19
Little India
August 28, 3:00 p.m. SGT
I grabbed my purse, groping for Cass’s letter opener.
“Nadia, it’s me,” said a familiar voice.
The man pulled off a blond wig and stuffed it in the pocket of his hoodie. He tugged at the beard and mustache, wincing, until they, too, vanished. Glasses followed. Only the oily stench of his jeans remained.
“Sorry to frighten you,” said Connor McGrath. “I couldn’t risk being recognized coming here.”
My fear flipped to rage. “You lied to me. You’re my security chief, but you told me nothing about Charlie Han. Or what Mèng is up to.”
Connor spread his hands in a gesture of appeasement. “I’d hoped not to involve you. I wanted to let you finish Red Dragon in peace and return to Seattle none the wiser. But then Charlie Han made his move.” His eyes darted to the letter opener in my hand. “Again, I’m sorry. I know you’ve been through a lot.”
“I trusted you.”
Connor said, “Cass gave me a message to pass on to you. She said to tell you that if you got dragged into the subterfuge, you should know that people like me—people who work for the CIA—are like that tarantula she convinced you to hold when you were kids. Hairy and ugly perhaps”—he flashed a smile that didn’t reach his eyes—“but we would never hurt a friend.”
CIA? Two CIA agents—two alleged CIA agents—in two days. Was Phil Weber’s presence in the lobby at Raffles coincidental, or was he part of whatever was happening?
I glanced down at the letter opener in my hand. It shimmered in the dim light. Would I really have used it?
Connor kept his feet planted. He was talking fast now. “Charlie Han is a different matter, Nadia. He will hurt you. Just like we suspect he hurt Cassandra. Yes, I’m CIA. I’m with the China Mission Center. Cass was helping us arrange for George Mèng and his family to flee China when she was murdered.”
“Murdered.” The word sat like thorns on my tongue. I felt sick. But also less alone.
“Mèng has good reason to defect,” Connor said. “And we have an interest in seeing him succeed.”
“Why does the CIA care about one Chinese family?”
“George has pioneered the use of generative artificial intelligence in predictive diplomacy. Or, as George calls it, chaos-theory peacekeeping. At its simplest, his AI applies game strategy to prevent war. With RenAI in the wrong hands, though, things could go badly awry.”
“You’re saying Cass died for a fancy piece of software.”
“I’m saying she died to help preserve peace. What did Han tell you? That George is smuggling art and gold and, good lord, cigarettes?”
“I found gold,” I said, then clamped my mouth shut.
“George is taking some of his wealth with him, mostly for bribes. But this operation is about his family. That’s why Cass agreed to work with us—to help George’s wife and children escape a repressive society. The technology was secondary to her.”
Of course Cass agreed to help. Not Cass the smuggler. Cass the rescuer. I wrenched myself away from the grief that tried to swallow me.
“What about NeXt Level Security? Is it a front?”
“We were hired by Ocean House to manage Red Dragon ’s security,” Connor said. “But we’re what’s known as a CIA proprietary, meaning NeXt Level is owned and operated by the CIA. Not on paper, of course. I am a valid security expert. We really are installing the security measures George wants and needs. But I’m also an NOC—an operative acting under nonofficial cover.”
Without realizing it, I’d backed up against the wall of Dr. Saravanan’s living room.
Connor’s voice pressed on. “I’m here because my predecessor, Cassandra’s handler, was fished out of Singapore River, his throat slit. A few hours after that, we got word about Cassandra’s death.”
“Her handler?”
Connor shrugged out of his hoodie to reveal a tattered Grateful Dead T-shirt. “Your sister wasn’t just helping behind the scenes with design elements for Red Dragon . She was following Chinese nationals we believe are part of Charlie Han’s group. She eavesdropped on them at private clubs and took note of who went in and out of the Chinese embassy.”
My head spun. “Cass was a spy?”
“It’s why we got her the condo in Tanglin. It made her presence in the shops and restaurants there normal. Living in the neighborhood, she’d naturally stop by Tanglin Club for a glass of wine after work. Sometimes stay for dinner. Chat up other members. To anyone watching, it made sense for Ocean House to trawl for potential clients there. But Cass was watching the Chinese expats and visiting nationals.”
I gathered my thoughts, which were skirting away like sunlight chased by nightfall.
