Jesus.
Feng interrupted his thoughts. “Kade. You have him or not?”
Nakamura looked at Feng. If Sam really had turned on her own… Then the worst thing he could do was lead the CIA to her.
He needed more data. But he also had a mission.
“No,” he told Feng. “I don’t have Lane. But I want him. Who took him?”
Feng calculated. That third force must have Kade. The old Indian man and his soldiers.
Handing Kade over to the CIA would be no better. But if he helped Nakamura… Chaos could produce opportunity. An opportunity to get Kade free.
“I don’t know,” Feng said. “But I’ll help you find out. One condition.”
“What’s that?” Nakamura asked.
“When you go get him, I come with you.”
It took twenty minutes to figure out who had taken Kade. Nakamura listened as Feng told his story, then fed the data and the description of the man to a CIA analyst AI. It brought back dozens of hits of older Indian and South Asian men who might have been in Saigon, who had connections there, who might in some way be connected to the case.
He showed the images to Feng on a slate from across the room, one by one.
“That’s him,” Feng said. “I’m sure of it.”
Nakamura looked at the hit. Shiva Prasad.
With the name came data.
The untouchable billionaire had entered Vietnam on his private jet a week ago. And before dawn this morning his passport had been electronically stamped again, as he’d left in that jet once more, with a flight plan filed for his private island off the coast of Burma.
“Hey, you have any food?” he heard Feng ask. “Really hungry.”
Nakamura smiled widely.
“Sure, Feng,” he said. “And I hope you can swim.”
55
OLD FLAMES
Monday October 29th
Holtzmann fumed after the call with Barnes cut off. But there was nothing he could do for those poor children.
Somehow he had to get Rangan Shankari out of ERD custody. But how? He could walk Shankari out of that cell, give him the keys to his own car, and in the very best case the ERD would just pick Shankari up a few hours later, and lock Holtzmann away for good.
He needed help.
An underground railroad. That’s what the rumors said. A network that got Nexus-born children out of the country. Would they take Shankari? Holtzmann had no idea. But he thought there was one person who might know.
Her number was in his phone, years after she’d tired of his lies and his weakness and cut off their affair. Did she ever think back to their time fondly? Or was he a pathetic figure in her mind, a man who’d lied and cheated, seduced her even though he was her professor and fifteen years her senior? Would she even talk to him after their encounter at the Capitol?
There was only one way to find out.
Holtzmann tapped on his phone, and called Lisa Brandt.
She picked up on the third ring.
“Hello?”
“Lisa,” he said. “It’s Martin Holtzmann.”
“I know who it is,” she said coldly. “What do you want?”
Martin paused. Hostility… He deserved it.
“Lisa,” he said. “I was thinking about our last conversation. I… I may have changed my mind. I’d like to talk.”
Silence. More silence.
“I’m listening,” she said finally.
“Could we… talk in person?” he asked.
“I’m in Boston, Martin.”
“I know, I know,” he said. “I can come to you. I’ll take the train up. Lunch tomorrow? Leonetti’s?” She used to love Leonetti’s.
Another pause.
“Not lunch,” she replied. “Coffee. Harvard Square Café. 2pm. Come alone.”
“Thank you…” he started.
The line clicked and went dead.
Lisa Brandt ended the call, and looked across the small room to where her wife Alice rocked their adopted son Dilan as he nursed.
“Martin Holtzmann?” Alice asked with a raised eyebrow.
Lisa could feel the wave of surprised curiosity and concern radiate from her wife, overlaid with the mixed fatigue and contentment of Dilan suckling at the milk produced by her hormonally augmented breasts.
Lisa nodded. “Holtzmann.” But her eyes were on their son. She could feel his sleepy hunger, his secure comfort. Such a special child.
I should have taken the hormone boost too, Lisa thought. I should be doing my part nursing him. But it was easier for Alice, easier with her career in finance already established enough that she could take so much time off, while Lisa still toiled daily towards tenure in her ivory tower.
“What did he want?” Alice asked.
“To talk,” Lisa said. “Maybe to blow a whistle.”
Alice squinted, and Lisa could feel her skepticism. “Whistle-blowing takes balls and a conscience. The Martin Holtzmann you’ve described didn’t sound like he had either.”
“No,” Lisa sighed. “He didn’t.”
Anne got home an hour later.
“You look better,” she said.
Holtzmann smiled. “I feel better. In fact, I think I’ll go to the office tomorrow.”
Anne Holtzmann lay in bed, pretending to sleep, listening to her husband’s breathing until she was sure he was out.
Something was very wrong here. Paranoia. Emotional outbursts. Night sweats and vomiting. It almost reminded her of…
Anne rose quietly and padded into the bathroom. One by one she opened the medicine cabinets, then the drawers, searching through them, looking for a bottle of pills.
Nothing. Martin had finished the painkillers months ago. So why was he acting like a man on drugs?
Anne Holtzmann crept quietly back into bed, troubled. Tomorrow. Tomorrow she’d do some digging into her husband’s activities.
56
EN ROUTE
Monday October 29th
He who knows when he can fight and when he cannot will be victorious. Sun Tzu had written that in The Art of War. Feng repeated it to himself again and again as Nakamura drove them out of the city, to a darkened piece of coast on the Mekong Delta, as Nakamura left Feng chained inside the jeep as he loaded supplies into the inflatable boat, as Nakamura clipped a metal leash to Feng’s restraints and pointed with his gun towards the beach.
So tired. Every part of him hurt. He’d downed thousands of calories and the hunger still gnawed inside, his body ravenous for resources to apply to its reconstruction. At his best, he thought he could take the CIA man. But chained, wounded, tired, and weaponless?
Ahead the inflatable boat waited on the sand, piled high with supplies as waves crashed down a few meters beyond it.
“The engine won’t start without me,” Nakamura said. “Drag it out into the water.”
Feng did as he was told, dragging it out with his bound hands as Nakamura followed, until he was thigh-deep in the surf. The CIA agent climbed in, the end of Feng’s leash still in his hand. “Come aboard,” he said. And then Feng was in the boat as well, in the front, looking back at Nakamura.
“We going all the way to Burma in this thing?” Feng asked.
His CIA captor just laughed.
Nakamura kept half an eye on Feng. The rest of his attention he devoted to the rendezvous. He steered south and east for an hour, his eyes peeled for any sign they were being followed or observed. Off to his left, robotic container ships bobbed on the horizon, their superstructures illuminated for safety, waiting for their turn to enter the Nha Be River and unload their wares. Ahead, the sea was dark and apparently empty.