Threat Vector

not been on anyone’s radar but his own.

“Well, then, maybe we can work together to combine our efforts,” Chavez said. “As Jack said, we are willing to put some money into this operation to see if we can track him down.”

Yao said, “The tracking down is free of charge. He’s working out of offices in the Mong Kok Computer Centre up in Kowloon.”

“You’ve seen him? In person?”

“I have. But it’s a complicated situation.”

“How so?” asked Ding.

Yao hesitated for several seconds. Finally he asked, “Where are you guys staying?”

Jack answered, “We’re right across the harbor at the Peninsula.”

“Are you three free for drinks tonight? We can talk it over a bit more, maybe come up with a plan.”

Chavez spoke for the group: “Eight o’clock?”

THIRTY-SIX

Melanie Kraft sat on the sofa in the living room of her carriage-house apartment on Princess Street in Alexandria’s Old Town. It was seven in the evening, and normally she would be up at Jack’s place or even working late, but tonight Jack was out of town and she just wanted to sit on her couch in the dark, watch TV, and think about something else other than her problems.

She flipped channels, decided against a Discovery Channel program about the Middle East and a History Channel program about the life and career of President Jack Ryan. Both of these shows would normally be interesting to her, but right now she just wanted to vegetate.

She settled on an Animal Planet show about wildlife in Alaska. She felt sure that would keep her attention and take her mind off everything that was going on.

Her mobile buzzed, moving across the coffee table in front of her. She looked down, hoping it would be Jack. It wasn’t. She did not recognize the number, but saw the area code was D.C.

“Hello?”

“Hey, girl. What you up to?”

It was Darren Lipton. He was the last person on earth she needed to talk to tonight.

She cleared her throat, put on her business voice, and said, “What can I do for you, Special Agent Lipton?”

“Senior Special Agent, but I’ll let it slide.”

He seemed like he was in a good mood — jovial, even.

It occurred to Melanie almost immediately that he was probably drunk.

“Senior Special Agent,” she corrected herself.

“Listen, we need to get together for a quick powwow. Might take all of fifteen minutes.”

She knew she could not say no. But she was not ready to say yes. She wanted Lipton to think she was not his puppy, his personal property that would come whenever he called. Even though that’s exactly how Melanie felt now that he’d revealed that he was holding her entire future in his hands.

She said, “What’s this about?”

“We’ll discuss it tomorrow. How ’bout we get a cup of coffee. Seven-thirty a.m. I’ll come to you. Starbucks on King Street?”

“Fine,” she said, and she hung up the phone, then went back to watching grizzly bears catch salmon, her mind heavy with new worries.

* * *

Melanie and Lipton sat at a table outside on a cool and windy fall morning. Her hair whipped around her face while she sipped her tea to keep warm. Lipton drank coffee, his black trench coat was open to show a dark blue suit, and he wore sunglasses even though the sky was overcast.

She wondered if he was trying to hide bloodshot eyes. In any case, with the shades and the blue suit and the black trench coat, he screamed Fed to anyone in the coffee shop or walking by on the sidewalk who paid attention.

After a minute of one-sided small talk, Lipton got down to business. “My boss needs more from you. I tried to placate him, but you haven’t given us anything since our last conversation.”

“I don’t know any more now than I did then. It’s like you want me to catch him passing nuclear secrets to the Russians or something.”

“Or something,” Lipton said. He plucked his flop of gray-blond hair out from under his shades and then reached into his jacket. He pulled out a sheaf of papers and held it up.

“What’s that?”

“Court order to put a locator on Ryan’s cell phone. FBI wants to track his day-to-day movements.”

“What?” She snatched it out of his hand and began reading the documents.

“We have evidence he’s been conducting some highly suspicious meetings with foreign nationals. We need to be there and see what’s going on.”

Melanie was furious that the investigation was continuing. But something else occurred to her. “What does this have to do with me? Why are you even telling me?”

“Because you, my fair lady, are going to put the beacon on his phone.”

“Oh no I’m not!” Kraft said testily.

“I’m afraid you are. I’ve got the card you need to use. There is no physical device that he might find, it’s all done through the software. You just poke the little card in his phone, let it load, and then pop it back out. A thirty- second operation.”

Melanie looked off into the street for a moment. “Don’t you have assets for this?”

“Yes. You are my asset. My asset with assets, if you know what I mean.” He looked down at her chest.

Melanie looked at him in disbelief.

“Uh-oh,” Lipton said with a barking laugh. “Am I about to get another right hook to the teeth?”

Melanie picked up from his tone and his facial expressions that he had somehow enjoyed it when she hit him.

She told herself she wouldn’t do that again.

She took a moment to compose herself. She knew, with the information the FBI had about her and her father, that Lipton could make her do whatever he wanted. She said, “Before I agree to do this, I want to talk to someone else at National Security Branch.”

Lipton shook his head. “I’m running you, Melanie. Deal with it.”

“I’m not saying I need a new handler. I just want to confirm things with someone other than you. Someone above you.”

Now the special agent’s nearly constantly leering smile wavered. “That thing in your hand is a court order. Signed by a judge. What more confirmation do you want?”

“I’m not your slave. If I do this, I want some sort of assurances from the FBI that you won’t keep using me. I do this, and I’m done.”

“I can’t make that promise.”

“Then find me someone who can.”

“It’s not happening.”

“Then I guess we’re finished.” She stood.

He uncrossed his legs and bolted to his feet. “You realize how much trouble I can make for you?”

“I’m just asking for someone else to talk to. If you can’t make that happen, then I hardly believe you have the clout to send me to prison.”

She stepped into the morning crowd heading up King Street toward the Metro.

* * *

The Peninsula hotel is on the southern tip of Kowloon, overlooking Victoria Harbour in a high-end retail district