Chapter 14
MEMORIAL DAY
31 MAY, 2021
08:45 ZULU
GALINDEZ RESIDENCE
GEORGETOWN
The pillow caught him square in the chest, jolting him to instant wakefulness.
"Victor! Get up! We are going to be late!"
Rolling to his side, Victor squinted at the clock on the bedside table. He glared up at his wife. "What are you talking about? The party's at eleven. It's not even nine yet. We still have two hours at least."
"Yeah, and I need one of them to make the appetizers." She shot her husband an exasperated glance. "I knew I should have gone with you to the store. You forgot to buy the cream cheese like I asked. I need you to run down to the market and get some."
"All right," he grumbled, flinging back the covers. "What else do you need?"
"The list is on the counter," she flung clothes in his direction.
Muttering under his breath, he pulled on pants and a shirt and shoved his bare feet into a pair of loafers. There hadn't been any damned cream cheese on the list she'd given him last night. He was sure of it. –Not that it would matter to Paulina. It was still going to be his fault.
Stumbling down the hallway, he passed through the kitchen and paused to pour a cup of coffee. He continued on to the front hall, snagged his jacket from the closet, reached for his keys …and swore. They weren't on the hook.
"Honey!" he called, patting down his jacket pockets. "Have you seen my keys?"
"Did you look on the hall table?"
He glanced to the low side table just inside the front door.
"Nada!" he replied.
"You look on the desk?" She hollered. "Sometimes you leave them there."
"Terrific," he muttered, half under his breath. If they were on the desk, he'd never find the damned things.
He crossed the hallway to the den and began sifting through the stacks of letters and papers strewn across the desk. He was still working his way through the layers when the doorbell rang.
"Honey, can you get that?"
There was no response. He continued sifting. The doorbell rang again.
"Honey!" He shifted a newspaper and saw the familiar glint of his Marine Corps key tag. Snatching up the keys, he turned back to the front hall as the door bell rang again.
"Alright! I'm coming already!" he growled and stalked towards the door. Wrenching the knob, he flung it open and froze.
"Hello, Gunny." Harmon Rabb said.
***
01:17 ZULU
31 MAY, 2021
GALINDEZ RESIDENCE
GEORGETOWN
Victor gasped and sat bolt upright in bed, his heart thudding wildly in his own ears. Beside him, Paulina stirred and fixed him with a mingled look of confusion and concern.
"You all right, baby?" she murmured.
"Yeah," he said softly. "It's nothing. Go back to sleep."
"Bad dreams?" she whispered, snuggling a little closer to him.
"More like old ghosts," he replied, and rolled over to kiss her soundly on the forehead. "Es nada, mi amor. --Go back to sleep."
He could tell she wanted to protest, but her eyelids drooped. "All right," she murmured and burrowed back into her pillow. He waited until her breathing changed to the deep, even rhythm that assured him she was asleep, then carefully lifted the covers and crawled from the bed. He stood for a moment at the small bedroom window and looked out into the empty street below. It was either very early, or very late. He wanted a drink. He rubbed at the goose bumps that still covered his arms.
He didn't want to be alone.
He picked up his cell phone from the dresser and dialed the number without really thinking about it. If he'd bothered to look at the clock, he might have reconsidered, but he was operating on instinct now. The rules of logic and convention just didn't apply. He held the phone to his ear, taking it on faith that there would be an answer. The call picked up on the second ring.
"Hello?" Webb's voice was rough and tired, but there was something in his tone that suggested he had already been up.
"What are you doing up so late?" Galindez chided with a faint grin.
"Answering crank calls," Webb retorted.
"Grumpy, grumpy," Victor observed, his grin broadening. "What's the matter? Sarah kick you out of bed?"
There was a silence at the end of the line. Shit. He hadn't been thinking. He must have hit that one on the head.
"Not exactly," Webb muttered. Galindez could hear the tell-tale squeak of leather as Webb shifted slightly.
'--Which means she's in the guest room and he's on the couch. Damn, they must have had it out tonight.'
"You tell her?" Victor asked, his voice dropping even lower as he stepped softly from the bedroom and slipped down the hall to the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator and checked the contents. Double damn. Paulina had forgotten to buy beer.
"No." Webb replied, his voice lowering as well.
"You really should tell her," Victor said, grabbing the carton of milk and searching the cabinets for a clean glass. "This is starting to get out of hand."
