Yao said nothing.
“In my job it doesn’t pay to be sentimental, but I look at it like this. The moment I become something other than a human being, I need to get out of this line of work.”
“Understandable.”
“I know about everything that happened in China last year.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said.
She leaned forward a little. “And I know about Jack Junior.”
Yao had met the son of the President of the United States in Hong Kong. Ryan had claimed to be working for a private investment company at the time, but soon enough Yao figured out that was a cover story for an intelligence mission Ryan was working. POTUS’s kid wasn’t CIA, that much was clear, but it was also clear that Ryan Junior was in direct comms with Director of National Intelligence Mary Pat Foley. Yao had thought it almost comically surreal at the time when he and the President’s son snuck over the border and onto the Chinese mainland, but the joke ended quickly when the shooting war started.
Yao and Ryan had accomplished their mission, and Ryan had kept quiet about who, exactly, he was working for. Yao had been told once, upon his return to the States, to keep Jack Ryan, Jr., out of his reports. No other mention had been made of the President’s son, and Yao had certainly told no one.
He knew that Mary Pat was aware of Ryan’s involvement in the Chinese operation, but he certainly did not expect her to talk to him about it, so this moment was a little awkward.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said.
“That’s a complicated issue, and one that does not affect your work on this operation, but I do make mention of it to say I know you are going into harm’s way with some specific knowledge that must not fall into enemy hands.”
Yao wondered if Foley was going to give him a cyanide pill. Holy shit, that happens only in the movies, right?
“Yes, ma’am,” he said again. With a nervous chuckle he said, “I certainly won’t mention it.” He worried that comment sounded sarcastic, so he was pleased to see Foley shrug, as if the matter was put to bed.
She then said, “I am sure your control talked to you about in extremis extraction options.” She was talking about his ability to escape in an emergency.
“You mean the lack thereof?”
Foley nodded. “Yes. Your best bet is to head for the Chinese border if compromised. It’s guarded and patrolled, but the natural impediments to getting across, mountains and rivers and such, are relied on by both sides to some degree. It would be hard to get into China, but in an emergency, attempting it is your best course of action.”
“Yes, I’ve been briefed and I’ve memorized the routes.”
She added, “It’s also important you realize that even if you do make it over the border, you are not safe. We could get you back if you are picked up by the Chinese, but North Korean agents also patrol inside the Chinese border, looking for defectors and spies. If they catch you they will pull you back over the Yalu River and into the DPRK.”
Adam blew out a sigh. He knew this, but it was hard to take. “Right. That does complicate an extraction via China.” He and his control officers had considered sewing forged papers into his clothing to help him in the event of an overland escape into China. They went as far as creating an identity card that claimed him to be a resident of Liaoning Province, which bordered North Korea.
But ultimately they decided against it. As much as Yao would have liked to know he had a way out of North Korea in the case of emergency, the possibility the North Koreans would find the ID card and identify him as a spy had been too great. So in the end, he decided to go in “naked.”
If he was caught in China by the Chinese, he would be thrown into prison. If he was caught on either side of the border by the DPRK, he would be executed.
Foley said, “There is another option to get you out of the country. It would be in a worst-case scenario.”
Adam hadn’t been told of other options. “I’m all ears.”
“Actually, this is something from a code-word access program that you don’t need to know about.” She paused. “Unless, of course, you do. I’m asking you to trust me on this one. Trust me that we will do our best to get to you if something unforeseen happens.”
Adam had no idea what she was talking about, or why she’d even mentioned it, but he thanked her anyway.
After a time Mary Pat stood, shook Adam’s hand, and said, “Good luck, Avalanche. Remember, we need that intelligence, but we need men like you even more. Err on the side of personal safety.”
“Thank you, Madame Director,” said Yao.
“I look forward to welcoming you home when you are done.”
Yao smiled. “I look forward to coming home when I’m done.”
36
They had run out of coffee in the safe house, and John Clark found this wholly unacceptable. After the shootout, Sam, Ding, and Dom were all out this morning tailing a Sharps employee named Bridgeforth, and Clark decided he had time to run out to a coffee shop to grab a cup. As far as he was concerned, he would have just gone into the first 7-Eleven, or whatever the little bodegas around here were called — he didn’t need anything more fancy than a hot jolt of caffeine — but the closest place to him was actually right next door to his condo building down at street level, so he stepped in there.
Within ten seconds he turned to step back out, the place was too damn crowded, but there were already four college-age kids behind him in a line that blocked the exit, so with a sigh he decided to stick it out and wait his turn.
The crowd was heavy, even at nine forty-five in the morning when most of these young people should have been, at least as far as Clark was concerned, at work. The establishment was far too trendy for Clark’s taste; he was the oldest patron in sight by at least a quarter-century, and when he scanned the large menu handwritten in chalk on a board on the wall, he saw this roaster — the joint was even too pretentious to call itself a coffee shop — served every imaginable permutation of beans and teas and soy and foam. He rolled his eyes at the seemingly never-ending options of syrups and caramels and cookie bits and protein powders that could be added to the drink.
As he waited in line he had every intention of asking the waifish pixie behind the counter with the pin through her septum if he could, by any slim chance, purchase a regular goddamned cup of coffee, but fortunately for all involved, he had time to kill, and he spent the time rereading the choices of sixty or seventy drinks on the board. To his relief, on his second scan of the menu he finally saw that the establishment would be able to accommodate his outlandish request for a simple cup of black joe.
His transaction went smoothly, he even calmed a bit and bought himself a multigrain bagel, and he sat down at a small bistro table in the back. There was a New York Times on the seat next to him, so he picked it up and began looking at the front page.
President Ryan was taking heat from the Times for his stance on North Korea. Clark didn’t have to turn to the editorial section to see this; the invective came through in a front-page above-the-fold “straight news” piece. The procedural vote next week was going to be tight, and the Times reported on North Korea’s promises to use its bank accounts to help its citizenry. The North Koreans said any restriction on their ability to do this would starve innocent civilians.
The Times was pushing a “trust but verify” line, giving the DPRK the room it needed to handle its banking affairs so it could spend the hard currency in its overseas bank accounts, with the caveat that Western accounting inspectors spot-check more financial transactions to make sure the DPRK wasn’t earning offshore monies via drugs or counterfeiting or illegal weapons sales.