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[DLibrasnow]

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PRELUDE: THE MOUNTAIN

January -- Switzerland

The blizzard screamed against the side of the mountain now. He strained every sense in his body to pick up any visual clue to his location, the blinding snow cutting swathes in his face as he trudged relentlessly on, willing himself to continue on his quest. He had to make it to the lodge, to the shelter and warmth of Herr Zimmer

[DLibrasnow]

CHAPTER ONE; DEATH FOR BREAKFAST

He waited.
As the morning wore on and the bright sun began to beat down unrelentingly he remained motionless and rested his head against the hard cold butt of the rifle. Feeling it slip occasionally he readjusted it every so often only slightly to nestle it even tighter into the crook of his arm.
It

[DLibrasnow]

CHAPTER TWO: THAT PREDATORY INSTINCT

With vision around eight times more powerful than that of a human, the hawk has arguably the keenest eyesight of any living creature. It is certainly with good reason that the expressions

[DLibrasnow]

CHAPTER THREE: TAKING A TRIP WITH KIT KAT

With street names like Ket, Special K, Vitamin K and Kit Kat, the rapid-acting disassociative anesthetic Ketamine has been increasingly abused by a large portion of the young population for use as a

[DLibrasnow]

CHAPTER FOUR: LONDON CALLING

Smith had often wished he had a window.
His nondescript office was located deep in the bowels of the British embassy in Washington D.C. And whereas some of the lesser secretive sections had windows out onto a world with its never-ending vista of bustling traffic and scuttling pedestrians, his was intentionally kept away from prying eyes.
It is a little known fact that the capital of the United States has more spies than any other major city and the British government wasn

[DLibrasnow]

CHAPTER FIVE: CHINESE WHISPERS

Some people have the ability to spring out of bed at any hour of the day or night and immediately jump straight into their daily routine, bright eyed and full of life.
Head of Chinese intelligence operations in the United States Wen Ho Lee was not one of these people, he never had been. He preferred to arise at a decent time and following his traditional warm bowl of congee, would leave for a stroll around the grand and sprawling Beihai Park. He particularly enjoyed participating in the daily early morning custom that saw hundreds of Beijing's everyday residents practicing the meditative internal martial art of tai chi chuan. To him this helped focus his mind on the workday ahead.
However the rude ring of his bedside phone shortly after 4 a.m. was a good indication to Lee that this day was not going to be an ordinary "walk in the park."
It is no secret that China's MSS, and other intelligence services, aggressively target the United States, in particular its high tech sector.
The cover for Beijing's espionage operations in North America include the 1,500 Chinese diplomats operating out of 70 offices, 15,000 Chinese students who arrive in the United States each year, and the 10,000 Chinese who travel in some 2,700 visiting delegations each year.
Lee had never felt a need to worry about his operatives, he was a trusting man, perhaps too trusting as his subordinate and second in command Zen Liangyu, a diminutive man, even by Chinese standards whose ambition seemed directed by a particularly driven spouse, was keen to point out.
So the call was to be a rude awakening for Lee - literally.
"Hello," Lee mumbled into the headset, unsuccessfully attempting to stifle a yawn.
It was Liangyu on the other end of the line. Doesn't this man ever sleep, Lee wondered. But, it appeared he had similarly been woken only moments before, with disturbing news from a contact.
"What," Lee sat up straight, visibly shaken with eyes wide open in disbelief. He could not believe what he was hearing, how was it possible? One of his very own prot

[DLibrasnow]

