“A few more questions. And then I promise you can rest. Now. This mole within the CIA. Did you know his name?”
“No.”
“Department?”
“Told you already, he was in the Division of Operations.”
“Where in the Directorate of Operations? On the China desk?”
“Not sure. Asia, but maybe not China. Also he spent time in what the Americans call counterintelligence. Don’t know where he is now.”
“Can you tell us anything else about him?”
Wen closed his eyes. “Something happened to him. Something bad. Personal. A few years ago.”
“Like he was in an accident?”
Wen shook his head. “Not exactly. Something else. A big problem. He didn’t tell us. We found it ourselves when we were checking him.”
“Anything else? I promise, this is the last question tonight.”
“He served in Asia. A long time ago.”
“Do you know where?”
“No. And you said last question.” At that Wen stubbed out his cigarette, folded his hands on the table, and closed his eyes.
TYSON CLICKED OFF THE DVD, leaving the screen black.
“So, Ms. Exley, you see I wasn’t trying to be smug and patronizing, though perhaps I can’t help myself. You asked the right question.”
“And the answer is yes,” Exley said. She felt slightly mollified. “Wen gave us enough to find our mole. He’s spent most of his career on the Asia desk. He’s worked in counterintelligence. He was in Asia briefly and had ‘a family problem.”’
“I’m guessing it wasn’t an argument with his mother-in-law,” Shafer said. “There can’t be too many case officers who match all those criteria. If we check that against your seventy names, we should get him, or get very close.”
“Soon, please,” Tyson said. “Because the Brits told our China desk about Wen’s defection yesterday. The mole will be wondering if Wen has tipped us to him already.”
“That’s why you’d rather have the Brits hold on to Wen?”
“Exactly. Until we know who the mole is, we’re better off with Wen as far from Langley as possible. Meanwhile, based on what he said about the mole having some connection to counterintel, I have to assume that we don’t have much time before he runs. If this guy’s been around as long as Wen says, he’ll know he’s in trouble.”
“Not just from us,” Shafer said. “The Chinese might try to clean this up themselves.”
Exley needed a second to understand what Shafer meant. Would the Chinese be cold-blooded enough to kill their own mole if they believed the agency was about to arrest him?
“Doubtful,” Tyson said. “It wouldn’t help their recruiting any.”
“I agree,” Exley said.
“You two have an optimistic view of human nature,” Shafer said. He stood to go. “Anyway, we have some work to do.”
20
THE GLINT OF EXLEY’S WEDDING BAND CAUGHT HER by surprise as she drove. She’d pulled it out of storage for today’s job.
After meeting with Tyson, Exley and Shafer had spent the rest of the day going over the list of agency employees who’d known enough about the Drafter to betray him. Of the eighty-two names on the final list, twelve matched at least the broad outlines that Wen had given for the mole’s career history, or had suffered a serious accident or illness five to ten years ago. Unfortunately, none of the twelve men fit in both categories. That would have been too easy, Exley thought.
“The dirty dozen,” Shafer said. Separately, thirteen men now matched the soft criteria that she and Shafer had devised earlier. Five employees were on both lists.
“So now what? Do we talk to them?” Exley said.
“Not yet, I think. Tyson will have his people looking for hard evidence on the twelve who meet the criteria that Wen mentioned. Suspicious travel patterns, hidden accounts, the usual. Let’s be a little less formal. I’m going to poke around Langley, play doctor, see what I can pick up.”
“And me?”
“Why don’t you talk to the wives?”
AND SO THIS MORNING EXLEY had pulled on her wedding band and prepared to make a tour of suburban Virginia and Maryland. She was aiming first at the five names on both lists. She didn’t know how many wives would be home, but she figured at least a couple. And she knew claiming she was on a house-hunt would get her inside their houses. Amazing how freely bored women would talk to a friendly stranger.
No one had been home at her first stop, in Fairfax. But this time she’d scored, if the Jetta in the driveway was any indication. She parked her green Caravan by the edge of the road and hopped out.
A flagstone path cut through the neatly manicured lawn. Rosebushes added a touch of color to the front of the yellow house. She stepped over a battered Big Wheel and pressed the doorbell. Inside the house she heard a toddler crying.
“Coming.” A woman opened the door a notch and peeked out. She was pretty, late thirties, carrying a baby on her hip. “Mom mom mom!” a boy squalled from upstairs.
“Hi,” she said, friendly but wary, the classic suburban combination, trying to figure out if Exley was a Jehovah’s Witness or an Avon saleswoman or just a neighbor. People moved to Vienna so they wouldn’t have to worry about strangers knocking on their doors.
“Sorry to bother you,” Exley said. “My name’s Joanne.” She was going with an alias, in case the woman mentioned this visit to her husband. “I was looking at the Colonial up the block and I’m hoping to find out about the neighborhood and I saw your car in the driveway.”
The woman looked uncertain. “I thought they’d accepted an offer.”
“They’re still showing it.”
“Mommy, come here!” the invisible boy yelled.
“Well… if you don’t mind watching me change a diaper, I’ll give you the rundown. My name’s Kellie, by the way.” She extended a hand. She was glad to have some company, Exley thought.
“Nice to meet you.”
“HE’S BEAUTIFUL,” EXLEY said of the blue-eyed, red-faced little boy holding on to the safety gate that blocked the stairs.
“Isn’t he? Name’s Jonah. But he’s got a temper.” She picked him up. “Come on, J. No more crying. We’ll get you fixed up.”
“They all cry at that age,” Exley said. “I’ve got two of my own. Trust me, they grow out of it.”
In Jonah’s bedroom, Exley watched as Kellie changed the diaper with one hand while soothing the baby with the other. Already, Exley knew that this woman had mastered the chores of parenting in a way Exley never had. She couldn’t explain why she needed ten minutes to change a diaper, but she did. She never doubted that she would take a bullet for her kids. But she had to admit that she hadn’t been cut out for the daily grind of chasing them around, wiping up their snot, making them paper bag lunches for school.
Lots of women loved that part of being moms, or at least said they did. Maybe they were right. Maybe
