End of Innocence
Chapter 22
Cabin, Cimarron, Colorado, December 2013
Orange and yellow flame danced off the darker shapes of logs inside. Heat blasted like a furnace whenever he ventured near enough to add another log or stir the embers. Further away, at his seat, a pleasant warmth encircled; diversion for the eyes, as well. Should've been a mindless pursuit – eyes on the dance of fire like that – but Reese found himself as consumed by his thoughts as the logs by the fire…
She'd be leaving soon. Odd how the thought left an emptiness behind. After all, Shaw wasn't exactly who you'd pick for 'good company' – didn't say much, most of the time; wasn't the cheerful, engaging type, either. But something about her being around this last week. She'd settled in at his place and he'd come to get comfortable with her being there. Not to mention the part about her scraping him off the floor again. How many times was that now? Kinda'd lost count.
Shaw didn't need much tending of her own. Set her mind to certain things, and then got on with it. Like a force somehow. And after she was gone, he was gonna miss the feel of it. Like an emptiness left behind.
Which led inevitably to the next link in the chain. Finch.
Didn't feel done with that in his mind, either.
Still carried the sense inside that he owed him. Hard to shake the feeling…
Reese glanced at the heavy-bottomed glass in his hand. Thick, stout, comforting in his grip. He twirled the glass on the arm of his chair, spinning it around in quarter-turns; one after the other, around and around in his hand. Comforting, like an old habit.
Empty inside, but he liked the feel of having the glass in his hand. Thinking he was looking forward to having the taste again, too. But for now, he'd just have to make do with the empty glass. Firelight reflected off the edges in the darkness.
And almost as if he'd known what'd happen next, Reese flinched in his seat – the light had changed behind him and like a soldier on enemy land, he'd flinched for a moment, alerted.
Shaw. Had to be her. He slid his eyes toward the hallway and found her silhouette there, backlit by light from the bedroom down the hall. Shook his head at the jolt he'd felt in his own cabin. Some reflexes were gonna take a long time to leave.
"Couldn't sleep?" he whispered, without turning his head.
"You, either?"
He heard her step his way, then drop into the other chair.
Saw the glass in his hand, and he read her eyes. Didn't say anything. No warning, like he'd broken the rules. No flash of anger in her eyes, aimed his way.
Reese stared at the sparkle of firelight off the facets as the glass twirled. He'd believed what she'd said - hadn't had a drop of whiskey. Needed to wait for a drink 'til he was off his meds. Seemed important to him that she knew.
"You sure I'd regret it – havin' a drink?" he tried, eyes on her face now. A subtle smile crossed her lips.
"Puking all day, with a belly wound like yours – probably not the best way to spend the day if ya ask me – but to each his own," she said, her eyes calm, dark pools. Reese lifted the glass and tapped an edge – three, four, five times on the soft cloth of the arm.
"Guess I'll wait, then," he said and glanced at her eyes again.
They sat in silence after that. Neither one feeling the need to break the quiet. Each, company for the other, but content to hold the silence between them.
She thought maybe he'd drop off to sleep in his chair after a while – middle of the night, after all. Instead, he seemed to be working himself up to saying something.
Damn.
After everything she'd done for him these last few days, the least he could do was to keep his thoughts to himself. Didn't want to have to deal with some kinda scene. Never any good at things like that.
Maybe she'd try re-routing him:
"Look, Reese, I sent you some stuff on your phone. If you do OK today, I'll be outta here by tomorrow. Any trouble after that, you'll need to find someone here to treat you. I gotta get back," she said.
Her eyes were cool dark pools peering at him – no emotion he could see. Reese nodded, more to himself than anyone else. She'd be moving on, like she said. He'd be staying behind.
Nobody's choice but his own, as she'd pointed out to him – a few times. Sometimes he couldn't tell which way she felt about it. Why'd she come all this way to patch him up like this? Was she thinking he'd go back? Then why'd she always say 'a smart man would've walked away'? Damn if he knew.
