20
David Huang spent two hours completing a surveillance-detection run before meeting Michelle Chadwick in the small Virginia burg of Great Falls. Counterintelligence personnel from any number of U.S. government agencies had the habit of following low-level members of foreign missions because they were suspicious over some intercepted e-mail or phone call. Sometimes it was completely random. Huang assumed he was immune from such surveillance since he was posing as a Canadian lobbyist, but he could never be sure. The Ministry of State Security had assured him that his passport was a genuine document with a false name. Still, there was always a chance some peripheral investigation by the Canadians had discovered something about his passport. He might have been filmed meeting with Chadwick. His handler might have been discovered. Weak links could be mitigated but not done away with entirely. So Huang took the long way out of D.C. and ordered Chadwick to do the same.
The lengthy drive gave the Chinese agent’s support team time to watch for any agents trailing him while he doubled back in heavy traffic on the Leesburg Pike, got off and then on again at consecutive exits, or simply drove ten miles below the speed limit on the Beltway.
He’d come out here with his wife before, just to drive the twisting country roads and look at the houses. These weren’t the McMansions of the nouveau riche in other parts of D.C. where capitalist bureaucrats went deep into debt for just the right neighborhood and lobbied to put their kids in private schools they could ill afford. Great Falls was old money, expensive real estate, painted wood fences, and massive horse barns surrounded by forests of hickory and oak. It was too rich for a CIA officer on a government salary to buy a house unless he came from some kind of family. There were still police, but not like inside the Beltway, where it seemed every other person was an armed federal officer.
Huang arrived early and sat in his white Range Rover, sipping a Diet Coke and watching the wind whip the plum trees, when Chadwick’s BMW SUV pulled into the parking lot. Neither of them had brought a cell phone. What was the point of running surveillance detection if you carried your own tracking beacon around in your pocket?
He sighed at Chadwick’s wooden movements and furtive glances as she got into his car. The woman looked like someone pretending to be a spy — but that couldn’t be helped. She was frightened — a feeling she’d not likely experienced in some time, considering how long she’d held her powerful position. Huang saw the flash of hatred in her eyes, and resolved to keep in mind that powerful animals were always more dangerous when they were frightened.
“I’m here,” she said, when she flopped herself down in the Range Rover’s passenger seat and shut the door. “Now what?”
She had an annoying habit of styling her hair like a helmet, and the wind had pushed a great deal of it across her face.
“We need you to meet with Ryan again at once.”
“Not a chance.” Chadwick shook her head as if she were still in control and her decision was final. “I told you, the whole place is in crisis mode. I already gave you some juicy information.”
“My superiors were very pleased,” Huang said. “The timing is actually perfect for you to get close to him. As you say, he is in the middle of a crisis. People expose their true intentions at times like this.”
“I don’t know if he even believes me.”
“That would be unfortunate,” Huang said. “You should work very hard to see that he does.”
She scoffed, staring straight ahead, her chin quivering a little. “I’m not as good at lying as you.”
“Listen to me, Michelle,” David said. “I am truly sorry. You and I both find ourselves in situations we do not enjoy. But that is our reality.”
He was sorry for a lot of things, but Chadwick was a manipulator herself. That made it easier.
“None of that matters,” Chadwick said. “He’s too caught up to have a meeting with me on some bill I want to pass.”
“So you will meet about something else,” Huang said. “Something that plays into his present state of mind. Tell him you have a constituent who is of Chinese descent visiting Indonesia who might be able to help. Tell him your constituent knows about an American priest who was recently arrested for proselyting.”
“Is that true?” Chadwick asked. “Did your people have something to do with this?”
“At this point,” Huang said, “the truth doesn’t matter. But that is not the point. Ryan will likely already be aware of this information, which will corroborate what you say. He will be hungry for more.”
“He will,” Chadwick said. “And he’ll have the FBI crawl up my ass about my contact in Indonesia — a contact which I do not have, by the way.”
“Ah,” Huang said, “but you do. You’ll have a voicemail on your cell phone from an anonymous male caller in Indonesia as soon as you return to your apartment.”
“How do you know I came from my apartment and not my office?”
Huang reached for her hand. “Michelle—”
She jerked her arm away, furious. “I swear to you, David, or whatever your real name is, if you ever touch me again, so help me God I will break your hands—”
Huang chuckled softly. “I don’t believe in God… but I do believe you would hurt me if you had the chance.”
He leaned against his door, giving her space to calm down. Social engineering was, more often than not, making another human being feel as though they’d gotten their way, allowing them to win the small battles while you won the war.
“I am truly sorry,” he said.
“Bullshit!”
He shook his head slowly, looking away out his side window, careful to watch her reflection. “I know you don’t believe me, but I’m as much a prisoner in this scenario as you are.” He waited a beat, then, when she said nothing, he started the Range Rover. “You should look at the upside. We are only helping you bring down a political enemy.”
“You bastard,” Chadwick said, quieter now, but no less intense. “Stop pretending like we’re on the same team. I detest Jack Ryan, but he’s a hell of a lot smarter than you give him credit for. He’ll figure this out. I can virtually guarantee it.”
“Call the number I gave you when you’ve set up the meeting,” Huang said. He hit the switch to unlock her door, a signal that their meeting was over. “I sense that you are trying to devise some plan to extract yourself from your present situation. But you should take great care, Michelle. Do exactly what I say, when I say. My superiors are dangerous men. You should see to your own safety, and let us worry about how smart Jack Ryan is or is not.”
21
Ding put Gavin Biery on speaker as everyone buckled into their seats on the Hendley Gulfstream for the nine-thousand-mile flight to Manado. With Lisanne Robertson on leave, they’d be without their director of transportation — meaning they’d have to rent their own vehicles, arrange their own ramp parking — and get their own drinks while on board.
“This Ackerman guy had come into some serious coin before he was killed,” Biery said. “I found recent bank deposits to the tune of twelve and a half million U.S.”
“An odd number for a payoff,” Jack said, looking up from where he was making his customary nest in the rearmost leather sofa seat of the company plane. “I’m betting he split a bigger payday with Noonan.”
“Already checked that,” Gavin said. “And you are correct. Right down the middle.”
Midas gave a low whistle. “Twenty-five million…”
“Makes sense.” Ding looked up from the Moleskine pad where he was taking notes. “We think they sold the AI program to another party before Father West was arrested and Noonan disappeared.”