Richard, you conniving old prick Preston thought as he shook his head in anger. A heavy sigh on the other end of the line brought his attention back to the call. He checked his watch again. It had been nearly two minutes since his team had started the trace.
“You’re certain of this, Sergeant?” he asked sternly, choosing his words carefully in light of the fact that every word was now being recorded. “You’re certain your orders, including the authorization to use lethal force, came from a source within the NSA?”
“Yes, sir. I’m certain of it.”
Preston turned back to his desk and grabbed the case file Coleman had given him earlier that morning. He flipped to the copies of the Polaroid photos from the letters and immediately examined the obscured figure standing in each. “Sergeant, the man holding the phone… is he Caucasian, maybe six feet tall, with short, curly brown hair?”
“Yes sir.”
Preston nodded his head. “By any chance is he wearing a blue t-shirt with a logo on it?”
The sergeant hesitated for a moment. “Uh… yes sir. It looks like it’s a t-shirt from a bar. It says Joe’s Last Stand Saloon on it.”
So much for discretion Preston thought as he slapped the manila folder closed and leaned back in his chair. “Okay, thank you Sergeant. I would now like to speak to the man holding the phone, but I want you to know I will do everything in my power to get you safely back to your unit. Do you understand?”
“Yes sir,” the sergeant replied, a slight slur still evident in his voice. “Thank you, sir.”
“Good luck, sergeant,” the Director replied, rubbing his fingers deep into his temples. He knew Sergeant Kearney would likely be killed within seconds of ending the call, but he had to present an illusion of hope.
The voice of the man returned to the line. “It seems you know practically everything about me now, wouldn’t you agree, Director?” he asked in a cheerful tone.
“The only thing I know is what you’ve done… and what you’re capable of,” Preston replied contemptuously.
“Be careful of what you believe to be the truth, Director. The only thing I’ve done is expose the fact that you sent an innocent man to his death this morning. If there’s anyone you should be pursuing right now, it’s the person who initiated the murder of your agent. As far as what I’m capable of, well… do any of us really know our full potential?”
Preston looked again at his watch. Almost three minutes on the signal trace; certainly his team had pinpointed their exact location by now. They should have also collected enough audio to run a full vocal analysis. Within the hour they could have a voiceprint of the man distributed to every governmental agency in the free world if necessary. Preston knew it probably wouldn’t be enough to catch him, at least not in the short-run, but that hardly mattered right now.
Solving the case was no longer his primary objective.
The only thing that now mattered was pinning all responsibility for this atrocious situation on HSI Director Connolly and, with any luck, saving his own ass. Preston considered this as he spoke into the phone.
“I can assure you that whoever is responsible for the actions leading to Agent Martin’s death will face justice,” he replied. “I can also assure you if you kill that American soldier or the Petronus employee we both know you’re there to execute, there will be no limit to the resources brought forth by the American government to bring you to justice. Do I make myself clear?”
“I’m afraid you’re operating under the wrong assumptions once again, Director,” the man replied. “Unfortunately, I don’t have time to discuss those details right now. The Chinese authorities will be here soon, and I want to make sure that Sergeant Kearney is appropriately prepared for their arrival. Personally, I don’t think they’ll be too upset over the death of Agent Martin. But the man sitting here with four of the sergeant’s bullets in his chest is another matter entirely.”
Preston paused. He’d assumed the second man the sergeant had shot was the tall blonde-haired man Agent Martin had lost in Beijing. But if not him, then who was he? Another wave of dread washed over him as he considered the next logical possibility.
“Who is he?” he asked.
“I believe the authorities here will identify him as one Dr. Chung Zhu, a highly regarded forty-seven year old chemical engineer who, until being abducted from his home two nights earlier, was the head of research for Petronus Energy’s operations in northern China. Unfortunately, it appears Dr. Zhu has suffered from a fair amount of torture over these last few days. Both of his hands have been horribly smashed, his fingers mutilated. Even the poor man’s teeth have been pulled out, no doubt in some sadistic way designed to force him to talk. We can only hope the sergeant’s well-placed shots to the doctor’s chest brought a quick end to his misery.”