Mitch and Ellen entered John Windsor’s office on the hour and closed the door. John called Samantha’s phone. She answered on the first ring and put it on speaker phone.
“Go ahead, Mitch,” John said.
“Right then. Marcus ran the name of the diver that you supplied, Nick, by the name of Ba Hao-cun. He is one of the four men from the Beijing Armed Police Force who are in the country, and now one of two who is on his way to Cape Hatteras supposedly to do a dive on Saturday. Except, when we did a facial scan, Ba Hao-cun is not the real Ba Hao-cun police officer. His name is Fan Wen and we have no more information on him other than he entered the country a few years ago as a minor travelling with his parents on a holiday visa.”
“Unbelievable,” John muttered and nodded for Mitch to continue.
“Marcus and Justin then found the other three police officers, checked their passports and images against the men who entered the country claiming to be them. So far we have one returned result… a man by the name of Kiang Hai has entered as the policeman Foo Deshi.”
“So what is he doing down at Cape Hatteras where—” Samantha started.
“Wait,” Mitch said, “let me finish so you can get your head around the big picture.” He continued, “We were able to match him because he is a naval man who had come to the States before with his fleet. I’ve emailed you a press clipping featuring the real Foo Deshi and an original passport photo of Kiang Hai.” Mitch put them on the screen for John and Ellen’s benefit.
John drew a deep sigh. “There’s more isn’t there?”
“Oh yeah,” Mitch continued. “Everyone with me so far?”
There was a murmur of assent.
“What about the four guest names from the hotel?” Samantha asked.
“No connection and no cause for concern,” Mitch said. He stood up and began his customary pacing. “So in summary we have at least two police officers we are teaching English to and sharing our security techniques with, who are not police officers—but we can probably safely assume all four are aliens. We may have four missing Chinese police officers but I won’t know for sure until I can get prints from each class member; two of those so called police officers are at Cape Hatteras and have been seen looking out to sea at who knows what, in the very same location where William Ying’s fresh fingerprints were found. Danny Huang, a dissident who belongs to a party called the New Red Guard is supposedly not in the country but his fingerprints say differently; Mrs. Ying is receiving male guests and the last three people to see William Ying alive have either vanished or are dead.”
John rose. “I need to flag this upstairs. Mitch, have you had time to formulate your next step?”
“Yep, Ellie and I will continue our ground work here; Sam and Nick need to get themselves booked onto that Saturday diving trip and spend the next few days waiting, watching and photographing. I need confirmation of everything I’ve just said—photo and fingerprint evidence. You’re going to have a busy weekend.”
“Good,” Nick added.
“This will be a ground work weekend,” Mitch continued. “John, I need to get someone from the Language Squad, an Asian-speaking agent in that classroom as a teacher-cum-sympathizer from Monday, can we do it?”
John frowned and headed for the door. “Actually, that I can do, I’ve got someone in mind.”
Thirty minutes later Mitch received a text from John advising Dylan Ting would be in to see him on Friday morning.
Mitch was in the good books on Friday morning; he’d managed to get home at a normal hour on Thursday night and have a night in with Charlotte. He called Nick and Sam while Charlotte was in the shower and none the wiser. He didn’t start until eight a.m. Friday morning to have breakfast with her; it was killing him. By the time he got in, he was sure his heart rate and blood pressure were soaring from the pressure of trying to look relaxed at home, while his head was exploding with all the things he had to do and the enormity of the case as it opened before him.
Thirty minutes after arriving, Mitch looked up upon hearing a tap on his door. An Asian man in his late twenties, compact, and wearing an expensive dark suit, stood there.
Mitch rose, towering above the man who was at least a foot shorter. He extended his hand.
“I’m Dylan Ting. John Windsor said you needed some help.”
Mitch introduced himself. “Have a seat,” he said. “What’s your background Dylan?”
“Grandparents and parents are Chinese, but my father came here on a university scholarship and never left. Brought my mother over and here I am. We speak English and Mandarin at home and I have been teaching agents both English abroad and Mandarin locally. I’ve been in the Language Squad here now for about a year,” he said.
Mitch looked relieved. “Has John briefed you?”
“He has.”
“Have you had a chance to look at the course they are studying and could you slot in?” Mitch asked.
“I have. I got my hands on the training schedule; they only do Monday to Wednesday—the other days are free for them to practice assimilation and language skills, supposedly.”
“Ah,” Mitch said, “good to know. So they could go anywhere from Thursday to Sunday effectively?”
“Don’t see why not,” Dylan agreed.
“What about the course?”
“It’s an executive Diploma in Professional English—that’s like an abridged course. Their current instructor has done a good job at basic skills, but he has limited Mandarin so he can’t interpret the cultural differences or anything they may say in their own tongue. For their purposes though, they can be told I’ve been brought in as an American-Chinese to tell them some of the challenges we had with cultural misunderstandings at our G20. In the meantime, I’ll gather prints and listen in as much as I can. I can start Monday.”
“What’s John going to do with the other teacher?” Mitch asked.
“Sick parent,” Dylan answered.
“That’s always a good one,” Mitch agreed. “But I don’t just want you listening in Dylan, I want you to be one of them.”
Dylan sat up straight.
“You want me to become an ally?”
Mitch nodded. “More or less. Does that worry you?”
“No, not at all, but it’s been a few years since I’ve done any real undercover work,” Dylan said.
“We’ll have a full briefing this afternoon and I’ll run through exactly what I need from you. If you don’t think you can do it, that’s fine but you need to tell me now.”
“I’ll be fine to do it,” Dylan said. His eyes widened with enthusiasm. “Just fine.”
“Day one in class, I want you just to get fingerprints for me. I need to know if your new students are who they say they are and I know for a fact two aren’t. Hand out pencils, keep equipment they touch, whatever it takes, I need every student cross-checked to their passport,” Mitch said.
Dylan nodded. “I can do that.”