Reese stared at the sparkle of firelight off his glass again. Started twirling it on the arm of his chair again.
When he wasn't looking, he could sense her pushing him away. Never cared much for any real emotion – hell, neither did he most of the time. But something oughta be said before she left. Felt like he needed to clear the air between them.
Reese started to turn her way, but she'd already jumped up and knelt down next to the wood stove. A blast of heat rolled out when she opened the front. She grabbed for the poker and jabbed at the logs inside, shaking them back and forth.
Showers of sparks flew off, and she backed away for a moment, dodging a few of the escapees hitting the slates. Like a pro, she lobbed another couple of logs inside and swung the door shut behind them. New flames licked up along the bark of the fresh ones. Reese watched her, still kneeling.
Shaw had turned her back to him while she'd fiddled with the stove and now as she'd bounced up to her feet, she didn't return to her seat. In fact, she barely acknowledged him. Checked her phone and walked right past him to the start of the hallway.
Reese heard her call over a shoulder. "Get some sleep, Reese."
Then, she disappeared down the hall before he could say anything else.
Mid-level Central, Hong Kong Island, December 2013
Their Towne car slipped through her narrow, winding streets – the latter like dark twisting vines curling on themselves, up her leafy slope. Sleek and black – the former hummed past; passengers screened by darkly tinted glass.
Up and up, coursing narrow lanes, switchbacks – barely wide enough in places for two cars passing. And at the top, they turned sharply west – Conduit Road – wider at first and strung like a necklace at the throat of Victoria Peak. She rose, lush and green, like a long, tapering neck above. And at her Peak, commanded the view over all of Hong Kong: her Island below, the City and Harbor beyond, more islands to the south and the South China Sea stretching away.
Down her slopes and across the harbor in the City, high-rises – thousands of them – chaotic, unruly, a garden completely overgrown. Nearly every inch of her paved or sown tall: Hong Kong, vertical city.
Further west, their road narrowed, and they squeezed through block after block of high-rises crowding right up to the road. The new and the sleek soared cheek-by-jowl with the old and regal in a riot of heights. Impenetrable forest of towers. And nowhere to stop or pull off for miles.
Until, at the junction of Mid-level Central and Mid-level West, a single low, wide opening suddenly appeared; beckoning like a found passage in an endless wall of glass and brick. They swung in, tightly right, nudging across a long line of oncoming cars.
Dim inside, after the glare out there – a narrow cobble path lit only by a line of soft-yellow sconces hanging from the walls. Straight back, rolling over bumpy brick, then out again in a wide, shallow lot at the back – this the sole parking available and snugged beneath Victoria's wooded slope.
A connecting lane ran the perimeter, and their driver threaded his way to a sidewalk marking the entrance. He rolled to a stop and jumped out, reaching for the door behind him. Inside, the gray-haired passenger sat and waited for his companion, a woman. She'd always preferred to let herself out on her own side and shooed the driver away if he interfered.
So, he watched her eyes, surveying: walkway to the door, sidewalks to either side, the lot behind them, and up into the wooded hill behind them. That hill stretched steeply all the way to the top of the Peak, dotted infrequently by a villa or some other rare bit of opulence perched on the slant.
She searched it all, he noticed, every time they came. But not with a tourist's eyes. Not with a smiling glance around her, nor with a tourist's delight in her face. Something else in hers: taut, focused, always alert. As though she were expecting some kind of trouble, he thought.
And then, when she was done surveying, she'd bend down, herself, and peer inside the car. A curt nod to the man inside. Only then would the gentleman swing his legs out and stand at his side. Without a word, he'd smooth his clothes and move briskly, if a bit stiffly, around the rear of the car – while his companion waited.
She'd scan again as he approached, and then the two would walk together to the lobby. When the door closed behind them, he'd take his seat again inside the car. And, as always, he'd drive the perimeter lane to wait at the front, facing the narrow lane he'd come in – and ready, at a moment's notice, to whisk them away when their business was done.