CHAPTER SIX: DOMESTIC INTELLIGENCE

Everyone was in a somber mood back at the safe-house. The two men had returned without exchanging a word and as the lesser of two went about putting the ground floor back together, Canut just sat there in a sullen silence, motionless.
His mind though was racing, full of thoughts of all the damage he would do to both the traitor Athena and the British agent who less than an hour earlier had been their captive. Anger rippled through him and he clenched his fist so tight that the nubs of his fingers dug deeply into his palms and the tips of his nails seared into his flesh until they drew blood.
Hailing from the Liaoning province, which touches on the border with North Korea. Canut had never been driven by intellect, but rather a blind obedience and an unquestioning loyalty to the state. Ever since growing up in Shenyang he had relied on brute force to win any engagement in which he found himself and had yet to meet his equal in any such contest.
He had killed many men and women in the line of his duty to the state and found a certain sadistic pleasure in seeing others suffer.
He was still struggling to fully grasp the new dynamic that he found himself in, with his former superior now his sworn enemy.
But the fact that he had worked so closely with Zhoran and indeed developed a degree of calculated trust with her made him momentarily doubt his own abilities and intuition - and he hated that.
There was a muffled sound...chiming softly. What was that? Canut could not focus on it or register what it was. It sounded somehow so very familiar to him.
He recalled an instance many years earlier as a child when he had first tasted the bitter tang of betrayal. Confronted by a heckling gang of pre-teens his close friend Quan had vehemently denied their friendship. Being part of Liaoning's 0.5 percent Korean population and having an uncommonly large frame, Canut had consistently been shunned by his peers and Quan had been striving to improve his popularity with the other children. But his words stung Canut, even today over 30 years later.
It had taught him that the only person he could truly trust was himself, a moral that had only been reinforced by Zhoran

[DLibrasnow]

CHAPTER SEVEN: THE NIGHTINGALE SANCTION

Senator Williams preferred the less obtrusive local community reporters to the more voracious national breed. Really they were all vultures, sharks circling around, each waiting for the hint of scandal that would propel them into a position to be the next Woodward or Bernstein. But the regional reporter was more apt to pose the more generic question and be satisfied with the accompanying generic answer than their big-city brethren.
A former military intelligence officer and decorated war hero Williams had entered the service in the waning days of World War II and endured through the Korean conflict and the fighting in Vietnam, yet nothing really tested his nerves more than a ravenous pack of journalists.
Today, he had no time for the country-wide media reporters that were buzzing around him asking him about his controversial stance towards trade with China. Williams would be much more interested in discussing the generous $32 million farm grant he had just won or the funds he had secured that allowed a local hospital to open up a new maternity wing.
Normally such troublesome pests as these reporters would be dealt with by his diplomatic and disarming press secretary, but Jessica Van Hollen didn't always accompany him on his trips home, preferring instead to deal with inquiries back in Washington. Williams wished she had made the journey this time however.
Time to make an exit, he mused to himself and brushing aside one of the numerous hand-held tape recorders that seemed to magically materialize in front of him he made a bee-line for Jay Christenson.
The administrator of the hospital, Christenson seemed to be trying his best to look interested and involved in what one of the neighborhood activists, a small absurdly overdressed elderly lady, was trying to talk about.
A discernible look of relief washed over Christenson's face, mixed with the unmistakably "save me" expression as he noticed Williams approach
The woman seemed intent on subjecting the hapless Christenson to recounting the exploits of her daughter at a nearby grocery store so Williams leaned in between the two, extending his hand towards the markedly relieved administrator.
"Jay, I am going to have to take my leave," said Williams, flashing a subdued smile.
Williams was the guest of honor at the joint press conference for the formal announcement of the hospital-funding package. Normally such a mundane occasion would be attended only by a smattering of provincial media, hospital employees and town activists. But the pending legislation on Capitol Hill that would impose crippling tariffs on Chinese trade and his pivotal position as chairman of the Senate Committee on Finance had created a frenzy among the press that haunted him wherever he ventured.
"Senator, senator..."
The herd of reporters followed Williams, milling around him, their calls like excited music fans suddenly confronted by their idol. Pushing and shoving and shouting to make themselves heard above the din of their colleagues, Williams decided to bid a hasty retreat to the safety of his car.
His Iowa home was a short drive from his current location and he could be there, relaxing in his trusty reclining armchair sipping on a gin within the hour.
Christenson nodded sympathetically at Williams.
"We must do lunch the next time you are in town," Christenson said, touching the senators elbow as the tall, gaunt Williams moved away.
Williams nodded back at him and turned, wading through the throng of reporters that crowded around him as he made his way outside of the hospitals main entrance to a waiting car.
Grinning to his aide Charles behind the wheel he let out an audible sigh of relief.
"Back to the ranch," Williams said leaning into the cushioned seat.
The car set off through the rolling hills of corn dotted with farmsteads that make up the rural landscape of South West Iowa.

