazine, she was the furthest thing from a model there was. Behind those shades were the cold, flat eyes of a born sociopath. Mike warned every new man away from near her, unless the poor bastard wanted to become a eunuch. But her mind was diamond-sharp, and the biological additions a black-box American medical lab had made to her last year had turned her into a hell of an undercover operative in certain situations. And the one thing Mike knew for certain about Asians was that they always went crazy for blonds…
“Morning, Katya. Enjoying the trip so far?”
When she removed one earbud, Mike could hear the tinny noise of what sounded like a Chinese language lesson coming from it.
“If by that you mean being bored out of my skull, then yes, I am having a wonderful time, thank you.”
“Glad to hear that, because I’ve got a little job for you.”
“Finally. Where and when?” she asked.
“Right now works, and it’s right here on the boat,” Mike said. “I assume you are aware of the three prisoners we brought on board last night?’
“They were all the rest of the girls could talk about. What about them?”
“One is an Asian prostitute. She was close to the pirate leader, and probably heard things he talked about with his men. I want you to get close to her. Find out what she knows.”
She lowered her sunglasses enough to regard him over the rims.
“What? Did the vaunted Kildar charm not do the job?”
“Not after I waterboarded the bitch three times.”
“So, you want me to be nice to her—the good cop to your psychotic one?”
“Something like that.”
“Me?” Katya said, looking at him over her rims again.
Mike thought this might be the first time he’d ever seen her on the verge of real laughter.
“I realize that most people would consider me psychotic for assigning you the ‘good cop’ position, but—”
“What are my parameters?”
“Drug her, fuck her, slap the shit out of here, whatever way you feel will work best. There is a time limit, however—we’re bound for Hong Kong, and should be there in about fifty hours. I want everything she knows by the time we go ashore.”
“Fine. Jay said I should practice my interpersonal and interrogation skills anyway. This seems like a good place to start.” She tapped a perfect, white tooth with a French-manicured nail. “It will be good to pretend to be something other than a whore for once. The usual rates will apply, of course.”
“Of course.”
Katya rose gracefully to her feet and brushed by Mike in a cloud of coconut bronzing lotion and papaya body spray.
“I’ll let you know how it goes.”
* * *
So close! So fucking close!
In the bathroom of her plush stateroom, the prostitute Soon Yi leaned over the marble sink and tried not to throw up any more bile. Her stomach was already empty from the waterboarding. Only her intense training and self-control had allowed her to clean up in the shower afterward without suffering flashbacks.
As she stared at herself in the mirror, that same self-control allowed her to not smash it to pieces. I only needed an hour or two to get the box back until these fucking gwai-los showed up and started killing everybody! She was just about to make her move to kill those idiots and set up the meeting with Than herself. She had even caught a break when Tony had kidnapped her and tried to escape on his boat. But the damn round-eyes had come after them again. Now she was outnumbered, unarmed, and on a luxury yacht on a westerly heading. The only solace she could take from everything that had happened was that she was still fairly close to the green box.
Taking another deep breath, she took stock of her situation. The guards seem sharp enough, if a bit—simple, she mused. Seducing one may be my ticket out of here…at least they look cleaner than the pirates. But I still need to gain access to the box itself. She had been left on her own for a few hours, probably to let the isolation and hopelessness of her situation sink into her psyche. But her captors thought she’d play her part that willingly, they were in for a surprise…
Wrapping herself in the thick, white, terrycloth bathrobe—for a prison cell, the accommodations were great—Yi tied the matching sash around her waist. That they’d allowed her to have it was interesting—it meant that her captors didn’t consider her to be any kind of threat. Perfect.
She walked back to her cheap dress, which was hung over the back of the gilded chair near the make-up desk. Taking it into the bathroom, she turned on the hot water to cover any noise she was about to make. While the mirror fogged over, she felt along the lower hem for a small break in the material. Finding a tiny loop of metal there, she pinched it between her fingers and leaned close to the running water, then began speaking clear, distinct Mandarin.
