Yuelin pulled over on Calvert Court, and studied the march of wealthy, suburban homes.
It’d been a ten-hour drive from Beaverton to Oakland – the city east across the bay from San Francisco. But Yuelin wasn’t tired: she was fired-up.
In large part, her mood was a result of the news she’d received not an hour ago. Yes, she was relieved that Pro-Tibet whore and her white knight had finally been brought under wraps. And if their execution went to plan, their deaths would be accounted for, and deniability would remain intact. But she still wasn’t happy: not only should they have been dealt with long ago, but she’d also lost three siblings. And that hurt. That made her hungry to ensure their deaths weren’t in vain.
Yuelin closed her eyes, and imagined the purging flames scorching Ellen and the Samaritan’s flesh – their shrieks of pain. It made her feel better. But it wasn’t enough.
Her eyes shot open, and she glanced at Shuai and Jantzen.
‘You ready? You know the signal?’
Both nodded.
Yuelin put on her dark aviators, stepped onto the curb, then walked up the drive of 33. As she’d expected, his Jaguar was parked outside. And she was pretty damn sure he’d be home alone this Saturday morning. He always was.
Yuelin knocked on the door.
Footsteps approached. Then irritably through the door: ‘Who’s there?’
‘Is that Special Agent Toby McVries, Deputy in Charge of the San Francisco Secret Service Field Office?’
A long pause.
‘How did you find this address?’ He was still irritated, but also standoffish. His address was not known to the public.
Yuelin ignored the question: ‘I’d like to talk to you about the Lanyon Project.’
Another long pause. Then, with his voice steeped in fear, McVries said: ‘Who the fuck are you?’
‘Unless you want to talk about this on your doorstep, I suggest you open the door.’
McVries cracked the door. He was in his robe. He looked terrified – like it was the day of reckoning.
‘Listen carefully,’ Yuelin said softly but firmly. ‘I’m holding a walkie-talkie, and am ready to signal my backup in that car on the curb. And there’s multiple copies of the dirt we’ve got on you. So lay a finger on me, you’re screwed. Got it?’
McVries gave an agonized nod. Yuelin stepped into the lobby and shut the door.
‘Okay, here’s the deal. We know about the Lanyon Project – your little business venture on the side, selling US intelligence secrets to Russia. Last time I checked, that’s enough to earn you a life sentence at a supermax.’
Yuelin let this sink in. And it did: McVries looked like he was ageing years by the second. Yuelin went on:
‘However, we’re not unreasonable people. If you’re willing to cooperate with us, we’re willing to make this all go away…’
‘Yes,’ he choked. ‘Anything.’
Yuelin smiled a business-like smile. ‘As I understand it, you’re back to work tomorrow – a Security Detail is coming from Washington, and you’re going to be co-running the Command Center with the Security Detail’s head, and thus effectively joint in-charge of the whole visit. That, of course, is a bread-and-butter task for a Deputy Head of Field Office.’
McVries shook his head. ‘You can’t be serious.’
Yuelin went on:
‘What we would like is some details about how things are set to go down tomorrow; the itinerary. I know a bit about how these Command Centers work: a bunch of you sequestered in a computer-crammed hotel room where the only means of outside communications are specially fitted secure phone-lines and direct radio links to agents in the field; where you’re not allowed to bring in any other means of contact with the outside world. So, since I won’t be able to communicate with you tomorrow, I need to give you a comprehensive run-down now.’
McVries was still shaking his head. ‘This is madness. Who are you people?’
‘The choice is yours, Toby.’
At that, Yuelin smiled leisurely. She wasn’t going to rush him. McVries groaned. Then finally, looking like a wounded dog, he met Yuelin’s eye. ‘Fine. We got a deal.’
Yuelin grinned, and stepped into the living room.
‘Let’s take a seat.’