British Embassy, Washington, DC
Chang hurried along the corridor, across the reception area, and out of the front door. In case the main entrance was being watched, he walked away from the embassy quickly but smoothly. Each step, he expected a Russian-launched bullet to end his life. He gave the guard hut no second glance as he passed, wanting nothing more than to ask where the hell the man had been when the embassy had come under attack. The problem was that the round had been suppressed and the conference-room window had been on the south side of the building, visible from further around the bend but not the main entrance.
Chang reached the taxi and climbed in. He surveyed the street and the surrounding area. He saw no sign of any watchers. The GPS was in the glovebox lying on some loose papers, moved out of the way after Tam’s crash. Something had become stuck to the bottom of the unit, a photograph that he had not seen before. Chang held it up; it captured what looked like a university graduation. Li Tam stood with one woman, presumably his wife, and a second younger woman, probably his daughter. Chang had just shot her father … He started to shake … He shook his head and snapped out of it – he had to keep it together.
A thought struck him: surely the mother must have known that Tam was a Russian spy, but had the daughter? Chang thought of his own, much younger daughter, a knot twisting in his stomach. She was out there somewhere with her mother, enjoying the Floridian sun courtesy of Robert – his ex-wife’s new man.
He’d been a bad father, a bad husband, and a bad cop but now was not the time for self-pity. Now was the time for action, the time for redemption. Chang pressed the power button on the GPS and held his breath. It switched on. All he had to look for was an address on a taxi driver’s GPS, one address among a thousand, the proverbial needle in a haystack. He had no illusions that it may prove a fool’s errand.
He navigated the menu and scrolled through the saved addresses. There were only four of them, and they were numbered. The first was called “Home” and was an address outside the city, the second was for an upscale restaurant that was so popular even he knew of it, the third was a location in Georgetown, and the last was College Park Airport. Was it so easy, Chang wondered? Was there no code at all? Was Li Tam so confident of not getting caught that he hadn’t bothered to hide the addresses? Was Location Three really the third address on the GPS? Was it Tam’s decision or had he been given the GPS pre-programmed with his home address as a warning – “We know where you live?”
Chang would never know, but an old tactical mantra started to sound in his head. ‘Keep it simple, stupid.’ Simple and stupid would dictate that Location Three was the third address on the GPS.
Chang buckled up, started the engine and, out of habit, checked his mirrors. Seeing a deserted street, he pulled away from the kerb. The GPS informed him it was a ten-minute drive to Location Three, and he had already wasted more than fifteen minutes since he had been summoned. He turned onto the deserted main drag and followed the simple instructions from the GPS.
He passed a metro patrol car. It sat skewed at the side of the highway. Backup, that was what he needed. He was a detective and outranked the patrolmen. However, the Crown Victoria was empty. Further along, several more cars were parked at irregular angles as though they had rolled to a halt. Here and there he saw bewildered pedestrians. The only people who seemed unaffected by the EMP were bicycle couriers. Chang then saw a couple of cyclists wearing business suits.
Up ahead, a pair of figures stepped onto the road and held up their hands in the universal sign for stop. Chang didn’t, but he did slow. Neither man was in uniform, at least not an official one, both wore dark suits. As he grew closer, the man nearer the meridian raised a sidearm and levelled it directly at him. Chang cussed; he couldn’t stop, not now, not for anyone. He hunkered down and floored the gas pedal. The taxi’s large engine growled and he was pushed back in his seat. The second man pulled his sidearm, also aiming it at him.
Chang tried to reason how far he would get, how far they would go to stop him. Did they want the taxi or did they want him? Were they part of the Russian team or someone else? If they wanted the car, not him, they wouldn’t shoot out the tyres. If he kept on, they would have to move, have to give. Either way, his mind was made up.
The taxi closed the gap, and he closed his eyes. When he opened them again, the two men were on the ground in his rear-view mirror. He’d won this game of “chicken”. Chang breathed out a sigh of relief and took a left and then two rights before the GPS told him he’d be arriving at his location on his left. Georgetown was an upscale area and this street was no different. What was different, however, was that there was a black Chevy Tahoe parked directly outside one of the town houses, the address on his GPS – Location Three. Chang brought the taxi to a gentle halt behind the large SUV. Time to become Li Tam.
His hand shot into his jacket pocket; he’d forgotten his badge and his Glock. He removed the leather wallet containing his ID and placed it in a door pocket then unclipped his pancake holster and pushed his sidearm under the seat. He took a deep breath to steady his nerves, wished he could have a drink, opened the door, and stepped out of the taxi. He could hear the Tahoe ticking; it hadn’t been long parked.
Across the street, a door opened and a woman stepped out. ‘I need to get to the airport!’
