Tom Grace: Spyder Web

The certainty with which he confirmed her brother’s death caused Lin’s worst fears to explode in her mind. She was in the presence of a sadistic monster.

‘I broke your brother’s pitiful group of subversives. I infiltrated it with my own agents and destroyed each cell of resistance. With your brother’s help, I intercepted the courier who was to meet you tonight. Everyone involved has been captured or killed, and you, my beautiful flower, are all that remains of Lin Zhenyi’s ring of spies.’

This man is a killer! her mind screamed out. Run!

Lin bolted to one side, trying to escape, but Kang just laughed and grabbed her as she tried to pass, locking his left arm tightly around her torso. His forearm clamped over her breasts, holding her back firmly against his chest. Her warmth aroused him as she trembled in his crushing embrace.

‘You are a very beautiful woman, more beautiful than your brother described. When I told him that I would visit you, he pleaded with me not to harm you. He said that you were not involved in his crimes.’ Kang pulled at her dress and ran his hand slowly, intimately across her thigh. ‘This was the image that I placed in your brother’s mind, the single thought that forced him to tell me everything.’

‘You bastard!’ She choked, sobbing.

Kang’s free hand moved away from beneath her dress, and with it went the fear of a brutal rape. He’d brought her on a journey from trust to fear, enjoying each subtle turn and its effect upon her, but time grew short and Lin’s contact would soon arrive. His grip tightened and her sobbing abruptly halted with the violent snap of her neck.

Neville Axton walked confidently down the darkened pier. Every place in this city held its own special dangers for the inattentive, and a man had to know how to carry himself if he expected to walk about unaccosted. His thirty years as an agent in Her Majesty’s Secret Service, most of which had been spent in Hong Kong, allowed him to project an outward demeanor that, while not overtly hostile, left the impression that he was not someone to be trifled with.

He had been worried about tonight’s exchange from the moment he learned that Lin Mei would be involved. Axton had warned his Chinese agent about the dangers of using his sister as a mule, but Zhenyi’s situation had become desperate and there was simply no alternative.

He strolled along the pier, ignoring the private lives going on inside the floating homes to either side of him. Near the end of the long dock, he saw the silhouette of a woman in the reflected lights ofHong Kong. The woman made no move, no glance toward him as he approached.

At ten feet, he knew that it was Lin Mei seated on the crates near the end of the jetty. Axton sensed something amiss and approached cautiously.

Crouching down in front of her, he stared into the quiet of her eyes. In place of the animation that usually shone out of someone her age, there was emptiness. Her lips were slightly parted, as if to speak, but no words or warning came.

In Lin Mei’s hands, Axton found Zhenyi’s letter held out like an offering. The list was gone. Axton placed his hand upon her shoulder. His gentle touch caused her to topple forward, crumpling in his arms like a rag doll.

‘Lin Mei,’Axton vowed, his mind filling with rage and sorrow, ‘I swear to you that I will find your murderer.’

Jackson Barnett wiped the offending smudge from the right lens of his wire-framed bifocals and, satisfied that his vision would be hampered by nothing more than his aging eyes, perched them back on his face. His face was long and thin, favoring his mother’s side of the family, and framed with a full head of neatly trimmed silver hair. Barnett possessed the look and demeanor of a lifelong scholar: physically unimposing yet possessing the confidence of a well-trained mind.

Barnett read the intelligence report a second time to clarify his grasp of the details. The report identified the means used to divert the shipment of an American-made supercomputer to a North Korean military testing facility. The machine’s sale was restricted to only the closest allies of the United States, and its theft was considered a serious breech of national security. Unfortunately, this was just one of the many problems facing the Director of Central Intelligence this afternoon, problems well beyond those he had faced as a prosecutor in South Carolina a quarter of a century ago.

As Barnett studied the mechanics of the computer theft, his speaker phone buzzed.

‘Yes, Sally?’ he answered.

‘Phillip Moy is here to see you.’

Barnett glanced at his wristwatch and quickly noticed two things. First, the hours between 1:00 and 4:30 P.M. had passed very quickly today, and, second, Phillip Moy was as punctual as ever. ‘Show him right in.’

Sally Kirsch escorted an Asian man of average height and build into Barnett’s office. The man wore the corporate uniform of highly paid executives around the world-a well-tailored conservative gray suit with a starched white shirt, a floral-print silk tie, and a pair of black Italian loafers whose sheen cast no doubt about the suppleness of the leather. Phillip Moy’s face was nearly round and had, as its most dominating feature, a pair of dark brown eyes that burned with a fiery intelligence.

Moy was the founder and CEO of the computer corporation that bore his name. He looked remarkably sharp and unperturbed following a day of briefings and testimony on Capitol Hill. Today’s session had, no doubt, added a few more gray hairs to his otherwise blue-black mane.

Kirsch placed several pink message slips on Barnett’s desk and collected a small stack of classified files from his out-basket for a return trip to the file room.

Barnett rose to greet his guest. Both men, who had started from humble beginnings, were in their early fifties and nearing the pinnacle of their careers.

‘Can I get you a drink, Phillip?’ Barnett asked as he poured himself a scotch and soda.

‘Sure, just splash a little scotch over some ice. Keep the water.’

Barnett brought the drinks over and sat in a brown leather chair opposite Moy. He sipped on his drink, then loosened his tie, signaling an end to any formality for this meeting. ‘How are things going with the Gatekeeper Project?’

‘We’re still on schedule, so far. Our initial tests show the device is capable of monitoring all the signal traffic moving over a major computer network without degrading that network’s performance. The defensive aspects of the Gatekeeper appear to be equally impressive.’

‘I’m glad to hear that. Lord knows that we need to get those units in place ASAP. Just last week, some kid broke through an Internet server into one of the Pentagon’s low-level computers.’ Barnett took a hard swallow of scotch and smacked his lips, sighing.

‘She spoofed the router, a real nice hack. It was dumb luck she got caught.’Moy noticed Barnett’s eyebrow arch slightly. ‘Professional admiration, Jackson-the young lady has talent.’

‘Maybe you should hire her.’

‘She’d fit right in. Some of my best and brightest programmers have a similar wild, inventive streak. I just give them a constructive way to express their creativity. It’s a good thing she wasn’t working for someone else, like Ames.’

Barnett nodded in agreement, recalling as if it were yesterday the arrest of the CIA counterintelligence officer on charges of spying for the Soviets. By exploiting the weak internal security on Langley’s computer network, Ames used his office PC to steal dozens of files classified beyond his clearance. It was in the aftermath of the Aldrich Ames affair that Moy’s security projects with the government began.

‘We’ve come a long way since the early nineties, but the memory of Ames won’t soon be forgotten.’