Operation Barracuda

After I’m cleared to enter the place, Coen leads me to Lambert. He’s temporarily taken over a small office that has a cot. He looks as if he just woke up.

“Sam, good to see you,” he says.

“It’s good to be back.” We shake hands and he offers me a seat on the cot. He takes the chair behind the desk upon which he’s set up his laptop computer. Coen leaves us alone, saying she’ll be back to get me for the surgery later that afternoon.

“Forgive me if I seem disheveled,” Lambert says. “I was up most of the night talking with Mike.”

“I’m tired, too,” I reply. “Am I on vacation yet?”

Lambert grins; he knows I’m being facetious. “Not yet, Sam. You can have a day or two to rest up but we need you here. I’ll explain later. Want some coffee?”

“Sure. I want to call my daughter. Is there a line I can use or should I use my cell?”

“Here, you can use this one,” he says, pointing to the phone on the desk. “It’s a secure line. I’ll be right back.” He leaves the room and I make the call.

Sarah’s answering machine picks up. “Hi, this is Sarah, leave a message.” I look at my watch and figure there’s no reason why she should be at home midmorning. She’s probably at school.

“Hi, honey, I’m back in the States,” I say. “Just letting you know. You can reach me on the number you have when you get a chance. If I don’t pick up right away, I’ll call you back. I love you.”

I hang up and lie on the cot. I’m just about to fall asleep when Lambert returns with the much-needed coffee.

“Thanks,” I say. I sit up and take it.

Lambert returns to his chair and then announces, “I read your latest report.”

Uh-oh, here it comes. I was brutally honest with what happened at the antique shop in Hong Kong. He’s going to tear me a new asshole for killing Antipov in cold blood. At least I know he’s not going to fire me, because he’s already said I’m still on the job.

“I’m glad you wrapped up that end of the Shop’s operation,” is what he says. “That’s two down, two to go.”

I certainly didn’t expect that. “Thanks,” I say. Somehow I feel the need to explain myself. “Listen, Colonel, about Antipov—”

He waves his hand at me. “Forget it, Sam. The guy was a major enemy. All those Shop guys are supreme shits. As far as our laws go, you were in a combative situation. We’ll say no more about it.”

I nod and sip my coffee. After a moment of silence, I ask, “So how’s our prisoner doing?”

“I believe he’s about ready to talk. I think he was waiting for you.”

* * *

Mike Chan, er, Mike Wu rather, looks pretty haggard. They’ve kept him awake and under intense interrogation for the last forty-eight hours. I met the guy once at Third Echelon and barely remember him. He was supposed to have been very good at his job as a research analyst. Why does greed turn so many good people into villains? I’ll never understand it. We all want to make money and live comfortably, but selling out one’s country or friends or family to do so is beyond the scope of my comprehension.

As soon as I walk into the interrogation room, Mike sits up and widens his eyes. They must have really built up my visit. The guy looks scared.

“Relax, Mike,” I say. “I’m not going to hurt you. Not right away.”

“Why are you here?” he asks. “This isn’t your job. Since when do Splinter Cells get recruited to interrogate prisoners?”

“They don’t. I’m here of my own free will. I’m here because Carly St. John was a friend of mine. I’m here because your friends the Lucky Dragons tried to kill me. I’m here because I’m patriotic and love my country and you’re a son of a bitch that isn’t worth his weight in excrement.”

The prisoner sighs and nods. He’s resigned to his fate. “I still want a lawyer.”

“You might get one after you confess. I’m not really sure how it works with you special combative types. All I know is that I’m not going to leave this room until you make an official statement and sign it.”

“So, what, are you going to lean on me? You’re going to show how tough you are and beat me up a little bit?”

“I’m hoping you’ll come to your senses and realize that you’ve got no way out of this. You’re caught. Lambert and the FBI have all the evidence they need to convict you. You don’t have to sign anything. You’ll still get the death penalty. We’d like to prevent that. Life is a lot better than death.”

“Depends on what you’re doing with your life, doesn’t it?”

“Perhaps. It’s too bad Carly can’t do anything with hers now.”

Mike looks down. I sense he’s not altogether happy about what he did. Bastard.

“Why, Mike? Why did you have to kill her? You know, Carly once told me what a great worker you were. She said you were the best analyst in the firm and that you’d probably advance quickly.”

“Screw you, Fisher.”

Well, something in me snaps. Maybe I was overtired. Maybe I was trying to grieve for Carly. Or maybe I was fed up with all the shit.

I stand, walk over to Mike, grab him by the lightweight shirt he’s wearing, and I punch him in the nose. He flies backward and falls to the floor. I expect Lambert or someone to come in and bitch at me but nothing happens. After a moment, Mike stands and faces me. His nose is bleeding.

“Hit me again, Fisher.”

“What?”

“I want you to hit me. I want you to rough me up a little. I deserve it.”

“Come on, Mike. Sit down.”

He shouts, “You bastard! Hit me! It’s what you came to do!”

“Sit down, Mike!”

“Screw you, Fisher! Hey, guess what! I blew Carly’s brains out and I enjoyed it. I deliberately walked into her office, pointed a gun at the back of her head, and pulled the trigger. You should have seen it, Fisher. Her brains went all over her goddamned computer!”

That does it. I give the guy what he wants, and hell, it’s what I want, too. To the devil with proper procedure. Besides, the little shit has made me mad. I grab him by the collar and pull him up and over the table. The guy is lightweight, so throwing him across the room and into the wall is nothing. For the next few seconds I totally lose it. I don’t remember whaling on him but I must have hit him two or three times. I think that maybe I kicked him once, too. When I come to my senses, he’s lying on the floor in a mess of blood.

“Thanks,” he says. “You won’t believe this, but I needed that.”

“Like hell,” I mutter. I reach into my pocket, find a handkerchief, and throw it to him. He wipes his face and then slowly crawls back to his chair. Once he’s sitting, he lays his head on his arms on top of the table. After taking a couple of deep breaths he looks up at me. I can almost see the gears working in his head as he tries to come to grips with spilling the beans. After a long pause, he speaks.

“She was about to find out I was the leak out of Third Echelon.”

Finally, he understands the situation. “But killing her didn’t prevent us from finding out,” I say. “It was a stupid, foolish thing to do. Kill her, then run. Real smart, Mike. Of course we’d figure it out when you do something like that.”

“I thought I’d be out of the country before the FBI caught up with me. I was supposed to be in Hong Kong. Things got all fucked up. I guess most of all she was about to uncover the link with the Lucky Dragons. I couldn’t allow that to happen. I panicked. Killing her was a knee-jerk reaction.”

“Keep talking. Everything we say is being recorded. Just let it spill. Then all you’ll have to do is sign your name once we have it typed up.”

Mike continues, “All right. Here it is. Everything you guys know is true. My brother and I are members of the Lucky Dragons. We were recruited in Los Angeles six years ago. The Triad was already in league with the Shop and has been for some time. They arranged for me to change my identity and apply for work in the NSA.”

“How did the Triad manage that?”

“They didn’t. It was the Shop. But they had some help in Washington.”

“What do you mean?”