Point of Contact Read online

  “You will both be coming to the office tomorrow morning, then?”

  “Soon as your guy fixes the door.”

  “Very well.” She turned to leave.

  “Hey, let me make it up to you. I know a place downtown that serves a great mai tai.”

  Lian offered a sad little smile. “I don’t think so.”

  Jack saw Park fighting back a smirk. Loser. He fought the urge to backhand it off the Korean’s sneering face.

  “Good night,” Lian said over her shoulder, heading for the front door. Park threw Jack one last mocking look as he turned to follow her.

  Jack started to say something but decided there wasn’t room in his mouth for any more feet.

  38

  A bomb had exploded in Paul’s room.

  Or so it seemed to him as he stood in the doorway, examining the wreckage.

  He stormed past the socks, underwear, bedsheets, hangers, pillows, and suits scattered across the bedroom floor. He stopped to pick up the framed photo of Carmen he kept at his bedside, and set it back on the dresser—even though the glass was cracked—and marched straight for the bathroom.

  An empty plastic pill bottle cracked as he stepped on it while reaching for the spring-loaded shower curtain rod lying on the floor. He picked up the end of the rod closest to him. The rubber cap was off. He turned the rod around, pulled the other cap off, and reached into it with one of his chubby fingers, struggling to try and reach something. It took several attempts, but he finally pulled out a clump of toilet paper pinched between his finger and the side of the rod and tossed it. He tilted the rod even farther down, and the USB drive Rhodes had given him slid out.

  Paul let out a sigh of relief. Lucky for him whichever cop was searching in here was too lazy to check both ends, or maybe that’s when the lieutenant called them all down. Either way, Paul could breathe easier now. Time was running out for him to finish the mission, but it would be immeasurably more difficult, he told himself, if he lost the USB drive altogether. He held the drive in the palm of his hand.

  “What’s that?” Jack asked, looking at all of the pill bottles and toiletries scattered over the floor. “And what the hell happened in here?”

  Paul glanced up, startled. “This? Nothing. Just a USB drive.”

  “That you hid in the shower curtain rod?”

  “This? No. It was in my pocket. I was checking out the shower curtain rod to make sure they weren’t trying to plant any drugs on us.”

  Jack picked up an empty bottle of Tylenol. All of the little white tablets that used to be in it were scattered all over the floor and on the counter.

  “Somebody doesn’t want us around.”

  “Yong?” Paul stood with a grunt, using the tub for leverage.

  “Or Lian. Or both. Or somebody else. Who knows?”

  “I don’t think it’s Lian. She seems . . . smitten.”

  “What? No. Trust me.”

  Trust you? Paul thought. He glanced at the floor. “This place won’t clean itself up. We better get started.”

  Jack surveyed the damage. “Do you want me to help? We can do your room first, then hit mine.”

  “If you don’t mind, I’ll take care of my room on my own. I like things in a certain order.”

  “I understand. I think I’m gonna get something to drink first.”

  Paul looked around at the disaster that awaited him. “Good idea.”

  —

  After he and Jack knocked down a couple shots of Bushmills, Paul limped back upstairs with a broom and dustpan and got to work. He didn’t bother trying to save the OTC drugs scattered everywhere, but he bagged them all and tied off the bag, wondering where he could dispose of them. He didn’t want to dump them in the toilet or in the trash—there were already hundreds of millions of pounds of pharmaceuticals getting flushed into public water supplies every year and probably even more contaminating the soil. He didn’t know how he managed to gather such random facts, but they were always there, and when the facts demanded certain moral actions, he tried to act accordingly.

  It took him another two hours to finally get everything back in order just the way he preferred. The repair guy would need to fix one broken drawer, and one of his polyester suit coats had a big black boot print on the sleeve. He’d have to ask Bai for a dry cleaner recommendation tomorrow.

