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Zheng says, “I’ve been working on that, sir. We have an opportunity to get the president’s attention with an action in South Africa.”
“Good,” Dejiang says. “A neutral location. Get to work on it immediately.”
Zheng stands up. “At once, sir.”
“But …”
“Yes?”
“Your American State Department asset. Quietly and discreetly ask him something from his White House friend, who’s been so helpful to us.”
“Sir?”
The worrying words seem strange coming from his mouth. “How does he gauge the status of Barrett’s mental health?”
CHAPTER 34
THERE’S A LIGHT rain falling this morning as Noa Himel sits in a black Toyota Camry, a cup of McDonald’s coffee in her hands, her back molar feeling better. Not a coffee snob—especially after tasting the swill pretending to be coffee from Afghanistan to Turkey—she likes the golden arches coffee for its consistency. A cup in Seattle tastes just like one in Falls Church, Virginia, where she and her crew are currently stationed.
Wendy Liu is again in the driver’s seat and they are in the parking lot of a Wawa convenience store on Hillwood Avenue, just across the street from a set of two-story brick condominiums. It’s just past six a.m. and already, the road is filled with commuters on their way to and around DC.
“Look at all those good little worker bees, heading off to their jobs,” Wendy says. “Inspiring, isn’t it?”
Noa says, “Years ago I read one of those apocalyptic novels about a group trying to overthrow the government.”
“Who was behind it? The military? The NRA? National Education Association?”
Noa says, “FEMA. Among other discontents. Part of the plan was to hit the District of Columbia with stolen nukes from Russia, andone character, a radio talk-show host, said he would be happy never to hear the phrase ‘inside the Beltway,’ ever again.”
“Some commuting days, I can agree with him. Time?”
Noa checks her watch. “Six-oh-five. Per her schedule, Donna Otterson will be out of the shower and preparing her breakfast. Let’s go see what’s on the menu.”
“Besides betraying one’s country?”
“That comes after lunch.”
There’s an empty parking spot for condo visitors that Wendy pulls into, and Noa joins her outside in the light rain. A Chevrolet Suburban with its engine idling is by a dark-green dumpster, holding the other three members of her crew. Their action this morning is going to be a soft one, since they’re going up against a thirty-year-old single woman, Donna Otterson, who is a finance resource officer within the CIA’s Directorate of Support, about as far away from fieldwork as one could get and still work for the CIA.
Walking up the brick walkway Wendy says, “Think she’s going to put up a fuss?”
“Doubtful,” Noa says. “But I’ve got our three amigos showing up about five minutes after entry, just to be sure.”
Wendy says, “What possible kind of secrets can an FRO be passing on to Chinese intelligence?”
Noa says, “Maybe the amount of our mileage reimbursement.”
Wendy laughs.
Noa gets to the front door, rings the bell several times, and then pounds on the door.
It opens, revealing a slim blond woman with large, thick eyeglasses, frizzy hair damp from the shower, wearing gray sweats and a Washington Nationals T-shirt. She says, “I’m sorry, what’s this?”
“Donna Otterson, my name is Noa Himel,” Noa says, displaying her identification. “This is my work partner, Wendy Liu. We’re from the Directorate of Operations. We’d like to come in, please.”
Noa is expecting an argument, more questions, or some sort ofprotest, but Donna shrugs and opens the door wider. “I guess so. Just watch out for Bailey, he’s an escape artist.”
Noa enters in the small entryway. A large black-and-white cat makes for the open door, but Wendy works quickly and the door is shut.