Everything in the room had turned sharp. Vivid. The rain spitting on the window. The musky smell of Saravanan’s cat and his Pall Malls. The heft of the letter opener slick in my sweaty palm. In another apartment, a child wailed and was hushed.
I said, “Cass wasn’t looking for clients. She wasn’t trying to help Ocean House expand into Asia.”
“No,” he said. “Your sister was an asset of the CIA.”
A short time later, the three of us sat at the table in Saravanan’s kitchen, the letter opener glittering on the Formica tabletop. The cat took a place on the counter near the window and coolly groomed herself.
“She wasn’t followed?” Saravanan asked McGrath.
“No one made her at the station, which is where I came in.”
“Sloppy work on their part,” Saravanan said.
“We got lucky.”
“It wasn’t luck,” I said. “I ran an SDR before I took the metro.”
Connor looked impressed. “I knew Cass had training. I should have realized you would as well.”
“I’m rusty,” I admitted. I glanced at Saravanan. “And you’re, what, a recruiter? Did you pull Cass into this?”
He shook his head. “I’m a support asset. I merely offer a safe place for spies to rest.”
I considered that. “I’d like a cigarette.”
Saravanan gave his gentle smile. “I already told you that your life is in danger. Why rush things?”
“You also told me I don’t have long to live.” I nodded toward the pile of Pall Malls and held out my hand. “I’m a stress smoker. And right now I’m stressed.”
He offered a pack. I tapped out a cigarette, and he lit it for me.
McGrath followed suit with a cancer stick of his own. “I’m still cutting back,” he said.
Soon we sat in a wreath of blue-gray smoke. Saravanan rose, bowed to each of us, and said, “I will leave you to it. Nadia, it was a pleasure. I hope whichever path you choose is the one that most comforts your soul.”
He disappeared down the hall.
I looked at Connor. Think first. Act second. If you’re still alive at the end of the game, then you can panic.
“Let’s start with Charlie Han,” I said, my voice becalmed between rage and sorrow. “You think he murdered Cass.”
“He’s our top suspect, although he’s never before risked such a dramatic setting. He’s usually a back-alley guy.”
“Usually?”
“Han isn’t squeamish about wet work.”
I pictured the glittering lenses of Han’s spectacles. His cold smile and calloused hands. And the odd vulnerability I’d noted when he removed his glasses. I aimed my cigarette at Connor. “Are you responsible for leaving my sister unprotected?”
“I wasn’t in Singapore that night. But it’s true that CIA failed her.”
I sucked in nicotine until my head whirled. My beloved Cass. The terror she would have felt staring down forty floors. The horror just before she reached the pavement.
Instantly I was back in the drowning game. It was almost the last time we played. Cass had swum out until she had exhausted herself. Why did you do that? I had asked her later. You could have died. But she’d been exhilarated. It was the freest thing I’ve ever done, she’d told me. Free because I didn’t have to count on myself. I knew you would come.
I dug the fingernails of my free hand into my palm. “Han told me he works for the Central Commission for Discipline Inspection.”
Connor held his cigarette between his thumb and forefinger, like a European. He tapped ash into the bowl. “Maybe that’s his cover. But Han and his partner, a man named Dai Shujun, are employees of Guóānbù, the Ministry of State Security, which is China’s CIA.”
“I know Dai Shujun. He’s been tailing me.” I said nothing about meeting Phil Weber at Raffles. I didn’t have many cards, but I would keep close the few I had.
Connor eyed me through the smoke. His hair was damp with sweat from the wig. “Dai is on our radar. He’s a better criminal than intelligence man. Has his fingers in a lot of pies. He’s a bit of a wild card.”
Adrenaline ticked in my pulse. “What about the Second Department?”
“China’s military intelligence?” A deft flick of Connor’s wrist and ash rose in the bowl. “What about them?”
“Han accused the Second Department of killing Cass. He asked me to watch Mr. Mèng for him and said that if I refused, then he could no longer protect me, and the Second Department would kill me as well. He gave me two days.”
Connor mashed out his cigarette and leaned in. “Nadia, listen. The Second Department and MSS have been in a turf war for years. Each wants to impress those at the highest level of power—the Standing Committee and China’s paramount leader. But none of our intelligence suggests the military is involved with Han’s operation or that you are in any danger from them. Han is trying to coerce you through fear.”
