Shoddy spycraft, guys.
Most people took at least a fraction of a second to glance at anyone exiting a temple. Not these three. They were careful to ensure they didn’t gaze at Nash at all, even though he was the only white guy for kilometres. A reliable sign they were, in fact, shadowing him. To be visible like this, they were either arrogant, or had enough backup to ensure they could be.
Throughout Nash’s long career he’d learned that sometimes the best form of defence was attack. Equally, he’d learned that sometimes, it was running away. And yet at other times, defence was best served by completely confusing your enemy.
He quite liked the latter.
Stepping towards the non-tourists, he waved a friendly hand. “Hey there, I’m Mason Nash. I believe you’re looking for me, as I’m wanted by… well, everyone.”
The three stared at him in stunned silence. Coloured prayer flags fluttered in the wind.
There was surely nothing in their handbook for this eventuality. How to strangle a man? Sure. Countersurveillance in a built-up area? Undoubtedly. What to do when your surveillance target identifies themselves and walks over to you with a big stupid grin? Unlikely.
They all gawped at him, shocked. But not shocked enough to keep them from reaching for their very un-tourist-like Chinese manufactured QSZ-92 pistols and pointing them at Nash.
“You’re… giving yourself up?” the male asked.
His accent was thick. English wasn’t his native language.
Nash stepped close to the man. The two women sensibly remained close, but out of striking distance.
Still grinning, Nash replied, “Well, I don’t know about giving myself up, per se. Perhaps we could have a little chat and see where things lead, hmm?”
Confusion crinkled the man’s forehead. “You’ve admitted you are the criminal, Mason Nash.”
“I admitted the latter, not the former. That’s all Tartarus propaganda.”
“What’s a Tartarus?”
That one took Nash by surprise. “So… you’re not Tartarus?”
The man shook his head in genuine confusion. “My name’s Feng.”
“No, I mean who do you work for?”
“I work for State Security Ministry.”
So, they were Chinese secret service. The organisation was the principal civilian intelligence, security and secret police agency of the People’s Republic of China. No slouches in the world of espionage. One should never underestimate them.
Nash’s eyes narrowed. “Who do you really work for?”
“Mr Zang?”
“And who’s he then?”
“My supervisor at the Ministry.” Feng scratched the back of head but made sure the QSZ-92 didn’t stray from Nash. “Look, I’m going to be honest here, I’m a bit lost with this whole conversation.”
“You and me both, buddy.” Nash planted his fists on his hips. “You’re telling me you’ve never heard of Tartarus?”
“Is that a sports drink?”
In retrospect, assuming they were Tartarus was unrealistic. Tartarus were good, very good, but even they couldn’t be in all places at once. That was part of the reason Nash and his compatriots had been framed for Tartarus’s crimes: so legitimate spy agencies could do Tartarus’s dirty work for them.
None of them had even flinched when he’d mentioned Tartarus. The organisation wasn’t all-powerful just yet. Although they’d infiltrated every major spy agency, not all spies in the world were on their payroll. It was conceivable these three weren’t Tartarus at all, just sent to investigate a vague lead about an unidentified bearded man in an out-of-the-way place. They likely had many such innocuous leads to follow up, it just so happened these three had been sent after the real Mason Nash. If it were a simple lead follow-up, that likely meant there wouldn’t be backup or legions of Chinese spies about to descend on the temple complex. To Nash, that may be the only glimmer of hope in this whole situation.
If these three weren’t connected to Tartarus, that meant they were just doing their job, and Nash wished them no ill will. Although he wasn’t sure that sentiment would be reflected back.
He held up his hands. “I don’t want a fight. I’m a pacifist and don’t wish to harm anyone.”
The taller female frowned. “I’ve seen your file. You’re no more a pacifist than I am a hamster.” Her English was flawless.
Nash pinged her as the lead of the operation. “I’ve changed.”
Feng stepped forward and thrust his gun in Nash’s face. “On the ground, now!”
Driven by pure instinct, Nash reacted. Taking a confident stride forward, his lightning-fast hands grasped the pistol and twisted it painfully away from Feng. His right hand dug into his opponent’s palm, peeling the weapon from his grasp. Once in his possession, Nash ejected the cartridge and peeled back the slide to eject the bullet in the barrel then dropped the weapon, holding his hands up in surprise. It was a motor reflex reaction that took all of a second and a half.
Apparently unimpressed with Nash’s disarming skills, the now unarmed Feng screeched in anger. He lunged forward, throwing a telegraphed right fist at Nash. Sidestepping it neatly, Nash let Feng’s forward momentum carry him past then, utilising the man’s off kilter mass, grasped the back of his head and introduced his face to Nash’s knee. The loud crack told him they had been suitably acquainted. With Feng still on his feet, Nash grabbed the back of his jacket and bum rushed him headfirst into a nearby offering shrine, sending incense, flowers and fruit flying.
Standing legs akimbo, Nash held his palms up, doing his best to appear as unthreatening to the two remaining Chinese agents as possible. He suspected the gesture was unsuccessful.
The lead female raised her pistol to Nash’s head but remained a respectable distance away. “Changed, have you?” She flicked a thumb towards her subordinate. “His broken nose says otherwise.”
“The fact that he’s still breathing is evidence enough.” Nash sighed. “Believe it or not, I don’t wish to hurt anyone. I made a vow that wherever possible I will inflict no harm, try to make up for the life you read about in my file. And as comprehensive as it is, I’m sure it doesn’t cover all my sins. Believe me, I want you to walk away from this unscathed as much as you do. This doesn’t have to end in violence and bloodshed.”
Her face fell into a scowl. “A little late for that, isn’t it?”
“It’s never too late to stop violence. Believe me, I know.”
