Power and Empire

Biery chuckled. “The United States required friendly nations to add biometric data to their passport photos over a decade ago. Once I had Vincent Chen’s photo, it was a matter of stepping behind the firewalls of those nations and running a comparison program. Australia is part of the Five Eyes, so much of their information is available through CIA and NSA data links.”

“Still, must have taken hours.” Jack yawned. Now he was falling asleep.

“Not really,” Biery went on. “I wrote some code that worked on it while I did other things. I had two hits within the first half-hour. Looks like your man Chen has bona fide passports issued from Canada and Australia — under the names of Todd Lee and Donny Lao, respectively. He was never discovered because, up to now, no one was looking for Vincent Chen — just another face among millions.”

“That’s good work,” Clark said.

“Thank you,” Biery said. “Also, Mr. Lao happens to be booked tomorrow on the three-thirty p.m. Delta flight from DFW to Buenos Aires… well, technically this afternoon at three-thirty.”

Chavez gave a low groan. “You couldn’t have led with that? I might actually be able to close my eyes for a couple hours.”

“Don’t want to hear it,” Gavin said. “I’m passing you off to Lisanne. She’s got some information for you about flight—”

“Hold on,” Clark said. “What about the thumb drive? I need you to take a look at it A-SAP.”

Biery heaved a sigh. “So who’s willing to risk a potential infection of their laptop to send it to me?”

“I’ll do it.” Caruso raised his hand, despite the fact that it was a voice call. “The agent I got it from assured me this thing’s been checked by FBI computer techs.”

“Have I taught you guys nothing?” Biery snapped. “Do not even get that drive close to anyone’s machine until I get there.”

Chavez’s head snapped up. “Wait, what? You’re coming here?”

“Gerry approved it. This USB is obviously important to you, but I’m not letting it near one of my machines until I run some of my own diagnostics. FBI techs… Please! Anyway, we’re at the hangar now — already on the plane — just waiting for the pilots to get here. Here’s Lisanne. I’m going to get some sleep since Jack’s not here to hog the couch.”

Lisanne Robertson was the new Adara Sherman — director of transportation for The Campus. Gerry Hendley had recruited the energetic former Marine after she pulled him over for speeding on the Jeff Davis Highway. Her Lebanese mother had raised her to be fluent in Arabic — she had two tours in Iraq under her belt by the time she was twenty-seven. After separating from the military, she’d spent four years with the City of Alexandria Police Department. Both jobs gave her the chops she needed to transform from uniformed flight attendant to effectively become a one-person Phoenix Raven unit, pulling security on the Hendley Associates Gulfstream when it was parked at less secure airfields — which seemed to happen all the time.

“Hey, guys,” Lisanne said in her usual chipper voice. Dom could imagine her blue-black hair bouncing as she spoke. “We’re estimating wheels-up out of Reagan in an hour with an ETA into Dallas Love Field of four thirty-five a.m., Central Time.”

A collective groan ran around the room.

Clark shot a glance at Dom. “You’re staying in Texas with me,” he said. “The rest of you will get to Buenos Aires well ahead of Chen and set up a reception. Follow him and see what he’s up to. There’s still a hell of a lot to find out about him and his operation on this end.”

22

Ba Meiling braced, her small chin tucked, narrow shoulders pinned, along with six other servants in the slate-tiled entry of Foreign Minister Li’s home. Dressed in black slacks and crisp white shirts, they stood with hands folded and eyes locked to the front. Minister Li did not like to be gawked at. The butler, Mr. Fan, stood beside Meiling under the harsh light of the crystal chandelier. Beads of perspiration coursed down the side of the man’s ashen face. A recent addition to the household, Mr. Fan had been brought on shortly after Minister Li had seen an episode of Downton Abbey. It was a whispered joke among the staff that the minister was a Chinese man who owned a German car and lived in an Italian villa with an English butler — or at least a Chinese butler he dressed up like an English one. Mr. Fan should have been in bed but was too frightened of the foreign minister to admit that he was gravely ill.

The Li home was located northeast of Beijing, outside the 5 Ring Road. It was just far enough to escape the worst of the enormous cloud of yellow haze that choked those unfortunate enough to live in the city. The thirty-kilometer distance between home and office gave Li’s driver plenty of time to alert the staff, providing them a chance to convene for his arrival.

The thud of the big BMW sedan’s door caused Meiling to jump. Silence crept over the entry. No one breathed — which was good, because all the air seemed to have left the room.