Chapter 56
MCLEAN, VIRGINIA
It should have reassured him, but it didn’t. Instead, it made him feel penned in. Jumpy.
After pouring himself a third cup of coffee, he stood at the kitchen window and looked out over the back.
As safe houses went, this one ticked all the boxes.
It sat far enough off the main road, and far enough from the nearest neighbor, to feel like it had been dropped in the woods by mistake.
The sight lines were good, it had limited access, and it was difficult to approach without being seen.
It was harder still to approach by accident.
It was a good place to disappear and Connor was already starting to hate it.
Erin watched him from the table. Since getting up, he had checked the trail cams multiple times, practically worn a groove in the floor pacing the kitchen, and had spent more time staring out the windows than seeing what was beyond them.
She couldn’t tell whether it was instinct, or something darker and more unsettling pushing at him from beneath the surface.
She remembered those stares and the strain of a man fighting to stay in the present while some part of him insisted on scanning for the next threat. She doubted he had gotten much sleep last night, if any at all. Fatigue had always made things worse.
He turned from the window and caught her looking at him. “What?”
“Nothing,” Erin replied.
Taking a sip of coffee, he grimaced. It had been bad with the first cup. By the third, it tasted like Vaughn had found it in the very back of one of the cabinets and decided it was still technically legal to serve.
Erin noticed. “That bad?”
“Worse,” he replied, setting the mug down on the counter.
It got the smallest flicker of a smile out of her, but only for a second. Then she looked back at the notepad in front of her.
Before dawn, Vaughn had managed to get through on their burner phone.
The call had lasted long enough for her to relay the names Fields had uncovered.
It was a terrible connection and Vaughn had been forced to repeat herself more than once.
Erin had written everything down while Connor listened, all three of them expecting the call to drop at any second.
Craig Hollis, DSS
Ryan Kessler, DSS
Mark Scofield, DHS
Strategis Solutions
Tom Olson
Five names and no context worth a damn. At least no context beyond the first three being federal agents who show up at people’s homes looking to kill them.
“What are you doing?” Connor asked.
“Trying to make these names make some sort of sense.”
“And?”
“And Tom Olson is about as useful as Tom Smith without more to go on,” she replied.
Connor came over and looked down at the page. “Vaughn’s FBI contact will keep digging. She’ll get more.”
“What if she doesn’t?” Erin asked. “What if Olson is a dead end?”
“He might be, but I think Fields may be onto something.”
“Based on what?”
He pulled out the chair opposite her and sat.
“Based on the fact that Scofield, Hollis, and Kessler were all real. Whoever came after us, they didn’t just grab three random trigger pullers off the street.
They wanted men who could not only do the job, but who could also—ostensibly—get away with it. ”
“Hence Feds.”
Connor nodded. “Badges, especially federal ones, open a lot of doors.”
“It opened mine,” Erin replied, a shudder passing through her as she momentarily flashed back to what had happened just early yesterday morning at her house.
He tapped Olson’s name with his finger. “Men like that don’t simply drift into the same black operation by accident. Somebody had to know where to look for them.”
“And you think that somebody is Olson.”
“I think he’s close to it. Maybe he’s the broker or a cutout of some sort.
What I will say is that Fields didn’t hit a wall because she stumbled onto an event planner from Northern Virginia who ticked a box on the FTC’s website to get his name removed from mailing lists.
If Fields says she thinks it’s fishy, it’s fishy. ”
Erin looked at him. “That’s a lot to build off one name.”
“Maybe,” Connor admitted. “But it’s more than we had yesterday.”
The sudden crunch of tires on gravel pulled both their heads toward the front window.
Before Erin could speak, Connor had drawn his pistol and was already moving. Vaughn had said she’d be out sometime this morning, but with the burner only working when it felt like it, any more advance notice than that was hit-or-miss.
At the window, he parted the curtain a fraction of an inch and saw a familiar SUV roll into view.
“It’s her,” he said, returning the pistol to his waistband and covering it with his shirt. “I hope she brought fresh coffee.”
Vaughn got out of her vehicle in jeans, boots, and a leather jacket. A pair of sunglasses were pushed up on her head. In one hand she carried a tray with three coffees. In the other was a paper to-go bag. Under her arm was a manila envelope. She used her hip to close the SUV’s door.
“I stopped at Madison Deli,” she said, holding up the bag.
Connor had already opened the door and stepped out onto the porch. “You brought real coffee. God bless you.”
“Breakfast sandwiches too. Where’s Erin?”
“Inside,” he said, standing back so she could pass.
They walked back to the kitchen, where Vaughn said good morning to Erin and started putting the food on plates.
“You guys able to get any news on your burner?”
Erin shook her head. “We were lucky just to get your call this morning. Why?”
“There was another bombing in Bangkok. Targeted a country club popular with a lot of politicians and Thai military brass.”
“That’s dangerous terrain,” Connor replied. “If Bangkok doesn’t get a handle on things, the Thai military has a history of solving problems its own way.”