"So what's your story, Princess?" Webb said testily. "Somebody put a pea under your mattress? Or did Paulina find out when you really got back to town?"
Victor paused. "More like the boogey man paid a visit," he said.
"Ah." Webb replied.
Silence lingered between them for a moment. It was oddly filled with understanding, and neither man felt compelled to break it.
"Do you ever think about it?" Galindez asked finally.
"About what?"
"Korea."
"All the time." Webb said at last.
"Do you think…" he inhaled sharply and his fingers clenched the phone. "Do you think we did the right thing?"
There was another long silence. "I don't know," Webb murmured.
"It's going to come out, Clay. We both know this can't keep forever."
"I know."
"What are we going to do?"
"We live with it."
"Mind telling me how?"
Webb sighed. "Go back to
sleep, Galindez."
Victor smiled wryly. "You first," he said, and ended the call.
***
Ten years earlier…
26 MAY, 2011
11:18 ZULU
SEOUL, SOUTH KOREA
OFFICE OF THE AMERICAN AMBASSADOR
The soft vibration of the cell phone against his hip was a welcome reprieve from Allan Patterson's droning voice as he delivered the intelligence briefing and gave his assessment of the North Korean situation. Of course, it was all bullshit, Victor thought as he discreetly reached for the phone and flipped it open. Of course the American Ambassador, the various assembled military advisors and the Secretary of State –who was participating in the meeting via a secure satellite link—were all eating it up. In other words, it was business as usual.
Sneaking a quick glance below the table, he read the digital screen. It was a text message. He pressed the receive button and glanced at the words that appeared on the screen.
THIS GUY IS FULL OF IT.
His eyes swiveled up and across the table to meet Harmon Rabb's knowing blue gaze. Rabb held a pen in one hand, which he was idly tapping against a legal pad, but the other rested below the table. Galindez fought back a grin.
WHAT WAS YOUR 1ST CLUE? he keyed back. He saw a small flash that might have been a grin tug at the corner of Rabb's mouth.
Feeling a little too much like a schoolboy passing notes in class, he felt the phone vibrate again and glanced down to read Rabb's next missive.
HIS EST. TROOP STRENGTH OFF 30%
Galindez thought about this for a moment.
HIGH OR LOW?
LOW.
Victor sunk a little farther back in his chair. Well, hell. He really shouldn't be all that surprised. From what he could see, this guy had spent most of his time here underestimating the North Koreans. The trouble was that out of all the people at this table, he and Rabb were the only ones who knew it. Still, something of his thoughts –or at least his concentration— must have shown upon his face for he felt the Ambassador's gaze level upon him as Patterson concluded his report.
"Do you have something to add, Mr. Galindez? I seem to recall you've recently spent a great deal of time out in the field."
Victor shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Shit. When it came to the meetings with the big boys, he'd always been content to let Webb do the talking. After all, they seemed to speak the same language, and it was what Webb did best. But Webb wasn't here, and the incompetent asshole at the end of the table was more than partly responsible for that.
He leaned forward in his chair, fully aware that he could be about to screw what had been a fairly promising career with the CIA. He didn't give damn. Patterson's intel was faulty. He couldn't let that slide.
"Actually, sir, I think Mr. Patterson's assessment may be overly optimistic."
"How so, Mr. Galindez?" The Secretary of State's clipped New England Accent fairly snapped over the speakers.
"Mr. Webb and I have reason to believe that the North Korean's nuclear program is much more advanced than we have been led to believe. One of Webb's sources indicated to him that they may be in possession of more advanced fuel cell and guidance technology than we had thought. It's not inconceivable that they may have built ICBM's."
"Holy Mother of God," the Ambassador breathed. "Are you saying they could launch an attack on the United States directly?"
"Information on ICBM technology and nuclear guidance systems has been strictly regulated since the Soviet disarmament treaty and the end of the Cold War," the Secretary of State said briskly. "Granted, they could have developed it on their own, but their program has been a fledgling one at best. This is too big of a jump, even for them. Where did they get this technology?"
"From us," a new voice said, cutting crisply over the speaker. Galindez glanced up down in surprise to the small liquid crystal video screen that was inset into the conference table before him. Harrison Kershaw's crisp, austere features stared back at him. He felt the knots of tension pull tighter in his stomach. He should have known. The old man was always watching. But whether or not this was a good thing, he still wasn't sure.