Standing out as she did in this part of Middle America, the young, lithe Chinese girl known only as Nightingale had decided to carry out her assigned task in as covert a manner as possible.
Studying her quarry's schedule, that had been helpfully printed in local media reports, she had quickly decided that the hospital would be too public a venue for the hit.
She contemplated over how easy it was to acquire such information in the United States and the almost blas

[DLibrasnow]

CHAPTER EIGHT: DOUBLE TROUBLE

The file in front of him detailed a query from an American corporation to establish a base in the United Kingdom, but Shaw was having concentration issues. He reread the same sentence again, he guessed that he had done so about eight times but his mind was on other matters.
Something nagged at him and he was overcome with an ominous sense that something just wasn't right. He reached for the phone and picked up the receiver, then paused. Thinking better of it he replaced it carefully and turned back to the folder.
No, it was no use. As important as Klondike Chemicals need for a European processing plant might be, Shaw couldn't muster the diligence to wade through all the bohrium, gallium and osmium, or any other -"ium" for that matter, that made up the recipes for Klondike's products.
Laying the folder back on his desk he let out an exasperated breath and grabbed his suit of the chair in front of him. It had been hours since he had delivered the report to Smith and since then both Smith and Athena seemed to have vanished. He had noticed Smith jump hastily into an embassy car and speed off and all calls to Athena had gone unanswered. He shifted uneasily in his seat and he resolved to pay a return visit to the Chinatown safe house.
Getting up he sauntered out of his open office door and flashed a smile at his colleague Julie. For her part she was engaged in pouring over the pages of a report. A mass of papers that looked as if they had been prepared by the same people who had worked on the Klondike proposal.
I'm going to call it a day," Shaw said as he made his way down the hallway. "See you tomorrow."
Julie murmured an "okay" and gave a slight wave of the hand without looking up from the report.
Shaw wondered where Athena might be and what had become of Bond.