Inside, Kara Stanton walked ahead of her boss. Her eyes scanned left, right, center, in a sweep of the tranquil space. Low, sleek couches stretched along the glass wall at the back, and clustered in three more groupings across the lobby: yellow, gray, persimmon, and lime silks against the soar of pale wall.
Their footsteps echoed on pristine polished pale marble. Long swathes of pale draping hid the views of the lot; but above them, the glass wall revealed a leafy view to the top of Victoria Peak.
Kara led him past the seating clusters to a long hall ending in a bank of elevators. But not these, for them. She turned past along another hall on the left. Half-way down, a single bronze-burnished elevator sat on the right. A private lift, this, straight to the penthouse floor. Kara scanned the hallways around them for any traffic, and then reached for the single button. Soundless when she pressed it.
The pair waited while the car approached from above. And when the doors slid open, a pair of Asian men appeared at the back – short-cropped black hair, thick necks, and arms that barely fit their suits. They gestured for Kara and Greer to step inside, away from prying eyes. The doors closed behind them, but the car didn't move.
One of them stepped forward and scanned the pair for weapons: standard procedure for their destination. Kara had hers ready to turn over for the length of the visit. Greer never carried one, inside. Preliminaries completed, the four stepped back against the sides of the lift; after a smooth, swift ride up, the doors opened at the top.
Penthouse floor, 30 stories high and overlooking the slope near the top of the Peak – so close behind them that it seemed her boughs might shade the terrace itself, outside. Marble floors, and a long pale corridor led to the terrace. Placed in the middle and framed by a view of green behind, a tall column of marble rose from the floor. Simple, straight lines, in symmetry with the sense of quiet contemplation beyond. At the top, a shallow dish held a single bonsai tree, immaculately trimmed and coached through the years to a perfect shape.
Serenity awaited in this direction, it whispered.
The four filed from the elevator, past the corridor leading to the terrace, and deeper inside. One guard led the way, followed by Kara on the left and Greer on the right, trailed by their second guard. Footsteps echoed in the marble hall.
Down on the left, the first guard turned and stepped to one side of a sliding doorway. He gestured to the pair to enter. Kara went first, glancing around the room, and then nodding for Greer to enter. A small knot of people had gathered at the far end of the long conference table, chatting. As the pair walked to their seats the others looked up and began to drift to theirs. Two uniformed servers held the seats for several of the group to be seated and then offered tea or coffee to each member around the long table.
Last to enter was their host. The members rose from their seats and turned his way to bow. He returned the bow and then took his seat at the head of the table.
"Be seated, please," he said. British accent. Smooth, unlined face, serene eyes – as though just returned from meditation in the garden. Small in stature, slender, impeccably dressed in a dark silk suit. His server offered him tea in a fine china teacup.
"It's good to see you all again," he said, gazing from one to the next around the table. A dozen men. Only one woman, accompanying his man, John Greer.
"Why don't we start with you, Mr. Greer. I understand you have some news for us." With that, all heads turned to Greer, who bowed his head in their host's direction. Greer paused, nodding, and waited for the servers to finish and step from the room. The door slid closed behind them.
"We thank you, Mr. Tan, for your gracious hospitality again, in service to our greater cause," he said in slow, deep tones. A well-rehearsed cadence in his voice would soon capture them at this table. He could sense it. And Kara watched silently from her seat at his side, aware of this power to mesmerize his listeners. She'd witnessed him subdue a room like this on multiple occasions.
"May I inform you all – we have recently procured the software we've been seeking." Greer stopped to let the thought sink in. Nods and knowing smiles around the table as the possibilities began to emerge. He went on:
"Our engineers are currently reviewing all the materials. We've installed the software on a test platform and initial results have been – promising," he said, glancing around at their faces.
Kara could see the subtle signs of Greer's effects on them – the way their eyes had already changed – no longer quick and darting, but focused, intent on his words. He had them. And he knew it.
