He recalled his confusion and concern from earlier when a woman had emerged from beneath the bed, after plunging a needle into his leg. “By the way, you never showed me a badge.”
She stood before him, dressed in dark jeans and a long-sleeved silk shirt, which complemented her fair skin and red hair. She was attractive in a Kathleen-Turner-Sharon-Stone kind of way. Pretty, but not spoiled by knowing it. Confident, too. And she seemed unconcerned about projecting even a smoke screen of goodwill. He watched as she reluctantly reached into her back pocket and found a badge stamped DEPARTMENT OF THE TREASURY. SPECIAL AGENT. A photo ID read ISABELLA SCHAEFER.
“Satisfied?” she asked.
He nodded and smiled, never really thinking she was his assailant. No. That was someone else. A new player.
“Of course,” she said, “there was no ID on you, besides your ship’s keycard, which you would have needed to come back on board. So you were off with no wallet, no identification, nothing to point to who or what you are. But I understand why that was necessary.”
“It’s so refreshing to deal with a professional.” He brushed past her and headed for the door.
“I don’t want to see you again,” she said.
He neither stopped nor turned back, saying only, “Not to worry. You won’t.”
EIGHTEEN
Isabella watched Malone as he left Larks’ suite, the door snapping shut with a metallic finality. Luckily, she’d planned to be up and going by 4:00 A.M. When she’d checked Larks’ room, she’d noticed the cocked-open door. Malone was right, nothing but an invitation. Inside she’d found Larks and Malone, who’d clearly been drugged. She’d told him the truth. A small puncture wound was visible on his left leg, the culprit behind it all easy to ascertain. Kim Yong Jin. Who else could it be? Both Kim and Malone had been on board the entire cruise, both keeping close to Larks. Malone personally. Kim through his stoic daughter.
What a mess.
Kim obviously knew about Malone. So she hadn’t lied. The ex-agent had screwed up a lot of hard work. She’d carefully kept her distance the entire cruise, wearing wigs and other accessories to alter her appearance. She still had no idea why Malone was here. She’d reported his presence ten days ago, but Treasury had told her nothing since, just that she should keep Larks under surveillance, watch out for Kim, and monitor Malone. Most disturbing was the fact that she hadn’t found the black leather satchel in Larks’ room. The older man had last cradled the satchel at dinner. She assumed that today, at debarkation, something would happen. Her employer had already checked. Larks was not booked on a flight home until the day after tomorrow.
She did not like surprises and especially those that interfered with careful planning. Preparation was the key to any successful operation. And she’d fully readied herself. This was her operation and hers alone. The Treasury secretary himself had personally recruited her. Not even her immediate supervisor knew where and what she was doing. She’d been required, for the first time, to sign a top-secret nondisclosure agreement, which compelled her silence about anything learned on threat of imprisonment.
Obviously, the stakes were at their highest.
Hopefully Cotton Malone would go home. She had enough to worry about with Larks dead and Kim Yong Jin still breathing. Larks and Kim were connected. That they knew from covert wiretaps and email monitoring. Kim had actually paid for Larks’ airfare and cruise, the idea being to set up a face-to-face encounter with Anan Wayne Howell. Her orders were to observe, then retrieve the copied documents. Now Kim might actually have them. And all thanks to Malone.
She shook her head.
She’d been waiting her whole life for this opportunity.
Was it gone?
*
Stephanie glanced up from the manuscript as the door to the conference room opened and Joe Levy entered alone.
“Okay,” Harriett said. “We’ve read what you marked.”
He sat at the table. “About two months ago the NSA monitored some chatter out of North Korea that was all about Kim Yong Jin. Stephanie, you were right. This guy is supposedly an idiot. All he seems to do is drink and gamble. But then, all at once, he becomes real important and Pyongyang starts to focus on him. They’re talking crazy stuff, specifically mentioning Howell’s book. It seems Kim is real interested in that, too.”
“I never saw a thing on this,” Stephanie said. “And I get NSA tickle sheets every day.”
“I put a lid on. To be provided only to Treasury.”
She knew that any arm of American intelligence could claim a priority, keeping information solely within that department or agency. That could be risky business, though. If no one else knew what you knew, and everyone should have known, guess who shouldered the blame if things turned sour. Still, it was done every day, sometimes if only to shield sensitive investigations from being broadcast across the grid.
“Let me guess,” Harriett said. “You pigeonholed it because in that chatter the name Paul Larks was also mentioned.”
He nodded. “It had to stay here.”
“What’s Kim’s interest in Howell and Larks?” Stephanie asked.
“It apparently started with Kim and Howell. Then Howell connected Kim to Larks. We got in late and missed out on a lot of the prior conversations, but we know that Kim is trying to prove an odd theory that concerns Andrew Mellon. Howell wrote about it there, in the book.”
“About what?” Harriett asked.
“An old debt this nation owes.”
They both waited for the Treasury secretary to explain.
“This is all … complicated. More so than I need to get into right now. Let’s just say that your searching for Howell has interfered with my trying to minimize the damage Larks did by copying those documents, then communicating about them with Howell and Kim.”
“What kind of damage?” Harriett asked.