Lena sat down. The waitress brought her a water.
“I’d offer you a lemon, but we don’t carry them anymore, what with the war and all.”
“It’s no problem at all,” replied Lena. Polite, but not overly so. She didn’t want to make conversation.
“The menu’s limited too. I’m sorry. We’ve crossed out everything we don’t have. Some people wonder why we’re still open. But the owner keeps paying us. So we keep showing up. You know how it is.” The waitress’s voice was distant.
“I’ll wait to order. I’m meeting someone. Thank you.”
The waitress seemed to notice the way Lena looked for the first time. Asian. The waitress’s eyes narrowed slightly. She frowned and left Lena to herself.
A few miles away, the mole drove out of the gate at the recently reestablished military base at Fort Ritchie, Maryland. He drove into town and parked in a drugstore parking lot one mile from the restaurant where Lena sat waiting, although his followers weren’t aware of where she was.
Chase sat in the rear of a government-owned undercover vehicle, a Honda Odyssey, along with two CIA special operations group men. Behind their van was another, which held the FBI team.
“Luntz is on foot,” came the voice in Chase’s earpiece. “Headed north, into town.” The CIA and FBI counterintel folks were working hand-in-hand on this. Each had brought in a very small team, and they were working surprisingly well together. But this was the high-stakes moment. Game time.
“We have eyes on her yet?”
“Negative.”
“Van One, start canvassing the town.”
“On the go.” Chase’s vehicle accelerated down the street, turning through the town. Everyone’s eyes looking through the tinted windows. Two more civilian vehicles were doing the same thing. The routes had been preplanned to cover every possible meeting location and still ensure that the vehicles didn’t hit any of the spots more than once. Now they had to figure out which one she was at.
Then Chase saw her, sitting at a restaurant patio, winter clothing on.
Heart beating through his chest, a surge of adrenaline hitting him. Her eyes were dark, and alluring.
He said, “Got her. Restaurant number two. Corner table.” Their van continued on casually down the street, then turned and made their way back behind the FBI’s minivan.
In the FBI’s minivan sat a special agent of similar build and facial features to Luntz. The lookalike. The doppelganger who would swap places with Luntz and go to meet with Lena. He was an immensely talented officer of the CIA’s clandestine services, and one that Susan made sure Lena had never met. The man had been studying everything about Luntz, interviewing his handler for hours on end. Practicing exactly what to say and how to say it to Lena, when the meet took place.
The operations team had even identified Luntz’s exact clothing and ordered a matching outfit. Now that they had Lena’s location, they could bag him and send in their lookalike.
“What color jacket is Luntz wearing?” asked the lookalike from the back seat. “The gray one or the beige?”
“The beige.”
The lookalike swore and reached into a bag to switch jackets. The agent had guessed wrong. “He usually wears the gray.”
“Who cares about the jacket? Just pick one.”
There were a million things that could still go wrong.
Chase’s pulse kicked it up another notch.
“Okay, let’s take him,” came the voice of the FBI SAC in the now-lead van. The vans began driving through the streets.
“Local police vehicle just pulled up near him.”
Chase looked at the other operatives in his van. They shrugged as they readied their weapons.
Luntz walked at a steady pace, keeping his scan going as he made his way towards the meeting spot, just like his handler had trained him to do. It was a cold day, and very few people were outside.
A police cruiser parked along the curb twenty yards ahead of him. The cruiser’s lights weren’t on, and only one officer got out. No one else was in the vehicle. The policeman seemed more interested in a vacant car that was parked in a metered spot.
Luntz was well trained for a recruited agent. He kept his cool, not wanting to do anything to draw attention to himself. The policeman didn’t appear to be a threat, so he kept walking.
It wasn’t until he was a few feet away that the man wearing the police uniform turned towards him.
“Excuse me, sir, you live around here? You don’t know whose vehicle this is, do you?”
Luntz slowed slightly but kept walking. “Sure don’t.”
The sound of vehicles speeding down the street alerted both men, and Luntz jerked his neck in their direction, away from the cop.
The two vans peeled right and came to an abrupt stop on either side of the police cruiser, locking both men in. The side and passenger doors from the vans opened, and a total of six men wearing black tactical gear leapt onto the curb, their weapons drawn. The addition of the police cruiser made for an awkward takedown, adding a few more steps than the team would have liked.
Their weapons trained on Luntz, the FBI agents all yelled some version of “FBI, show us your hands!” The lookalike Luntz stood behind them, wearing the same clothes.
Chase saw Luntz’s eyes go wide.
The local cop took out his weapon, holding it aimed towards the ground, trying to figure out what was going on. The dynamic was dangerous and unplanned. Six armed men approaching. The local police officer was standing right next to the mole, giving Luntz an extra few seconds to appraise the situation. Luntz moved a step closer to the cop.
Chase noticed that Luntz’s eyes remained fixed on his doppelganger.
“Officer, please holster your weapon and step aside.”
The police officer didn’t holster his weapon but did change his posture so that it was aimed towards Luntz.
“Hands, please!”
Luntz’s face reminded Chase of a suicide bomber he had witnessed in Iraq. A man who knew he was near his end.
“Watch him! Watch him!”
The FBI men stepped closer, their firearms still trained on Luntz. They had been instructed to refrain from discharging their weapons, lest any gunfire alert Lena Chou.
Luntz seemed to sense their apprehension. His hands never went up. They remained in his coat pocket.
Which popped in a puff of cloth and smoke.
A single muffled gunshot rang out, and the FBI agents dove on Luntz, wrestling him into submission.
“Oh shit, are you alright?” The local cop was looking towards the FBI minivan. “Hey, this guy is hurt…”
Chase turned to see the lookalike agent now on the ground, leaning back on the rear tire and whimpering. At first Chase couldn’t see what was wrong. Then the agent frantically clutched at his neck. From between his fingers, dark crimson blood spewed forth in spurts, covering his beige jacket.
Lena checked her watch. Five minutes overdue. She hadn’t worked with this man Luntz before, but his tardiness, combined with the sound she’d heard a few minutes ago, put her on the edge of her limit. On any other assignment, she would have been gone, she told herself. She opened her purse to check the radio transmitter she was using to signal the South Sword Team.
When she’d heard the noise, she’d reminded herself that she was in the countryside. It might have been a hunter, shooting a deer on his property. It wasn’t like her to be optimistic. But the need for this information was so great, she had to give him every chance.
But if Luntz had been killed or captured, was waiting here another few minutes worth anything? With each passing second, the probability that Lena’s life — no, not her life, her capacity to fight for Jinshan — was in jeopardy.