"If negotiations go as we expect, there will soon be an opportunity to test the system in a live configuration. Our contact in the U.S. government is aware of the promise of our more comprehensive approach, shall we call it – "
He paused, glancing around the table again. "And our assets have identified a number of well-placed individuals targeted for recruitment efforts." Greer paused again. Their host spoke up with his own concerns, then.
"Timeline, inhibitors, and your anticipated needs from us, Mr. Greer?" A moment's pause before he stared at each of the men around the table, and his voice deep, resonant:
"We expect our proof-of-concept test four to six months hence, Sir, and formal engagement with the U.S. government two months later. Inhibitors have been identified and actively recruited – or eliminated," he said.
After a pause, an icy blue came over his eyes, Tan observed. One might describe the appearance as chilling, he fancied, with a slight curl of his lips. Eliminated, he'd said. Rather an interesting admission, and no hesitation at all before this group. An air of precision, steadfastness, invincibility. Just what this group demanded. They'd open their wallets for just such a man.
Perhaps his long career in MI-6 – their Mr. Greer possessed the right experience, the drive, and the proper instincts for a mission such as this. Tan had no doubt that a man such as Greer would succeed – little could stand in his way – swept aside without a second thought. Efficient, convincing, lethal when necessary.
Yes, he'd been the right man for the job, he mused, glancing around the table. The men sat in rapt attention, every word pleasing, every word drawing them further inside. Greer turned his eyes to Tan.
"As for our anticipated needs, I refer you to the document forwarded this week. We outlined our needs for the coming nine months, including the sum for our work in the Middle East."
"Perhaps an update on the activities there, then, Mr. Greer." Tan nodded briefly to him to proceed.
Greer turned to Kara at his side. "Miss Stanton, my Assistant, will cover those details, if you'll allow," he said, glancing around the room. "She's just returned from Istanbul."
Mr. Tan gave another nod and leaned back in his chair. The others swung their eyes to her. There were murmurs, in Mandarin, among a few of them. She kept her eyes blank. Only Greer knew her skills with the language.
"Gentlemen," she began. "I have here video evidence of the incoming missile strikes at Turkey's border with Syria." Her laptop projected the images on a screen at one end of the room. More murmurs around the room. Greer sat in his chair, inscrutable.
"Our people on the ground in Syria have infiltrated the defense forces at the highest levels. Missile strikes have been reported in key locations of southern Turkey. The U.S. and British governments have assured them they will come to the aid of their NATO ally. There are anti-missile batteries arriving, and more pledged in the coming weeks. Here are the locations, in red, planned for the batteries. The U.S. and the British will suspect the Russians behind the incursion, in support of the Syrian government. And, with their eyes focused on the Russians, less on our activities here," she ended.
A half-dozen conversations began around the table, most in Mandarin. Kara glanced around the room, sampling. She kept her eyes blank, like her boss's. There'd be time later to divulge the chatter to him.
"Excellent, Miss Stanton," Tan murmured. And the chatter quickly dissolved. Eyes turned again to Greer's associate.
"Thank you, Mr. Tan," she whispered, bowing her head in his direction.
"Why don't we have a pause, now. There are refreshments on the Terrace. Please," he encouraged, with a wave of his hand toward the door. Tan caught the eye of Greer and asked him to stay behind. Kara packed her laptop away, inside a small leather case, eavesdropping on the discussion around her.
The rest of the men rose. Two servers slid the door open from the hallway and escorted the others to the Terrace. Greer remained behind with Kara and Tan.
"Our plans are unfolding as we envisioned. I anticipate full cooperation from the group. If this software is anything like we've been led to believe, this will be the beginning of a new age in our dominance, Mr. Greer. And no one will see us coming."
Greer nodded and smiled with his face – but his eyes never changed: blue, icy blue.
With that, Mr. Tan gestured to the door and the three made their way to the Terrace.