It was Tetsuo’s job to protect his agents. And not just for their safety — if they were found out, that mine of information would be sealed off, and the CIA’s collection capability would diminish. Not to mention, Tetsuo’s career would take a tumble. It wasn’t like Tetsuo’s goal was to get promoted to GS-15 or anything. He had joined the CIA to serve his country, not end up a bureaucrat. But if his agent got made, and his career suffered, Tetsuo wouldn’t get any more plum assignments — the ones that really made a difference. And he did care about that.
So when Susan Collinsworth had sent him a message two days ago, asking him to allow his most valuable agent to meet with Chase Manning — some new guy who was working out of Langley — he had rightly told her to go to hell.
It wasn’t often that the director of the CIA got involved in Tetsuo’s business — never, actually. But shortly after Tetsuo had told Susan Collinsworth to go to hell, Tetsuo’s boss, the CIA’s Tokyo station chief, had gotten a call from Director Buckingham himself. The director had ordered them to assist Susan with whatever she needed. SILVERSMITH was point on all things China. The message was clear: Get on board.
Tetsuo had done his homework on Manning. Oh, he realized. That guy. The Dubai guy. Rumor had it that Chase had been sleeping with one Lisa Parker — the Chinese mole who had sent earthquakes through the Counter Intelligence Center — before she had gone AWOL. Poor Chase had had no idea that she was a Chinese double agent. No one had. Another interesting item in Chase Manning’s file was his location over the past few weeks. On temporary assignment in Latin America. Right when all that shit in Ecuador was going down.
Tetsuo had seen the reports. A SOCOM team had been inserted into the Chinese camp in Manta, Ecuador. SILVERSMITH, the CIA’s code name for the operation attempting to counter recent Chinese aggression, was assisting the SOCOM team. Susan was in charge of SILVERSMITH.
If Tetsuo was a gambling man, which he was, he would bet money that Chase Manning had been a part of that SOCOM group. Especially since Manning had been a Special Operations Group guy in the Agency. All of those fellas were taken from the SEALs and Army Delta. Tetsuo decided to give Chase the benefit of the doubt.
Chase eyed Tetsuo as the car swerved along the narrow Japanese roads. They raced past rows and rows of small attached homes, single-car garages on each one. A bike lane took up a lot of the pavement.
Chase said, “How long have you been running your source?”
Tetsuo glanced at him. “He’s been with several handlers over the years. Let’s leave it at that.”
A few moments of silence went by before Tetsuo said, “When we go in there and speak with him, I want you to remember something. He trusts me, not you. I’ll ask that you keep remain quiet while I’m talking to him. Don’t interrupt us. He is risking his life by working with us. Chinese counterintelligence is quite active in Japan, and they usually try to monitor their own dignitaries when they visit. In other words, there may be Chinese operatives trying to look for him. If anything goes wrong, the minute I say the word, we leave. Just stick with me, don’t talk, and leave. Understood?”
“Got it.”
“If the Ministry of State Security finds out that we’re using him…”
Chase simply said, “I understand.” He knew how delicate the relationship was between handler and agent. It was the first time he had worked with Tetsuo. He still had to earn his trust. And this guy GIANT was a big-time agent.
The car slowed in front of one of the identical attached homes and pulled under the small car overhang. Chase was pretty sure that they had driven in at least two complete circles before parking.
Chase and Tetsuo got out, but the driver stayed in the vehicle. Tetsuo began walking along the sidewalk around the building. Chase followed him. “We aren’t going into the house?”
“Not that one.”
Surveillance detection, Chase realized, watching Tetsuo’s eyes scan the streets. These guys weren’t screwing around.
Chase continued to follow Tetsuo along a path that ran parallel to a thirty-foot-wide canal. An identical pathway lay on the opposite side of the water. Cherry blossom tree branches covered them overhead, reflecting in the still water. They were still another month from blooming, but the scenery was impressive. The walking path was made of square stone tiles and gravel. Wooden walking bridges arched over the canal every fifty yards or so. There were plenty of tourists posing for pictures.
“Nice area.”
“This is called the Philosopher’s Path. Very well known here. You should come back in the spring or fall. It is truly beautiful.”
As Tetsuo talked, he continued to work. Scanning each passerby, each person on a bench, each tourist with a phone — looking for anyone who might be watching them.
“Are we black?” Chase was asking if they were clear of any foreign surveillance.
“I think so. We’ll do this for another twenty minutes. I have a local team helping out with countersurveillance as well.”
Eventually Chase followed Tetsuo as he veered off into a nearby neighborhood. Homes and shops were pressed up next to each other, just like everywhere in Japan’s urban districts. Busy streets filled with tiny cars and pedestrians. Many were riding bikes. The two men walked up to an unremarkable two-story townhouse. Power lines buzzed lightly overhead.
They walked into the house through a back door, not visible from the street. A man stood waiting for them. Tetsuo introduced Chase and the man — another member of his team. One of the only ones with access to this safe house and knowledge of his asset’s identity. The team member didn’t smile; he just gestured toward a pile of shoes near the door. Chase frowned and wriggled out of his shoes. The man, Japanese or Japanese American by the look of it, rolled his eyes and picked up Chase’s shoes, rearranging them neatly next to the others. More Japanese culture stuff. It was a country of obsessive-compulsive disorder patients.
“Tough crowd.”
Tetsuo smiled. “There are a lot of etiquette rules here.”
“I guess so.”
Tetsuo gestured for Chase to head down the narrow hallway. “First door on the left.”
Tetsuo opened the door, and a diminutive Asian man wearing a suit stood and bowed at them. GIANT.
“Dr. Wang.” Tetsuo bowed and said something in a deep, rapid flurry of Mandarin. He gestured to Chase, who bowed awkwardly and then stuck out his hand.
The man looked like he was in his late fifties. Maybe early sixties. Gaunt features. Steady eyes. He bowed slightly and shook Chase’s hand, then looked expectantly at Tetsuo.
Tetsuo said, “Let’s have a seat.”
On what? Chase thought to himself. The room was empty except for a little six-inch high coffee table and a small green plant in the corner.
But then they all sat down on the floor — a tatami mat, he realized. Tetsuo and the aging Chinese man sat gracefully, folding their knees underneath themselves and continuing their conversation in Mandarin with the slightest hint of a smile as they spoke.
Chase, an ex-lacrosse player and well-muscled man, forced himself to sit Indian style, his knees jutting up uncomfortably. It wasn’t working. He rearranged himself up on his knees, but then he was a foot higher than the others. He finally sat on his butt, with his socked feet flat on the floor, holding his knees for balance — he felt like a kindergartener.
Tetsuo glanced at him, visibly annoyed. “You alright?”
“Fine.”
He sighed and resumed conversing in Mandarin. Issuing an apology for his idiotic American friend, no doubt. Who the hell sat on the floor? And how were they both able to fold their legs so effortlessly? Didn’t they have groin muscles?