Chang grimaced and took in her appearance. She was large and carried an equally large suitcase. ‘Sorry, already got a fare.’
‘I’ll share … I’ll double, triple whatever they are paying!’ She trundled down the path, the small wheels of her case rumbling on the concrete.
‘No.’
She ignored his protestations and continued to advance. Chang turned his back on her and headed up the path to the target address. He was a couple of steps away from the front door when it was opened by a wide-shouldered man with short, black hair. He was dressed in black slacks and a dark blue windbreaker, similar to an FBI field agent’s outfit but not quite.
‘Get inside.’ Chang noted the man’s accent was Boston not Russian, and this confused him as he stepped into the dark hall. The door was immediately shut behind him. Strong hands clamped his shoulders, guiding him forward. ‘Were you followed?’
‘How? By bicycle?’
‘That is funny,’ the man grunted. ‘I saw your taxi at the embassy. Why did you not inform us that the ambassador was inside?’
‘I did not see him arrive. I don’t think he came by car.’ Chang’s mind whirred; was this the assassin? Why wasn’t he Russian?
‘Never mind. It is done.’ The man steered him into the living room. Two women sat on a toffee-coloured leather settee. Both were middle-aged, one had grey hair and the other’s was an unnatural shade of chestnut brown. They were gagged, their wrists and their ankles bound. ‘Ladies, your taxi is here.’
Chang was taken aback. He hadn’t known what to expect, but it certainly wasn’t prisoners or hostages or whatever the women were. He thrust his hands into his pockets in an attempt to try to look casual as his heart pounded. His left hand closed around his disposable cigarette lighter. He’d never smoked but always carried a lighter. He’d once been told by a veteran detective that having the ability to light a suspect’s smoke made you more likable. He hoped he seemed likable now, or at least not disagreeable enough to shoot.
Footfall sounded upstairs and then grew louder as its owner came down and entered the room. He was all but the twin of the man who’d met him at the door, Chang thought. They were even dressed the same except he was like a bonus box of cornflakes – twenty per cent bigger at no extra charge. He didn’t say a word to Chang. So far so good, Chang thought as neither man had questioned his identity. Perhaps they’d never met Li Tam or perhaps they’d worked with several drivers? Either way he had been accepted. Chang asked, hand still clasped on his lighter and as casually as his nerves would allow, ‘Where am I taking them?’
‘The airport,’ the first man confirmed.
‘College Park?’
‘Where else? We can’t very well put them on an Aeroflot flight to Moscow.’ His tone was sarcastic. ‘Deliver them to Oleniuk.’
Outwardly, Chang agreed but inside he wondered, who was Oleniuk? Was he the voice on the phone? ‘Very well.’
The second man grabbed both women and yanked them up and off the settee. The first spoke again. ‘Now Mrs Filler, Mrs Smith, Vlad will escort you to see Mr Oleniuk. Please behave yourselves.’
Chang’s stomach pitched as though it were being poured into his shoes. Were the two women the wives of Eric Filler and of Dudley Smith, the slain British Military Attaché? He had to stop them being spirited away by the Russians to be disappeared or worse. But he knew his limitations; he’d had the basic hand-to-hand self-defence sessions with the Metro Police instructors, but both Russians were big, athletic men; more than likely Special Forces. Could he use their size to his advantage? He had no ideas at the moment and only about twenty-five minutes of travel time to come up with one that worked. Vlad started to remove the bonds on the grey-haired woman and then the brunette, leaving their gags in place.
‘Please act normally and you will not be hurt, I guarantee it,’ the first man reassured the women.
The grey-haired woman reached up slowly, but confidently, and took the gag from her mouth. ‘Thank you, Ruslan.’ Her polished English accent betrayed not a note of fear. The second woman made no effort to speak as she removed her own gag. Her eyes were wide and red-rimmed – she was in shock.
‘Time to go.’ Vlad gestured at Chang with his cleft chin, his voice seeming too high-pitched for a man of his size.
Chang was still trying to work out who the first man was. His name was Ruslan but he sounded American, perhaps his English was just that good? Chang opened the front door and did a double take at the large woman standing next to the taxi, suitcase on the ground, hands on her hips. He looked back at the two hostages and Vlad as the door shut.
‘Move,’ Vlad ordered.
‘Ladies, I say ladies, you don’t mind if I share your ride?’ The woman’s voice was loud and firm. Her eyes tightened as Chang neared. He willed her to go away but did nothing and got into the driver’s seat. Making sure no one was watching him, he quickly reached under his seat, grabbed his holstered Glock and slipped it beneath his left thigh.
‘I’m willing to pay!’ The woman raised her voice.
‘There is no room,’ Vlad said. ‘Be nice. Please go away.’
