“What happened to your face?” asked Dutcher.
Tanner touched his cheek. “Bone sliver.”
Dutcher nodded and was silent for a few moments. “Was it bad?”
“Pretty bad.”
“Anything more on your watchers?”
“No sign. I seem to have lost my popularity.”
“Good. You up to a little legwork?”
Tanner smiled into his drink. “So now I’m the Man Who Saw Too Much?”
“ ’Fraid so.”
“I was getting bored, anyway.”
“Finish your drink,” Dutcher said. “Have you ever been to Luk Yu’s?”
Luk Yu’s is a Hong Kong landmark that dates back to the early 1900s. Inside, past an authentic-looking Sikh doorman, Tanner found a polished marble foyer and humming ceiling fans. Booths were separated by stained glass panels. According to the brass plaque beside the grand staircase, the second floor contained a sitting room where British governors and aristocrats had once debated Hong Kong’s future.
Though the service and the meal — Szechuan was their mutual choice — were mediocre, Tanner decided Luk Yu’s decor made up for it.
After dinner they walked through the gardens surrounding The Peak Tram Station. “Umako Ohira was working for us,” Dutcher told Tanner. “CIA.”
“Agent or case officer?”
“Agent… a walk-in.”
Dutcher recounted the briefing he’d received from Mason. Tanner asked many of the same questions Dutcher had. “What was Mason’s take on Ieyasu’s suspicions about Takagi and the JRA?” Briggs asked.
“He didn’t have one.”
“Doesn’t that strike you as odd?”
“A bit, but the chemical angle is thin. What they found in the Iraqi SAM radars was tangible.”
“And that’s all they want from us — to check the network, nothing else?”
“In their eyes, Ohira was a tool. The network is all that counts now.”
Tanner didn’t like that mind-set but said nothing, knowing Dutcher felt the same way. That kind of brutal pragmatism made it too easy to use people, then dispose of them. Besides, remembering those few seconds he’d stared into Umako Ohira’s eyes made it impossible for Tanner to see the man as a tool.
“Do we know what Ohira was doing the night he died?” asked Tanner.
“According to his last report, a few weeks ago, he’d been approached by someone wanting to buy information about Takagi Industries. They were supposed to meet that night, but he didn’t say where or when. His impression was they were trying to false-flag him.”
False flag is an agent recruitment method where an enemy agent pretends to work for a friendly, or at least neutral, service. False flag recruits often go years without knowing the true identity of his paymasters, if ever.
“Did he make the meet?” asked Tanner.
“We don’t know.”
“I’ll need to see the details of the network.”
“I have a loaded laptop for you. Walter’s included a brief on Takagi Industries. You’ll find it interesting reading.”
“From what I gather, he’s probably the most powerful industrialist in Japan.”
“No doubt about it. One of the ten richest men in the world, in fact. If there’s any truth behind the Black Ocean connection, he’s probably pulling a lot of strings in the government.”
“Are they on friendly terms?”
“Not as friendly as Takagi would like,” Dutcher replied. “The current prime minister is a tough SOB. We think Black Ocean isn’t getting its way on a lot of policies, and they don’t like it.”
“What kind of support is Mason giving?” Tanner asked.
“The usual. I’m sending Ian over in a couple days; he’ll have light cover for status.”
Tanner understood the decision: They would be moving fast, and a fully backstopped cover for either of them was impossible. Either way, Briggs was glad to have Cahil along. As friends, they were as close as brothers, and as colleagues, their teamwork was uncannily empathetic, having been forged during their years in Special Warfare and IS AG. Early in training, Cahil’s gregarious nature earned him the nickname “Mama Bear” from his fellow candidates. Bear was genuine, fiercely loyal, and as reliable as the setting sun.
“The key you picked up from Ohira matches a locker at the Sannomiya Railway Station in Kobe,” said Dutcher. “Now, as far as this woman at the hotel, Camille…”
“Sereva.”
“Nothing turned up on her, either. The name Stephan Karotovic is real. He’s an immigration attorney in New York. She looks legitimate.” Dutcher saw Tanner’s half-smile and asked, “Something I should know about?”
“Not if she’s clear.”
“She is.”
“Then no.”
“One more thing,” Dutcher said, stopping. “Ieyasu’s story about all the dead and missing Takagi employees is true. In fact, one of them was in Ohira’s network.”
Tanner thought about this for a moment. “It seems our Mr. Takagi takes his downsizing seriously.”
In the old Berber’s cafe on the street of canals, Fayyad watched Mustafa al-Baz approach the table. Two steps behind him was a European with pasty skin and flat, blue eyes. Dangerous, Fayyad thought.
“Ibrahim, this is Sergei,” said al-Baz.
The two men shook hands. “Hello,” said Sergei.
Russian.
“He is here as an adviser,” said al-Baz. “He is trustworthy.”
“Very well.”
After tea was ordered, al-Baz got down to business. “We have a job for you, Ibrahim. Your specialty.”
“Where and who?”
“The where is America—”
“Pardon me?” The United States was the last place he wanted to be right then.
“You will know the who when you accept”
“When and for how long?”
“It would begin in a week. We will handle the logistics. As for duration, we’re estimating three to four weeks.”
In the back of Fayyad’s mind, he was hearing No, no, no. “And my fee?”
“Three hundred thousand dollars, in an account of your choosing.”
Fayyad’s teacup froze halfway to his mouth. “Three hundred thousand?”
“That is correct.”
With that kind of money, Fayyad would be free. If handled wisely, he could leave this business forever, find a plain, simple-minded wife, and settle down. Three hundred thousand! Whatever the risk, it was worth it.
“I accept,” he said. “Now: Who is the target?”
“Once you are committed, there can be no—”
“I understand. Who is it?”
Al-Baz told him.
“You can’t be serious.”
“We are very serious.” Al-Baz slid a photograph across the table along with a sheaf of papers. “Can you do it?”
“I can do it.” Fayyad turned to Sergei. “This is your area of expertise?”
“One of them.”
“Is it feasible?”
“As I told Mustafa, yes. The woman fits the profile, but the target may or may not have the information you seek. If he has access to it, it will be through secondary sources. His inquiries may draw attention. Also, the timetable is too ambitious. You’ll have to move fast and put great pressure on the target.”
Fayyad asked al-Baz, “Is all this true?”
“We think Sergei is being overly cautious.”
The Russian said nothing, his face blank.