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Liam says, “Just a bit of fun. That pistol has a serial number that will trace it back to the KDB, the intelligence agency for Belarus. The notebook has handwritten notes about the layout of the building, how to gain entry, how best to destroy the servers inside. Anybody reading it will think it came from a KDB operative, also from Belarus.”
“Damn,” the other man says. “Belarus and Russia …”
“They currently hate each other,” Liam says. “And it’s in our interest to make sure that non-lovefest continues.”
“Hell of an idea,” the operator says, who is Benjamin Lucas, another officer borrowed from the CIA’s Special Activities Division.
Liam nods. “Glad you approve.”
CHAPTER 18
IN LOS GATOS, California, Noa Himel is parked in a black Chevrolet Suburban on Kennedy Road, a neighborhood of this Silicon Valley city, with her fellow team member Wendy Liu behind the steering wheel.
The homes here are one-story ranch houses, most with very small yards, though the street is lined with lots of trees and shrubbery. There are even white picket fences along some of the yards. Noa has been on her own share of overseas missions, but she’s feeling a sense of pride and anticipation on this one, her first domestic op.
A domestic operation like this is usually illegal, but these aren’t the usual days.
Wendy Liu says, “Want to hear something interesting?”
“Always,” Noa says.
Wendy says, “My grandfather left China after Mao and his gangsters took over, back in 1949, and went to Taiwan, and then here, to California. Was a laborer, construction worker, and then started his own contracting firm. Built a lot of houses in this valley, and when he built those houses, you know what?”
“What,” Noa says, waiting for another vehicle to show up as planned in this pleasantly rich and tidy American neighborhood.
“He built these one-story ranch homes back when a regular family, you know, Dad, Mom, and two point four kids, could own a home like this. Now? You know what these homes cost?”
“Not sure, but I think you’re about to tell me.”
“Yeah, the initial cost of fifteen or twenty thousand dollars is now, a million, maybe two million, dollars.”
Noa spots a white van with red lettering coming down the street, bearing the logo of Comcast Xfinity, the cable company.
The driver of the van is not in fact an employee of Comcast Xfinity.
“God bless America,” Noa says.
“You’re damn right,” Wendy says. “Where else could a nearly illiterate peasant arrive and build homes that now sell for two million bucks?”
The van stops in front of a light-blue ranch house that looks nearly identical to its neighbors.
Noa says, “Well, the nearly illiterate peasants that didn’t join your grandfather sure have made something of themselves.”
Wendy laughs. “That’s the truth. Thirty or forty years ago, who the hell was worrying about Chinese espionage?”
The van opens and a male worker in a blue uniform and black baseball cap comes out of the front and goes up to the front door. He rings the doorbell and the door opens.
“That was then,” Noa says. “This is now.”
Two of her team carrying pistols and wearing ghillie suits—making them blend in with the home’s shrubbery and brush—get up from the small yard and storm the house through the open door.
Wendy starts up the Suburban’s engine.
“Preach it, sister,” she says, putting the vehicle in Drive.
CHAPTER 19
NOA AND WENDY put on blue windbreakers with ICE in yellow letters on the back to confuse any nosy neighbors, and go up the gravel walkway to the house, and then into the main living room.