Bond and Athena were in the back of Smith's car, speeding up Wisconsin Avenue as Smith weaved through the lanes of the unrelenting late rush-hour traffic.
Looking down Bond noticed that at some point during their flight from Chinatown he had suffered a nasty gash to his left arm. He pressed down on it and looked around for something to bind it with.
He felt added pressure and the soft feminine fingers of Athena and looked over at her as she produced a handkerchief.
"Don't worry it's clean," said Athena, sensing his unease.
Bond gratefully took the handkerchief and pressed it hard over the cut. He looked into Zhoran's eyes and marveled at the change from the ruthless, evil expression from earlier to the caring concern that she showed now, he sensed genuine warmth in her incredibly clear green eyes.
"Thank you," he said and pressed himself back into the seat, stretching as he did so.
As he did, he saw Smith look up from the road ahead and check the rearview mirror. The two's eyes met.
The moment seemed frozen in time for a split second and Bond's soul and subconscious processed the look of extreme hatred in Smith's eyes.
Yes, that was it, hatred. Instantly Bonds second sense for danger kicked into gear and he moved sharply from the chair sitting straight and upright.
Smith broke the stare and reached down for the door compartment, fumbling under the magazine for the gun hidden below.
Bond saw the movement and his sense for danger changed from a shout to a scream. He turned sharply to Athena who seemed to sense the urgency in his expression.
"Out, now!" Bond snapped and then lunged over the front seat.
Shoved forcibly by Smith as he sailed over the gearbox Bond was sent crashing violently into the dashboard and onto the floor in front of the passenger's seat, his legs flailing wildly above him.
Bond saw Athena struggle with the door that appeared locked, but his attention was drawn to Smith, whose face was contorted into an angry sneer. Looking over he saw the unmistakable shape of an ASP pistol, its blunt metallic barrel glimmering in the light of the outside street lamps.
There was the shattering of glass as Athena kicked out the rear driver's side window.
Smith moved the pistol across to take aim at Bond and Bond clambered up, trying to regain his balance, but it was too late as Smith's free hand caught hold of Bonds right leg and flung him violently over.
Caught off balance and with the wind knocked out of him Bond attempted to strike out at Smith, but it was a fruitless exercise as his opponent easily avoided his fist.
Now Bond stared down the barrel of the gun and he relaxed.
"Time for goodbye 007," said Smith. "I've waited for this moment, longed for it"
With a look of triumph Smith straightened his aim so that the gun was pointed directly at Bond's head. Then the victorious expression metamorphosed into one of terror as a thin black ring materialized around his neck.
"Don't forget about me Darling," muttered Athena as she tightened her undid shoestring around Smith's neck.
Dropping the ASP onto the floor Smith, a look of panic on his face, clasped fervently at the string thrashing around in his seat as if suffering a seizure. However as he struggled Athena pulled her makeshift weapon ever tighter. Athena's look of pleasure at her victim's distress reminded Bond of his capture earlier in the day and he picked up the pistol leveling it at Smith.
"Pull this car over," ordered Bond, shoving the pistol into Smiths ribcage.
Smith nodded his compliance in short, sharp nods and maneuvered the car off the road into the car park of a closed auto parts store as best he could, given that he was being slowly garroted.
With the car coming to a halt, Athena released the grip slightly on the string and Bond, still holding the gun on Smith, reached over and removed the keys from the ignition, his eyes never leaving his adversary.
"Now, what the is going on."
Bond spat out the words, his fingers tightening around the ASP's trigger.
Regaining his composure, Smith straightened up and the look of triumph returned.
"Your as good as dead Bond," Smith said in labored breaths, looking up into the mirror to adjust his tie. "Word's out, you're a double-agent, the hit on you has been sanctioned by the highest authorities."
"Colluding with a known Chinese assassin."
Smith tutt tutted, chuckled and looked down at Bond condescendingly.
"They would never buy it," Bond growled.
Smith shrugged and pulling more slack on the string that still hung loosely around his neck turned his head to glance at Athena.
"They already have 007," Smith said softly. "Who can blame you, she's exquisite."
Smith pursed his lips in a mocking kiss to Athena, a gesture that enraged her so much that she jerked sharply on the cord.
"Let him go," Bond ordered.
"Now you tell them Smith," Bond hissed, moving in close to his incapacitated opponent. "You tell them that Emerald here is a defector and that I am going to bring her in."
And with that Bond reached around, opened the door, and pushed Smith onto the still-baking concrete below.
"You're a dead man," Smith screamed as Bond slammed the car into gear and with the screeching of tires careened out of the lot.

"You okay?"
Bond looked back at Athena, his face a mixture of concern and admiration.
Athena nodded as she got down to re-threading her shoe lace.
"Well we are fast running out of options," Bond stated thoughtfully. "What about Shaw?"
A mischievous smile appeared on Athena's face.
"He adores me," Athena said wistfully. Then bouncing back into life she beamed a smile at Bond.
"I know he'll help us."

