Especially what to do now.
How many people had she seen killed in the camp? She tried once to count, but had not been able. How sad that it was so many she could not even determine their number.
So many lives lost.
And all because of Kims.
For a long time she was simply too young to do anything. Only in the past few years had she matured enough to watch for opportunities. Sadly, she knew she would never be happy, nor content, nor rid of the horrible memories. Any semblance of a life had been denied her. Thankfully, the instinct for survival all Insiders developed never left her. She was, in many ways, that same prisoner who’d meant nothing to no one.
But she was also Hana Sung.
First victory.
Howell was fidgeting in his seat, clearly anxious.
There may not be another opportunity.
She raised her gun.
SIXTY
WASHINGTON, DC
Stephanie entered the National Gallery with Joe Levy at her heels. They’d walked over from their bench at the far end of the Mall and gained access through the building’s impressive south entrance. Wide marble steps led up to the second floor. Chick-fil-A Man was waiting for them at the top, in the portico, among a forest of massive columns.
“Did you record everything?” she asked him.
He nodded. “Got it all, nice and clear.”
“Good job.”
And she meant it. He’d played his part to perfection. The technology the ambassador had boasted that China utilized was also available to the United States, and had been used to return the favor. Everything said a few minutes ago at that bench was now memorialized. She led the two men inside the building, just past the doors and before the security checks, into what was labeled FOUNDERS ROOM. Wood-paneled walls showcased framed oil portraits of men and women, the most prominent of which was Mellon’s, hanging high above the fireplace. She marveled at the irony that everything had ended up right back here.
The moment the Chinese ambassador departed Ed Tipton’s house she’d gone under a microscope. Which was why, as Danny had explained during the drive back to DC she’d been included in the meeting. Plenty of NSA intercepts had already determined that the Chinese were deeply involved and that they’d been communicating with the North Koreans. Danny had told her all about those just before she’d dropped him at the White House. He’d also correctly concluded that there was no way to be rid of the Chinese, and that they were most likely double-dealing with the North Koreans, none of which would be good for the United States.
So he told her a story.
“Any turkey decoy can get a tom into shotgun range,” he said. “That’s about forty yards. But a lot can go wrong in forty yards. Blink an eye or move your leg a little when you fire, and your turkey gets away. Now, if you want that bird archery close, you need a decoy, and it takes a helluva good one to draw the bird in. If you don’t think your turkey decoy looks real, the bird won’t, either. I used to love huntin’ turkeys. If you’re lucky enough to be able to chase unpressured birds, then it’s easy. Just stay on the trail till you take ’em down. But pressure changes everything. Pressured turkeys don’t run toward bad calling, fidgety hunters, or decoys that don’t look real. To score those everything has to be right, especially the decoy. That’s what we have here, Stephanie. A pressured turkey, headed straight for us. What we need is a good decoy.”
So she and Cotton had fashioned one.
Assuming the Chinese would be listening to her mobile calls, they’d intentionally utilized open cell phones to create the perfect turkey decoy. The call she’d made to Cotton from the eighth floor of the Mandarin Oriental had most likely been a safe one. No one was nearby to intercept. She’d used a landline in Joe Levy’s office to make the more critical calls to Cotton, where they’d worked out the details. She then arranged for a visit to the National Gallery, the idea being to use the locale as a means to funnel information to the other side. Chick-fil-A Man had been sent to confront her, their entire conversation staged, similar to what had happened in Atlanta only this time they were all on the same side. If it worked once before, she felt, why not again? They’d prolonged the confrontation as long as possible, and she had to admit that the thing with the $20 bill was fascinating. But the main idea had been to provide anyone who might be listening with Kim’s Croatian location. The NSA had zeroed in on the Hotel Korcula thanks to Kim’s use of his laptop, which they’d been monitoring for some time. If the Chinese had succeeded and killed Kim, then it would have been all over. Sure, the crumpled sheet of paper would be in Chinese hands, but since she was way ahead of them, there’d be nothing for them to find. No harm, no foul. If the attempt failed, then Kim would have simply been flushed farther into Cotton’s trap. Either way, the good guys win.
Before grabbing a bite to eat earlier, she’d retreated to Carol Williams’ office and, on a landline, learned from an asset the embassy had dispatched to the Zadar hotel of the attack, with one man dead, shot by Kim, who was accompanied by a young woman. The unknown was how many resources the Chinese had on the ground in Croatia and whether they could rebound and mount an attack on the train. But that was a risk Cotton had known he was taking.
Once the code had been solved, Cotton had called on her cell phone and announced that fact to the world, sending her an encrypted text with the correct solution. That she passed on to Joe Levy via another secured text while leading her nosy listeners to a desk in the Smithsonian Castle, one she’d long known existed.