Once she left, Jake hauled both backpacks into the men’s room. He waited for a man to buckle his pants and leave and then went into a stall with the packs. It was a chance, but a chance they’d have to take. First he pulled out a pin from Su’s frame on her pack. Then he shoved some toilet paper down the tube. Pulling the gun from his pocket, he removed the clip, pulled the bullets out, and followed the paper with one of the .22 caliber rounds, continuing with paper and bullets until it reached close to the top. Then he returned the pin to the frame. Next, he opened her pack and dug his hands inside. It was mostly clothes, but he did find her cell phone. Setting that aside, he looked at the gun. With a few quick motions, he had the gun in a few pieces. Then he scattered the handle in one part of the pack and the silencer in another. If the pack was x-rayed, which he doubted would happen at this airport, it would look nothing like a gun. He put the firing mechanism and the barrel in two different locations in his own backpack. Then, satisfied, he hurried out to the terminal.
By now, Su was in the second line for her ticket to Seoul. She looked relieved to see him coming. But he said nothing as he set her backpack down next to her and went to another line.
Within a half hour, Jake had two tickets in his pocket. One to Shanghai and the seven fifteen flight to Seoul. Now, without packs, he went through security, keeping his distance from Su, who was four or five people behind him.
They waited in an area for a regional flight to Harbin. Once that flight was called, they moved to the Beijing waiting area, which was packed with people. Sitting a few rows apart, Su gave him a concerned look when she saw four uniformed police officers enter the area. They appeared to be looking for someone.
Jake watched them carefully, planning his next move. They were so close, he thought. They had to make it. He rarely reflected on mistakes, for he knew that he would never live without them. Those who purported to be without error probably never took a chance. And now, watching the police sift through the crowd toward them, he only had his training and his wits to turn the situation in his favor. Nothing else would matter.
37
Special Agent Drew Fisher sat in the driver’s seat of the Chevy Impala, his eyes fighting to stay awake. He had driven around the Seattle area most of the night, staying as far back from the white Trooper as possible to avoid detection.
Now, it was five in the morning and he was half a block from the Trooper less than a half a mile from Seattle-Tacoma International Airport. The Asian woman had parked her Trooper in a hotel lot, reclined the seat, and seemed to be sleeping, Fisher thought.
What in the hell was she up to now? She had been there for a couple hours.
Although he had called in his position, and had been assured by the Portland office that he would be backed up by Agency agents from the Seattle and Tacoma offices, he had still not seen them arrive. Perhaps they were laying back. Watching.
Fight the urge to sleep, Fisher thought, his head nodding down and then jerking back up again.
Suddenly, there was a light tap on the driver’s window, but it seemed to rattle the entire car in his current state. He shook out the cobwebs and went for his gun.
When his eyes finally adjusted to the reality of what was before him, he powered the window down.
“What the hell?” Fisher said softly. “How’d you get here?”
Her right hand on her hip and the other strapped across her chest, Special Agent Jane Harris shrugged as her brows rose. “You gonna let me in? This is Seattle. It’s cold and damp.”
He unlocked the passenger door and she hurried around and climbed in.
Once she was settled in place, Fisher asked, “How’d you find me?”
She pointed up the street a block on the other side of the hotel parking lot at an older Ford parked against the curb. “That’s one of our Agency cars,” she said. “There’s another one behind us five cars. Are you all right?”
“Yeah, why?”
“I thought you’d catch your backup hanging about.”
“I’m tired. You still didn’t answer my question. What the hell you doin’ here?”
“You mean this?” she said, lifting her left arm slightly. It was in a dark blue sling. “Portland didn’t tell you?”
“Said you were all right but…”
“Turns out the bullet cut through without hittin’ bone. They stitched up both sides, patched me up tighter than a frog’s ass, and sent me on my way. Fuckin’ doctor wanted me to stay the night, but I don’t think it had anything to do with the hole in my arm.”
Fisher laughed. “Glad to see your sense of humor is intact.”
“Hey, the bruise is worse. Where one round hit the Kevlar.”
“Thank God you have some padding there,” he said.
“Ah, and I didn’t think you noticed.”
“I’m a trained Agency officer. Supposed to notice things like that.”
They sat staring at each other for a moment, neither sure what to say.
Fisher broke first. “What’d our local Agency folks say?”
“He wanted to know if they should move on Li, our Asian killer.”
“I like the way he thinks. What do you think? Should we take her now?”
She thought for a moment, unsure. “I had to catch an Air National Guard flight in a C-130 out of Portland to McChord Air Force Base. Rode in a damn mesh jump seat. Almost froze my ass off. Let’s see this through. We can always take her at the airport if she tries to board a flight to China.” Pulling a piece of paper from her coat pocket, she unfolded it and tried to view it in the low light. “There are three flights to Beijing today. The first is at noon, and it goes through Tokyo. Second is a direct flight to Beijing. And the third goes through Hong Kong. The Agency will have people undercover at all of those terminals.”
“I’m guessing the direct flight,” Fisher said.
“Good guess. Had the same thought.”
Fisher’s eyes tried to focus on his partner, but he was having a hard time staying awake.
She put her hand on his arm. “Why don’t you hop in the back and catch some sleep. I got a couple of hours with waiting at the airport and on the plane.”
He let out a deep sigh and nodded. “You wake me if she starts to move?” Instead of going around and closing two doors, Fisher simply climbed through the two front bucket seats. He curled up into a fetal position, barely fitting in the back seats.
Agent Harris slid from the passenger to the driver’s seat.
“Oh, I forgot to tell you about Cliff.”
“He dead?”
“Hell, no. He’s like a cockroach. The bullet grazed his skull. Took out a nice chunk, but the surgeon in Seattle patched him up nice, from what I hear. He woke up singing like a bird in a cage.”
“Really. What he give up?”
She smiled. “He encrypted the files with a five-twelve something or other.”
Fisher rose his head from the seat. “That son of a bitch. A five-twelve encryption scheme is impossible to break.”
“But…” She thought about that, leaning back against the seat and turning her head toward the back seat. “She got the password for the encryption scheme.”
“Cliff told her?”
“Yes. Before she took off from the Eugene bank.”
Fisher swished his head side to side. “It’s a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma.”
“Winston Churchill?”
“Right. A nineteen thirty-nine broadcast, talkin’ about Russia.”
She turned her head, her eyes on the Trooper ahead. “Somehow appropriate,” she said. “Let’s hope we figure out this mystery sooner than it took them. One more thing. Cliff was yankin’ your chain about posting the files on the Internet.”
“Had a felling. I didn’t think Cliff was that stupid.”