At that moment Shaw was on edge.
Through the door of the Chinese safe-house that opened out onto the street he had spied Canut, obviously enraged by something. The hulking giant of a man was hurling furniture around the interior of the ground floor and all attempts to calm him by his diminutive companion were fruitless.
As the smaller man desperately held on to Canut's arm he was flung around, as a dog would worry a chew-toy.
There was no sign of Athena and Shaw didn't fancy the thought of asking after her with Canut in such a fury. The mammoth fellow had merely tolerated his presence earlier, buying into the cover story that he was Athena's trusted spy at the British embassy, but Shaw didn't trust Canut not to embrace him in an all-encompassing bear hug and break his spine like a twig if given half a chance.
Pressing up hard against the brick wall he edged along gradually, inching his way towards the open door. Several passersby stared curiously at him including an impeccably dressed businessman, a small Chinese woman burdened down with several grocery bags that combined were bigger than she was and a young boy who skated past him on a skateboard. Shaw merely smiled disarmingly at each of them and strained to hear whatever he could from inside the building.
Shaw had been based at the British embassy in Beijing previously and so he had a basic understanding of several Chinese dialects, yet he could only make out the occasional word from Canut and the smaller man Yufeng.
Shaw moved as close as he dared to the open door and, attempting to give the appearance as relaxed and natural as possible continued to eavesdrop on the two unsuspecting occupants.
Canut did not seem to be making much sense, but slowly Shaw managed to piece together what had happened. Canut had received word that Athena was a defector just as she had made her escape with Bond in tow.
He pulled his cellphone from his belt and checked the "received calls" list, nothing from Athena. He had to find her. And what about Bond, what was his role in this mess?
And with that Shaw slipped quietly away into the crowded early evening streets, with more questions than ever.
"C'mon Athena, where are you?"
Moments later Shaw made his way down into the subway that only hours earlier had provided an escape route for Athena and, catching a yellow line train home, tried to piece together the puzzle.

[DLibrasnow]