I blew smoke from the corner of my mouth. “He’s effective.”
“We won’t let you get hurt.”
I envisioned Cass’s body at the morgue. I looked away until I could rearrange my expression into a surface of calm.
“Nadia?” Connor said. “Have you considered going home to Seattle?”
I swiveled back. “Of course I have. But whoever takes my place would also be in danger.”
“Not in the same way. The Guóānbù undoubtedly has spies in the shipyard. But you, like Cass, offer something unique. Partly because you are female—the Chinese believe women make better spies. But also because you are the future of Ocean House. And that makes you vulnerable, more so even than other members of your family. Vulnerable to bribes if your company isn’t doing well. To blackmail, if there’s any secret dirt. To the desire to expand into Asia if that’s what you hope to do. The Guóānbù can lean on you for all or any of these reasons.”
At Connor’s words, I was ashamed of the relief that filled me. I could go. Leave Red Dragon to Emily and Andrew and the rest of the staff. Oversee the outfitting and launch from the other side of the ocean.
“But.” Connor leaned forward and peered into my eyes. “If you decide to stay, we could use your help. The first sea trial will take Red Dragon from Singapore to Shanghai. In Shanghai, the Chinese authorities will inspect the boat. George’s wife, Li-Mei, and their children will also be in the city. Their only chance to board is while Red Dragon is docked for the inspection. We’ve arranged a rather elaborate journey for them from their house in Shanghai to the dock, even as it appears—thanks to our operators—that they are instead headed for their country home. Because of the intense scrutiny in China—both human and digital—this has been a massive undertaking. And dangerous.
“Once they reach Red Dragon , they must get into hiding. And stay hidden throughout the next leg of the journey until they’re smuggled off. That’s where you would come in.”
Cass’s black space. The room behind the dragon.
I pictured a woman and two frightened children dodging cameras and eluding spies and police in the streets of Shanghai to reach Red Dragon . “The boat is the only way?”
“Given China’s surveillance and how closely authorities monitor its borders, yes. George can’t leave if Li-Mei is out of the country. She can’t leave if he is gone. Red Dragon is their only chance for a free life.”
“And what happens when the Chinese authorities realize the family has fled?”
“We have a plan for that.”
“I hope it’s a good one.” I helped myself to another cigarette and used Saravanan’s plastic lighter. “The fallout will be colossal.”
“You would be their best cover to prevent that fallout,” Connor said softly. “Able to move freely about the boat, expected to interact with staff and actively look for issues that need to be addressed during the trials. Your presence would make everything appear normal.”
I looked up at the ceiling, spotted an immense muddy-brown spider in one corner. I pitied whatever walked into its web.
Connor added, “We would also provide a monthly CIA consulting retainer.”
I lowered my gaze and pulled away. “Do you know what you’re asking? I don’t mean my personal safety. I’m talking about my family. If word got out that Ocean House had anything to do with Mr. Mèng’s defection, no one would trust us. My actions would close off Asia to us forever. We need Asia, Connor. Ocean House won’t survive without it.”
“Your sister didn’t see it that way. She believed she was doing the right thing by opposing China’s dictatorship and brutal men like Charlie Han. She believed that, in the end, her actions would help Ocean House.”
“Cass was an idealist.”
“Aren’t you?”
He pulled a sheet of paper from his shirt pocket, unfolded it, and pushed it across the table to me. “Here’s everything we know about Han.”
SUBJ 42-YEAR-OLD CHINESE NATIONAL. BORN IN QINGHAI PROVINCE TO FARMERS HAN HUAN AND HAN MIàO.
SUBJ HOLDS UNDERGRADUATE DEGREE IN INTERNATIONAL RELATIONS FROM PEKING UNIVERSITY (2001). MSc IN SECURITY STUDIES FROM LONDON SCHOOL OF ECONOMICS (2003).
CURRENT JOB SR OPERATIVE IN MINISTRY OF STATE SECURITY (MSS), PEOPLE’S REPUBLIC OF CHINA. LIKELY CAPACITY: RECRUITMENT OF INTERNATIONAL ASSETS W/FOCUS ON WESTERN TARGETS. CURRENT STATION SINGAPORE. PREV FOUR YRS LONDON.