Kershaw leaned back in his black leather chair, the familiar nightscape of Langley's offices and rooftops visible in the darkened window behind him. The soft glow of his computer monitor was reflected in the small round lenses of his spectacles and caught the silver highlights in his silver blonde hair. His dark three piece suit seemed slightly rumpled, but he was the perfect picture of calm as he stared into the camera.
"Of course we didn't give it to them. We gave it to the Chinese. –Part of Clinton's campaign fundraising fire sale, I believe. But then the Chinese seem to have become quite generous in sharing with their little friends to the South as of late."
A flurry of muttered curses flew around the table and Galindez exchanged another look with Rabb. The meeting was finally getting interesting.
"Damn it Harry!" The Secretary of State snapped, "Is there anything of ours that the Chinese don't have? –Why in the hell are we just finding out about this now?"
Kershaw smiled faintly. "Really, Paul, it was hardly a state secret. The story ran on the front page of USA Today for Christ's sake. –But at the time everyone was so much more interested in what was on Monica's little blue dress that nobody gave it a second thought."
"Until now," the Ambassador muttered, his face taking on a sickly shade of gray. He rounded on Patterson. "What about it, Allan? Why are we just hearing about this now?"
Galindez, who had been studying Patterson's reaction, watched as the Station Chief's initial nervousness faded and a smug look crept into his eyes.
'Shit,' he thought 'here it comes…'
"With all due respect to Mr. Galindez, I believe he may be hasty in his assessment," Patterson said smoothly. "The information that he and Webb have been able to gather on the missile program comes from a single source within the North Korean government. –One whose information my sources have not been able to confirm."
"Which source?" Kershaw asked, his voice sharp.
"Dante, sir." Victor replied.
Kershaw frowned as he considered this. "I am familiar with Dante," he said at last. "I wouldn't turn my nose up at his tidbits, Allan. He's very well placed, and he has yet to steer us in the wrong direction."
"Even so, Harry," The Secretary of State broke in, "I think we want something a little more solid than hearsay based upon the word of a single man in the North Korean government. –No matter how well placed he might be. What do your sources say about the nuclear program, Mr. Patterson?"
Patterson shrugged, clearly more at ease now that the ball was back in his court. "There has been some elevated activity around their reactors and processing plants. But all indications show that they are focusing on bombs and missiles with a short-range capability. –Nothing to get too excited about. If they're gunning for anyone, it's the South Koreans."
"You might want to become a bit more excited, Allan," the Ambassador said dryly, "considering that at the moment we are in South Korea."
Patterson flushed slightly. "Yes sir," he mumbled and shot a quick glance back down at his papers. "Nevertheless, I really don't believe it's all that much of an issue. My people tell me—
"Your people are compromised," Galindez snapped. "Two of your drivers have no traceable history prior to 1992. Your translator's boyfriend is a refugee from Pyongyang, and your 'guide,' Kwan, is a two-bit smuggler who'll sell anything or anyone to the highest bidder!"
The Ambassador looked from one man to the other. "These are serious accusations, Mr. Galindez."
"I know," Victor said grimly, showing no intent of backing down.
Patterson blanched, his face fading chalky white with rage. "What the hell is this?" he hissed, "A witch hunt? You're supposed to be spying on their people, Galindez, not ours. –Maybe if you'd been paying a little more attention to your own business, then Webb—
"Then Webb what?" Victor ground out, his voice held a soft, deadly quality.
A lethal silence fell between the two men. It was broken at last by the Ambassador, who looked from Patterson to Galindez.
"Just where exactly is Mr. Webb?" he demanded.
"Missing, sir," Victor said, his eyes never leaving Patterson's. "He and Patterson's man Kwan went in four days ago to meet Dante and take out the P-3. Kwan came out. Webb didn't."
Patterson flushed at the obvious implication. "For all you know, your man Dante could be the reason for that!"
"Funny," Victor said easily, not giving an inch. "But I still like your man Kwan for it myself."
"Let me get this straight," The Secretary of State broke in abruptly. "Are you saying that Webb has been captured?"
"Or killed," Victor said tersely.
"Well, wherever he is, I doubt he's on a holiday," Kershaw said aridly, his displeasure clearly directed at both of his agents.
