Part 44 (1/2)

Oh, yeah, Joy Lee knew what this was about.

She immediately went to their laptop, found the site, entered the security barcode, then went to another secure page where she was stopped. In order to proceed, she had to provide the first part of a pa.s.sword a.s.signed to her at the outset of her job.

Her laptop beeped its approval.

She was given access to another secure site, which required the second part of the pa.s.sword. As she waited, Joy Lee glanced at the boy sitting on his chair eating his cookie.

He was a sweet boy who cried in his sleep for his mother. Sure, it broke Joy Lee's heart, but beyond that she didn't care. She couldn't care. Because watching over him was just a job.

A very lucrative one.

Less risky than her previous profession as a drug courier, at least that was the lie she'd been telling herself lately.

Twenty-five years old and what was she doing with her life?

Joy Lee had been an international student at Simon Fraser University. But her parents in Hong Kong had disowned her when she succ.u.mbed to partying and drugs and dropped out.

She'd met Wex at a party, a good-looking drug dealer who got her work delivering drugs. She earned ten thousand dollars U.S. per trip smuggling drugs from Bangkok, Jakarta, Mexico City, Amsterdam and Jamaica.

The smugglers trained her, paid for her airfare and the best hotels. It was like a vacation. She'd been saving to buy a flower stand, but her addictions inevitably eroded her profits.

Joy Lee wanted out of the life she was living and seized her chance in a hotel in Kingston, Jamaica, when Wex introduced her to an ice-cold, old white dude. He offered them the job of a lifetime. Wex half joked that the old dude was old-school CIA, or something.

Anyway, the old dude said he had a wealthy client who needed them to pose as a married couple adopting a Chinese boy, then watch over him for a few months. They would be paid two thousand dollars a day U.S. for as long as the job lasted, which he estimated could be four months.

Joy Lee and Wex agreed and the old dude arranged to get them counterfeit pa.s.sports, credit cards, legal doc.u.ments and cash. He warned them that the job required absolute secrecy and obedience, that any violation would result in immediate and unpleasant consequences.

Joy Lee and Wex flew to Malaysia and picked up the boy in a law office in Kuala Lumpur. The boy cried a lot and Joy Lee soothed him by telling him she was his aunt and would take care of him for a while. They returned to Vancouver without any problems. Nor were there problems when their employer paid to send ”the family” on a fantastic Caribbean cruise.

It was all cool except for when they met the doctor at the Hideaway in the resort at the Bahamas.

Dr. Auden. That woman gave her the creeps.

The doctor checked over the boy like he was some kind of amazing specimen, asking if they'd been adhering to all their medical instructions while watching over him: diet, exercise, medicine, all that c.r.a.p. Then the doctor told them to be ready to follow the ”next step in the operation.”

Whatever, weirdo, she thought, now willing her computer to speed up. Just keep that delivery dude coming every week with an envelope of cash.

Finally, Joy Lee's computer had loaded and she entered the updated secure pages.

She was instructed that they would be receiving a new mobile satellite phone, and that they were going on an all-expense-paid trip to attend the Human World Conference in New York City. Their air tickets were online, the hotel was reserved and all tickets to events and further instructions would be waiting for them in the hotel room.

”Wow!” Joy Lee was thrilled and turned to the little boy. ”We're going to see the best bands in the world, even the monster show at Central Park!”

Joy Lee reread every online instruction twice. The last one directed her to view a short video. When it commenced, she groaned as she recognized creepy Dr. Auden.

The old girl's smile seemed so insincere, Joy Lee thought as the video played.

”h.e.l.lo to our friends around the world. The fact that you are watching me now means that you have received your kits and your instructions. Please follow them carefully. Thank you for your cooperation. By attending this event you are about to embark on the experience of a lifetime. Your small group will change history. Follow the written instructions, then make certain you spread goodwill to everyone at the conference by shaking hands and having your little ones shake hands. Reach out and touch everyone you can. It is imperative that you do this. Your partic.i.p.ation will take humanity into a new era. Believe me, it will happen before your eyes, a transformation unlike the world has ever known.”

The message ended.

Was she some kind of religious cult nut?

Whatever. Joy Lee shrugged, reviewing instructions on how to give the boy a few drops of medicine contained in the liquid of the float pen. Looked easy. More important to Joy Lee was the lineup of bands performing at the five-day event.

This was so great. Wex was not going to believe this.

She ran up the stairs to wake him up.

Alone, the little boy picked up the float pen.

He watched the little sailboat float from one end to the other while above him, Wex and Joy Lee began packing for New York City.

55.

McLean, Virginia.

Ensconced in the wooded countryside near the Potomac River west of Was.h.i.+ngton, D.C., stood the white concrete-and-gla.s.s structure that served as headquarters for the Central Intelligence Agency.

As he entered, Robert Lancer knew time was working against him.

He cleared security and strode to one of the building's vaulted rooms for his early morning meeting, mentally reviewing his concerns.

Nothing had emerged yet from the Moroccans on the murder of his source, Adam Corley.

Then there was the reporter--Jack Gannon.

Gannon was going to meet Corley to learn more about a link to a law firm in Brazil and its suspected ties to a global human-smuggling network and the bombing of a cafe in Rio de Janeiro that killed ten people. Drake Stinson, ex-CIA, who'd played on Black Ops, was a member of that firm.

Stinson had vanished.

Now a new threat had emerged out of Florida--a mystery death on a cruise s.h.i.+p--the CDC's alert to Homeland was that whatever killed the man from Indianapolis was engineered by somebody.

Was this part of an attack or something else?

Lancer could not dismiss Foster Winfield's fears that someone was attempting to replicate Project Crucible's abandoned experiments. How Winfield and his colleague Phil Kenyon were so uneasy about Gretchen Sutsoff, who had led most of the research. While they regarded her as a brilliant scientist, her extreme views troubled them.

And me, too, because I can't find her, Lancer thought. Could any of this stuff be connected?

He exhaled as he entered the meeting room. He nodded to the people he knew, helped himself to coffee and took his place. The conversations were muted, the mood was tense.

Everybody was at the table.

The agency had people from Intelligence, Clandestine, Science and Tech and Support. Homeland was there, as were the FBI, Secret Service, the National Security Agency, Defense Intelligence Agency, U.S. State Department's Bureau of Intelligence, the National Joint Terrorism Task Force and an array of others from the intelligence community.

The meeting commenced when Lincoln Hunter, a.s.sistant to the National Intelligence director--the president's advisor on intelligence--slapped his report on the tabletop.