“Sir? What should I do?” Robert asked quietly.
Smith shook his head. “If they wanted me dead, they would have shot by now.”
“I don’t like this,” Robert said.
He knew Robert carried a Sig-Sauer, and he had his ancient Colt M1911 service weapon in his metal briefcase, but that would be no match for whatever firepower was most likely contained in the big SUV’s. Behind them, horns began to blare as traffic backed up.
Two Asian men emerged from the lead Suburban, one old and withered and one young and alert. Both wore suits, and he had no doubt the young man was well armed under his jacket. The young man stopped at Robert’s door, while the old man stepped to the back and tapped his fingertip gently against the window.
“Mr. Smith,” the old man said. “We must speak.”
The old man’s voice was rough with age. Smith guessed the man was Chinese, given the man’s heavy accent.
“Robert, if you will let the young man drive, I believe we will soon be safe and sound.”
Robert turned to him, his face hard. “Give the word, sir, and I’ll take as many with me as I can.”
“That won’t be necessary.”
They did a careful dance amid the honking and blaring traffic. Robert exited the Lincoln and the young man took his place, casually closing the driver’s door. The old Chinese man pointed to Robert and nodded. Robert took the young man’s place in the lead Suburban.
The old man opened the rear door and carefully slid inside next to him. “Mr. Chen,” the old man said to the man in the driver’s seat, “if you would?”
The young man honked the horn twice and the vehicles accelerated as one. They passed the International Monetary Fund to the east and every Suburban but the lead vehicle turned west onto H street at the next intersection. Their driver continued to follow the lead vehicle as they navigated through the heavy DC traffic.
Smith turned to the old Chinese man. The man’s suit was well tailored, but not exceptionally so. The man’s face was bland, with deep wrinkles that hinted at concern or amusement. He didn’t know the man’s name, but he had a sneaking suspicion that he knew the man’s role. “You wanted to speak?”
“You’re an interesting man, Mr. Smith,” the old man said. “You don’t exist. Not electronically. Do you know how rare that is?”
Smith said nothing. If this man was who he suspected, he would learn more by remaining silent.
“Your apartment is not in your name,” the old man continued. “Your apartment, and the other apartments in your building, are all rented to people who don’t exist, and have been since the building was constructed. Your office is much the same. You have no phone, no television, no bank account or credit cards. You’ve never held a mortgage or owned a home. You’ve never owned a car.”
The old man paused and looked around the Lincoln. “Even this does not belong to you. It is registered to a private company that has no address, phone number, or record on file. Tell me, does your driver know who you are?”
Smith said nothing.
The old man chuckled, eyes twinkling. “Do not worry about your driver. He will be unharmed. I thought it time we finally meet. You understand why?”
Like gears in a watch, the pieces slowly turned, clicking into place. He shrugged, but again said nothing.
“Of course you do. I know who you are and I know what you do. I know this because I’ve watched you for fifty years. I was assigned to Washington as a young intelligence officer. It was a great honor. I was quite good at spycraft, but I began to suspect there were others who were better. I discovered a most interesting secret. There were shadows within shadows, and one could spend a lifetime looking through them. The deeper one looked, the deeper one could look, but no matter how deep, there were always more. No, there had to be another way. I began to look for nothing. Much to my surprise, when I looked for nothing, I found something.”
The old man’s piercing gaze rested upon his. “I was nothing.”
“Quite correct,” the old man said. “Only a man of importance leaves no trail. That is how I found you. There were others, of course, but none so totally removed from the world as yourself. I spent years tracking your movements. Bugs were planted and removed. Any attempt to track you met with failure. So, I applied the same lesson. I didn’t look for where you were, I looked for where you were not. Again, success!”
Smith couldn’t help but smile. The old man seemed delighted to tell the story, but Smith had learned over the years that sometimes the story being told wasn’t the most important story… sometimes it was the story that wasn’t. “This conversation is fascinating. Please, continue.”
The old man beamed at him. “By now your men in Shanghai have realized their hacker friend will not be returning. An unfortunate necessity, but a fortuitous discovery. You are a smart man with a keen mind. Tell me what you have learned from our conversation. I have a valuable piece of information, but only if you tell me a story worthy of such a gift.”
Smith laughed, one of his first hearty laughs in more years than he cared to remember. “I like you, sir. You play a fantastic game. You would like to hear my story?”
The old man bowed his head. “Please.”
Of course you would, because you can learn how I think and take my measure by how much I’ve gathered from you. “The Chinese government had nothing to do with the bomb. Or the virus. I knew that much. It’s too direct, too crude, and far too… indelicate.”
“Continue,” the old man said with approval.
“You knew about the PLA hacking program, but you weren’t aware of Mr. Palmer’s report. Someone else, someone not affiliated with your government, is behind this. You know their identity.”
The old man nodded. “Just so. I was not wrong about you. Your mind is as sharp as ever. Spycraft has many elements, but its core is intelligence. This amazing age we live in? Is it not wonderful? So much information. So many avenues to exploit. Yes, I knew of the hackers and their work. Old men such as us have learned to adapt to these modern times. So much information brings… considerations.”
“Of course,” Smith said. “You sat on it.”
“Quite right. No, the report you speak of was filed away, never to be read. How, then, did such a small piece of information in such a vast sea of data become problematic?”
“You were hacked,” Smith said softly.
The old man’s face contorted into a mask of rage, so sudden it was as if the good humor never existed. “Some men do not understand their place,” he spat out. “It is an affront to the game to allow such men to meddle in affairs beyond their reckoning.”
Smith nodded. “You want me to do your dirty work. Normally I’d be offended, but in this case? I accept.”
The driver glanced up in the rear-view mirror. Smith realized they had driven in a big circle and were almost near G Street, next to the Eisenhower building.
“Yes, Mr. Smith,” the old man said. “The man you seek is named Huang Lei. I believe you knew his father, Huang Jin?”
Smith rocked back. He hadn’t heard the name in many years. He pursed his lips together. “I—” He stopped, unsure of what to say, then realized the old man probably knew everything of importance. “I knew Huang Jin. I was aware he had a son. I never knew what happened to him.”