“I would be happy to help. What is your name, sir?”
“Wu Lee. Spelling is L-E-E,” he replied quietly, nearly whispering.
Just as Wu said his name, he took the folded piece of paper, did not open it, and slipped it to the Vice Consul across the counter. “This is at least my 15th visit back to the United States. I enjoy the visits very much,” Wu said, just in case there were Chinese intelligence officers listening. Wu suddenly became excessively nervous, knowing that was the moment that had no return. It was impossible to turn around now, and the pain in his stomach turned to queasiness.
Lance Monterey, not skipping a beat, continued to type with one hand, and grabbed the note smoothly. He picked up some of the papers for Wu to fill out, and opened the note hidden behind the forms. The handwritten note said:
“I wish to talk to a United States intelligence officer. Captain Wu Lee, People’s Liberation Army Air Force, Pilot.”
As if this event happed regularly, Vice Consul Lance Monterey still continued to type on his computer. He had pulled up the Wu Lee file, and saw that he has indeed traveled to the United States quite often. Lance looked up at Wu, and nodded. “I think I can help with your request. Let’s see, Mr. Lee. I am in your account now and… can see that your… photo for the file is somewhat outdated. Can you wait a moment?” the Monterey said, purposely nodding to Wu, full knowing the photo was indeed current and not out of date.
Lance Monterey scrolled through a few screens on his computer, and found the icon he was looking for. He pulled up a chat icon on his computer, and messaged his supervisor, the Regional Security Officer (RSO). From his seat at the Bay 5 customer service window, he began typing:
“I have a walk-in at B5. Captain Wu Lee, Chinese AF pilot. Link below for his account. Taking him for updated pic to mtg rm. Get the Three Horsemen warmed up.”
The Three Horsemen, as they were well known at both the U.S. Embassy in Beijing and all the U.S. Consulates, were the CIA Station Chief of Mission, the Senior FBI Agent/Legal Attaché, and if the walk-in was military, the DIA Intelligence Officer. Certainly, the RSO would be involved in Wu Lee’s arrival and details, but the Three Horsemen would be the leads.
“Mr. Lee, please walk down to the end beyond Bay 1 on your left, and meet me there. I will come around and open the door for you,” Lance Monterey told him.
Wu was far from calm now, and was absolutely freaking the hell out on the inside. His heart was in his throat, his knees weak. He was trying to keep a calm demeanor, but was thinking this is it, man. This is my last play. Arrested right here and now, while waiting for this dumb door to open? Shit on a shingle.
Wu did as instructed, and waited by the Walt Disney World cardboard cutout advertisement of the Cinderella castle, in addition to a cutout of the Frozen ice princess, Star Wars characters, and Toy Story’s Buzz Lightyear, all in the front of the waiting room. Walt Disney had a formal marketing agreement with the U.S. State Department, and had marketing items throughout their facilities. This was all in coordination for the Shanghai Disneyland Park, which just opened.
He stood there in a near empty room, just looking around, and feeling silly. Glancing at the television, Titanic was still featured, ironic that the scene playing was when the ship was going down and sinking. He smirked at the timing and humor, turned away, and walked towards the water fountain. Upon arrival to this waiting area, Wu put another two pills in his mouth, hoping the agonizing and uncomfortable feeling he had in his stomach would feel better. It was piercing pain now, not nervousness, and felt like an ice pick piercing into his inner organs. What made it worse was that he knew the whole time it was the cancer eating away at his healthy body tissue. Just so much intense pain. And why isn’t this fucking door opening?
“Sir, the photo room is available now,” as the door was opened for him to enter. As it opened, a whole host of local Chinese employees who worked at the Consulate were getting out of their shift work, and the doorway was jammed with folks. Wu was always fascinated about this portion of Chinese culture where citizens rarely waited in line in any type of organized fashion. They pushed and shoved rather than wait their turn. In fact, when the Chinese hosted the Olympics in 2008, there were signs all over the city explaining to local citizens that the rest of the world stood in lines and that it was considered rude to all rush for a door, or a bus, all at once. Wu squeezed in the chaos, and was thankful that the small confusion of folks coming and going helped hide his arrival in the event someone was watching him. Oh, crap… my legs are suddenly so stiff… can barely walk.
Wu followed the Vice Consul to a room that was labeled “Photos, Room 143,” but upon entering, there was no photo equipment, lighting, or backdrop. This is no photo booth. Present in the room were a few chairs, a meeting table, what appeared to be a standard two-way mirror, bottled water, and carpeting. Wu smirked, thinking the set up in the room was just like the movies.
Upstairs, the State Department supervisor that Lance Monterey notified by message earlier walked down the hall to check if any of the other Consulate Three Horsemen were around. No one was in their offices. Where the hell are these guys? the supervisor thought. He continued down to the Senior Defense Official’s temporary office, and the General was also out. They must all be in the same meeting. Finally, the supervisor arrived at an office suite, and found the DoD Office with Christopher Sans sitting at this desk. Chris, a career DIA officer for the last 24 years, handled military related walk-ins.
“Chris, you just had a walk-in, a Chinese pilot named Captain Wu Lee. Got him in 143,” the supervisor announced.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Another one? Is this guy legit?” as Chris let out a sigh, “Alright. I got it. Listen. Do me a favor, see who is around and have them meet me in 143A?” he asked.
“Will do, Chris. I’ll call the CG and let him know. He’s on travel. RSO already notified via message.” The Consul General went by the nickname ‘CG’ at every U.S. Consulate, worldwide.
Chris reviewed the electronic file for Captain Wu Lee and was pleasantly surprised to see Lee was a legit guy, but did not know him from being in the business. In the tradecraft of espionage. Chris was thinking that it was someone he had not worked with before, someone who has not previously shared information with the United States. He wasn’t sure what this Lee guy wanted, but he hit print on what he had in the system, and walked down a few flights of stairs to the small meeting room.
Chris had been through plenty of sticky situations in his career, from strange walk-ins of mentally ill people wearing tin foil antennas to communicate with aliens, to selling weapons to rebel groups, to Southeast Asian military coup d’états. He fondly remembered of the street battles from his early career days in the U.S. Marine Corps infantry, too. Chris was tired today, and was hoping that this guy Lee would be a quick visit. Most of his job these days was dealing with the endless and mundane budgetary and sequestration paperwork that plagued most of those in government jobs, especially since the astounding inaction of the US Congress.
Chris entered in Room 143A, the small and dark meeting room that held the viewing portion of the two way window.
“Hey Vic,” said Chris
“What’s up? What do you got, Chris?” asked FBI Supervisory Special Agent Vic Damone, the second senior FBI Agent and Assistant Legal Attaché to China.