Chief of Hong Kong Station Barnabas Burns sat in the largest of a row of enclosed cubicles with sliding pocket doors, as cramped as a ship’s cabin, nothing like the grand offices of Station Chiefs in stately European embassies, an uncomfortable necessity in a CIA Station operating in Chinese-controlled territory. Burns was fifty years old, gray haired and square jawed, whipsaw tough with ropey forearms sticking out of his rolled-up shirtsleeves. He came around his desk to greet Nate with a nutcracker handshake, and nodded at a small couch against the wall of the cubicle for Nate to sit on. Burns lobbed Nate a plastic bottle of water taken from a small refrigerator in the corner, and sat on the couch beside him, stretching out his legs.
“Should have been a beer,” said Burns, “but it’s not five o’clock yet. Your flight okay? Not too beat?” Nate shook his head.
“We got you in a nice temporary apartment, just up Old Peak Road, on the other side of the botanical gardens. It’s a brief walk downhill in the morning, through the zoo—they even got a leopard—but your shirt will be soaked walking uphill at night. You’ll get used to that in Hong Kong, sweating.”
“It’s my first time here,” said Nate. “From the little I saw, it’s going to be tough spotting surveillance on the street.” Burns laughed.
“You got that right. Elwood Holder in China Ops told me you made your bones in Moscow, but this place is unique, a stacked urban environment with people everywhere and a camera on every corner. Walk around and get a feel for the place.”
“Will do,” said Nate. “What’s the sked on the general? How much time do I have before we stuff him in the bottle?”
“Could be tomorrow, could be in a month,” said Burns. “He’s been coming to Macao to gamble pretty often; he’s got it bad, and when he shows, we’ll take a pop at him. The Aussies have trip wires out, so we’ll know when he’s back at the tables. Tomorrow I’ll take you to meet the ASIS Chief, and the case officer you’ll be working with. These Australians are serious and talented—and dependable. They’re not like the Brits where you have to count the silverware after a liaison dinner.” Nate laughed.
“Listen, Chief, I’m going to be here waiting for the flare to go up, so let me know what else I can do for you,” said Nate. “I don’t want to get in the way of Station ops, but I’m willing to help any way I can. Casing sites, running SDRs, talking to junior officers.”
“I appreciate that,” said Burns. “I’d welcome your Moscow experience, especially your assessment of how the MSS could cover us in town. We’ve done a lot of work on the street, but your KGB perspective could be useful. Hong Kong is in the Guangzhou MSS district, and they’re a bunch of cowboys. They ignore their headquarters directives, to the extent that they even run ops in the United States if they can without telling the ministry in Beijing. Makes them unpredictable nuggets.”
“Holder said they’re also all on the make, skimming off the casinos in Macao, and taking bribes.”
“It’s called
“Chief, I’ll want to read the file on the general before I try a false-flag approach,” said Nate. “He’s lived in Moscow and knows Russians. I’ve got to be pitch-perfect.”
“The Aussie case officer—name’s George Boothby, but everyone calls him ‘Bunty’—handles the access agent in Macao who’s close to General Tan.”
“Bunty Boothby?” said Nate.
“Good guy. He’s a star in his service, a real stud, with a bunch of scalps on his belt already. You’re about the same age. Bunty’s been debriefing the access agent since the general came on their scope. He’ll give you a full readout.”
“Do you think he resents CIA pitching his target? I know I’d be a little chaffed,” said Nate. “I don’t want him to feel like I’m snaking his recruitment.”
“I don’t think they’re worried about that, they came to us for the big bucks,” said Burns. “If we get General Tan Furen in harness, Bunty will get the credit. Bagging a PLA general is just as big in ASIS as it would be for us, and we’ll share the handling and the take.”
“When we get the general alone, will there be countersurveillance? I know the access agent will bring him to us, but do we have to worry about MSS ticks in Macao?”
Burns shrugged. “Depends. Too many Westerners moving around might spook the general. You can discuss the mechanics with Bunty,” said Burns. “One thing’s for sure: The general’s dead if there’s a flap. They’ll put him on his knees in a bean field, shoot him in the back of the head, and bill his family for the cost of the bullet.”
