Operation Barracuda

“Stop it, Sam. Just read the file. You’ll understand why this is important once you do.”

I stew for a moment and everyone at the table is quiet. Finally I take the envelope and say, “Fine.”

“Thank you, Sam,” Lambert says.

I wave him off. “What about the stuff I found in Prokofiev’s house? Have you had time to look into that list of missing nukes?”

“Our analysts are decoding the general’s notes as we speak. I should know more in the next day or two. That was a good find, Sam.”

“Thanks. So what can you tell me about that security breach Carly was working on? I think it’s gotten worse. Look what happened to me in Russia. Someone knew I was following General Prokofiev in Kyiv. He got wise and destroyed his car because he knew it was bugged with a homing device. How did he know? And from all accounts it looks like he came home unexpectedly in Moscow because he may have known I was in his house. Colonel, you can count on one hand the number of people who knew what I was doing in Russia.”

“I realize that, Sam. As soon as Anna is back in place, that will be her first priority. There’s no question in my mind that an insider compromised Third Echelon. Maybe it was Mike Chan. Maybe he wasn’t working alone. Maybe there’s another insider that’s not a Third Echelon employee. Maybe the traitor is one of the few people in Washington that know of our existence. I don’t know at this point, Sam, but I’m keeping an open mind. I’d like you to as well.”

I nod my head toward Coen. Lambert catches the subtext behind the move. “Sam, the Field Runner operation—”

“I work alone, Lambert. You know that.”

“That may not be the case in the future, Sam. For now, yes, but we’re here to tell you we’ve got Frances here on the fast track to become your personal Field Runner. For this assignment she’ll stay in Washington and monitor you remotely. Next time, well, we’ll see. The kinks in the program still have to be worked out. I understand your concerns; you’ve voiced them enough.”

I look at the woman and say, “No offense, Frances, but I can’t see how your presence in an enemy zone would make my job any easier. I have enough to worry about just looking after my own butt. I don’t need another butt to watch.”

“You won’t have to watch my butt, as you put it,” Coen says. “I’m thoroughly trained. I can handle myself in a threatening situation.”

“How about torture?” I ask. “Can you handle that? Can you handle your fingernails being ripped out one by one, or electric prods shoved up your—”

“Sam!” Lambert almost shouts. Other people around us look up to see what’s going on. He lowers his voice and says, “That’s enough.”

I fold my arms and sit back. “Whatever.”

Coen waits a beat and then starts to talk. “You’re to meet me tonight at Dulles. An army Osprey will take you to one of our bases in the Philippines and from there you’ll get a commercial flight to Hong Kong. I’ll have some last-minute documents for you then. Your flight information is there in the envelope. I’ll see you tonight, Mr. Fisher.” She holds out her hand.

I don’t want to be a dick so I reach out and shake it. “Call me Sam,” I say.

* * *

Katia isn’t too pleased that I have to leave the country again so soon. But she didn’t make a big deal out of it. If she had, I’d think twice about becoming more involved with her. The last thing I want is a needy girlfriend. I could tell that Katia was ticked off about my leaving but she said for me not to worry about it. She understood. She explained again that she was going to California anyway so maybe we’d both be back at the same time.

I like her, damn it. Against my better judgment, I’m looking forward to us both being back at the same time.

So now I’m in Dulles Airport and I meet Frances Coen in front of the magazine shop she’d designated. We walk to an empty gate, sit, and she gives me another envelope.

“I have all your transportation arrangements in here,” she says. “Instructions for picking up your equipment are in there as well. You shouldn’t have any problems.”

“That’s what you think,” I mutter.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Look, Mr. Fisher, I know—”

“I said to call me Sam.”

“—Sam — you’re not fond of this idea of Field Runners. But I’m good at what I do. You’ll have to make a leap of faith. Can you do that?”

I shrug. “I’m not a very religious person.”

She frowns at me.

“Okay, I’m willing to give it a try,” I finally say.

“I’m not over there with you this time around. For now you’ll work just like you always have. The only difference is that you’ll be dealing with me on most things. Colonel Lambert will of course be giving you instructions. Anna will be back soon. But I’m your main contact now.”

“Okeydokey,” I say and grin. The sarcasm is not lost on her but she holds out her hand.

“Good luck, Sam.”

I shake it and nod.

At that point an army sergeant enters the gate and approaches us. “Mr. Fisher?” he asks.

“Yeah?”

“I’m to escort you to the Osprey.”

“Right.” I take my duffel bag and follow the soldier outside. I don’t look back at Frances Coen. I don’t look back at anything.

12

I’ve been in Hong Kong a number of times, both before and after the momentous handover in 1997. Before the Brits left the colony, there was widespread speculation that the capitalistic society that Hong Kong had enjoyed for over a century would disappear. Communist China would ruin what was up to then known as “the Pearl in the Crown.” So far it hasn’t happened. I can’t see that much has changed except perhaps there are fewer Brits walking around. The Chinese promised to keep Hong Kong in its current state of economic enterprise for the next fifty years. Who’s to say what happens after that? Are they simply going to say, “Okay, folks, no more free enterprise, that’s it, you’re done, now it’s share and share alike”? I don’t buy it. Hong Kong is a well-oiled machine and I believe it’s going to continue functioning the way it always has well into the twenty-second century.

My trip to the Far East was uneventful. The Osprey flew to Hawaii first and made a stop. I had a two-hour layover at Pearl Harbor and then we continued on to Manila. By the time we arrived in the Philippines it was too late to catch the commercial flight to Hong Kong, so I spent the night in the barracks. It wasn’t bad. Since I can usually sleep on demand I didn’t have any problems with jet lag. Jet lag never has bothered me much. Only after I return home does it seem to catch up with me. I guess you could say I’m the master of my internal clock.

After I land the next morning in Hong Kong, I consider renting a car but decide against it. As in London or New York, cars in Hong Kong are more of a hindrance than an advantage. I’ll get around much faster taking public transportation and walking. If and when I need to get to some remote spot, I’ll take a taxi. I can always rent a car later if I need one.

Frances Coen’s instructions say I have to seek out Mason Hendricks, a former intelligence officer stationed in the Far East. Hendricks, an American, is ex-CIA and, like Harry Dagger in Moscow, is retired but still has his nose to the ground. I’ve never met him although I’ve had plenty of opportunities to do so. Back when I was in the CIA he was certainly around, but our paths never crossed. He’s reputed to be a good man, very smart and resourceful. Coen tells me that my equipment was drop shipped from Manila to Hendricks. I’m not sure what the logistics are and how he goes about retrieving the stuff; I leave that to my so-called Field Runner.