PREV JOB CYBERSECURITY FOR RenAI. PARTY-BUILDING ADVISER IN CHARGE OF CCP UNITS W/IN PRIVATE BUSINESSES. SUBJ CLASHED WITH CEO OF RenAI. REF INF. COLL. WAS DEMOTED AND TRANSFERRED.
WIDOWER (HAN JING DECEASED—2007).
ONE SISTER HAN XIAO. XIAO ARRESTED BY CCP FOR INVOLVEMENT W/PRO-TIBETAN INDEPENDENCE PROTESTS IN QINGHAI (2006). WHEREABOUTS UNKNOWN. DECEASED? PARENTS TRFD TO BEIJING FOR SECURITY REASONS.
I read the dossier twice, then smoked for a minute or two, processing the information the way I would the profile of a potential client. Maybe I was intrigued by this peek into the spy world. Maybe I was playing a game with myself that I might step into Cass’s very expensive shoes.
I said, “RenAI is the name of George Mèng’s company. What does it mean that Han oversaw a party unit there?”
“In China, even private companies must adhere to party authority. It’s common practice for every business to have a chapter of the party on the inside, keeping an eye on things. Bringing the party into George’s company would have been a way for Han to prove his loyalty to the CCP. We don’t know what caused his disagreement with Mèng.” Connor parked his elbows on the table. “Any other questions about him?”
I shook my head, and Connor picked up the paper and used the lighter to set it on fire. He let the flaking pieces fall into the ceramic bowl. Then his eyes caught mine. “What else do you want to know?”
The room had turned close and hot despite the rain splashing against the window. I held my cigarette in my mouth and shrugged out of my linen jacket.
“You mentioned the condo,” I said when I’d resettled. “Did the CIA also pay for Cass’s clothes? All the charges on her card?”
“The luxury items were part of the deceit. If the Guóānbù started looking too closely at George and Red Dragon —which is exactly what happened—we wanted it to seem as if George’s interest was purely material. He might get a slap on the wrist for stashing some wealth outside the country and lavishing gifts on a beautiful woman. But his connections within the party protect him. What we couldn’t afford was for anyone to suspect his actions had to do with his family.”
“Cass and George weren’t lovers?”
McGrath’s laugh was short. “It didn’t hurt for people to think so. But no. That, too, was part of the act.”
“And the cocaine in her purse?”
“Part of the disguise.”
I was on a roll with the questions, and so far, Connor was cooperative.
“What about Emily Tan?” I asked.
“Unfortunately, we don’t have much information on Miss Tan. She’s from mainland China, and her family is still there, which potentially gives the MSS a hold over her. We know she has met with Han. Whether or not you agree to work with me, tell Emily as little as you can. I’ve already warned Mèng.”
I grunted and drew on my cigarette. I blew smoke toward the spider. “Do you have a dossier on George Mèng?”
“Tell me what you want to know.”
“It’s pretty simple. I want to understand why Cass cared enough about him and Li-Mei to risk her life for them. And why it’s so vital for Mèng to leave China that he’s okay if people die to help him escape. Is this RenAI that important?”
“It’s critical. China has five hundred nuclear warheads. In a few more years, it will have double that number. The CCP wants George’s AI to control those warheads. The other issue is the ocean. Numerically, China has the world’s largest navy and is fast catching up in other metrics, such as advanced technology and ship capability. And despite warnings from the United Nations, the dragon is pushing its territorial reach into the South China Sea and coming into constant conflict with the US Navy. RenAI will allow the Chinese to predict and counter our every move with little risk to themselves. We have nothing that’s equivalent. Not yet.”
“And Mèng loves America so much he’ll betray his country? Is he also a spy for CIA?”
Connor’s gaze held steady. “George is not a spy. And he loves his country, but not the dictator who runs it. He doesn’t want his children to be raised on party propaganda and to live in a surveillance state that disappears its own citizens when they disagree with the party. He wants what we all want for our children. For them to be free to choose their own lives.”
I finished my cigarette. Was it my imagination, or had Connor’s jaw tightened when I asked if George was a spy? Did it matter?
My throat was parched. I stood and searched Saravanan’s cabinets for glasses. I filled two at the sink, gave one to Connor, and drank gratefully.