The small microphone implanted in her lower mandible picked up every word. It used the conduction of her own body’s electrical field to transmit her words through the antenna in the dress hem, which was powered by tiny batteries that were also sewn into the material. The burst message was boosted using the yacht’s radar array, transmitting to a satellite that relayed it back to her handler at the Second Bureau in the Ministry of State Security in Beijing.
“Black Chrysanthemum reporting.”
“Proceed,” the calm voice on the other end ordered.
Soon Yi gave a terse summary of what had happened since she had hooked up with the pirates twenty-four hours ago. She included names and descriptions of the primary captors, everything she had seen so far. “Many speak with a strange accent, probably Slavic-inflected. Speculate that they are Eastern European mercenaries, hired by a shipping company to eliminate piracy. Their leader was very—insistent about learning whether I had any connection with the target.”
“Acknowledged. Did you volunteer any information?”
“No. Cover is still intact.”
“Good. Is your primary subject still alive?”
“Unknown at this time.”
“Is the target still intact?”
“Unknown at this time. Will attempt to find out. What are my directives?”
“Primary mission is still to acquire information on buyer and seller of the box and its contents. New secondary mission is to gather intelligence on your captors through whatever means you deem necessary, including personnel files if possible. Report in every twenty-four hours if possible.”
“Understood. Black Chrysanthemum out.” Soon Yi released the antenna and left the bathroom. Tossing the dress over the back of a chair, she sat on the bed and leaned back against the suede headboard, feeling a wave of tiredness wash over her. The bed, covered in clean, white sheets and a down-filled duvet, looked very inviting. Her head was sinking toward it when a firm knock sounded on her door.
Quickly she mussed her hair and scurried into the corner of the bed against the wall. “Who’s there? What do you want with me?” she called out in a fast, shrill voice.
“My name is Katya. I would like to speak with you, if that’s all right.”
Yi’s eyebrows rose at this, and she let the silence drag out a bit before replying.
“All—all right.” She made sure she was wearing her cheap slippers as she tucked her legs underneath her.
The door clicked and opened, and a beautiful young woman stepped inside. She was dressed in a black pencil skirt and matching jacket over a cream blouse, with smooth, long legs ending in a pair of matching designer heels—real Jimmy Choos, if Yi were to guess. Her naturally blond hair was smoothed and pulled away from her face, and she stared at Yi through a pair of dark tortoiseshell glasses framing light blue eyes.
“Good, I see that you have had a chance to use the facilities.” Her English was good, if a bit clipped and formal, as if it was not her native tongue. Turning to the open door, the woman spoke to the tall, handsome man outside in a language that sounded vaguely Russian, but wasn’t. Definitely Slavic, Yi thought. Shaking his head, he started to reply, but she cut him off and made a shooing motion at him with her hand. He closed the door, leaving the two women alone.
The woman walked to the makeup desk, pulled the chair out, placed it in the middle of the room, and sat down, crossing her legs. She looked at Yi for a few seconds, then smiled.
“As I said outside, my name is Katya. What is yours?”
“Yi—Soon Yi.” She kept playing her role of terrified prostitute, and cowered in the corner of the room.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Yi. You must be hungry. Can I get you anything to eat or drink?”
“Who are you? What do you people want with me?”
“I am the executive assistant to the Kildar—”
“Kil-dar.” The word didn’t come naturally off Yi’s tongue. “The man who—who—” She shook her head and let a tear trickle down her cheek. Even with her training, it wasn’t entirely acting.
“Yes. It is complicated,” Katya said with a nod. “What has been done to you was regrettable—”
“But you work for that hun dan! What are you, another whore, just better-dressed?”
“I suppose one could compare the relationship to that of a prostitute and her pimp, although I am much more highly-compensated,” Katya said with a shrug. “How the Kildar chooses to conduct his business does not impact how I choose to conduct mine. The important thing right now is that he has decided to keep you alive for the time being.”
“Why?”