“Eat while it’s warm,” Vaughn said, handing him a plate.
He took it, along with one of the coffees, and sat down. “You didn’t have to bring all this. Though we’re glad you did. Thank you.”
She pulled out one of the chairs and joined him. Erin sat too.
“I figured it was easier than repeating myself a thousand times over the phone. Fields has continued to pull on the Olson thread and there’s a few things I want you to see. Just in case they spark anything.”
Taking a bite of her breakfast sandwich, Vaughn opened the manila envelope and pulled out several printouts, which she laid on the table. Both Connor and Erin leaned in.
The first page was a conference program. Not the glossy public version. It was something more internal, nuts-and-bolts information acknowledging sponsors and hosts, as well as staff, facilitators, and support personnel.
Connor scanned it. “Singapore,” he said.
Vaughn nodded. “It’s from one of the events Fields was able to tie Olson to.”
Erin looked at it. “And?”
“Keep going.”
Halfway down, Olson’s name appeared under Event Facilitation and Strategic Support. But there was another name, an event sponsor, that Vaughn had highlighted in yellow, Wei Lijun—Haiyuan Logistics Group.
Connor read it as well. “Who is he?”
“Officially? Founder of a Hong Kong logistics advisory firm,” Vaughn replied.
“How about unofficially?” Erin asked.
Vaughn took a sip of coffee. “Unofficially, a guy interesting enough to have popped up in a couple of U.S. counterintelligence reports. According to Fields, he’s not designated as a foreign spy, but he’s a businessman with ties close enough to the upper echelons of the Chinese Communist Party that he raises eyebrows. ”
Connor picked up the second printout. It was a trade journal photograph from the same conference.
A commemorative photo had been taken at the close of the event.
Special guests were in the front row, sponsors stood behind them, and staff and facilitators were at the edges.
Wei stood with the sponsors. Olson was six or seven feet away at the edge of the staff cluster.
Connor set it down and looked at the next one. It was a different year and a different event. Washington, D.C., this time. Another closing night shot, with Wei and Olson again. They were never side by side; never in a way that could prove anything, but they were always there.
“He keeps turning up,” Erin remarked.
“That’s exactly what Fields said,” Vaughn replied. “They kept showing up at enough conferences and trade symposiums together that she stopped calling it incidental.”
Connor examined the last page. It was a boring write-up from some international shipping journal, but once again, Vaughn had highlighted the most important part—Wei was a principal sponsor of an industry networking event, and Olson, via Strategis Solutions, was credited for “coordination support.”
“It’s so boring, it makes you want to gouge your eyes out with a spoon.”
Vaughn smiled. “Welcome to the wonderful world of espionage. Everybody wants to be James Bond. Nobody ever gives a second look to the trade rep.”
Erin looked at them both. “So Wei’s running Olson?”
“Not in a traditional sense,” said Vaughn. “Fields thinks Wei is the conduit and instructions flow through him. She believes the shot caller is back in Beijing. But there’s a lot more work that’s got to get done on this.”
Connor was still staring at Wei’s name. “What if we don’t have the time?”
“What do you mean?” Erin asked.
“Two DSS federal agents at my place. One at yours. Who else are they trying to kill? And how long until they find us again? What are we supposed to do? Just sit here?”
“It may feel like you’re just sitting here, but you’re staying out of Fields’s way so she can do her job,” said Vaughn.
“I don’t want to sound ungrateful, but she’s one person, doing you a favor by pulling on threads from behind a desk. We’ve got two solid local leads now—Olson and Strategis. We should act on those. Today.”
Erin’s expression tensed. “What are you suggesting?”
“That we put eyes on Strategis,” said Connor. “Nothing more. See who comes and goes. See if Olson shows.”
“And if he does?”
“We just watch. No contact. No improvisation. Listen, if nothing shakes loose, fine. We come back here and Fields keeps working. But if something does shake loose, we’re ahead of it for once instead of behind it.”
“I’m worried you’re too on edge for this,” Erin replied.
The room went quiet.
“It doesn’t make him wrong,” said Vaughn, who wondered if maybe Connor had a point. Fields could only do so much from her computer and she’d been at it all night. “If we keep a low profile and don’t do anything stupid, we might actually learn something.”
Erin shook her head. “You’re seriously considering this?”
“If Connor agrees to the rules.”
“What rules?” he asked.
“I can think of a few,” Erin said immediately. “No heroics. No getting cute. No accosting Olson in the parking lot just because you get a bad feeling and decide the moment is right.”
“Give me a break, Erin.”
“I think those are good rules,” Vaughn replied. “We stay outside. We watch. And that’s all. Nobody even gets out of the car.”
Erin exhaled through her nose. “Fine. But the first sign this thing is going sideways, we leave.”
Connor didn’t like the rules, but he knew if he pushed back, the whole thing died right there.
He looked at Vaughn and said, “When do we leave?”