CHAPTER NINE: NOT SUCH A CHANCE ENCOUNTER

Shaw was still consumed with concern as he pulled his Dodge Stratus onto the grass outside his home. There was a good sized driveway but his roommates had already taken up all the available space, leaving Shaw with no option but to pull up onto the front lawn in an area that was worn down into a deep rut from continual use as an impromptu parking area.
The economics of living in the Washington area made the sharing of living space a necessity, especially for someone like Shaw who made too little to be able to afford any of the apartments in the area, the cheapest of which still ran for well over a thousand dollars a month.
He had been extremely lucky to find his current digs. His orders sending him to the United States had come late, he had been slated for another Asian assignment but at the very last minute word had come down of an opening in Station U. Shaw had been approached about the opportunity on a Sunday afternoon and told that he was to report to the station chief in D.C. on the Thursday.
The result was a mad scramble. He had spent most of the remaining Sunday checking out apartments and roommate postings online with mostly futile results. Then as he had almost given up hope he had found one room and rushed off a hasty e-mail asking about availability. The room had already been taken he was informed, but they did offer a comfortable couch and shelter until he was able to locate something more permanent. Not exactly spoilt for choice and with more pressing matters at hand Shaw had hesitantly accepted.
So, after tying up all his affairs in London, he had made the flight across the Atlantic arriving on the Wednesday evening, exhausted but anxious to explore the surrounding area. Landing at Dulles and taking a taxi to the house in Rockville, it wasn't until he actually appeared at the front door that he learned that the expected other tenant (a young girl just out of the Army) had been a no-show and the room was his.
Of course locating the nearest liquor store, grocery store and video rental store had been the next set of priorities for Shaw and after a quick driving tour of the area he had settled into an unfamiliar bed, in an unfamiliar setting with an unfamiliar group of people, wondering how exactly he had come to this point.
Shaw had always been fascinated with international affairs. Growing up he had always ignored the local, provincial newspapers and news programs in favor of the generous servings of world news provided by The Times and The Guardian. While others were more concerned with the local football scores and which celebrity was dating which celebrity Shaw was in the local library or sequestered away in his room, his head in a book.
So it was no surprise that armed with a solids set of A's from his Advanced Level examinations that he had chosen a degree in International Studies and accepted an offer from one of the Foreign and Commonwealth Office's main targets for recruits - the Government school at the University of Essex.
Located just outside of Colchester, with a series of 1960s era concrete towers rising out of the ground from Constable's Wivenhoe Park like ugly black cigarettes, he had thought it not entirely inaccurate when he heard it referred to as an ashtray in the middle of a park. At one time a hotbed for political protests, the small school had built a reputation for itself as a university specializing in political studies with its professors regularly appearing on BBC election programs. This had brought it to the attention of the FCO who had plundered it of its brightest graduates, of which Shaw had been one.
After a couple of years at the FCO Shaw had received his first overseas assignment - Beijing, and diving into the required language and culture course he had soon developed a fascination with China.
It was while he had been stationed in Beijing that he had first met Athena Zhoran. On the arm of an admiral at an elegant cocktail party, the whole room seemed invigorated by her entrance and with a easy going charm, sensuous beauty and air of elegant sophistication she had drawn the casual appreciative glances from every man in the woman and the jealous glares of their female companions.
With a supreme air of confidence she had easily held her own in a discussion on naval strategy and before long admirals, diplomats and statesmen were asking for her opinion and analysis of Chinese naval operations, leaving her escort appearing meek and impotent in her wake. It was not long until, like every other man in the room, Shaw stood there transfixed by her, hopelessly drawn in by her seductive aura.
Despite their appearance of polar opposites, she the taller and more engaging of the two. Shaw knew that Athena had a deep affection for her naval companion. They had already been a staple of the social scene for several months when he had first met her and her grief when he was murdered had been tangible and it was in those moments immediately following his death that Shaw had gained her trust and he himself had fallen for her even more.
The official line was that the admiral had been the victim of a street mugging, his body discovered in a dark back alley. But quiet, nervous whispers in the hallways of the Chinese capital spoke of a mysterious, almost mythical assassin named Nightingale. Rumor had it that it was her blade that had pierced his heart so precisely. The wound lacked the hurried and clumsy knife marks of an amateur and instead was almost surgical in nature.
Nightingale was at times said to be a single weapon of a new revolutionary faction of the Chinese intelligence apparatus and at others a codename for a group of assassins that were either Japanese or Taiwanese in origin. In the face of a lack of true, confirmed facts rumors spread and mutated. In the end nobody really knew anything about this shadowy figure, Shaw himself had often wondered which of the disparate legends were the true face of the killer - if any.
The result was a withdrawal by Athena from the social scene and, officially at least, she had disappeared off the radar of all the major intelligence agencies. .She had vanished from Shaw’s life also, that was until recently.
He recalled that otherwise quiet Tuesday afternoon. Scouring over a selection of pears at his local "Giant" grocery store Shaw had felt a slight pressure on his arm. And even before he turned to face her, he knew it was Athena. He sensed her presence next to him, her aura in the air like a whisper of unrequited promise.
The moment seemed frozen and in that instant Shaw had become acutely aware of an intense quickening of his heartbeat. Turning he came face-to-face with that face he knew so well, a face that had occupied many a dream of his. She was smiling affectionately at him and Shaw could swear that their surroundings of hurried shoppers and aisles and aisles of produce seemed to melt away so that it was just he and Athena - alone together in a void.
She was as beautiful as he had remembered her
"This cannot be a coincidence," Shaw had said eventually, drinking in her features.
"No, it's not," she had replied with a coy smirk.
Shaw, deciding that he could make it another day before he needed to do his grocery shopping, abandoned his half full cart. And the two old friends made their way over to one of the restaurants that occupied a pad site across the parking lot of the shopping center.
Athena told him that she was on an extended embassy assignment in the United States, but was unusually cagey about any specifics.
"What a stroke of luck," Shaw had exclaimed. "The two of us in the same country, the same city again."
"There's no luck about it," Athena chuckled. "I've been keeping tabs on you Mikey. I requested this posting precisely because you were here."
The revelation stirred warm and comfortable emotions for Shaw.
