one of their own assets under any circumstances, let alone in a “proof of concept” demonstration. Not only would it violate their own sentimental notions of so-called individual rights, but it would also discredit them in the eyes of future potential assets. Trust was the most important currency in the spy business, especially in the field.
The Americans and other Western powers were equally unlikely candidates, for the same reason. The Russians, as good as they were, didn’t have this capability. Of this he was certain. The same with the North Koreans, Iranians, and Indians.
So, if not one of the competing intelligence services, then who?
CHIBI was a dangerous enigma and a loner. A single individual with the “keys to the kingdom,” as he’d put it in his proposition.
And the name. CHIBI. An obvious reference to the Battle of Chibi, aka Red Cliffs. A name as familiar to Chinese history students as Thermopylae or Agincourt was in the West. An eighteen-hundred-year-old battle personifying Sun Tzu’s principle that all warfare was based on deception. A war that saw the smaller power overthrow the greater power. Chibi was a touchstone for all Chinese strategic thinking, both military and economic.
Did that mean CHIBI was actually Chinese?
Impossible.
Or was it?
Despite the obvious draw—the offer of total access to Western intelligence sources—Chen declined the offer to attend the London auction for one simple reason.
He hated enigmas . . . especially ones that could get him killed.
9
HIGH OVER MONONGAHELA NATIONAL FOREST, WEST VIRGINIA
The CloudServe Bombardier Global 8000 business jet streaked across the night sky with its single passenger curled up in one of the luxurious leather seats, shoes off.
Watson already had her first vodka tonic in hand as she reviewed her notes from the meeting with Foley.
Her phone rang. A familiar ringtone.
“How’d it go?” Elias Dahm asked. He breathed heavily on the other end.
“They hate the cloud, they’ve fired us, and they’re sending you to jail.”
“Ha, ha. Funny. Seriously?”
“It would’ve gone a whole lot better if you had been there.”
“I doubt it. You’re the brains in this outfit. I’m just the pretty face.”
“Yeah. That’s why they kept asking, ‘Where’s Elias? Did he go to Burning Man this year? When’s the next rocket launch?’ I swear, sometimes I feel like I’m working for Mick Jagger.”
“You know how it is. It’s all about marketing.” Wind buffeted Elias’s phone.
Yeah, but you actually have to have something to market, she wanted to say. “Foley really wanted you there. I think she’s pissed.”
“Yeah, well, screw her. I’ve got a lot going on and no time to waste on circle-jerk meetings like that.”
Oh, but I do? Watson said to herself.
“What did she say about our War Cloud bid?”
“That our bid is being considered just like all the others.”
“Goddamn it. We need that contract.”
Watson understood his frustration. The name of the game in tech was cash flow, and CloudServe needed some badly. “She doesn’t run the DoD. It isn’t up to her.”
“But she has her ear to the ground and she sure as hell could pull a few strings on our behalf if she wanted to.”
“She strikes me as a straight shooter.”
“Then why in the hell am I paying an army of lobbyists to make this happen?”
“That’s your end of the business, not mine. But you might want to give her a call and reassure her a little.”
“About what?”
“She’s nervous about her cloud security.”
“She has every reason to be, if things go wrong.”
Watson’s temper flared, but she bit her tongue. “I won’t let that happen.”
“I know that. Believe me. I’m your biggest fan.”
Watson let that one go, too. She waved her empty glass at the flight attendant, signaling for a refill.
Watson frowned, more annoyed than concerned. “You okay? You sound like you’re having a hard time breathing.”
“Yeah, sure. I’m fine.”
MARIN COUNTY, CALIFORNIA
Elias stood on the manicured lawn of his seaside hilltop estate while he was speaking on his earbuds with Watson, three thousand miles away.
Broad-shouldered and movie-star handsome, Elias was dressed in full kendo gear—black gi jacket, hakama trousers, body armor. He was still holding the bamboo-stave shinai practice sword in one hand while his sensei, an all-Japan kendo champion, smoked a Marlboro, waiting for the call to end so they could resume their practice.
Elias absentmindedly waved the sword in the air as he spoke. Two dozen tiki torches flickered in a gusting ocean breeze rattling the ancient cypress trees. His bright, piercing eyes were nearly the same gray-green as the Pacific Ocean crashing on the rocks below.