Point of Contact

Jack dashed for the garage, careful not to make too much noise. Gerry had told him this was a strictly white-side mission and that he wouldn’t need any tools of the trade for his black-side work, but tonight he felt the need to take a few things along. He found a toolbox and quietly rifled through it, pulling out a couple pieces and pocketing them.

He suddenly got the feeling he was being watched, and he checked the corners of the garage for remote cameras but didn’t see any. The Dalfan security team was making him jumpy. He shrugged it off.

Jack stepped outside, closing the door behind him as quietly as possible, just in case the crew out front had their window down and might hear the noise in the backyard and get curious.

He scaled the painted concrete wall facing the property in the rear. He crossed through the neighbor’s yard onto Goodman Street, which ran perpendicular to Crescent Road, where the Dalfan team was parked and, he hoped, still oblivious of his movement.

Jack headed west along Goodman, past a series of beautifully maintained homes, a blend of traditional, modern, and ultramodern middle-class dwellings, all fronting a tree-lined school of some sort. He could’ve been in a suburb of Los Angeles or Dallas — only the occasional Buddha statue, Singapore national flag, or cars driving on the other side of the road would have told him otherwise.

He walked swiftly but was careful not to run or draw attention to himself, and he kept his face down and away from any prying cameras, but not so down that he appeared suspicious in the prosperous suburban neighborhood. He didn’t want to look like he was casing the joint or running from the cops, and he assumed the Singaporeans organized vigilant neighborhood-watch programs like they did back in the States.

When he arrived at the corner of Goodman and Broadrick he pulled out his phone and tapped the Uber icon he’d registered under an alias and linked to an untraceable Campus credit card.

Fifteen minutes later a Lexus sedan picked him up, and they shot across town west on the PIE and exited south on Pioneer Road North toward the address that Jack had uploaded into his Uber app — not his actual destination. In fact, he was dropped off several hundred feet away from the warehouse he had intended to infiltrate, taking advantage of Singapore’s lush tropical topography.

Crowding both sides of all the streets in this part of town were steel buildings and concrete prefab structures housing every form of industrial and commercial enterprise, and many of them serviced Singapore’s extensive shipping and oil-refining industries.

Jack had scouted out a shipyard adjacent to the Dalfan warehouse after he had left there. It was fronted by a stand of tall trees that rustled in the moderate breeze that was blowing down here by the water. All he had to do was jump the waist-high fence when traffic cleared and he’d be able to work his way around back.

Jack paused, suddenly aware of his surroundings. Why am I doing this? He was supposed to be conducting a white-side audit, not running a black-side op. Technically, he was about to break the law and, if caught, get himself and Hendley Associates in big trouble, and no doubt blow the merger.

But he couldn’t help himself. His gut told him that there was something more going on behind the scenes, especially after the meeting with Dr. Heng and the whole quantum-cryptography conversation. This might be a real national security threat. That alone was worth taking the risk.

Had Gerry actually suspected something was wrong at Dalfan? Gerry knew Jack’s tendency to break the mission profile. Maybe that’s the real reason why he sent him to Singapore in the first place.

At least, Jack wanted to think so. But probably not. If he was being honest with himself, he’d admit he resented the white-side assignment. He was a black-side operator now. What did Gerry expect him to do? Just put all that away and sharpen his pencils?

Jack sighed, watching the traffic stream by, weighing his options. He should call Clark right now and read him in on the situation and get his advice before doing something stupid. That would be the safe play.

But what would his options be? He couldn’t go to the authorities with just a hunch. And he couldn’t confront the Fairchilds armed only with an accusation. If they were innocent, they’d be pissed, and the merger would get called off. If guilty, they wouldn’t admit it and, worse, would cover their tracks before he could collect any evidence they were selling secrets to the Chinese.

So that’s why he was here, right now, getting ready to jump the fence. If he could get in and out of the warehouse without getting caught, he would have proof that something was going on between Dalfan and the Chinese — or not. Either way, the truth would be known.

It was worth the risk. And technically, the break-in would be a problem only if he got caught.

“So don’t get caught,” he whispered.