Victor felt his anger recede as foreboding flooded in. There would be hell to pay for this little go-round, of that he had no doubt. Kershaw would not soon forgive so public an airing of the Company's dirty laundry. He was having a hard enough time rebuilding the Agency's reputation as it was. Leaning back in his chair, Galindez idly wondered which one of them was going to get the free plane ticket to Tierra del Fuego. With his luck, Kershaw would send them both. At the moment, he really couldn't think of anything worse than to be exiled to the place Webb still referred to as the "worst hell-hole on earth" with a prick like Allan Patterson.
"Mr. Galindez," Kershaw drew out each syllable in a way that made Victor want to cringe. "Are there any other facts you wish to add that are germane to the discussion at hand?"
He could not miss the note of warning in the DCI's voice. 'Well hell,' he thought grimly, 'I might as well go for broke and piss away the rest of my career while I'm at it.'
He opened his mouth to speak, prepared to launch into the further discoveries he and Webb had made that contradicted Patterson's sunshine and roses report, but Rabb somehow beat him to the punch.
"Actually, sir, I believe I have something to add."
All heads swiveled in Rabb's direction, and he held up a CD jewel case. "Sir?" He shot a glance to the Ambassador. "If I may?"
"Of course, Captain," The Ambassador replied.
Rising from his seat, Rabb walked to the small computer at the foot of the conference table and loaded the CD into the drive. Arial photographs appeared on everyone's individual monitor, as well as on the large digital flat screen that hung on the wall at the end of the conference room. Rabb selected one of the photographs, and enlarged it.
"These were taken two days ago by Navy Intelligence," he said. Using a laser pen, he highlighted a line of small black shadows.
"Tanks," the Marine Corps military advisor murmured as he frowned down at the screen. "They appear to be much closer to the DMZ than we believed."
"And there are more of them," the Army advisor put in.
Rabb nodded. "Yes sir. Not to mention two more armored divisions behind them. We also estimate another three battalions of infantry, and there are indications of additional aircraft and submarines in the area. We believe it's safe to assume that more are on the way."
"How many more?" The Secretary of State demanded.
Rabb flashed a glance towards the glowering Patterson. "With all due respect to the CIA, sir, we believe that they have underestimated North Korean troop strength by nearly thirty percent."
The Marine Colonel's gaze flicked coolly from Patterson to Rabb. "That's a significant amount, Captain."
Rabb nodded. "It is."
The Secretary of State's sigh was audible over the speakers. "Gentlemen, this changes everything. I believe we may have to reconsider our strategy."
The military advisor's nodded their agreement.
The Secretary of State leaned into his camera. "I have to brief the President first thing in the morning. –Harry, I trust I will see you there?"
"You will," Kershaw affirmed.
State nodded. "Very well, --Stephen, I suggest that in the meantime you meet with Naval Intelligence and our military advisors and discuss our options. You and I will touch base later in the morning."
It missed no one's notice that the CIA had not been invited, but the Ambassador offered a wry smile in the strained silence that followed. "Would that be my morning or yours?"
"Mine," State said brusquely. "Sorry Stephen," it looks like we're all going to be pulling some late nights from here on out."
"Yes sir," the Ambassador said. With a nod of dismissal, State blinked out and everyone began to filter slowly from the room, eager to escape the aftermath of the confrontation.
Not all of them were quite so lucky.
"Mr. Galindez, would you be kind enough to stay for a moment?" Kershaw's voice fairly cracked across the speakers.
Patterson glanced uneasily up into the camera that was mounted above the table. "Do you want me to stay as well, sir?"
"No, Allan. I don't think that will be necessary." Kershaw said easily. He offered his trademark flinty smile and Galindez watched as Patterson's discomfort faded quickly to smug satisfaction. "I'll call you in an hour or so to discuss our next moves."
"Yes sir," Patterson said eagerly, and picked up his briefcase. He stepped past Galindez with a satisfied look. Victor bit back a sigh. It looked like this ass chewing was all his.
At the far end of the table, Rabb finished extracting the CD from the computer and returned it to his brief case. He flashed Galindez a sympathetic look as he headed towards the door. "Vic, I'll uh wait for you outside."
"Actually, Rabb I would prefer it if you would stay," Kershaw said.
"Of course, sir," Rabb said, a look of mild confusion crossing his face.