The rain slowed, then stopped, and sunlight streamed through the kitchen window. Saravanan’s cat curled up on the counter and closed her eyes.
“If Mèng is such a golden boy,” I said, “then why is Guóānbù suspicious of him?”
“When RenAI began to perform tasks it hadn’t been programmed to do, it became clear that the AI had gone beyond what George had expected, with unknown consequences. George tried to shut down that development before the CCP became aware of his AI’s capabilities. He had promised himself his work would never be used for military purposes. But word of the advancement leaked, and the CCP ordered George to double down on his original research. So far, George says, he’s managed to keep RenAI confined. But he can’t carry the bluff for much longer. Now that CIA has finished incorporating certain features into Red Dragon ’s security, it’s urgent we get him out as soon as possible.”
“Mèng came to Ocean House five years ago. If that’s when he panicked, then surely by now the CCP has already taken over RenAI.”
“George conceived of Red Dragon as a way to leave China with his family long before his breakthrough with RenAI. Once he realized he was running out of time, he came to us. Both SIGINT and HUMINT—our communications interceptions and word from our people on the ground—revealed that Guóānbù was watching George. That’s when we knew that hiding the family would require structural changes to Red Dragon . Stashing the family in the crew’s quarters or tucking them into extra space in the technical area wasn’t going to be sufficient. Our man pulled in Cassandra.”
“And threw her to the wolves,” I said bitterly.
“That wasn’t the plan.”
I said, “If China gets wind of the fact that American agents are helping George Mèng escape and even arming him against the MSS, you’re going to start a war.”
“Not if we’re careful.”
“Careful? Jesus, Connor, look where that got my sister. I’m sure George Mèng and his wife are wonderful people, and his kids are adorable. But are you willing to start a war for the sake of one family?”
“That’s why we have to move fast to get George and his family out. Then make them disappear.” He ran a hand through his clipped hair. “Nadia, I must ask. Are you willing to help George’s family in Shanghai and on the second sea trial? And to tell Charlie Han that you will do as he asks? With Han, all you would need to do is pass along the false information we supply to you. We would be nearby every time you meet. Watching. Ready to move should he become a threat.”
But I already had my answer.
I stubbed out my cigarette, slid Cass’s letter opener into my purse, and stood. My hands were shaking; I gripped the chair in an effort to make them stop. I was through with my questions for Connor. I had questions for only myself. How had Cass said yes to these men, knowing what it could cost our family and Ocean House? How had she gone through her days aware that at any moment she might be made by someone and silenced? Where had she found the courage? Why hadn’t she told me?
What would I have done if she had?
Know that what I did will ultimately be the right thing for everyone, she’d written on the postcard. The card wasn’t a suicide note. Her words had been meant to reach me if she was killed.
And what she’d done had most definitely not been the right thing.
I peeled my hands off the chair. They were still shaking. “What you’re asking is nowhere inside my wheelhouse. Believe me, I am very good at knowing when I’m in over my head. Cass”—my voice hitched—“Cass was brave. I’m not. I never did touch that tarantula she told you about. I’m not going to start now.”
Connor got to his feet. “‘The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.’”
“A quote often wrongly attributed to Edmund Burke. But you can’t guilt me into this. I can’t , Connor. Don’t you understand? I’m too scared.” I held up my hands as proof. “And I’m a terrible liar. Absolutely awful at subterfuge. You know that. You were interviewing me about honesty during our dinner. And I failed. What more proof do you need? Charlie Han would see right through me. Assuming I didn’t just crumble right out the gate and confess everything.”
As my voice rose, the cat stood and hissed.
“More than that, I’m not willing to risk my family for George’s. Nor will I jeopardize Ocean House for what his AI might—in theory—someday wreak upon the world.”
Saravanan appeared suddenly. He took in my face and Connor’s, then scooped up the distressed cat, which melted into his arms and began to purr. “What will you sacrifice, Nadia, to save your sister’s memory and to help George Mèng? That is the question you must ask yourself. Will you choose a long life? Or a virtuous one?”
I grabbed my purse and stalked to the door. I yanked on my shoes. I was crying. Angrily I dashed away the tears with the back of my hand and jerked the door open.
“My family,” I said. “I choose Ocean House.”