  Paul wondered if Jack believed him about the USB drive. He had to assume he didn’t. He liked Jack well enough, but he didn’t really know him, and he was definitely the curious type. Instead of putting the USB back into the shower curtain rod, Paul retrieved one of his shoes and wedged the small device in the toe with a dress sock to keep it in place.

  Finally settled down, Paul decided to take a shower.

  —

  He found his phone on the nightstand and saw he’d missed a call from Gavin. He listened to the voice mail and swore softly, cursing Gavin’s childish behavior but grateful he had access to him as a resource.

  “Paul Brown, you’re not downtown. But I just uploaded a zip file in your Dropbox with the program you requested, and a README file with instructions, but it’s all pretty straightforward. I’m still not exactly sure how the program is going to help you catch your Chinese spy, but so long as you’re keeping an eye on Jack Junior, I’m in your corner and I’m still keeping my mouth shut, at least for now. Let me know if you have a problem—I mean besides the obvious one staring at you in the mirror. And yes, you’re welcome. Ciao.”

  Paul powered up his laptop, opened his Dropbox account, and found the two files Gavin had promised. He double-clicked on the README file and read Gavin’s instructions:

  Download the unmarked SNATCHWARE file onto your laptop.

  Install the target USB into your laptop.

  The SNATCHWARE will automatically find and capture the encryption code on the target USB. You don’t have to do anything. It will create a file called BigDaddyG.

  Remove the target USB and install your personal USB.

  Transfer the BigDaddyG file to your personal USB.

  Install your personal USB into your target computer.

  Enter the target two-factor authentication password when prompted.

  You’re in.

  Buy two steak dinners for Gavin Biery and one special lady friend at Mastro’s.

  Paul shook his head. “BigDaddyG?” Give me a break. Mastro’s would set him back a few bucks, but the price was well worth it.

  He opened up the unmarked snatchware file. Paul was no coder, for sure, but he could read it well enough. It was tight, elegant, and powerful. The proof of the pudding would be in the eating of it, he told himself, or at least the downloading and execution of it.

  He downloaded it without a problem. Now his computer was ready to capture the encryption software on the Dalfan USB tomorrow. Then we’ll see how smart your smart-ass really is, Paul thought.

  Once he captured the encryption program located on the Dalfan USB—which couldn’t leave the Dalfan HQ premises—he would transfer it to the USB drive Rhodes gave him, and then all he would have to do is load it into a Dalfan computer, type in his personal passcode, and let it work its magic.

  Easy as pie, so long as everything worked exactly as planned and he wasn’t caught red-handed in an act of international and corporate espionage.

  The thought elevated his blood pressure. He put on his slippers and limped downstairs for another two fingers of whiskey to quiet his nerves.

  39

  The next morning Jack and Paul arrived at the security desk on the first floor and were handed a note asking them to head straight for Yong’s office.

  Yong was seated behind his computer when Jack knocked on the door frame. Yong motioned them toward the two open chairs in front of his desk.

  “You wanted to see us?” Jack asked.

  “I heard about last night. Quite
disconcerting.”

  “For us or for you?”

  “Both, of course.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  Yong shook his head. “Your bad manners haven’t improved, have they? But that brings me precisely to my point. I have found your work and your presence both disruptive and ineffective to my company.”

  “I’m sorry you feel that way.”

  “I don’t ‘feel’ that way. This is not a matter of feelings. It’s business. And I’m simply stating a fact.”

  “The fact is you really don’t want us here, do you?”

  “Have I shown you any discourtesy?”

  “That’s not answering my question.”

  “My father wishes you to be here, so I wish you to be here.”

  “But if your father wasn’t the CEO? If you were? What would you prefer?”

  Yong leaned back in his chair. “To be perfectly frank, I’m not sure what advantage there is to partnering with an American company at this time.”

  “A massive cash infusion, operating synergies, global brand, and marketing reach. Those don’t sound too disadvantageous.”

