Point of Contact

Yong hissed through gritted teeth. “I won’t have it!”

Yong reversed positions and launched four more crushing blows against the Thai’s hands. The trainer grunted with each strike.

Meili didn’t speak when Yong threw his kicks. There was no point — the noise was deafening. She shuddered at the thought of being on the other side of those heel strikes. She was hoping to convince Yong of the strategic advantage a merger with Marin Aerospace would have for him, and for her agency.

Yong was breathing hard now. He turned to face his Chinese contact. “And that wasn’t our arrangement.”

“No, it wasn’t. I just wanted to be sure you had considered the possibilities.”

The Thai trainer shouted and Yong spun effortlessly on his heel, throwing a vicious right elbow strike across the left pad, then whirled around in the opposite direction and crushed the left pad with a left elbow reverse. Yong shouted, then repeated the exact strikes six more times in a single flowing movement.

From Meili’s perspective, Yong looked like a spinning rotary blade. The elbow was the hardest bone in the human frame and Muay Thai used it to great advantage, one of the “eight limbs” of its fighting discipline — elbows, shins, knees, and fists. More and more MMA fighters were incorporating the Thai martial art into their combat repertoire.

“And you’re certain Ryan won’t find anything?”

“As certain as I can be. After all, I designed the accounting system.”

“Is that enough?”

“I’ve done my part. But it would be best if he and Brown just went away — the sooner, the better.”

Yong barked an order in Thai for the trainer to leave for the day. The trainer grunted and bowed slightly, shutting the door behind him as he exited. The gym was an outbuilding behind the main house on Yong’s estate, not far from his father’s mansion.

“What are you suggesting?” the woman asked.

“If something happened to them, they might be tempted to leave early.”

Yong slipped his fingers into the elastic band of her shorts and pulled her close to him.

“Send me their itinerary. I’ll see what I can—”

Yong’s mouth devoured hers greedily as he lowered her to the sweat-stained mat and took her without much resistance.

* * *

Paul made a big show of downloading data from his Dalfan desktop onto his encrypted USB, then loading it into the port on his personal laptop.

“Man, this USB data transfer is really speeding things up. Thanks again for all the help, Bai.”

Bai smiled. “You’re welcome, Mr. Brown. Happy to be of service.”

Paul stretched his flabby arms high and wide and yawned like a bear coming out of hibernation. “Man, I’m tired.”

“You want some tea, maybe?”

“Oh, wow. That would be great. Something sweet, too, if you can find it.”

Bai nodded. “Be right back.”

“Thanks, Bai.”

Paul turned back to his laptop, pretending to be focused on the screen but desperately trying to keep Bai in his peripheral vision, waiting for him to turn the corner into the kitchen and—

Hurry!

Paul whipped his fingers across the mouse pad and keyboard, opening the CIA file and dragging the contents over to the Dalfan USB to copy them. The progress bar popped up. Two minutes and counting. Just like last night.

It would take Bai at least that long to brew a cup of hot tea and find a pastry or something, and another thirty seconds for him to walk back to the office.

Unless the hot water machine was broken and the pastry box was empty.

A minute passed, then ninety seconds. Thirty seconds to go.

“Hope you like doughnuts, Mr. Brown.”

Paul nearly jumped out of his skin. He swiveled around in his chair, using his wide body to block the screen from Bai, who stood in front of him, smiling and holding out a cup of tea and a chocolate doughnut with brightly colored sprinkles.

Paul forced a wide smile. “Outstanding, sir. Thank you.”

Bai frowned, lifted his chin, trying to see over Paul’s shoulder.

“Something wrong, Bai?”

“What’s on your—”

“OW!” Paul jumped out of his chair, his pants drenched.

“What’s wrong?”

“I spilled hot tea on my trousers! Quick, get me some paper towels! Please.”

“Oh, yes, of course. Be right back!” Bai scurried out the door.

Paul spun around to face the computer. His scalded thighs screamed with pain, but he ignored it. He set the half-empty cup down with his left hand and shook it off, then jammed the doughnut into his mouth with his right as he checked his screen.

The USB message read INSUFFICIENT STORAGE CAPACITY.

“Thit,” Paul breathed through his doughnut. His fingers flew again. The USB drive only had one gig of storage. He heard Bai’s softly padding feet running toward the door.

“Thit!” Paul trashed the CIA file just as Bai yanked the door open, wads of paper towels from the men’s restroom balled up in his fists.

“Here, Mr. Brown!”

Paul turned around, the doughnut still in his mouth. He pulled it out. “Thanks.” He took a bite of doughnut and started blotting the hot tea from his trousers. Out of the corner of his eye he watched as Bai cast a glance at his empty laptop screen.

“Anything else, Mr. Brown?”