Point of Contact

“Probably in China for the foreseeable future. The Dalfan deal with Marin Aerospace is dead in the water. Dalfan stock took a hit because of that, but not too bad, and the Singapore authorities are combing over their databases and records to see what Yong might have stolen. It’s a mess, but not a catastrophe, thanks to your tail chasing.”

“Thanks.”

“I just got off the line with the AG. No charges will be filed against you by the Singapore authorities for anything you did over there.”

“You read my after-action report. That’s hard to believe.”

“Dr. Fairchild is an influential man, and Lian made you out to be quite the hero. The government of Singapore is officially ‘grateful for your service.’”

Jack shrugged. “I’ll take it.”

Gerry pulled him closer. “And the thirty million dollars of emergency aid we’re sending them for the cleanup effort didn’t hurt any, either.”

Jack rolled his eyes. “Seriously?”

“They need the help after that typhoon, believe me.” Gerry turned serious. “I also wanted you to hear this from me. Rhodes cut a deal with the FBI.”

“What?”

“It’s the way the world works, son. You bait the hook with the little fish in order to land the big fish. That software on Rhodes’s USB drive was dangerous stuff. Our people are sure it was written by the North Koreans, but Rhodes never dealt with them, only a middleman by the name of Zvezdev. We need to roll up Zvezdev if we’re going to nail Choi’s hide to the wall. So it’s going to be fifteen years at a Club Fed for the ex-senator, seven with good behavior.”

Jack shook his head, disgusted. “Can I at least get in on the action?”

“I’m afraid not. Mary Pat is running the Zvezdev operation. But I’m certain we’ll have some black-side work coming up soon — if you’re up for it.”

Jack grinned. “Are you kidding? A black-side op sounds great. After a white-side gig like Singapore, I could use the rest.”

79

BRODARICA, CROATIA

TWO WEEKS LATER

Zvezdev had purchased the modest stone-and-red-tiled home because it was on the Adriatic Coast and he loved the sunset, and also because it was near his favorite beach bar. Or at least that’s what the realtor said in her interview with the SOA, Croatia’s intelligence service.

The American team leader was on sat comms waiting for orders from DNI Foley. The seven men under his command — three Croatians, four Americans — wore tactical gear and NVGs. The team leader assured her that four hours of surveillance found no evidence of either guards or kinetic defenses.

“Place looks empty,” he reported.

Bad intel, or bad luck, Foley offered. She gave the word to go.

The breaching team went first, the others followed. They cleared each room. Nobody was there, least of all Zvezdev.

The NVGs came off and someone popped the lights on. The team leader ordered a thorough check of the house, and to bag any evidence they found. They’d all been briefed. Zvezdev was tied to a North Korean operation, and they needed to shut it down.

One of the Croatians opened the refrigerator, half looking for a cold water — or a beer. Instead, he found something else.

“What the fuck is that?” the Croatian asked the man standing next to him.

An American named Suh took the chilled jar from his hand. “Looks like kimchi.”

“What’s that?”

“Korean food. Fermented cabbage, onions, chilis — you name it.” Suh unscrewed the jar and sniffed it. “Smells funny.”

He held the jar closer to his face. Examined it closely. His eyes narrowed.

“Oh, hell no.”

The team leader broke into his comms. “Say again?”

Suh rescrewed the cap.

“I think we found Zvezdev.”