  “All short-term stimulants. In the long run, America is in decline, and America’s role in Asia is diminishing each day.”

  “While China’s is on the rise,” Paul said.

  “Unquestionably. But I wouldn’t seek a merger with a Chinese firm, either. Both of your countries are going the way of the dodo bird. You’re both too large, too socialist, too complex, and too corrupt. The future belongs to small nation-states like Singapore, led by enlightened visionaries like Lee Kuan Yew.”

  Or Yong Fairchild, Jack thought.

  “Only nine percent of Americans trust their Congress, but seventy-four percent of Singaporeans trust their government. And if Americans don’t trust their own government, why should anybody else?”

  Yong hit a sore point with Jack. His father was working hard to restore America’s trust in its government by being honest with the American people and always trying to do what was best for the country, even at his own political expense. He’d read in a political science course at Georgetown that in 1964, seventy-seven percent of Americans believed that the federal government could be trusted to do the right thing most of the time. America’s political class had squandered that great legacy. It was going to take decades to restore it.

  “I wonder why your father is so keen on the merger, then,” Jack asked.

  “He’s old school, raised on his father’s white British knee, hearing stories of the heroic resistance against the cruel yellow invaders from Nippon.”

  “You’re saying your father is a racist? He’s half Asian himself.”

  “My father is an Anglophile, and pro-Western to the core. That doesn’t make him a racist. It just means he isn’t a realist, despite his great wisdom in so many other areas.”

  “We appreciate your candor. Perhaps we need to make this known to the Marin Aerospace board. They may think twice about a merger with a company with a hostile future CEO.”

  “If you report any such thing, I’ll deny it and I’ll sue you over it. What I’ve shared are merely private thoughts. I adamantly support the merger and anything else my father wishes. Am I perfectly clear?”

  “Yes.”

  “If anything, I should call Senator Rhodes myself and tell him how the two of you have completely overstepped yourselves and killed the deal.”

  That won’t be good for Gerry or Hendley Associates, Jack thought. As much as Yong obviously didn’t want the merger, a lot of other folks did. Jack knew he needed to back down rather than give Yong the excuse he needed to kill the deal. Suddenly, the politics of this white-side assignment seemed more difficult than dodging bullets in the North Sea, and nearly as hazardous to his career.

  “I apologize if I’ve said or done anything to offend you. I’m just trying to do my job.”

  Paul nodded his agreement. “We’re just doing a quick, standard fraud audit, and we’re trying to keep as low a profile as possible.”

  “So then what was all this nonsense with the police last night?”

  “We have no idea. It was bizarre, to say the least. Good thing your sister showed up just in the nick of time.”

  Yong cocked his head. “What are you implying?”

  Jack wasn’t implying anything. It seemed pretty damned obvious. Was he supposed to believe the phony police raid was pure coincidence? “Nothing at all. Thanks to her intervention, your country avoided an embarrassing diplomatic incident with my country on the eve of a historic summit.”

  “My sister is a remarkable woman and fiercely loyal to her family. But she’s also no fool.” Yong grinned. “As amusing as it would have been to see the two of you caned publicly, it would be wrong. She knows you and Mr. Brown aren’t drug smugglers.”

  “Good to know, because whoever was stupid enough to pull that idiotic stunt last night isn’t bright enough to understand that it won’t discourage us from doing our jobs while we’re here.”

  “I’m glad to hear that.”

  “And we are genuinely grateful that she got us out of that jam.”

  “I’m glad to hear that as well. She seemed quite upset when I spoke with her last night. She is a proud woman. I can hardly believe she came to apologize to you.”

  Technically, she didn’t, Jack reminded himself. “She surprised me for sure.”

  “My sister had made special plans for the two of you this morning, but she assumed you wouldn’t want to participate after the way you treated her last night.”

