She pressed a buzzer, said something into an intercom on her desk, then waved him forward. From her look, Paul understood that she knew what the meeting was about. Maybe not the meat, but she knew he was here for bad reasons.
Paul walked into the office and saw a short, balding man of about sixty, with Coke-bottle glasses, a rumpled suit, and a bad comb-over. He would have been the comic relief in a cop movie if Paul didn’t know his skills.
His name was Jiang “Charlie” Chan, and he was the man solely responsible for stopping the kraken tentacles of the People’s Republic of China from overwhelming the nascent democracy that was Taiwan.
Most anyone under the age of sixty in Taiwan took on a Western name, if only to make it easier on business trips. Some chose the English version of a word that sounded close to a Chinese character in their real name. Others, like Paul, just picked one in primary school that was easy to repeat. Paul was sure that Jiang had chosen Charlie because of his last name. It was an irreverent comment on his job, and absolutely represented the man behind the desk.
Unassuming and underestimated by all who opposed him, both in the political realm of Taiwan and the intelligence arena in which he fought, he had been responsible for the protection of his country since he had been old enough to hold a job. His successes were legendary, and he was Paul’s mentor, a man Paul highly respected.
Charlie looked up, his eyes magnified by his glasses. He pointed to a chair, and then went back to reading something on his desk. Paul sat down and waited, not daring to fidget.
Eventually, Charlie closed a folder and said, “It was him. Fished out of the Shifen Falls. Apparently he fell in and drowned downriver.”
Paul felt a little sick to his stomach, knowing he had caused the death. He said, “Are we sure?”
“Yes. We have a positive identification from the family. They are questioning why he was there. Of course, there is no answer forthcoming from this office. What happened?”
Paul told him all of the actions that had occurred up until he had watched Feng walk across the bridge, succinctly summarizing the intent and the mission. He had followed all protocols for dealing with a source, to include registration in the NSB cover database and informing his direct superior of his moves, gaining approval for the action, but as they say, success has a thousand fathers. Failure is an orphan.
“So, you had no backup?”
“No. It was too short notice, and honestly, you know as well as I do that nobody believes me. The Snow Leopard isn’t just running drugs. He’s subverting our democracy in conjunction with the CCP. They work hand in glove, and they’re working to upset our elections. Nobody would believe I was using a college student to gain leverage against them.”
Charlie fiddled with a pen on his desk, then said, “This looks bad. Bad all the way around. You did everything right in recruiting this source—which means there is a paper trail a mile long. It won’t take long for that to hit the press, and in so doing you might have done more to hurt the election than anything the PCC has done on social media. We’ll look like the police state we used to be.”
Paul put his head in his hands, not wanting to reflect on the fact that his hubris had led to the death of one of his sources. He was to blame for the loss. Nobody else. And the family would get no closure. None at all. Because of the Snow Leopard.
Which brought a thought to his brain, a trickle of hope. He rose up and said, “Did anyone see anything? Did the local police get anything? Maybe we can hang the Snow Leopard on a simple murder charge instead of espionage.”
Charlie said, “Nobody saw anything. He drowned outside of the tourist area. Apparently he wanted to swim downstream.”
“You surely don’t think that is true.”
“No, I don’t, but it’s irrelevant what I think. He’s dead, and our penetration is done.”
Paul stood up, turning in a circle, unsure of how to broach what he wanted to say.
Charlie said, “Quit being so melodramatic. Sometimes things don’t work out. I don’t blame you.”
Paul stopped pacing and gathered his courage. “Sir, he’s dead because we’ve been penetrated here. Here. Somehow, the CCP knew I was sending him in. They knew to alert the Bamboo Triad. They’re ahead of us.”
Charlie simply stared at him with his Mr. Magoo glasses, saying nothing. Paul continued, “Think about it, sir. There were a thousand different feeds on his case, from the first penetration to his recruitment. Somewhere in there, someone saw something and alerted the mainland. Alerted the MSS. We sent him in, and he was killed.”
Charlie leaned back and said, “We?”
Paul clenched his fists and said, “Okay, okay, I did it. But I did everything right, and he was still killed. We have a mole here.”
“Maybe he just did something stupid. Maybe it was on him.”
“Maybe. But I don’t think so. It doesn’t smell right. His entire case was like a floater. It was easy to find him and easy to turn him. Like the MSS wanted us to find him. Like they didn’t care.”
Charlie said, “Paul, I think you should take a break. Take some time off.”
Paul looked at him in shock, but pressed ahead. “Sir, it’s not me. I’m not imagining things. It was like the breadcrumbs were laid out for us, precisely to see how we operated. Precisely to learn our methods of operating. I think it was a test case, and we have a mole. Me leaving isn’t going to fix that.”
Charlie looked at him for a moment, then said, “I think it will.” Paul started to protest, and he raised his hand, saying, “I agree with you. I think you’re right, but the mole is the least of our problems. I’ll handle that. The bigger problem is the Chinese penetration of our electoral process and the Bamboo Triad. We need to pursue them, and I can’t do it with the architecture here, precisely because it might be penetrated.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m going to relieve you of your duties for your ‘reckless’ actions. It’ll be private, but I’ll let the word out through the NSB. It’ll get back to the mole, and he or she will report it as a victory to the PRC.”
Paul let the words sink in, realizing the implications. “You’re going to make me a Ronin? That’s what you’re going to do? So I’ll never work in this world again?”
Ronin was a word from feudal Japan given to a Samurai without a master. Most of them turned into bandits, and the NSB had adopted the term to describe someone who had been expelled from the agency for cause. It held a double meaning—coming from Japan was the first insult; the second was the complete and total cutting of ties with the NSB. Once it happened, the person was excised from all who worked in Taiwan intelligence circles. When the word spread, nobody inside the organization would ever talk to a Ronin again.
“Yes. You’ll become a Ronin, but only for a little while. I want you to go on the hunt, but you’ll report only to me.” He held up a folder and said, “There are other leads here. Others like Feng. See what you can do but report only to me. Nobody else. And not here. I’ll set up a method of communication.”
Paul nodded dumbly, astounded at the turn of events. Finally, he said, “Will I have any support?”
Charlie smiled and said, “You’ll have me. That’s it. You’ll be on your own, like you were when we first met. Can you do that?”