IDAHO FALLS, IDAHO. THE SAME EVENING.
5:45 P.M. MOUNTAIN STANDARD TIME.
Assistant Director Wright was on his way to Salt Lake City, where there were facilities to detain and question Meirong, who was cuffed in the backseat. Jake and Divya were in the 4Runner a hundred miles behind him. As much as Jake despised Wright, he was their only chance to save Charlotte.
* * *
The drive from Idaho Falls was just over two hundred miles—the first few dozen of which followed the meandering Snake River on its way to the American Falls Reservoir. Farms eventually gave way to rolling sage slopes and mountain ranges south of Pocatello. Except for the highest mountain passes, the roads were dry. Easy driving.
Northern Utah was much the same until Tremont and Brigham City, where hay, corn, and barley farms dominated the landscape.
A text lit up the dark cabin of the SUV. Divya picked up Jake’s phone.
“From J.P.,” she said.
Jake panicked, swerving over the rumble strips. “Lemme see.”
“She’s okay.” Divya held the phone in front of her. Astonished.
“Lemme see.”
Jake had slowed to twenty-five miles per hour.
“She’s alive, J.P. says. They got to her just in time.”
Jake exhaled loudly. “How did . . .” He stopped, overwhelmed.
Divya reached over and put her hand on his shoulder. “I don’t know. But Esma’s okay. You have missed calls from both J.P. and Layle. Must’ve been when we were in one of those deep valleys. You did it.”
“Thank God.” Jake went quiet for the next thirty miles. Then, out of nowhere: “Thank God.” Again.
* * *
They stopped just outside a small town in the Bear River area to refresh.
“You think it will work?” Divya had just returned to the parked 4Runner from a Conoco, where they stopped to get trail mix and coffee.
“I do.” Jake took one of the steaming cups from her and opened the door. “Thanks for the coffee.”
He pulled back onto Highway 15, headed south. They were approaching Ogden, where the northern reaches of the mountains that laid claim to Utah’s most famous powder snow began to rise to their left. The grayish outline of the peaks was visible against the dark eastern sky. The snow line here was higher than up north, and the weather in the valley, where the road ran, was warmer—in the upper forties, even though the sun had set.
They arrived in Salt Lake City at 10:30 p.m. It had taken some wheedling to get Wright to agree to let them come, and that was accomplished by Jake’s threatening to take the thing public.
The hectic nature of a city always caught Jake by surprise. The roads were wide and full of cars, even at night. The inky-black darkness of the western sky was polluted by glowing signs and parking-lot streetlamps. Businesses, mostly big-box stores and megagroceries, were still open and bustling.
The small detention center for women where Meirong was being kept was located between the famous Temple and Capitol Hill, on West 300 North, a dreadfully unimaginative moniker.
Jake pulled in to the campus after receiving a visitor pass for himself and Divya at the front gate. The building was low—just three stories—and its landscaping surprisingly elaborate, reminiscent more of a suburban hotel than a prison. The only giveaways were the high fence around the perimeter and the powerful xenon flood lamps.
On the way inside, Jake pondered his chances. He had no viable avenue other than to appeal to Wright’s sense of decency. That and his ego. The plan was reasonable, Jake thought, and would allow the assistant director to bury Terrell’s death with one last heroic act.
* * *
They were buzzed in by an imposing Latina woman in her early forties who wasn’t happy to be there.
“Thanks,” Jake said.
The woman responded only, “Follow me.”
Wright was sitting in an interrogation room—bright but austere. A place that might make you reconsider your decision not to cooperate.
A metal table sat in the middle of the room. Wright sat on an orange padded desk chair on one end and gestured for Jake and Divya to take a seat at the other, where there were two unpadded stools.
“So,” Wright started, “Divya says you have a plan to get Chief Terrell’s wife out of China.” He too was sipping on a large coffee.
Jake cleared his throat. “What do you know about Tiananmen Square?”
The assistant director frowned and took a swig of coffee. “I was there from early April to the middle of May, when things got too hot.”
Jake tried to hide his surprise. “And how would you describe it?”
“Chaotic. Hell, scary. I don’t know. What are you getting at?”
“The Chinese have a history of political protests. Riots, really, for social equality. I think we can use that to our advantage.”
He swallowed a gulp of coffee. “How?”
At least he’s hearing me out.
“I think if we could leak information regarding Tram Village and the plan to perpetuate a dynasty of Shar-Peis, we could set off a chain reaction that might topple the place—a localized social revolution that would allow us to sneak in with as few as four or five men to get Charlotte out.”
Wright was rubbing his stubble, looking unconvinced. “And when you say men, you mean who? You’re not going to go. I’m not going to go.”
“CIA with Special Forces.”
“And we’d need a heli or two?”
“Yes, sir.”
A long sigh. “What about recoil? We can’t destroy our relations with China for one woman’s life.”
This was why Jake hated the CIA, and politics in general. “Blame the dead senator. He leaked it, and the US had to respond to a citizen in danger. No choice.”
Wright was quiet. Jake and Divya exchanged looks. She mouthed something that might have been Good in his direction. Jake shrugged, thinking: Worth a shot.
Wright cleared his throat. “Impossible.”
Jake’s shoulders slumped, the last bit of hope starting to escape.
“You’ve been with the agency too long,” Divya blurted at Wright, who betrayed no emotion. “Let’s go, Jake.” Divya stood up.
“Do you have a family, sir?” Jake was still sitting.
“A wife and one son.”
“What if her life was at risk? What if your son were to grow up without a mother? Would you want CIA hard-liners to dictate her fate?”
Wright shook his head. “I would want you to dictate her fate, but no man is bigger than the machine, Jake.”
Jake stood, but maintained glacial eye contact as he started to the door.
“I do appreciate everything. Both of you. But I’ve got a huge mess to clean up.”
Jake heard Wright’s words as the door to the interrogation room slipped closed behind him.
They were silent until Jake started the car.
“What do we do now?” he asked Divya. He didn’t look at her.
“I don’t know.”
Divya returned her rental car and opted to fly out of Salt Lake. She called United, but there wasn’t a flight available for twenty-four hours.
Jake felt guilty leaving her alone. “You can keep me company on the ride if you want. Fly out of Jackson.”
She agreed, hugging him and saying over and over again, “I’m sorry.”
“Are you going to stay with the agency?” he asked on the long ride home.
“I don’t know. Might take a little break.” A pause. “Jake, I tried to do it right.”
“It’s okay.” From his days at the Office, Jake knew how it felt.