Few outside the inner circle knew The Campus existed. It wasn’t something you applied to. You had to be asked, handpicked, so it was easier to get the crème de la crème of intelligence officers and operators. Chavez was a plank-holder, one of the first on board at inception, along with Clark and Dom Caruso, who’d been chosen by President Ryan and Gerry Hendley. There had been others: Brian — Dom’s brother — and Sam. Both had been killed on the job. Chavez had lost countless friends, in Colombia, on Rainbow, and with the Agency — in hellholes all around the globe. Finding a place to get killed was never a problem.
Work in that environment made for a close-knit team, closer than family. The Campus was small. It had to be, but like any family, there were periodic squabbles and disagreements. Switching partners now and then helped to keep everyone on their toes. Beyond that, from a personal standpoint, Chavez genuinely liked these people. It was a good thing, too, because all told, he’d probably spent more time with members of one team or another than with his own family. Patsy had grown up that way with John Clark as her father, and now JP was going through the same thing. At a reunion the year before, Ding’s cousin had called him an asshat for spending so much time away from home, berating him for abandoning his family and leaving all the work on the home front to his wife. Patsy about ripped the woman’s head off defending him. But she’d been quiet on the drive back to the hotel, and admitted she wouldn’t mind seeing more of him. That next morning, though, she’d apologized for laying on the guilt trip, and left him a handwritten note. He’d even shown it to John and was pretty sure there had been a tear or two welling up in the old man’s eyes.
Never thought I’d meet another man like my dad. But I’m sure glad I did. Please don’t get discouraged because of us. JP and I know you’re not Superman — you’re so much better. Superman doesn’t have to be brave; he’s invincible. You’re a mere mortal, and yet you march into danger anyway, every day. That’s brave. Someday, JP will find out what you and Daddy do, and when he does, he’ll be so proud of you, just like I am.
Love you,
— Pats
Funny thing was, his wife’s note telling him to get out there and do his job only made him want to spend more time with her. Maybe she was just extra-wily that way. Accustomed to compartmentalizing home and work into different parts of his brain, he pushed the thoughts away and focused on the mission, rejuvenated for the moment.
A steady stream of customers, mostly young Indonesian hipster types, came and went from the business. Suparman’s was crammed in the middle of a strip mall that was three stories tall. Like the larger mall to the south, it had the slouchy look of something old that had been refurbished and repainted many times over. Flanked by a hair salon, a pet store, and a scooter dealership, among other things, Suparman’s took up the bottom two floors in the center of the mall. The upper floors of most of the businesses appeared to be apartments. That would make things interesting if they ended up having to break in here.
There’d been no heavies, no dark limousines pulling up front, nothing to lead Chavez to believe there was anything remarkable going on inside the store. Of course, that didn’t mean the Calliope tech wasn’t there. Chavez was more interested in learning if the security guards went home after the store closed, in the event they came up empty-handed at the main office and had to come back here later.
Adara showed up less than half an hour after she left, black hair still damp under a stylish red ball cap. She’d changed into khaki slacks and a sky-blue polo shirt. Chavez had a cup of tea waiting for her.
“Your hair looks good,” he said. “I’ll bet Dom likes it.”
“He’d better,” Adara said. “Because I’m not sure this stuff is going to come out anytime soon. It smells like they used some kind of tar or something in the dye. I’ve showered in a lot of bathrooms in my travels… Did you know they have a hose connected to the toilets that you can use instead of toilet paper?” Adara had a knack for language and culture. Out of all the people on the team, she was the most likely to study up on the eccentricities of the places they visited — and then do her best to embrace them. She was also possessed of a keen sense of smell, and suggested even when she was transportation coordinator that the guys shower with local soaps on arrival at any new destination so as not to stand out from the crowd. “I looked it up,” she said. “It’s called a…” She looked at her hand, where she’d written down the word. “Semprotan cebok, or something like that. Basically means the spray hose for your butt.”
“Yeah, it’s going to take some time to convert me on that one,” Chavez said. “Not big on the air-drying thing…” He nodded at her hand. “You may want to rethink having something about butts and hoses written on your palm.”
“That’s why you make the big money.” Adara chuckled. She scooted her chair closer, forearms on the table so she could arch her back. Long flights, even on an aircraft as plush as the Gulfstream, had a way of putting kinks in a person’s spine that took days to shake out.
“Anything?” she asked, shooting a sideways glance through the window across the street.
Ding shook his head. “Nothing but customers. Our guys are set up outside the eye doc’s office. Should be making entry as soon as it closes.”
Adara raised her cardboard teacup. “Here’s to sitting on our spray-hosed butts while they do the fun stuff. When you were a kid, did you ever think you’d be in Southeast Asia drinking tea and trying to steal some millionaire’s computer software?”
Chavez knew the question was rhetorical but answered it anyway. “As I remember, my only goal when I was a kid was not dying in a gang fight.”
“Brutal,” Adara said, grimacing like she meant it. “Hey, you’re not really mad about the scenario in New York, are you?”
“Hell, no,” Chavez said. “I want training to be as close to the real thing as possible without spilling too much blood. We’re playing a zero-failure game. The only way to win is to cheat like hell… and then lie our asses off if we get caught. I was pissed at myself because I didn’t figure out what you were up to.”
“That means a lot.” She toyed with her cup, spinning it slowly on the table. “You’re a good boss.”
Chavez shrugged off the comment. “I’m just one of the guys.”
“No,” Adara said. “You’re not. You might look at yourself like one of us, but the rest of us view you in the league with John—”
Ding almost spewed his sip of coffee. “Well,” he scoffed. “I’d say the rest of you need to check your windage and elevation, because I have a long way to go before I am anything like John Clark.”
She drank her tea and looked at him for a time, and then said, “Whatever you say. I’m just telling you how we see it. You and John talk about us. Who do you think we talk about? You and John. It’s only natural. Not that this is a democracy or anything, I’m just saying that all of us see you taking more and more responsibility—”
“John’s not going anywhere.”
Adara gave an adamant shake of her head. “I’m not saying that. I just mean you’re a good boss, even if you do make me dye my hair so I look goth.”
He chuckled and pushed away from the table, chair chattering on the tile. “You got this for a few minutes? I’m gonna take a stroll.”
“I’ll be here,” she said, toasting with the teacup again.
Chavez had never been comfortable with compliments, so this was as good a time as any to conduct a little area familiarization. Whenever possible, he liked to walk the streets and alleys around any surveillance site, getting a lay of the land, egress routes, possible overlap with other ops. A gangbanger a block away might not have anything to do with your target, but that didn’t make him any less of a threat if he saw you hanging around his neighborhood. Smart spies used their surroundings like prey animals used chattering squirrels as an early-warning system for approaching danger. It was good to know where the squirrels were. More than once he’d watched some cartel kingpin’s lookouts — called halcones in Spanish — run to alert their bosses of rival cartels or federales. You could never have too much intel, and the best of it often came from the bad guys.