"Sir," Victor began, miserably trying to frame a suitable apology or explanation.
"Mr. Galindez," Kershaw said tiredly, slouching back in his chair, "for a man who is supposed to be halfway back to Washington, you're being awfully presumptuous, don't you think?"
"Sir?"
"Shut up, Galindez," Kershaw rapped. The cool gray eyes flashed with irritation. "Tell me, what part of 'get your ass back to D.C.' did you not understand?"
Mercifully, Kershaw waved him off before he was forced to come up with a response to that. "Never mind," the DCI said, removing his glasses and rubbing absently at the bridge of his nose. "The damage is done. I expect I'll be hearing from the President before breakfast."
Kershaw dropped his glasses on his desk blotter. "You're sure about these numbers, Rabb?"
"As sure as I can be without going down and counting them myself," Rabb replied.
Kershaw drummed his fingers on the edge of his desk. "You should thank the Captain, Victor. He's the only reason I'm not buying you a plane ticket to the South Pole right now."
"Yes sir." Galindez replied.
Kershaw was silent for a long moment. "Tell me, what's your read on Patterson?"
Victor shifted uncomfortably. "Webb didn't trust him, sir."
Kershaw scowled. "Webb doesn't trust anyone. That's why I picked him for this assignment. I'm asking you, Galindez. What do you think of Patterson? Is he dirty?"
Victor drew a deep breath. "No sir, I don't think he's turned," he said finally. "But I do think he's hiding something, and I'm positive that the leak that blew Webb's cover came from his office. Outside of Captain Rabb and myself, the only other people who even knew Webb was going in to North Korea were Hallowell and Carpenter and they're both solid. –I'd stake my life on it."
"You may very well have to," Kershaw said grimly. He lurched forward suddenly, picked up his glasses and put them back on. "I'm going to leave you here in Seoul indefinitely. Someone in our house has been telling lies, Victor. I want to know who."
His gaze shifted slightly. "Captain Rabb, right now your resources appear to be more reliable than our own. I trust the Aurora project is going well?"
"Yes sir," Rabb replied.
"Well, considering that Naval Intelligence 'borrowed' that particular little gem and your expertise in it from us, might you be so kind as to keep Galindez apprised and offer him a little fact-checking assistance whenever possible?"
"Of course, sir."
Victor shifted nervously. "Sir, what about Webb's family?"
Kershaw grimaced. "Yes, he murmured, I had nearly forgotten. They will have to be contacted of course."
"Sir, I was hoping we might be able to wait a little longer, until we know for sure."
A look of genuine regret passed over the DCI's face, but he quickly tamped it down beneath his steely façade. "Mr. Galindez, I don't like handing out the bad news any more than you do, but the fact remains that they will have to be told. It's bad enough that we can never tell the families the details in these cases, but we owe it to our people not to leave their loved ones hanging indefinitely. I'll notify HR of the situation. Colonel Webb will be notified before the weekend is out."
Victor snuck a glance at Rabb from the corner of his eye. The naval officer's face showed almost no expression.
"Understood, sir," Victor said quietly, "I just hate the thought of her hearing it from strangers."
Kershaw sighed. "We do have a protocol for this, Galindez, one that easily would have remedied that problem if you had just gotten on the damned plane."
The DCI momentarily closed his eyes and bowed his head. It was not a clear cut expression of sentiment, but something in the gesture made Victor suspect that the loss of Webb had hit even Kershaw harder than he wanted to admit.
"Do you have a recommendation?" He asked finally.
Victor hesitated as he ran through the options. He briefly considered Catherine Gale, or perhaps Beth O'Neill and was surprised when Rabb suddenly spoke.
"If I may, sir, Admiral Chegwidden might be a good choice. I understand he's still very close to the Webbs."
"Chegwidden's not CIA." Kershaw reminded them. "If I recall correctly, he's not even active duty. Didn't he retire last year?"
"Yes sir," Rabb confirmed, "But he is a friend and he did have the clearance. It's not like he didn't know what Webb really did for a living."
"Very well," Kershaw said, "I'll call A.J. this afternoon and ask him to go with me."
"With you sir?" Galindez said, more than a little surprised.
Kershaw stared hard into the camera for a moment. "This one I intend to handle personally."
The screen went black abruptly as Kershaw ended the transmission.
