She went directly through the security area toward the international terminal. Fisher flashed his badge, keeping his eyes on the woman ahead, and was allowed to pass without incident.
Overhead, a monotone female voice called out flights boarding in English and Japanese.
Fisher pulled out his phone and punched in a number.
“Harris.”
“Hey, we’re heading down to the international terminal. Any idea what our folks look like down here?”
“They said you met them last night. The homeless guy and the couple, along with a few other Seattle detectives. Also, you should have two other guys on your tail from the Ford.”
Fisher looked back and saw a head bob up above the crowd, apparently looking for him. “Got him.” Then he glanced back to keep track of Li. He passed the United terminal Gate 28 with the flight to Beijing. The woman kept walking. “She’s not going to China.”
A man got up from the United terminal and started out after Fisher.
“Got the homeless guy,” Fisher said. “Only now he’s in a three-piece suit.”
Again, overhead, Fisher heard the woman make a plea for passengers to make a final boarding at Gate 36. Shit. He quickened his pace to close in on her.
“Not China,” Fisher said into the phone. Gate 36 was just ahead. He had no time to call Portland.
The Asian woman went directly to the boarding area. The gate crew was about to close the doors, but held them for her as they processed her ticket. Then she went through the doors, which were closed behind her.
Fisher stopped outside the gate in the wide corridor, people flowing about him like blood in a vein, a deafening cacophony of sounds all around him.
Suddenly, a hand touched his arm. Fisher turned to see the Seattle Agency officer.
“She got on the Korean Air flight,” Fisher said.
“Do we stop the flight?” the Seattle man said. “Take her off?”
Fisher thought for a second, for that’s all he had to decide. If they took her now, they would have no idea who she was currently working for, and he didn’t think for a second that she would give up her employer. But it was best to check with Portland.
“Keep the car ready,” Fisher said to Harris in the phone. Then he clicked off and speed dialed Portland. He told the boss about their current situation and asked if they should stop the flight. The Portland boss came back with an emphatic “no.”
Now they had no choice. Fisher ran back through the terminal, crashing through people who got in his way, until he got back to the drop-off area outside. He frantically searched for the car. Then he saw it fly up to the curb from around a couple of airport shuttles. He could see she was having a difficult time steering with one arm, so he went to the driver’s side and forced Harris back to the other seat.
Behind the wheel, Fisher put the car into gear and squealed away from the terminal.
“You all right?” Harris asked him.
He didn’t answer. He was too busy weaving in and out of traffic.
“I got the info on that flight,” she said. “It’s a direct flight to Seoul.”
“And?” He finally looked at her for a second. She had her cell phone locked onto her right ear.
“That gives us twelve hours to decide what to do with her. We could have our people detain her in Korea. Or, we could have her tailed there and see where she leads us.”
By now they had cut across a side street and were about to head onto Interstate Five South. Fisher powered the car up to speed on the ramp, the engine roaring to life.
“Who you on the phone with?” Fisher asked her.
“McChord Air Force Base Operations.”
“Great minds,” he said. “That’s where we’re heading. You get authority from Langley?”
The Agency was divided into two areas of operations — internal and external. Although the two of them were officially assigned to internal U.S. operations, they were able to operate outside the U.S. with headquarters approval.
“Yeah,” she said. “But they weren’t too happy about it. They said they have people in place also. They should be on the horn to McChord as we speak. The Air Force didn’t know me for shit. They needed approval beyond my pay grade.”
They were on the outskirts of Tacoma now, the traffic not very heavy, since it was the weekend.
Suddenly, Harris sat up into her chair and listened to the phone. “Excuse me?” Then she listened more. “You’re kidding, right?” She clicked off the phone and shook her head.
“What’s up?” Fisher asked.
“They got you a ride to Korea. Military aircraft.”
“Just me?”
“Afraid so.”
Fisher flew through the morning traffic and saw the exit ahead for McChord Air Force Base.
40
The last few hours had been trying for Jake. The Korean security forces had pulled their guns on he and Su in the Osan Air Force Base Pass and Identification building, which, although was physically outside of the front gate, was essentially U.S. soil.
Lieutenant Colonel Stan Bailey, in full battle dress uniform, 9mm automatic handgun drawn, had been backed by half a dozen Air Force Security Police rapid deployment forces with M16s locked and loaded. It had taken the Koreans exactly five seconds to realize their error, backing out and returning to their vehicles.
Now, Jake sat with his old friend, Stan Bailey, in the waiting area of the base hospital. Bailey had used his rank, and, more importantly, his position as the tactical intelligence squadron commander, to have an Air Force physician x-ray Su’s left wrist. It had been fractured, and she was now getting a cast.
“You got a tendency of finding trouble, Jake,” Bailey said, sitting down across from him.
“I didn’t ask for this.”
“Korean security wanted to haul that woman off. What the hell did she do?”
Jake looked around. There was nobody in the waiting room but them. “She’s an Agency asset.”
Lieutenant Colonel Bailey opened a folder on his lap. “I know that much, Jake. What do you know about her?”
That was a question Jake had not considered since they met on the train that first day. What did he know about her? “When you work with someone, you learn a lot about them.”
The colonel glanced down and then flipped through a few pages.
Jake and Stan Bailey had first worked together in Germany while they were both captains in a tactical intelligence squadron. Jake looked at the rank on his friend’s collar. If he had not left the Air Force and started working for the old CIA years ago, and then gone private, he too would have been a lieutenant colonel. Part of him wondered how that would be, and the other part of him, that which enjoyed the freedom to come and go as he pleased, was glad he had chosen his current path.
“You better look this over, Jake,” Bailey said, handing the folder to him.
Taking the folder, Jake reluctantly sifted through each page, planting to memory all that was there. When he was done, he slowly closed the pages inside and handed the folder back to his friend.
“Well?”
Jake lowered his head. “I knew she had worked both sides.”
“But she killed one of our agents.”
“Yet, the Agency still found a reason to use her again. Why’s that?” Jake yelled out. He was losing it. He had to calm himself. Maybe he was still thinking about some of the ops he had been on, and how a couple of those had gone to hell. Although he had not killed his own agents, he had still not kept them alive. How culpable was he?
“Are you sure she didn’t kill her contact in Harbin?”
Jake shook his head. “No way. I was with her. He had just been tortured and killed.”
“I talked with Agency headquarters,” Bailey said, hesitating for a moment as he thumbed the papers on his lap. “You didn’t send the photos you shot in the mountains.”