They sat there exchanging memories and updates on where their lives had taken them in the intervening years. Asking her about her disappearance she seemed initially evasive, but finally said she had taken a sabbatical traveling around China.
In violation of a direct order from her superiors, she had undertaken a private investigation into the murder of her lover and uncovered evidence that suggested that high level MSS officials had sanctioned the assassination.
Most of her further inquiries had been met with blank stares or stonewalling official misdirection but she had uncovered accounts of a mysterious knife-wielding killer from Shenzhen who seemed to not exist in official records.
"You have to stop with this obsession," Shaw urged her, reaching out and touching her hand. "It's going to get you killed too."
She had smiled back, but it was a weak forced, smile and he could see the smoldering flame just below the surface that spoke of an intense thirst for revenge.
But after a reflective moment of silence her demeanor changed and she was once more the fun-loving, carefree spirit that he had fallen so heavily for in Beijing.
"So, we are going to have so much fun," Athena said. "You have to show me all your hangouts."
The two sat there reminiscing about old times and the minutes turned into hours and Shaw suddenly realized that hours had elapsed and the sun had set sometime ago. Making his apologies for having to break off the reunion he gave her his address and telephone number and headed back to his lodging, content that he had at least one good friend in the area now.
The next few weeks seemed to fly by as Shaw and Athena patrolled the “9:30 Club” and “Iota” clubs in the Washington D.C. area, gorged themselves on the finest foie gras In the region at the restaurant “Proof” and Shaw had even introduced Zhoran to the traditional Maryland delicacy - blue crabs. All the while though Shaw sensed that all was not right, Athena seemed to be embroiled in an inner conflict, then one day she opened up to him.
She had become concerned over the extreme movement in the Chinese intelligence apparatus.
It appeared that elements of MSS were intent on overhauling the agency and as a favorite of the existing hierarchy Athena felt her position becoming untenable, even suspecting that those same elements might see her loyalty to the present regime as a dangerous obstacle to their ascendancy.
Something in her story did not entirely ring true for Shaw, but his adoration for Athena led him to push the nagging doubt to the back of his mind and concentrate instead on the warmth in her manner to him and their friendship. It was at this moment that she had dropped the bombshell.
“Mike, things are not so safe for me in Beijing,” Athena had whispered to him at a local coffee shop as the two blew softly on two cups of scolding hot lattes. “I want to know if you know the appropriate people to handle a defection?”
Shaw was taken aback by the inquiry. He knew Athena’s knowledge of MSS operations would make her a valuable prize for any of the intelligence serves and a particularly urgent target for the Chinese should her intentions become known, and he allowed himself a certain sense of satisfaction at the knowledge that he was the one she had approached for advice.
The look of surprise was evidently apparent on his face because Athena reached her hand across the table and stroked the back of his hand in a petting motion.
“You know, bringing in a defector would be quite a, how-you-say, feather in your cap,” Athena said with one of her disarming smiles.
Shaw leaned back into the chair, mulling over the question. He knew precisely the correct person to approach for the task, the one in overall charge of on-the-ground British intelligence operations in the United States. Still Shaw had little personal dealings with Philip Smith and on those occasions where he had met with him Shaw had found him smug and condescending. But even more than that there was something about the Head of Station U that Shaw did not altogether trust.
“I know the man who would deal with this, you will need something to convince him that your intent to defect is genuine,” Shaw said matter-of-factly. Shaw adored Athena and considered her a good friend and confidante, but he also took his job seriously and felt it his duty as a friend not to sugar-coat the complexities of such an operation.
Athena looked crestfallen, a shade of sadness clouding over her normally piercing green eyes.
“Don’t you trust me Mike?”
Shaw felt conflicted by the question with his adoration of Athena and his loyalty to his position jockeying for an audience in his decision making. He desperately did not want to disappoint the beautiful Chinese woman before him, a person he had pined over for years.
“Of course I trust you,” Shaw said in a soothing tone. “I just don’t know if our station head will.”
It was Athena’s turn to lean back in her chair this time, and in a characteristic trait that Shaw knew so well from his days in Beijing, she placed the tip of the thumb of her right hand between her teeth and tilted her head down, a familiar motion he recognized as one that meant Athena was in deep thought.
“Have I ever told you where I am from,” Athena said finally, without looking at Shaw.
“Somewhere in the Chinese land that borders Mongolia and Russia,” Shaw said, recalling the discussions Athena and he had shared over their upbringings.
“Right,” Athena said slowly, as if carefully pondering over Shaw’s words. “Though not entirely accurate.”
Athena lifted her head and looked directly at Shaw,, attempting to read his expression which probably was not so easy given that he was at once confused and also slightly betrayed. Did she not trust him after all? What could she be hiding?
“Not accurate?”
The words seemed to hang in the air and Shaw stumbled over in his mind all the previous conversations they had engaged in, both in Beijing and more recently in Washington, looking for a clue to help decode her cryptic statement.
Athena shook her head, still cautiously studying her companion.
“No, “ Zhoran said,.
“ I was born on the Russian side of Mount Nairamdal and I can give you information on a deep-cover former KGB operative in your own intelligence apparatus.” Athena spoke every word with a deliberate and measured tone.
“But how could you possibly know….” Shaw stammered and then the true weight of Zhoran’s words became evident and he sank back. “This is not going to be easy.”
Shaw recalled that conversation and the revelation-laden discussion that followed as he made his way from his car, up the hill and to the front door of the house he called home. There was still no word from Athena or Bond, but there had been several calls from Smith, that Shaw had opted not to answer, inquiring after them.
After punching in the code on the door, a keypad installed after one too many instances of roommates forgetting their door keys, he entered the house. It occurred to him as a fleeting thought that the house was unusually quiet given that all of his roommates vehicles were in the driveway.
The downstairs foyer was dimly lit by the moonlight and Shaw felt his way along the wall to where he knew the light switch was.
“Not a word lover boy.”
The words in Chinese came as a hiss out of the darkness and Shaw suddenly felt something cold and metallic pressed against his throat.
Shaw did not recognize the voice or the figure dressed in black that stepped out of the shadows to face him. With cold almond black eyes framed by raven black hair, the lithe young Chinese girl approached Shaw, adding more pressure to the knife she held to his throat.
“Where is she?” the girl cooed.
“Wh-o,” Shaw gulped, playing dumb for he knew precisely who the “she“ was.
The girl stepped back and shook her head as an owner might scold a pet or small child.
“Don’t play games with me,” the girl said. “Zhoran, where can I find her?”
The tip of the knife dug into his throat and, overtaken with fear Shaw passed out.

