When they pulled apart, she said, “Sir, we really must go. I have our tickets.” She produced them and then slipped them back into her pocket. She was wearing a backpack larger than his, that seemed to be stuffed to capacity.
He smiled. “Lead the way.”
She shuffled back outside, and Jake kept pace with her purposeful gait. When they got onto the train, she pushed her way through the crowd like an angry porter.
He followed her toward the back of the train, through the cheap seats, the more private second class compartments, and into a first class sleeper. During the day trips, most of those remained empty because of their price and the fact that most didn’t need to sleep during the day. One side of the room had a bench and the other had a bunk bed. Below the window was a small table.
She slung her backpack to the floor, quickly closed the drapes, and turned toward him. Then she reached inside her jacket and pulled out a gun.
“Take off your clothes,” she demanded, her expression serious, and her eyes not blinking.
When a woman who looked like her made a firm command like that, he usually complied. The problem was, she had a gun pointing at him. And, although that might be kinky to some, Jake had had a gun pointed at him too many times to count. It never lead to anything sexual.
“Listen,” Jake started. “We barely know each other. Maybe we should start off with names. You know mine. Now, what’s yours?”
She stood firm, and Jake had a feeling she wasn’t messing around. He took off his backpack and started taking off his clothes. When he was down to his socks and underwear, he stopped.
“I haven’t had a chance to work out for a few weeks,” he said, trying a smile.
Her gun was still pointed at him. “The rest,” she said, her gun swishing back and forth at his groin.
He shrugged and slipped off his underwear. Luckily the room wasn’t too cold.
“What’s this about?” he asked.
“Turn around,” she said.
He did what she said, making sure she didn’t move toward him at that moment. Instead, he heard his clothes scrape across the floor. She was checking out his I.D., he realized, but these were strange methods.
“Okay,” she said. “Get dressed.”
He turned around, and she had lowered the gun. Her eyes now shot down toward his crotch. She raised her thin eyebrows. Just as he got dressed, the train pulled away from the station and started picking up speed.
“What was that all about?” he asked her.
She was seated now and her gun back under her jacket.
“I was told you had a small tattoo on your right cheek. A picture of rabbit.”
“Hey, that’s not just any rabbit. That’s Bugs himself. A moment of weakness.” He thought for a moment. “You could have just had me pull down my pants.”
“What fun would that be?” She smiled now, showing imperfect teeth but a true warmth.
“You were checking for wires,” he said.
“Can’t be too careful.”
He sat down on the seat next to her. “You wouldn’t happen to have an extra gun. Something a little more reliable than that Russian knock-off of yours.”
She smiled and shook her head. “You insult my gun and then ask for one. Typical.”
“Actually, I asked for one and then insulted yours. Seriously, though, I feel somewhat naked without mine.”
“If police catch you with one, you won’t see light of day for years. Bad way to learn Chinese. Good way to catch disease.”
Jake laughed. He had a feeling he was going to like… “What’s your name?”
“Chang Su. You can call me Su.”
“Is that what they called you at American university?” he asked her.
“Yes.”
“And where was that?”
“Stanford”
“Impressive. Is that where they recruited you?”
“They?”
“The people you work with now.”
“I work for a communications company in Shanghai,” she said convincingly. “I’m scouting Manchuria for cell tower placement.”
“And that obviously requires a gun.” Jake smiled at her.
She hesitated, the wheels of thought processing in her mind. “Your Agency has asked me for a few favors over the past couple of years.”
“What’d they have on you? And I’m not with the Agency.”
“Yet, here you are with me.”
“You didn’t answer my question. What’d they have on you?”
She didn’t want to explain anything to him, it was obvious, but for some reason she said, “I took some things in college. My government forced me. My family was in danger.”
“Ah…the old Soviet trick. Work for us or we harm the family. What did you take?”
“Does it matter?”
Probably not, he thought. But he was still curious. “Yes, it does. I like to know the person I’m hanging out with, even if she happens to be a double agent.”
“That’s not fair. You don’t know me.”
“You work for two countries; that makes you a double agent.”
Her expression was as if she had just realized this with his words. A tear streaked her face.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “That wasn’t nice.”
She wiped the tears away and seemed much better in a hurry, as if his words had meant something.
“I was working on software encryption for a class,” she said. “I told my sister in Beijing. She asked for a copy. I didn’t see a problem. I didn’t know she worked for the government. Next thing I know, two Agency men throw me in a big car and talk at me all weekend. After that, I send more things to my sister. Things that don’t work.”
“Classic. Disinformation.”
“I didn’t know.” She shook her head emphatically. “Not until later, when I run the program and see it was bogus. Then I tell my sister.”
“Wow.”
“What?”
“That makes you a triple agent.”
She shook her head no. “Only two countries.”
“Two countries; three sets of information. First, the home country expecting you to feed them good stuff. Then the bogus information from the new country passed off as the truth. Then the truth of the bogus info passed on to the original country. In baseball, that’s a triple play. Very rare.”
“You suck!” Tears streamed down her face again.
“I’m sorry,” he said again, placing his hand on her shoulder. “Listen, can we just start over? Hi, my name is Jake.” He held out his hand for her to shake.
She sniffled and then laughed. “Su me.” She laughed louder now. “I mean, I’m Su.”
Jake laughed for the first time in months.
11
The brown Ford Taurus pulled to the side of the road behind a Chevy Blazer in a quiet subdivision along the Deschutes River. It was just dark enough to require lights, but Agent Drew Fisher had not turned his on as he followed the Trooper carrying Cliff Johansen and the unknown Asian woman.
He had parked about a block back from the house owned by Zack Evans, who had been Cliff Johansen’s old college friend at the University of Oregon.
Fisher had called ahead, and sitting in the Blazer in front of him was the special agent in charge of the Central Oregon Agency office, Jane Harris. They had never met, but had talked on the phone a few times in the past few hours on the drive up.
Turning off the dome light, Fisher got out, quietly closed the driver’s door, and walked up to the Blazer, getting in the passenger side.
He reached across and shook the agent’s hand. “Drew Fisher.”
“Jane Harris.”