The FBI field office had provided Kehoe with six men to stage the raid on Eddie Wu’s apartment. As long as no other Triad members were present, the operation was expected to go smoothly.
Kehoe had waited until the two Wu brothers were safely inside the eight-story apartment building and then set up a stakeout until nightfall. At just after one in the morning, the team arrived in full riot gear, ready to storm the residence. The Bureau had previously taken care of contacting the building’s management to warn them of what was about to take place. Warrants and legal formalities were executed by the book. An ambulance and fire truck were waiting a block away in case they were needed.
The apartment was on the top floor, one of three penthouses in the building. There was only one way in — and out. Since the brothers must be asleep, the element of surprise was in the team’s favor.
Kehoe gave the signal and three men moved down the hall with the battering ram. Assault rifles ready, the trio looked at Kehoe for confirmation. The special agent nodded. The first man knocked loudly on the door.
“Open up! FBI!”
By rote, the team didn’t wait for the door to open. They slammed the battering ram against the door, knocking it off its hinges. The two other agents stormed into the living room, followed by Kehoe and the four remaining officers.
Mike Wu was in a deep sleep when the crash of the door jolted him to reality. The feds surrounded him before he could sit up in bed. With three rifles pointed at his head, Wu had no choice but to raise his hands.
As the Third Echelon traitor was taken into custody, the other men searched the rest of the apartment for Eddie Wu. He was nowhere to be found.
“Where’s your brother?” Kehoe asked Mike as the handcuffs were snapped onto the man’s wrists.
“I don’t know!” Mike said. “He was here when I went to bed.”
Kehoe had not seen the guy leave the building. He couldn’t believe Eddie wasn’t there. He angrily turned to two team members and told them to tear the place apart. Kehoe then jerked his head at the men holding Mike and said, “Let’s go.”
Unbeknownst to the FBI or to his brother, Eddie Wu had built an escape hatch in the closet floor of his bedroom. The idea to do so had come from Jon Ming himself back when Eddie set himself up in Los Angeles. The FBI would eventually find the trapdoor, but not until after Wu was safely away. The door led to a passageway much like an air vent through which Eddie could crawl to the stairwell on the eighth floor. When Eddie heard the crash at the front door, he immediately went for the closet. He knew he couldn’t save his brother; the important thing was to get away quickly. It took him forty-two seconds to move from his bed to the closet, open the trapdoor, and snake to the stairwell. It was then a simple matter to run down the stairs and leave the building without the FBI ever seeing him.
It worked like a charm.
“I want a lawyer.”
It had been twelve hours since his arrest.
Mike Wu sat in the bare interrogation room under intense bright lights with nothing but a cup of coffee on the table in front of him. Other than the mirror on the wall, which Wu obviously knew was for observation, nothing else adorned the cold, concrete space.
He was exhausted and uncomfortable. His hands were still cuffed behind him and he was barefoot. Wu had been forced to discard the T-shirt and boxer shorts he had been wearing in bed and now wore standard prisoner’s trousers and a tunic.
Kehoe and L.A. FBI chief Al Nudelman sat at the table with the captive and were getting nowhere.
“Mike, you’re being held under the Homeland Security Act,” Kehoe said. “You don’t have the same rights normal, ordinary, everyday criminals have. If I had my way, I’d organize a little lynch party right here and now for what you’ve done. You’ve betrayed your country by passing classified defense secrets to enemy organizations and you’re responsible for the murder of a federal employee and the murder of an Oklahoma state employee. You’re up shit creek, mister.”
“I still want a lawyer. And something to eat, man. You can’t treat me like this. I’m an American citizen.”
“You sure don’t act like one.”
There was a knock on the steel door. Nudelman stood, opened it, and conversed with another agent. The chief nodded and closed the door. He stepped over to Kehoe and delivered the message.
“Oh, good news, Mike,” Kehoe said. “An old friend is here to see you and he’d like to ask you some questions. He flew all the way from Washington, D.C., today just to do so.”
The door opened and Colonel Lambert walked in. Mike Wu shut his eyes and shuddered. He had honestly respected his boss at Third Echelon and dreaded the moment when he would have to face the colonel.
“Hello, Mike,” Lambert said with no indication of warmth.
Mike looked up and nodded. “Colonel.”
Lambert sat across from the prisoner and acknowledged Kehoe. “Good afternoon.”
“Is it afternoon already?” Kehoe asked. “Feels like next year already.”
“Thanks for letting me know about this. I got here as soon as I could.”
“I think you made it in record time, Colonel. Did they beam you here?”
Lambert looked at Mike and said, “So has this lowlife said anything yet?”
“Not a thing. Keeps asking for a lawyer.”
Lambert grunted. He stared at his former employee and then leaned forward. “Mike, listen to me. It’s in your best interest to make a statement. Sign a confession. You know what you’ve done and we’ve got the proof you did it. Now we could go through a lengthy trial and cost the taxpayers a lot of money and draw this out to painful proportions… or you can simply confess and we’ll try to go easy on you.”
“Easy? How easy can a death sentence be?” Mike asked.
“Well, for one thing, maybe you’ll get life. I’ll recommend it. No guarantees, though.”
Mike didn’t say a word. He looked at Lambert for a full minute as if they were in a stare-down contest. Finally, the prisoner leaned forward and said as slowly as he could, “I. Want. A. Lawyer.”
Lambert and Kehoe looked at each other and sighed.
“Hey, Mike, you remember Sam Fisher?” Lambert asked.
“I met him once.”
“But you know who he is. You know what he’s capable of.”
Mike shrugged.
“Well, guess what. He’s on his way here. He finished his assignment in Hong Kong and I told him to head on back to the States. When he heard you were in custody, he couldn’t wait to have a word with you. He was very fond of Carly, you see. I have a good mind to let Sam in here and, well, Agent Kehoe and I will leave you two alone for a while. I can’t vouch for how Sam will react when he lays eyes on you. And seeing as how you’re in Maximum Security Unit Six, which no one the fuck knows exists, you might as well wish you’d died in a hail of bullets.”
Mike knew exactly what the colonel was talking about. Everyone at Third Echelon held the Splinter Cells in awe — especially Sam Fisher. It was almost as if the guy wasn’t human. He was a very dangerous machine.
Lambert stood and said, “You think about that for a while, Mike. It’ll take another half day or so before he gets here. Plenty of time to write and sign a confession. Come on, Agent Kehoe. Let’s leave this scum alone with his demons.”
The two men left the room and locked the door. Mike Wu nervously cracked his knuckles but stared defiantly at the mirror. He knew they were behind it, watching him. After a moment, he picked up the half-empty coffee cup and threw it against the dark glass. The brown liquid ran down the wall and made an ugly puddle in the otherwise stark and sterile room.
“I want a lawyer!” he shouted again.