Nightingale studied the inert figure of the man on the floor in astonishment. This was Zhoran’s contact at the British embassy? He is so weak she cannot seriously be interested in him, the young assassin thought.
Reaching down she grabbed him by his hair and dragged him across the tile floor over to the nearby bathroom, through the still wet blood of one of his roommates, intent on bringing him to so she could continue her interrogation.

Shaw became distinctly aware of pressure on his lungs and blurred vision before he came to the realization he was under water. He felt two strong hands holding him down and he struggled to break free, gasping for air but only getting mouthfuls of water.
Then his tormentor hauled him out of the water, He was retching on the water and at the same time wheezing for air. Then, when it seemed that he was just about to breathe in enough air he was hurled back under the water.
The process was repeated several times without a word from the person causing him such distress. It occurred to Shaw that they seemed to be enjoying taking him to the brink of drowning repeatedly. He became gradually aware, by the sight of the yellow towels hanging on the rack nearby, that he was in the downstairs bathroom with his head being pushed under the water of the oversized toilet tank. The hands holding him were small, but powerful and Shaw felt himself gradually become weaker and weaker with each successive dunking.
After what seemed to Shaw to be an eternity the unseen figure released their grasp and allowed Shaw to finally gulp down enough air. The ache in his lungs was acute and he didn’t even immediately feel the cold touch of the steel against his neck.
“Come on, get over it you pathetic little man,” the female voice said, with no attempt to hide the tone of disgust, and the memory of his encounter with the shadowy, though disturbingly beautiful Chinese woman came flooding back to Shaw.
“Who are you?” Shaw finally managed to say, slumping against the cold porcelain.
“I ask the questions, you answer,” snapped back the girl. “Your friends are all dead, nobody can help you, if you answer my questions I just might allow you to survive.”
Feeling his death inevitable Shaw felt a calm come over him. He took a moment to study his assailant. She was petite and tall for a Chinese girl with striking features that reminded Shaw of Athena, but whereas Zhoran had emerald green eyes this girls eyes were a cold black that seemed both cruel and void of all emotion.
“Nightingale,” Shaw breathed. “You know people say you are just a myth.
The girl seemed taken aback and her expression swung from disinterest to one of curiosity.