enemies of the state (8 page)

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Arabic for “the ultimate,” the Al Muntaha restaurant, located in the Burj Jumeriah, was the world’s first six-star luxury hotel and attempted to redefine destination fine dining for the global elite. Situated at the top of the Burj Jumeriah hotel, the glittering city of Dubai, the man-made Palm Islands, and the Persian Gulf stretched out beneath the floor-to-ceiling windows, sparkling in the dusky colors of the Middle Eastern twilight.

On other evenings, Al Muntaha would be filled with the soft rustle of napkins and the clink of silver and gold flatware, and the whispers of crystal slipping against linen tablecloths as soft laughter and fourteen different languages bantered over seven-course meals. Tonight, only two diners sat in the restaurant, against the windows overlooking the Gulf.

Neither man noticed the view.

Colonel Song Jian-Heng, a mid-ranking officer with no distinctive pomp or circumstance, or fancy add-on to his title, held a vague position within the Central Military Commission in the People’s Republic of China. His obscurity helped his obfuscation, hiding how close a connection Colonel Song had to the ruling powers within the People’s Republic.

Prince Faisal, Deputy Minister of Intelligence within the Saudi General Intelligence Directorate, never underestimated Colonel Song’s import. This was a man who had phoned him directly, out of the blue one day, bypassing all of his security and all of his cyber blockades. But what was it to one of the chief spies of the People’s Republic to find the personal cell phone number to the unacknowledged—but favorite—nephew of the Crown Prince of Saudi Arabia?

Colonel Song flipped shut a manila file folder, resting on the edge of the dining table. A full glass of wine shivered as his hand drew back. “How did he die, again?”

“During questioning,” Faisal demurred. Saudi interrogations were renowned for their efficiency, and for their brutality. When Hu Xeng-Chen died in the basement of an unmarked Saudi military base, soaking wet, bruised, battered, bleeding, and broken, he’d revealed everything—absolutely everything—he had ever known. About everything. “We are confident that he spoke the truth.”

Faisal snacked on honey-coated Laqimat while Colonel Song studied the plain manila folder. Faisal was almost two decades younger than the colonel, and he reminded himself not to bounce his leg beneath his robes. A sure sign of nerves, and a message he did not want to share with the colonel. They had enough to deal with without adding his inexperience to the mix. Besides, if he could impress the ministers and princes within the Intelligence Directorate, then perhaps they would take him seriously, and not discard him as a familial nuisance they had to endure.

“And he had no knowledge of why you detained him?” Colonel Song’s dark eyes pierced Faisal suddenly, moving into his gaze faster than a blink.

Faisal swallowed. “None.” He licked his lips, tasting honey. “He had never heard of the account in his name at HBCC Banking. He didn’t know any of the account details. His reasons for traveling abroad on the dates in question were for construction contracts and arbitration meetings.”

“He was framed.” Colonel Song wasn’t asking a question.

Faisal nodded. “Someone worked very hard to make it appear that Mr. Hu was involved in money laundering for the Islamic Caliphate.”

“Someone?” Colonel Song’s eyebrows rose. “I think you are smarter than that.”

Faisal’s chin rose. He stared at Colonel Song, not moving, not fidgeting. Silence stole over the restaurant. In the corner of Faisal’s eye, he saw one of his bodyguards shift, eyes darting over Colonel Song’s coiled, false relaxation.

“This reeks of the Americans,” Faisal finally said. “They do not care who they destroy in their inquisition.”

Colonel Song murmured low, under his breath. “The Americans,” he agreed. Reaching forward, Colonel Song reached for his wine glass, swirling the burgundy depths before taking a sip. “Except, Mr. Hu was supposed to be the Islamic Caliphate’s entry to Taiwan. He was their key ‘homegrown asset’, according to the information we recovered. How they were able to succeed.”

Faisal shook his head, frowning. “Mr. Hu had no connection to the Caliphate. He wasn’t a part of the Caliphate’s attack on Taipei. The account in his name funneled money to the Caliphate, but he was not aware of its existence, or how that account was set up.” He leaned forward, crossing his arms inside his airy, voluminous sleeves against the edge of the table. “He was set up.”

“Which, by extension, means that whoever set up Mr. Hu is also responsible for enabling the Islamic Caliphate’s attack on Taiwan.”