Galindez let out a long slow breath and shot a sideways look at Rabb. "Thank you," he said quietly. "I do believe I owe you one for that."
Rabb smiled slightly. "My pleasure, Gunny," he replied. "Besides, Patterson is an idiot. I can't just stand back and watch him get people killed with bad information."
"Yeah?" Galindez grinned, "Well then the Marines standing out there on the DMZ owe you one too, but I'm still gonna buy you lunch."
"Actually," Rabb said, glancing at his watch, "I've already got a lunch date."
"With who?"
"Our friend from the waterfront," Rabb said, half under his breath.
"You want me to tag along?"
Rabb's smile broadened. "I thought you would never ask."
26 MAY, 2011
13:30 ZULU
SEOUL, SOUTH KOREA
The restaurant was busy, but they had no trouble in spotting the woman who waited for them, just inside the front door. Wordlessly, she bowed slightly to both Rabb and Galindez, but ignored the boy. Turning on her heel, she indicated for them to follow with the slightest tilt of her head. She was dressed as she had been the night before, in a simple black blouse and pants. Her small bare feet were shot in black satin slippers that made no sound on the tiled floor as she led them from the main dining room to the back of the restaurant.
Pausing at the threshold of a private dining room, she stopped and indicated that they should enter. Rabb looked from her to Galindez, and then warily parted the beaded curtain and stepped through. The room was painted brilliant shade of oriental red, but the effect was softened by the dark ebony furniture and the dozens of small candles that lit the room. A low table was positioned at the center of the room. Seated at it, waiting patiently, was the man they had met the night before.
Approaching the table, Rabb acknowledged the man with a slight tilt of his head and took a seat directly across from him. Galindez and the boy followed, taking positions on either side. After a moment the woman appeared again, and once more embarked upon her careful ritual of pouring the strong dark tea. She brought them each bowls of fish and rice wordlessly the all began to eat. Rabb and Galindez ate with the general caution they used whenever sampling any foreign foods. The boy, however, dug in with relish, and Rabb had to fight back a grin. The intensity of the situation certainly had not dimmed Kim's appetite any. From the corner of his eye, he saw Galindez take another sip of his tea, and fought back a grin. Korean food was spicy, even by Galindez's unusually high standards.
When the bowls were empty, the woman returned to clear them away and poured more tea. They each took a sip, and set down their cups, waiting in expectant silence for the opening move.
After a moment the Dragon's man spoke, his eyes never left Rabb's face, although his words were directed to the boy. Kim listened intently, and then turned to Rabb carefully repeating each word.
"He say they have found the merchandise you are looking for. It will be very difficult to obtain. Time is running out, and soon it will no longer be available."
"How soon can we go after it?" Rabb asked.
The boy turned back to the smuggler, spoke and listened.
"He say we must go tonight. Tomorrow will be too late."
"Time is of the essence," Rabb agreed softly.
The smuggler spoke again and the boy turned back to Rabb. "He say the Dragon's price for this handling this package is one million dollars. –But you must pay more. The North Koreans he must deal with are not so willing to give up their prize."
Victor looked uneasily at Rabb. One million dollars was all that was in the account. They had nothing else to deal with. –And there was still the chance that it could be a set-up. "How can we be sure that this merchandise is exactly what we're looking for?"
The boy relayed the question to the Dragon's man. The smuggler smiled thinly, and plucked at the lapel of his suit coat. Reaching carefully inside the breast pocket, as Rabb had done the night before when extracting the paper with the account number for the bank in Hong Kong, he extracted a small fold of leather, sweat-stained and worn, and threw it down in the middle of the table.
It was Webb's wallet. Galindez recognized it even before Rabb picked it up to examine it. He should know it, he'd put it together himself when setting Webb's cover for the op. Rabb opened it up. There was no money, of course, but a few small cards and slips of paper were still tucked inside. One by one, Rabb pulled them out and laid them on the table: the Dutch driver's license for Anders Vandergraaf with Webb's picture on it, an insurance card, a few business cards, a press pass, and something that looked like a membership card to some organization or another. Victor really couldn't remember, he'd spent more time making sure that the driver's license and insurance card were registered and would leave the proper paper trail in case anyone checked. Reaching into a hidden fold of the wallet, Rabb's fingers encountered a bit of plastic, and he extracted something stiff and laminated. He laid it down on the table, and Victor frowned. He didn't remember putting that in. He looked closer. It was a photograph, wallet sized and laminated in hard plastic to protect it. The faces of Sarah and Penny and Clay smiled up at him through their plastic casing.
