Douglas Preston - Gideon’s Sword

“Put your hands against that tree and lean out, legs apart.”

Jesus, thought Gideon. He did as he was told and the woman hooked one foot inside his and patted him down. She stepped back.

“Turn around, keeping your hands raised.”

He complied.

“Name is Mindy Jackson, Central Intelligence Agency. I’d show you my ID but my hands are full at the moment.”

“Right,” said Gideon. “Now, look, Ms. Jackson—”

“Shut up. I’ll do the talking. Now, I’d like you to tell me who you’re working for and what the hell you think you’re doing.”

Gideon tried to relax. “Couldn’t we discuss this—”

“You don’t follow directions well, do you? Talk.”

“Or what? You’re going to shoot me here in Central Park?”

“Lots of people get shot in Central Park.”

“You fire that gun and in five minutes this place will be swarming with cops. Just think of the paperwork.”

“Answer my questions.”

“Maybe.”

There was a tense silence. “Maybe?” she said, finally.

“You want me to talk? Fine. Not at gunpoint and not here. All right? If you’re really CIA, we’re on the same side.”

He could see her thinking. She relaxed, holstered the gun under her thin jacket. “That would work.”

“Ginza’s over on Amsterdam has a nice bar, if it’s still around.”

“It’s still around.”

“So you’re a New Yorker?”

“Let’s dispense with the chitchat, shall we?”

Sitting at the bar, Gideon ordered sake, Mindy Jackson a Sapporo. They said nothing while waiting for the drinks to arrive. In the light, with the coat off, he was able to see her better: full lips, a small nose, just a hint of freckles, thick brown hair, green eyes. Thirty, maybe thirty-two. Smart. But maybe too nice for her line of work—​although, he reminded himself, you never could tell. The important thing was, even though he had no idea what it might be, she had information he needed—​he was sure of that. And to get it, he’d have to give.

The drinks arrived and Jackson took a sip, then turned to him, a hostile look on her face. “All right. Now who are you and why are you interested in Wu?”

“Just as I’m sure you can’t tell me all the details of your assignment, I can’t tell you mine.” The walk over had given Gideon time to work up a story; but he had always felt that the best lie was the one closest to the truth. “I don’t even have a badge, as you do. Oh, by the way, as a professional courtesy I’d like to see yours.”

“We don’t have badges. We have IDs.” She brought hers out and quickly flashed it at him under the bar. “So. Who do you work for?”

“I know this is going to frustrate you, Mindy, but I work for a private contractor with the DHS. They wanted me to get the plans for the weapon from Wu.”

She stared at him and he could see she was pissed. “DHS? What the hell are they doing meddling in our affairs? With a private contractor?”

He shrugged.

“What do you know?” she asked.

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit. Wu spoke to you right after the accident. He said something to you. I want to know what it was.”

“He told me to tell his wife he loved her.”

“That’s not even a decent lie. He doesn’t have a wife. He gave you some numbers. I want to know what those numbers are.”

Gideon gazed into her face. “Um, what makes you think that he gave me numbers?”

“Witnesses. Said they saw you writing down numbers. Look,” she said, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. “You said it yourself. We’re on the same side. We should be working together, pooling our resources.”

“I haven’t noticed you pooling with me.”

“You give me the numbers and I’ll pool with you.”

“That sounds exciting.”

“Don’t be an ass. Give me the numbers.”

“What do the numbers signify?”

She hesitated, and he sensed that maybe she didn’t know. But numbers were always stimulating to a CIA agent.

“I’ve got a question for you,” he continued, pushing just a little harder. “What is CIA doing working domestically? Isn’t that FBI turf?”

“Wu was coming from overseas. You know that as well as I do.”

“That’s not answering my question.”

“I can’t answer your question,” she said, looking increasingly irritated. “It’s not my place to do so, and it sure as hell isn’t any of your business.”

“If you want to know anything more, you’re going to have to answer it. You can’t force me to talk. I haven’t broken any laws. Talking to an injured man, inquiring about his condition, isn’t illegal.” He wondered where Mindy had been during the firefight at the police vehicle yard. Cutting somebody’s head off, perhaps?

“If it’s in the interests of national security, I can damn well make you talk.”

“What, are you going to waterboard me right here at the bar?”

He saw her smile despite herself. She sighed. “This was too sensitive to hand off to the FBI. Wu was our honey pot. We set it up.”

“You set up the honey trap?”

She hesitated. “Wu went to a scientific conference in Hong Kong, and we learned he had the plans with him. We set it up.”

“Tell me about it.”

She hesitated again, seemed to come to a private decision. “Okay. But if you’d like a behind-the-scenes tour of Guantánamo, just try telling somebody— ​anybody —​what I’m telling you now. We hired a local call girl to have a chance encounter with Wu in the bar at the conference hotel. She brought him up to her room and satisfied his every fantasy—​and we got the goods on him, video and audio and stills.”

“And that actually worked? You said the guy wasn’t married. What’s he afraid of?”

“It works in China. The Chinese are prudish. It wasn’t the sex, it was the perversion that, ah, would have destroyed his career.”

He laughed. “Perversion? What was it?”

“Dominatrix. Athletic, over six feet, and blond. We had reason to believe he liked that stuff but we had a hell of a time finding one. She whipped his ass good and we got it all on video.”

“Ouch. So then what happened to your blackmail scheme?”

“We approached him with the goods. Said we’d trade the pictures for the plans. But he freaked out. Said he needed half an hour to think about it. Instead he took off, got on the first plane here.”

“You miscalculated.”

She frowned.

“Why here?” he asked.

“We don’t know.”

“Was he defecting?”

“We have no idea what his intentions were. All we know is, he had the plans when he got on the plane.”

“Hidden where?”

“No idea.”

“And the car that ran him off the road? Who was that?”

“The Chinese are after him hammer and tongs. They sent an operative over to deal with Wu, immediately and with extreme prejudice. We believe he’s a man known as Nodding Crane.”

“Nodding Crane?”

“After a certain kung fu stance. We don’t know his real name. He was sent to kill Wu and retrieve the plans. He did the first, but since he’s still here, we figure the Chinese haven’t gotten the plans. They’re still floating around out there somewhere.” She looked at him pointedly. “Unless you’ve got them.”

“No,” he said. “You know I don’t. Why would I still be running around like this?”

She nodded. “Now: the numbers, please?”

He racked his brains, thinking how he could appear to be reciprocating without actually giving her anything. Could he tell her about the cell phone? But then he’d have to explain where he got it…bad idea. Giving her fake numbers would be an even worse idea. But, he sensed, so would be giving her the real numbers. She’d have no more need of him. And he believed Mindy Jackson could prove an invaluable asset.