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“Yes sir,” Tom replied. “Her name is Jeri Halston. Twenty-six years-old… single… a graduate of the university. I’ve included a brief bio and background summary in the file. But honestly, I don’t think it’s worth your time to read it.”

“And why would you say that?”

“Because we have more important information to act upon, sir,” Tom replied, surprised that he needed to spell out this fact to the Director. “We have the location of the man – the terrorist – who’s killing these researchers, and we have a legitimate opportunity to stop him.” He leaned forward and gave the Director an emphatic look. “But as I’ve already said, sir, we need to act quickly.”

“I understand that,” Preston replied irritably. He wasn’t about to reveal that he’d already sent another agent – Coleman’s own colleague no less – to handle the situation in China. That would only lead to questions, and the last thing Preston needed right now was for Coleman to find out his conversations with Murstead had been recorded. If nearly three decades of intelligence work had taught him anything, it was that full disclosure only worked when it flowed up the chain of command, not down.

“I’ll handle getting resources to Dongying,” the Director said as he shoved the photo back into the file and closed it. “You focus on figuring out what Miss Halston is really up to.”

Tom gave the Director a surprised look. “I beg your pardon, sir?” he replied.

“I may be coming into this investigation a little late, Agent Coleman, but of all the implausible pieces to this situation – and god knows there are plenty of them – the most implausible of all would be to think that the person receiving these letters isn’t somehow involved. You even speculated in your summary that the letters may contain coded messages for someone in Flagstaff who’s affiliated with this terrorist group, correct?”

“Yes sir.”

“So isn’t it reasonable to assume that those messages were intended for the recipient of the letters herself?”

“Perhaps,” Tom replied reluctantly. “But I don’t believe that’s true in this case.”

The Director’s green eyes narrowed on Tom. “I’ve already said you’re a good investigator, Tom. But you need to understand that sometimes the answers are right in front of you. This Halston woman is involved in this. I have no doubt in my mind. Your job is to find out how.”

“I understand, sir,” Tom said as he stood to leave. “I’ll get started immediately.”

“Good,” Preston replied, his tone suddenly pleasant. “I have every confidence that together we can resolve this situation before another innocent Petronus employee dies at the hand of this madman… or madmen.”

Tom paused and gave the Director a puzzled look. “I hope so, sir.”

He turned and walked to the door.

“Oh, and Agent Coleman,” Preston said as Tom reached the door, his expression severe. “Not a word of this to anyone else, understood? This one stays between you and me for now.”

Tom gave the Director a brief nod. “Understood.”

The moment the door closed behind him, Preston reached for his cell phone and quickly dialed a number. A few seconds later, the raspy voice of HSI Director Richard Connolly answered the line.

“Hello, Jack,” Connolly answered, the tone of his southern draw guarded. “Have you got something for me?”

“I have more than something, Richard,” Preston replied flatly, “I have everything.”

“What does that mean?”

“Coleman just left my office,” Preston said, a smug smile stretching across his face. “You we were right. The prodigal son has returned.”





49.




Agent Rick Martin glanced around at his surroundings and cursed under his breath.

This was not going to be easy.

Around him, rows of dilapidated dormitory buildings seemed to stretch out in every direction. He studied their gray forms carefully as he marched through the narrow maze of corridors and courtyards that connected them to the massive industrial complex nearby. A mosaic of hanging laundry and piled rubbish cluttered nearly every one of the small balconies. Faded newspaper covered the few windows that punctured the tall facades of reinforced concrete. Above him, the upper floors disappeared into the ash-colored smog that hung incessantly over the city. Unfortunately, other than a few subtle variations in their states of decay, the buildings all looked identical.

He quickened his pace with a renewed sense of urgency. The phone call from Director Preston just a few hours earlier had stirred him from another restless night in his tiny Beijing hotel room. But this time the news had been good. Very good. Thanks to some recent intelligence, the details of which the Director wouldn’t disclose, Rick now had a possible location on the blonde-haired man he’d lost four days earlier at the Beijing airport after arriving from Amsterdam. He was still scolding himself for the fuck-up. He’d been certain he was following the right taxi from the airport, but the person who’d stepped out at their downtown destination had been neither tall nor blonde. Four days of nearly non-stop searching through the dense sprawl of downtown Beijing had been Rick’s self-imposed punishment. His conversation with the Director had been even more painful. Even now, the words Preston had whispered over the phone upon hearing of his mistake still echoed in his head.