“Because he thinks you know more than you are telling him.” Katya uncrossed her legs and sat back in the chair. “He has sent me down to find out if that is true.” She shrugged her elegant shoulders. “So far, I am not seeing very much to justify his reasoning.”
“What? Are you saying he will have me killed if I do not give him something?” Yi hugged her knees to her chest, partly to show fear, and partly to keep her shoes close to her hands. “What does he want from me?”
Katya leaned forward slightly. “He says that you mentioned that you heard the name of the person Yeung Tony was supposed to contact in Hong Kong. Any more information on this Arun Than, or on Tony himself, would help us—and you—tremendously.”
“I—I don’t know that much. Tony just said that Arun Than was the guy who would make him and his pirates rich. That’s all, I swear.”
“That is not very much at all. I do not think the Kildar will be very pleased with this.” Katya rose and walked to the end of the bed, making Soon Yi do her best to meld into the wall. “Relax, I’m not going to hit you.” She sat on the edge. “This may be hard to believe, but I know exactly what you are going through—I have been where you are right now.”
“You—you really were a whore?”
The blond woman’s smile grew tight.
Yes. Stuck in a brothel in the middle of nowhere, I had to spread my legs for whatever man walked through the door.” Her expression softened. “After a while, you start thinking of yourself as worthless…just a hole for a man to stick his dick into and pay your pimp, who might give you just enough to survive until the next day. I have been there and I have done that. When the opportunity came for me to make a better life for myself, I took it, even though there were aspects of it that—displeased me. That still displease me. However, that same opportunity is before you right now, Ms. Yi. If I were in your shoes, I would strongly consider taking it before it is withdrawn.”
“But I do not know anything about that box! Please, you have to believe me!”
Katya stared at her for a long minute, then blew out a breath.
“I believe that you believe what you are saying—but I am not sure that the Kildar will. Let me go talk to him, see if I can get you some more time. I’ll come back and talk to you again in a couple of hours. In the meantime, let us get you some food, all right?”
Yi didn’t reply, only nodded. Katya rose and walked to the door. She opened it, then turned back.
“Please, think about what I said. We will talk again in a little while.” Then she left.
Soon Yi stayed where she was, evaluating the conversation. “Katya” had said all the right words, made all the right overtures to try and draw her into her confidence. A run-of-the-mill prostitute would probably been convinced, but an operative with Soon’s training wasn’t.
Despite everything she had said, despite probably telling the truth about her past, very little of her emotional appeal had ever reached the blond woman’s eyes. She was a stone-cold killer, through and through.
She may even be deadlier than this Kildar, Soon Yi realized, and began thinking about how she could give them enough information to keep herself alive a while longer.
* * *
“Nice outfit,” Mike said when he saw Katya in the command room. “How’d it go?”
“So-so. Greznya is running the conversation through Vanner’s voice stress scanner for analysis, and I want to review the interview at least once before I go back in.”
Katya tapped a white tooth with a nail, pondering something before continuing.
“She cleaned herself up. Most data on waterboarding victims indicates a high percentage have a deep aversion to any kind of running water immediately afterward.” She removed the glasses and handed them to Daria. “I am interested in seeing how the recording from these compares to my implant. It seems they can be used for everyday surveillance without detection. Would be good in sunglasses, too.”
“We will get on that,” Vanner said.
“Cottontail,” Mike said, making her turn toward him. “What is your take on her?”
“She is definitely more than she seems. I am just not sure exactly what that is yet. I said we would feed her, and that I would talk to you to buy her some more time. Put the Oxystim in her drink. I suggest fruit juice to mask the taste. I will give it about ninety minutes to digest, then go in to let her know that you have graciously allowed her to live until morning, but that you expect results tomorrow, otherwise she will be shark bait. That should do it, no?”
“It’s a good start. I’m just really curious what the hell this bitch is hiding. Vanner, make sure someone’s watching her room twenty-four/seven. I don’t want to miss anything.”
“Yes, Kildar.”