“Triads!”
“Yes, sir. A Chinese gang that operates like the Mafia.”
“I know what a Triad is. Wait, you think Mike Chan, er, Mike Wu, is working for his brother? And not the Shop?”
“I don’t know. According to the letters, Eddie Wu knew all about his brother’s false identity. I’m just suggesting that perhaps it’s not the Shop. It could be; I haven’t ruled it out. But there’s this other angle. The Triad Eddie Wu is hooked up with is known as the Lucky Dragons. It’s a global Triad operated from Hong Kong. The Dragons have branches in Los Angeles, San Francisco, and New York. Maybe Houston, too, but we haven’t established that for certain. Anyway, the Lucky Dragons are a formidable bunch of hoodlums. Eddie Wu has been in and out of jail a few times and he’s on a watch list out in California. But for the last several years he’s kept his nose clean.”
“So could Mike be heading to California?”
“That’s what I think,” Kehoe said. “I imagine he changed his identity again, maybe disguised himself, and flew out there. Or maybe he’s taking a safer route, like the train, or bus. Hell, he could be driving. His car is missing. It’s a 2002 Honda Accord. Either he’s dumped it somewhere and we haven’t found it, or he’s inside of it right now driving along the interstate. Which would put him in Los Angeles the day after tomorrow at the latest.”
Lambert shook his head. “Unbelievable. I can’t fathom how that background check didn’t turn any of this up.”
“Like I said, sir. He’s had help from someone higher up. We’d like to find out who that might be as well.”
“So what’s next?”
“I’m going to Los Angeles. The FBI there will be watching Eddie Wu. If Mike Wu shows up, they’ll surely be seen together. We’re counting on the fact that Mike Wu doesn’t know we’ve seen through his false identity.”
Lambert nodded. “Okay. Keep me informed, will you? I know you have to report to your own people but I’d appreciate it if you kept me in the loop.”
“I’ll do that, Colonel.”
“Is that all?”
“I think so. For now.”
Lambert stood and held out his hand. “Thanks. You’re doing a fine job.”
Kehoe got up and shook the colonel’s hand. “Thank you. I’ll be in touch.” He turned and left the office. Colonel Lambert sat, feeling satisfied that some progress was being made. He might not like the FBI doing the job but at least this Kehoe was actually doing the job. Perhaps it wasn’t such a bad thing after all.
On to other things. He pressed the intercom button. “Have Ms. Grimsdottir come to my office, please.”
He then turned to his in-box and picked up a memorandum from Frances Coen that confirmed Sam Fisher’s safe arrival in Hong Kong. Contact had been made with Mason Hendricks, and Fisher would be following a lead that might involve Chinese Triads.
What goes around, comes around, Lambert thought. Could Mike Wu be involved in the Professor Jeinsen business?
He then opened Anna Grimsdottir’s personnel file and scanned it once more before the meeting. It wasn’t necessary, though. Lambert had known Anna for a long time — she was one of the original Third Echelon employees. A woman of Icelandic origin, Grimsdottir was thirty years old. She was a second-generation American and a college dropout. She had been studying computer science at St. John’s College in the nineties but decided she could program rings around her instructors. She worked as a programmer for several different communications firms contracted by the U.S. Navy. She had been recruited at the ground floor of Third Echelon and had worked as a programmer and eventually became the technical director. Grimsdottir had continuously shown a strong drive, a sharp intelligence, and a noted dedication to the work.
There was a tentative knock on his door. “Come in.”
Anna Grimsdottir stepped inside. As always she wore her brown hair pulled back and resembled an attractive college professor. She was so studious looking that one’s mother might say she had a “nice personality.” Her colleagues knew Grimsdottir’s temperament was rather staid, almost the reserve of a Brit. But they also knew she had a wry sense of humor that she rarely allowed to surface.
“You wished to see me, Colonel?” she asked.
“Sit down, Anna.” She took the chair, crossed her legs, and sat with impossibly good posture. “How was your leave?”
“Nice. Hawaii, you know.”
“Sorry I had to end it early.”
“No, actually I’m happy that you did. I’m glad to be back.”
“Good. As you know, we’ve lost Carly.”
Grimsdottir lifted her chin and said, “She was very good. I’m sorry that she… well, I’m sorry about what happened, sir.”
“We all are.” He cleared his throat and came to the point. “Are you ready to resume your responsibilities?”
“Of course.”
“You’ll need to get up to speed very quickly. You’ve missed out on a number of developments within the organization.”
“Let’s do it.”
Lambert looked into her eyes and saw that there was absolutely no fear. Total self-confidence.
“Let’s do,” he replied.
Mike Wu, aka Mike Chan, passed a sign telling him that Oklahoma City was twenty miles away. He needed to find a place to stop and rest before he had an accident. Wu hadn’t slept a wink since he had shot Carly St. John and left Washington, D.C. Now, two days on, he was feeling the effects of sleep deprivation and too much caffeine. He was jittery, not thinking clearly, and had a massive headache.
Before leaving the D.C. area he had parked his blue 2002 Honda Accord alongside a green one that was in front of an apartment building blocks away from his own. Armed with a screwdriver, he switched license plates on the two cars in less than a minute, and then headed west on I-70. He picked up I-81 to take him down through the Appalachian Mountains and Virginia. The highway joined I-40 in Tennessee, and he planned to stay on that road all the way to California. He knew it was probably an obvious route to take but it was also the fastest. Hopefully the police wouldn’t be looking for him yet. After he had slept a little, he planned to dump his Honda and steal a car for the second half of the trip. Wu couldn’t believe he had made it halfway across the United States so quickly. But then, he rarely stopped. Only to buy gas and pick up a bite to eat.
He passed a sign for a motel located off the next exit. Good. Out of the way and cheap. Just what the doctor ordered. Wu couldn’t wait to get there. He’d have a shower, drop into the bed, and catch five or six hours. And then—
Damn! In the rearview mirror he saw a police car right behind him, lights flashing. Where did he come from? Wu looked at his speedometer and saw that he was doing ninety-three miles per hour. In his haste to reach the motel, he had become careless. Up to that point he had been so good at driving safely and staying within speed limits so as not to attract attention. Now this.
Wu pulled the car over to the shoulder and stopped. The patrol car, an Oklahoma State Police vehicle, moved up behind him. The officer sat in his car making a note and doing the routine call-in with the license plate number.
Shit. It’s going to be reported stolen. What should he do? Think quickly!
In his sleep-deprived, anxious state, Mike Wu did what he thought was the only solution possible. He reached under the seat and grabbed the Smith & Wesson SW1911. Wu scanned his mirrors to make sure no other drivers were around to see what he was about to do.
The officer got out of the patrol car and walked toward him. Wu lowered the window and smiled at the man.
“Hello, Officer,” he said. “I know, I was speeding. Sorry about that.”