She glanced in her mirrors, easing off the 797-horsepower engine as she touched ninety miles per hour. “Not this morning.”
There was a pause on the other end. He was new to the Supervisory Special Agent role, and Punky knew he had his hands full with her. “Where are you going?”
“I’m following up on a lead.”
He knew exactly what she meant. “Punky, KMART isn’t a threat.”
But, of course, he was. The traitorous sailor aboard the USS Abraham Lincoln had conspired in a plot to sink the aircraft carrier, and she was no closer to discovering his identity than she had been before coming face-to-face with an operative from China’s foreign intelligence service. Before she killed the woman known to her as TANDY and severed her only link to the traitor.
She clenched her jaw. “Yeah, he is.”
“Listen, Punky—”
“I don’t want to hear it, Camron,” she said. “The Ministry’s West Coast network is more active than ever.”
“And still we’ve heard nothing from KMART.”
“Yeah, because I killed his handler! You don’t think they’ve assigned someone new by now?”
Camron sighed. “Fine. Where are you going?”
Punky slammed on the brakes to avoid ramming her Challenger into a slower-moving Kia sedan, then jerked the wheel left and stomped on the gas. “La Jolla.”
“La Jolla?”
She bit the inside of her cheek and debated filling him in on her plans. As a special agent assigned to the counterintelligence task force, Punky was authorized to conduct investigations to protect against espionage. But Camron was the head of that task force and had a right to know.
“Punky, why are you going to La Jolla?”
She decided to open her kimono just enough to satisfy him. “I’ve been monitoring the communications from a new individual operating in the San Diego area who the Ministry refers to as SUBLIME.”
“Named for his outstanding spiritual, intellectual, or moral worth?”
“No, for the band,” she said sarcastically. “I have no idea, Camron.”
“Go on.”
“Over the last several days, his frequency of communications has increased, and they all mention UC San Diego.”
“And?”
Punky rounded the bend to merge onto Interstate 5 and downshifted again, surging past another Challenger — a yellow 305-horsepower SXT model — that attempted to accelerate and keep pace before quickly giving up. She flipped him off and continued racing north toward the city.
“I’m on my way to meet with a professor who is giving a lecture this morning.”
“Okay?”
Punky couldn’t tell if he was just humoring her or if he thought she was on to something. Either way, she could tell he was losing his patience. “The professor is from China.”
“And what? You think SUBLIME is targeting this person?”
She glanced in each of her mirrors before answering. “You would too if you knew her field.”
“Enlighten me.”
“She is a professor with the Global Health Institute and serves on the university’s Global Infectious Diseases working group.” Punky paused before dropping the hammer. “She is regarded as an expert on next-generation biowarfare and has written several articles about synthetic bioweapons.”
Camron was quiet for a moment, and she found his silence more disconcerting than anything. “What are you thinking, Cam?”
“Honestly, I don’t know,” he said. “You might be on to something, but I think you’re pushing the boundaries of your mandate. Did you forget that you’re supposed to be investigating threats as they pertain to the Navy? Maybe we should hand this off to the FBI and let them look into SUBLIME.”
The last thing she wanted to do was hand over months of her hard work so somebody else could take the credit. But she had one more card to play. “The last message SUBLIME received mentioned the Reagan,” she said.
“Reagan? Or the Reagan?”
She thought Camron was splitting hairs. “Does it matter?”
“Yeah, Punky. It does. There are at least a half dozen schools named after him in California, not to mention the presidential library and headquarters of the California State Republican Party. There are a lot more plausible explanations than to assume the message was referring to a nuclear-powered aircraft carrier.”
But she disagreed. Maybe it was because she had found herself in the middle of a Chinese plot to sink an aircraft carrier off the coast of California. And maybe because the traitor who had made that even possible was still walking around and enjoying his freedom.
“Okay,” Camron said. “You can look into it. What’s the professor’s name?”
“Tan Lily.”
“I’ll dig around and see what I can find out.”
“Thanks, Cam.”
“But, Punky…”
“Yes?”
“Don’t make me regret this.”
Guo Kang sat on his balcony overlooking San Diego Bay’s placid waters while sipping his morning tea. He had grown accustomed to the leisurely pace of being a problem solver — only called on when his unique skills were required — and he took full advantage of the perks that came with his position. A luxury condo on the water. Boats in the marina. High-end European cars and motorcycles.
He set his cup down and leaned back in his chair with a contented smile on his face. It was shaping up to be a beautiful Southern California fall day. Sunny. Seventy degrees. Cool ocean breeze. Maybe he would go for a ride into the hills east of the city. Or take the ferry across to Coronado. His options were limitless.
His tea finished, he stood and stretched his athletic frame. Though the sun had barely crested the horizon, the city was already buzzing thirty stories beneath him. Leaving his teacup on the balcony table, Guo Kang headed inside and crossed the cool hardwood floors to his bedroom, where he undressed before walking into his spacious shower.
It was a luxurious setup with three powerful jets on either side of him and a large rainfall showerhead. The digital readout on the wall in front of him displayed the temperature at a steady ninety-nine degrees — warm enough that it eased the aches and pains he had sustained from a hard life. After washing himself, he reached up and rotated the knob counterclockwise until the temperature dropped below sixty degrees.
The initial shock of the cold water took his breath away, but he calmed his breathing and found the Zen he sought each morning. By the end of the three minutes, he felt completely at ease.
After his shower, Guo Kang toweled off and walked back into the bedroom, where he saw his phone light up with a missed call. He scooped it up from the nightstand next to his king-size bed — already made with taut, military precision — and saw a message waiting for him in Signal.
His day of leisure momentarily forgotten, he opened the app and read the message, then tapped on the phone icon to place an encrypted call over his wireless network.
The General answered after only one ring. “Where are you?”
“At home,” he said, already feeling a burgeoning arousal.
“I have another task for you.”
Though he had been looking forward to the day, a task from the General portended even greater pleasure. His heart thundered with eager anticipation. “Go on.”
“One of our scientists was discovered revealing details about our operation to an American in Shanghai.”
“What do you need me to do?” Guo Kang was a weapon to be aimed and didn’t need to know why — his trust in the General was absolute.
“Free your schedule and stand by for your instructions.”