He and Rabb exchanged another long glance. Rabb turned his attention back to the smuggler.
"What is it exactly that your contact wants?"
The boy relayed the message, listened and turned back to Rabb. "He say Dragon's contact is in a delicate position. The package you want is very valuable. You are not only one who want it. He say Chinese want it, too."
"I'll bet," Rabb murmured, feeling the food he had just eaten sink to the bottom of his stomach like a stone.
The boy listened some more, and then continued. "He say Dragon's contact must deal with Chinese. If he does not have this package, he must give them something of equal value."
"Like what?" Galindez said warily, feeling that the bomb was finally about to drop.
"Information." The boy said.
"No way!" Galindez snapped. He looked to Rabb. The Navy officer was strangely silent as he stared unblinking into the smuggler's eyes.
"Tell him," he said quietly, "That we have a deal."
"Are you nuts?!" Victor hissed as he yanked the door of the cab closed behind them. "We're already operating way outside of the lines on this one. We can't trade intelligence to the North Koreans! Not even for Webb!"
"Relax, Victor." Rabb said, shooting a look back over his shoulder as Kim gave directions to the driver and they pulled away from the restaurant. "We're spooks, remember? We feed people information all the time. –It's not our problem if it's not always accurate."
Galindez glared at him. "Would you mind telling me just what it is you've got up your sleeve?"
Rabb shrugged. "Let me talk with our people at Naval Intelligence and toss it around. We usually have a couple of files of misinformation lying around that we can leak in case something gets dicey."
"You sure about this?" Galindez asked, knowing full well that Rabb was going out on a limb on this one.
Rabb grinned at him. "Would you rather ask your boss?"
Galindez
sighed. "Good luck."
Rabb clapped him lightly on
the shoulder. "Relax, Gunny. I've got it covered."
Galindez nodded his acceptance and Rabb turned to stare out the window at the bright and bustling streets of Seoul, wishing he was as certain as he'd managed to sound.
03:14 ZULU
27 MAY, 2011
WEBB RESIDENCE
ALEXANDRIA, VA
'I'm sorry, Sarah…'
The words were little more than a soft whisper at the back of her mind, but her eyes flew open the instant they registered. She sat up quickly. She hadn't been asleep. --Far from it, in fact. She'd been too busy trying to ignore the growing sense of anxiety that had gripped her these past few days. She reached out and touched the pillow beside her. It was empty, as it had been for most of the last four months, but this time she felt something terrifying and urgent in that vacancy.
'Clay,' she thought desperately, 'Where are you?'
Pulling the pillow tightly to her chest, she closed her eyes and tried to get a better understanding of the fearful intuition that gripped her. She sensed his presence strongly tonight, as if he were standing here beside her rather than in the middle of some god-forsaken country half a world away. She tried to get a fix upon him, a sense of where he was, but the waves of intense emotion that rolled over her seemed to obscure him from her view.
Burying her face into his pillow, she inhaled deeply and caught the faintest hint of his scent, still present after all his months away. She gave herself over to the feelings, trying to understand and analyze each one. He was hurt. He was alone. He was afraid.
And she couldn't do a damned thing to help him.
She had even swallowed her pride and picked up the phone yesterday to invite Catherine Gale to lunch. She hadn't expected much, she knew Catherine really couldn't tell her anything, even on the remote chance that she did know where he was, but still, she'd hoped to glean at least the faintest indication that he was all right. His last email had been days ago, and he had told her that he would be out of touch for a while, but still…she couldn't shake the feeling that something was horribly wrong.
Of course, wherever he was, Gunny was with him. She knew perfectly well that whatever happened, Victor would do everything in his power to bring him back in one piece. It wouldn't be the first time he'd had to ride to Clay's rescue…
Oddly enough, that had made her think of Harm. She wondered where he was and what he was doing. He'd been transferred to Naval Intelligence last she'd heard. She wondered if he and Clay ever ran into each other…
'I love you…' The thought drifted softly through her mind and she hugged the pillow tighter. There was something desperate in the words.
'I love you too,' she thought fiercely, 'and I need you.' She choked back a sob. "Hold on, Clay" she whispered. "Come home to us. Please come home."