Thoughts flying, Faisal didn’t notice his body slouching, or his leg beginning to bounce beneath the table. The wine in Colonel Song’s wineglass started to shiver. “Why would the Americans set up a Taiwanese national as a false front for funding the Islamic Caliphate to invade Taiwan?”

Colonel Song reached for his wine glass, a tiny smirk on his lips. He swirled the wine again before taking a sip. “The Americans are not known for their forward thinking foreign policy. They arm the same people who turn on them and slaughter their citizens. They want to play the world police but lack the ferocity to do what is needed.” He twirled the stem of the wineglass between his fingers. “I have seen them employ false flag attacks before. I have seen them set up another as the fall guy, or even the fall nation. This, though…” He sighed. “They were honestly furious when we invaded Taiwan to restore stability to the province and to banish the Caliphate.”

Banish the Caliphate.
Faisal forced himself not to react. The Chinese had swept through Taiwan, destroying and exterminating every Islamic Caliphate soldier on the island. No prisoners. No interrogations. Just elimination.

“Why lead all those fighters to their death?” Faisal frowned, slouching lower. “If the Americans set up the Caliphate’s invasion of Taiwan, what did they expect would happen?”

“Those fighters were dead the moment they left the Middle East.” Colonel Song dismissed the fighters with a flick of his wrist. “Either we were meant to destroy them as we did, or the Americans would have killed them when they galloped on their aircraft carriers to Taipei’s rescue.” A tiny smile from the Colonel. “Except, they lacked the military strength to protect Taiwan when the invasion happened. They were, truly, unable to respond.”

“So…why do it?” Faisal rested his forehead in one hand, propping his elbow on the tabletop with a sigh.

“Because it wasn’t the Americans who set up Mr. Hu.” Colonel Song set down his wine glass in the center of the manila folder.

Faisal stared silently.

“It’s not the Americans that are behind this. Not their government. This is obfuscation. Someone covering their tracks.”

“So, who is responsible, then?” Faisal’s sleeve dipped in a trail of spilled honey. He pulled back, straightening in his chair and forcing his leg to stillness. “Is it the Russians? Trying to undermine America on the world stage? Or Israel? This could be a Mossad operation.” His mind spun, possibilities swirling and tumbling around each other. Russia hated America, always had—seemed like they always would. They had wanted to bring the West down a peg, and since they had successfully seized Ukraine a decade prior, they had expanded their territorial rumblings. Saudi sold them oil in exchange for assurances they wouldn’t destroy the Kingdom with their wild plots and ploys.

And Israel… Well, if there was something odd going on in the Middle East, Israel was always a suspect, in Saudi’s eyes.

Colonel Song smiled. It wasn’t a warm smile, or a friendly one. “That is what we have to figure out.” He glanced at the manila envelope. “Quietly. This is not something for the world stage, or for the western media. We must be silent in this search. We do not want whoever is pulling these strings to know we are onto them.”

Faisal nodded quickly. His stomach churned. Hu’s death would leave questions when his puppeteers tried to use him again. “I’ll do what I can to have Mr. Hu remain living. At least, in the financial world.”

“As will we.” Colonel Song stood, buttoning his suit jacket. “I will be in touch.”

Faisal stood as well, hurriedly trying to straighten his robes beneath his feet. “The news is saying that the Americans ignored your government at the G-7.”

Colonel Song paused. He stared at Faisal, his hands on his suit buttons, not moving.

“Are you sure it isn’t them?”

Colonel Song finished buttoning his suit and reached for the wine glass for the final time. He swallowed the last of the wine in one gulp. “After the G-7, I am more certain than before.”

* * * * *

As was tradition, after the first overseas trip, Ethan took his team out for dinner and drinks at the Capital Grille, just up Pennsylvania Avenue. Scott Collard, Levi Daniels, and Harry Inada all piled into Ethan’s SUV for the drive downtown, chattering and catching up with each other, and finally relaxing. Ethan sat next to Inada, giving him a one-armed hug as they all met up outside Horsepower before heading down to the parking garage. Inada had ended up with the opposite shift from Ethan—later afternoon to evening—and he hadn’t seen much of the man for months. Even when they were at the White House together, inevitably they’d be in different sectors. Inada didn’t stick around much after his shift, either. He had twin daughters in first grade, and when he wasn’t at the White House or on the detail, Inada was at home with his family.