‘I beg your pardon!’ Her tone changed to disbelief.
Vlad stepped between the hostages and the woman. He opened the rear passenger door and shepherded them inside. ‘No space. Go away.’
‘You can fit three in the back and one up front. I don’t mind sitting with the driver, and I’m willing to pay.’
‘We have no room for you.’ Vlad shut the door.
‘What is it? Are you calling me fat?’ The woman held up an accusative finger.
Vlad lost his temper and snarled. ‘Go away, Elephant-woman!’
‘How dare you!’ The woman’s face became purple with rage and she thrust her chubby arm toward Vlad. Vlad punched her in the face. She fell like a stone onto the sidewalk. He unzipped his windbreaker, drew a silenced sidearm from beneath and shot her. Even though the round was suppressed, Chang still heard a thud. Vlad opened the front passenger door, still holding the smoking pistol, and clambered into the taxi. There was barely enough room for his long, wide frame to fit. As was the Russian way, he made no effort to fasten his seatbelt. ‘Drive.’
Chang bit his tongue. He shook with rage as he started the engine and pulled away from the kerb. The Russian had shot an innocent woman in broad daylight on a public street. A pernicious cocktail of fury and remorse threatened to overwhelm him. He should have, could have, said something to her, warned her to move away, but he had become mute. He should have pulled his Glock before Vlad got into the car, shot him there and then; it would have saved the woman’s life. But he had done nothing. He really was not a good person. A whimpering from the back seat ended his thoughts of self-pity; he still had two lives he could save.
‘You savage! You barbarian!’ the grey-haired woman spat, her words tinged with malice.
‘What can I say?’ Vlad replied, matter-of-fact. ‘I do not like fat Americans.’
‘I hope your mother is proud of you!’ Her sarcasm bounced off the back of Vlad’s head.
‘She is, and I am proud to kill for my motherland. I like close-up work, but Ruslan, he is good with the long shots and of course explosives.’ He started to laugh humourlessly.
‘And you are a party to this!’
Chang sensed her eyes burning into the back of his neck. He met her gaze in the rear-view mirror. ‘Yes.’
‘Disgusting!’
‘That is enough chitchat.’ The English phrase sounded strange from Vlad’s lips. He waved the silenced Beretta at Chang. ‘You just drive – that is your job. It is what we agreed with your bosses. Or am I to ask for a new man?’
Chang bobbed his head but didn’t quite understand the Russian’s wording: “your bosses”? Was he not controlled by the Russians? And if not, by whom? Was another foreign agent involved? He saw himself in the mirror as he checked behind … The answer was literally looking him in the face. The Chinese! Could he confirm this? He had to take another chance. He trawled his brain for the correct acronym. ‘I apologise. The Ministry of State Security is very glad to be cooperating with you on this operation.’
‘Ah, come on, my friend, we are all now members of the same club. Old MSS spies and former GRU soldiers. It is a dream team!’ Vlad laughed. Like his voice, the pitch was too high, almost that of a teenage boy. ‘Together we are Blackline!’
‘You will never get away with this! You can’t!’ the grey-haired woman stated.
‘Mrs Filler, shut your old face up!’ Vlad raised his pistol as a warning of what would happen if she did not.
Chang’s mind whirred as he continued to drive; he knew the SVR was the Russian equivalent of the CIA, the external security service, but what was the GRU? Was it military? This meant the Chinese and the Russians were working together, but Vlad had said “old” and “former”. Was this non-governmental? Together we are “Blackline”? Was that some shadowy organisation? And why were these two specific nationalities working together? Both had large militaries, but he knew from documentaries on The History Channel that the Russian war machine was outdated. And he knew equally that the Chinese were the globe’s electronic powerhouse … So, had it been a Chinese bomb?
A heavy silence enveloped the taxi. Vlad watched Washington pass by, made a ghost town by the EMP, and Chang concentrated on devising a plan. The route to College Park Airport made him double back on the road he had taken half an hour before … and then he had an idea. He surreptitiously slid his left hand under his thigh, unclipping his Glock from its holster. He scanned the road and the sidewalks. No one around, no witnesses. He turned his head enough to see Vlad’s face. The Russian was gazing sideways at the passing buildings, and not ahead. No seatbelt, no ballistic vest …
Chang’s hands became slick with sweat and his heart started to pound; it was now or never. If this didn’t work, he’d be dead, but Vlad could not be allowed to live. The anger, the outrage, the shame and the sense of helplessness urged Chang on, pushing him over the edge … He slammed on the brakes. Chang’s seatbelt tightened against his chest, the tyres squealed, there was a scream from behind as the women fell forward, and a heavy clunk from his passenger in the front. Vlad’s forehead smashed into the windshield, his suppressed Beretta falling from his hands. Ignoring the Russian’s weapon, Chang let go of the wheel and withdrew his Glock, left-handed.
