As he walked closer, he took in every inch of the neighborhood. Telephone and power lines spread out overhead like a spider web. The CIA techs at Lima Station had taken measures to disable many of their connections, a precaution meant to prevent China’s cyber operators from discovering or eavesdropping on the meeting.
An elderly woman watered her plants on a second-floor balcony next door. The CIA surveillance asset didn’t glance down as Chase walked past. A red rose plant rested on her outdoor coffee table. The all-clear signal telling Chase that she had observed nothing unusual. Only the normal pattern of life for this time of day.
A small Toyota sedan sputtered along the road and turned down the alleyway next to the house, parking in the lone covered space. The CIA officers inside the vehicle quickly moved their guest into the house through the side door. Chase remained outside for another few minutes, watching for any foot traffic or tail vehicles. None showed, and so he entered the home from the same door.
Now standing in the security room just inside the entrance, Chase recognized the guard on duty as one of the local CIA ground team members. Former Air Force pararescue, Chase was pretty sure.
He nodded a greeting. “Mike.”
“Chase, good to see you, man.” Mike held a relaxed grip on his H&K UMP-45.
“You too. Everyone upstairs?”
“Yup. Homeboy brought some local food. He gave me a sample. Hope he’s not a Chinese double operative because I’m a sucker for spicy food. Consider it worth getting poisoned for. You like spice? This shit’ll put hair on your chest, hombre. Although you were with the SEALs, right? So you’d probably just wax any chest hair right back off.”
Chase laughed. “Ah yes, Air Force jokes. The lowest form of humor.”
“Oh whatever. Everybody wishes they were Air Force, man. Don’t lie. You know our secret, right?”
“What’s that?”
“You Navy guys, when you build a base, you start with the harbor, then you go build the runway. Then you build the barracks and the squadron buildings and all that crap. Then you run out of money and there’s nothing left so you have a lousy time. In the Air Force we did it the right way, see? First thing we build is the bar. Then the golf course. Then the bowling alley. Then we run out of money for the runway and go back to Congress, and hell, what are they going to do, say no to a runway? See how it works?”
Chase nodded. “You guys certainly have your priorities straight.”
Mike smiled. “And good looks. Well, not me personally. But my kid apparently has my wife’s genes, thank God. Check it out. My wife just sent me this. Kiddo turned five last week.”
Mike took a picture of his wife and son out of his breast pocket. It looked like it had been printed from home. Folded creases and grainy. This was what we were reduced to, Chase thought. No more using cell phones, which could be tracked and tapped into. And the world’s free web capabilities had been dramatically reduced. Each continent now had their own tightly controlled internet.
Chase admired the picture. “They look great, buddy. And you’re right, he’s sure lucky he doesn’t have your genes.”
“Damn straight.” Mike folded up the picture and stuffed it back in his breast pocket. “All right, have fun, traitor,” he added, teasing Chase for no longer working exclusively within the CIA’s paramilitary group.
Chase just smiled as Mike typed in the code that unlocked the door behind him.
“Later, bud.”
“See ya.”
Chase could hear bits of conversation as he walked up the narrow stairway and the security door shut behind him. The Lima CIA station chief and his deputy sat around a dining room table with a third man. The scientist.
The scientist was a plump Latino man of about fifty, clean-shaven and tan. The wrinkles around his eyes creased as he smiled. “Ah, another one,” he said as he spotted Chase. “Good. I’ve brought lots to eat.”
The two CIA men nodded at Chase. The deputy station chief said, “Chase, allow me to introduce Doctor Oscar Rojas.”
The scientist extended his hand and Chase shook it.
Chase said, “And here I thought we were meeting with an esteemed physicist. But I see you’re a chef?”
“My friend, cooking is a science. My wife and I love to cook. She actually made these for you today. They are a Peruvian specialty. We wanted to treat you right. Our American friends.” Chase noticed the look the man gave the station chief at that last word. A hint of conflict? Were there already problems? Chase and the station chief had received the unusual orders to take this guy back to America by force if need be, but he hoped it wouldn’t come to that.
The plan was to get Rojas to agree to work with them today. Then Chase was supposed to escort him from Peru through Colombia, then Panama, and eventually to the US, ensuring they didn’t get spotted along the way.
Rojas handed Chase a paper plate. “This, my friend, is called Rocoto Relleno. Stuffed spicy peppers. Here, sit. Take a fork.”
Chase noticed the hint of a smile on the CIA men’s lips. Never good, when one was about to try new food in a foreign country.
Chase used a fork to cut through the small stuffed red pepper, ground meat and a layer of white cheese oozing out. His mother used to make stuffed bell peppers at home all the time when he was growing up. This looked the same. And his brain told his mouth to expect it to taste that way too.
Then, as the food entered his mouth, a liquid magma of spice hit the inner lining on his cheeks and gums, and his teeth went numb.
“Wow.” He coughed and wiped the tears from his eyes as the CIA men laughed. Soon the heat melted away into a delectable sweet and savory flavor. Chase fanned his mouth. “Delicious.”
He drank some water and the conversation resumed. They spoke briefly about the technical aspects of the technology. The CIA men verified a few facts and figures that had been cabled to them from the analysts at Langley.
After answering their questions, Rojas said, “We need to discuss something. I must tell you that last week I was approached by a Chinese recruiter.”
The room went silent. Chase looked at the CIA officers to gauge their reaction. Each maintained a solid poker face, but Chase could tell it was forced.
“When was this?” asked the deputy station chief.
“Last Wednesday.”
“Do they know you are here?”
“With you? No.”
The hair on the back of Chase’s neck began to rise.
“What did they ask you, Mr. Rojas?” the station chief asked.
“They were interested in learning more about our research.”
“Did they ask you to work for them?”
“They offered to invest in our research and said they are building a facility in Ecuador that we can move to.”
“And what did you say?”
“I politely told them that I was not interested.” He frowned. “I prefer not to work with them.”
The station chief said, “We also prefer that you not work with the Chinese.”
Rojas smiled knowingly. “Yes.”
Chase said, “How did they take your answer?”
Rojas said, “It was only one man. He didn’t seem to understand the technology. He seemed like he was just following orders. He said he would relay my answer to his superiors.”
The station chief’s voice was soft. “Mr. Rojas, it’s time for me to ask you to work with us.”
Rojas’s face was serious now. Sad, even. “I know.” He sighed. “I told my wife this is what would happen. I need to say that we have concerns.”