After sitting down in a corner booth, Inada whipped out his phone and streamed through recent photos, regaling Ethan with pictures from the twins’ last day of school, their summer vacation, and their trip to the National Mall as a family on one of Inada’s off days. Collard, father to a teenaged daughter, grinned wide as he saw Inada’s photos. Moments later, he was horrifying Inada with tales of teenaged woe and parental agony—sneaking out at night, screaming matches over grades, and boyfriends that did not measure up at all. Inada put his hands over his ears and refused to listen, especially when Collard kept telling him he had a double dose of teenagerhood heading his way.

Daniels, the ladies’ man, and Ethan, the men’s man, chuckled on the sidelines, shaking their heads. As they ate, Collard egged Daniels into spilling the beans on his serial girlfriends. “Hey! I’m married! I can’t go shopping, but I’d like to at least hear the reviews of what’s out there!” he said with a laugh when Inada shot him a dirty look.

Daniels talked through the appetizer and into their steaks but then passed the ball over to Ethan with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “And how’s things going for our other team player? I’m not the only one to have a more active love life than you two.” He waved his fork between Inada and Collard.

Ethan huffed and shook his head. “Honestly, nothing to report.” He shook his head as Daniels scoffed. “No, really. Not a lot of barhopping going on while I was laid up with my bum knee. That’s not the sexiest thing in the world, you know.”

Collard mocked ignorance and sarcasm as Inada, always the sensitive one of the bunch, nodded at Ethan understandingly.

“But you’ve been back for months now. Surely you’ve gone out some since?” Daniels frowned, just the tiniest bit.

It was the beer that did it, he thought later. He was relaxed and easygoing, and didn’t see it coming. “Nah,” Ethan said, slicing into his steak and spearing a bite. “Funny thing, you know. Being the detail lead is pretty time-consuming. Doesn’t leave a lot of personal time. I go home, sleep, shower, shit, and shave, and then I’m back at the office.”

Daniels and Collard shared a long look. Ethan froze, his fork halfway to his mouth.

“Well, that’s because of all the extra duty you’re pulling,” Collard said slowly. He had a teasing smile on his lips, but a heaviness in his eyes as he looked at Ethan.

“You pulling extra shifts, Ethan?” Inada, totally out of the loop, missed the exchange.

Ethan slowly chewed his steak, methodical as he tried to scramble for cover. He hadn’t told Collard anything, not like he’d told Daniels. Collard would run him through, read him the riot act, and then beat him silly. They’d been best friends long enough to call each other on their shit the hard way.

“I’m not pulling anything extra anymore,” Ethan said, swallowing. “There was just an adjustment phase the president was going through. It’s all good now.”

Daniels smiled at him across the table before tucking back into his plate. Inada dismissed the entire exchange, forgetting about everything when his wife texted him to let him know they were on the way home from their Girl Scout meeting and that he should head home now to see them before bedtime.

Collard’s eyes stayed on Ethan, lingering.

Daniels made his excuses to head out shortly after Inada. He had a date with a lady friend at a bar, he said. When Ethan shook his hand and asked for the woman’s name, Daniels laughed and said he’d tell Ethan tomorrow, after he met her. A wink and a backslap later, Ethan watched Daniels saunter out of the restaurant, leaving him and Collard alone.

It felt like a trap. He hadn’t missed the long look Daniels and Collard had shared as they said their good-byes.

Collard waited until the waiter cleared their plates and brought them another beer each. He held Ethan’s gaze, the two men staring at each other across the table in silence, small smiles playing over their lips.

Ethan looked down, finally, playing with the tablecloth edge. “So Levi talked to you.”

Collard nodded, slowly. “He did. He was worried about you, especially after Camp David.”

“Look, I’m fine. There’s nothing going on. He’s got nothing to be worried about.”

“Is that why you moved me into the detail lead position and took a back seat in Turin?” Collard cocked his head to the side.

Ethan took a pull from his beer, stalling. “We all knew President Spiers was different from the usual political clown we get in office,” he said, gesturing with his beer bottle. “He had a harder adjustment period than the others. He’s not used to being isolated, and he definitely wasn’t used to a protective detail. He was lonely, we were the only ones around him all the time. It was a perfect storm for a misunderstanding.”