As Vlad started to turn toward him, blinking, Chang thrust the Glock into the Russian’s side, and shot him at point-blank range in the chest. The retort was thunderous inside the taxi and the cloud of acrid propellant engulfed them. The Russian jerked sideways as the round escaped through his back and smashed the side window.
In the tinnitus silence caused by the exploding round, Chang pushed his door handle and scurried out of the taxi. He ran around the hood and opened the passenger door. Vlad half fell out; Chang dragged him the rest. The Russian was conscious but unable to resist. His body shook as it went into shock, and a sucking noise escaped from the wet mess of his chest as he battled to breathe. Chang heard distant voices, men were running toward him, but his blood was up and he couldn’t stop. Vlad had murdered an innocent civilian, a woman, and he was not going to let the Russian get away with it! He fired again. Vlad’s chest imploded. Chang had become judge, jury, and executioner. It felt good.
His breathing heavy and erratic, he turned to face the men. ‘Metro Police!’ Chang yelled, not fully hearing his own voice. He scooted back into the driver’s seat and floored the gas pedal. The tyres chirped and the taxi shot forward.
Eventually, Helen Filler spoke; her voice was shaky but accusative. ‘You shot him!’
‘Yes, ma’am. He was a bad man, a murderer. He didn’t deserve to live.’
‘I’m not going to argue with you there.’
‘You are both safe now. I’m taking you to the British Embassy.’
‘I don’t understand. Who are you?’
‘I’m Detective Jon Chang, ma’am, of the Washington Metro Police Department.’
‘Yet you shot him?’
‘I did.’
‘Can you explain to us what on earth is happening, Detective?’
Talking louder than normal, but not realising the fact, Chang related the events of the day and his understanding of them. He left out the assassination of the ambassador – that would be too much for his charges to handle. He wanted them to feel safe at their embassy. By the time he had finished his explanation and fielded questions, the taxi was pulling up again outside the British Embassy. He was glad to note that now a duo of patrolmen was manning the barrier.
‘I’m going to need to see some ID, sir.’ The fresh-faced officer peered into Chang’s window.
Chang deliberately reached for his badge and held it up. ‘What are you doing here, officer?’
‘Brennon, sir, and it’s our duty to protect and serve.’
Chang stopped himself from rolling his eyes at the eager officer’s textbook reply. ‘But why here?’ Chang persisted. He was taking nothing and no one at face value today. ‘Did you get orders from dispatch?’
‘No, Detective, we were patrolling the area when our car just cut out. This embassy was unguarded so we used our initiative.’
‘No security guards?’
‘None.’
It was puzzling, but he had no time for jigsaws. Chang let his face soften a little. ‘Good.’
‘Attaché Filler has informed us of the situation.’
‘Is Eric all right?’ Helen Filler asked from the back seat.
The officer bent down, addressed her. ‘Yes ma’am.’
‘Well, thank the Lord for that.’
‘Where is your patrol car?’ Chang asked.
Brennon gestured up the street. ‘Back there a way.’
‘And it doesn’t work?’
‘Nope, as I told you, it cut out. Your taxi is one of the only working cars we’ve seen.’
Chang was interested. ‘You see any black Tahoes?’
‘Yes.’
‘The shooter escaped in a black Tahoe.’
The officer stiffened. ‘What are your orders, Detective?’
Of course, Chang remembered, he was the senior officer. ‘Stay here, stay vigilant, and if you see a black Tahoe, tell me immediately. Do not engage. Got it?’
‘Yes, sir.’ Brennon’s face became grave.
Chang gave a curt nod and drove into the embassy parking lot. This time he parked against the steps that led up to the main entrance. He helped the women out. They hurried into the foyer, leaving him locking the taxi. Chang let out a sigh. Now what? He’d been involved in more action in the last five hours than he had in the last five years. If this were a normal day, there would be procedures to follow, steps he had to take, an investigation by internal affairs, but now that nothing worked and no one could be contacted, he had no idea what to do. If he drove to the station, the chances were more than likely his commandeered taxi would in turn be commandeered by his captain, or the commissioner, or anyone else who outranked him. But here at the British Embassy, he was the ranking law enforcement officer, he was in charge. He heard a noise and reached into his jacket pocket. The sat phone was ringing. ‘Yes?’
The voice was the same as before, but now the tone was angry. ‘Where are you?’
‘We are on our way.’
‘What is taking you so long?’
‘There was an accident – the road was blocked. I had to take an alternative route.’
‘Your passengers are safe?’
‘Yes, quite safe.’ Chang felt his pulse quicken.
‘Keep it that way.’ The line went dead.