  “I was caught off guard last night. After it was over, I told her I was an idiot.” Jack wanted to add, But I was an idiot only if I was wrong about her, and I’m pretty sure I’m not. But he thought better of it. “We’re more than happy to hang out with her this morning—I just have an appointment with Dr. Heng later this afternoon.”

  “I’m sure you can keep it, and my sister will be delighted.”

  Paul shifted, anxious. He whispered in Jack’s ear, “I’ve got work to do.”

  Jack ignored him. “We couldn’t be more excited.”

  Yong stood and extended his hand. “I’m glad we had this little chat today, gentlemen. It’s always good to clear the air.”

  Jack shook his hand. “Just a few more days, Mr. Fairchild, and we’ll be out of your hair.”

  “Hopefully an uneventful few days. If you’ll excuse me, I have a lot on my plate this morning,” Yong said with a dismissive wave.

  Jack and Paul left, looking for Lian. Jack was beginning to think that Paul was right all along—maybe they should just sign off on the damn paper and get out. It seemed now like they were only spinning their wheels.

  PYONGYANG, NORTH KOREA

  Chairman Choi Ha-guk’s wide desk was empty except for an ashtray. Unlike his predecessor’s, the chairman’s office was spartan. Its only adornments were a plain couch, two chairs, industrial carpet, and bookshelves neatly stacked with technical books in three languages. He sat stiffly in his low-backed chair in a cloud of smoke across from Deputy Ri, the head of the General Services Administrative Directorate.

  “Why hasn’t it happened yet?” A Gitanes cherry-tipped in the chairman’s yellowed fingers as he took another drag.

  “I have every confidence in the Bulgarian. He’s proven himself utterly reliable in the past.”

  “That doesn’t answer my question.”

  “There are unanticipated security measures to be overcome. But he assures me they will be overcome.”

  “When?”

  “Soon.”

  “We’re running out of time.” Chairman Choi stabbed his butt out in the crowded ashtray. “You’re running out of time.”

  “But there is still time, and the software my department has written is flawless.”

  The chairman opened a desk drawer
and pulled out a fresh pack of cigarettes. He slid his thumbnail beneath the cellophane wrapper, thinking. “I’m giving you direct command of any foreign RGB units you may have need of.”

  “Director Kang will object, and I—”

  The chairman cut him short with a raised finger. “This operation takes precedence over all others. I will inform Director Kang myself.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  The chairman offered the blue pack to Ri. “Cigarette?”

  Ri hid his surprise. He nodded and took one. “Thank you.”

  The chairman slid his Zippo lighter across the desk. Ri lit up. They smoked in silence for a few moments, until a curt nod from the chairman ended the meeting.

  40

  SINGAPORE

  Lian took Jack and Paul on a tour of her city, starting with historic Emerald Hill and its restored colonial splendor, then over to the colorful Arab Street in the Muslim quarter, featuring the gold-domed Masjid Sultan Mosque, hipster boutiques, and street art. When she noticed Paul’s limp getting worse, she waved off on a walking tour in the Cloud Forest and instead drove them around Orchard Road—Singapore’s version of Rodeo Drive.

  They ended their brief tour at a hawker food center—a kind of mini mall for Singapore street food.

  “Our national pastime is eating,” Lian explained, standing in front of one of dozens of stalls. “Food is one of our many national treasures, and hawker food is the most famous of all.”

  Lian indulged in a bowl of spicy fish-head curry. Paul’s appetite wasn’t whetted by the black eyes and sharp teeth of the fish head swimming in red sauce, so he opted for a plate of chicken and rice at a different vendor, and Jack went a few stalls down to find a skewer of glistening chicken satay—spicier and sweeter than he’d had in his favorite Thai restaurant back in Alexandria.

  They slurped and chewed as they sat together on a plastic picnic table, surrounded by the high-pitched babble of animated Singlish and a dozen Asian and European dialects in the food center crowded with tourists. Jack failed to notice a Bulgarian and a German standing far back in the milling crowd, their attention focused on Paul Brown.