“He thinks they’re receiving deployment orders to…” Ed’s voice trailed off, and Ashley could hear Tony’s voice in the background over the ever-present hum of electronics. “Sorry, ma’am. He thinks they are being ordered south to support the South Sea Fleet.”

“And he’s sure these are fishing vessels?” Ashley looked over and made eye contact with Logan, who had been listening to the entire conversation through his David Clark headset.

“They are definitely trawlers. But your guess is as good as mine whether they are civilian, military, or MSS.”

Logan mouthed, What’s MSS?

Ashley held up a finger to let him know she would answer his question, then said, “Copy that. Have Tony draft his report, and let’s get it sent back to Pacific Fleet for analysis. The last thing I want to do is sit on something that could be a cover for a full-scale invasion.”

“Aye, ma’am.”

When Ed’s voice fell silent, she turned to Logan. “MSS is the Ministry of State Security — China’s intelligence and security agency.”

“They have boats?”

She nodded. “There’s been some evidence that they’re using fishing vessels as cover for surveillance gathering.” When she saw his dubious expression, she added, “Yeah, I know. Sounds funny when we’re the ones out here drilling holes in the sky doing exactly what we’re accusing them of doing.”

“It really is spy versus spy,” Logan said.

Ashley caught the reference to the comic strip published in Mad magazine depicting stereotypical and comical espionage activities. In her mind, it wasn’t far from the truth. Each side seemed to be caught in a never-ending struggle to gain an advantage over the other. But whereas the cartoon was always humorous and showed spies often trading victories, the real-world consequences of global espionage were far more serious.

“Let’s hope not,” she said.

6

San Diego, California

Special Agent Emmy “Punky” King crested the rise on the Coronado Bridge, and her gaze fell on the city’s skyline, stretching north away from Barrio Logan. Its modern skyscrapers contrasted the ornate spired roofline of the Hotel del Coronado in her rearview mirror, and she felt like she was slipping through a wrinkle in time to transition from one world into another.

Her phone vibrated, and a notification popped up on the touchscreen display in the center of her dash. She tapped on it to read the message.

Punky clicked the left paddle and downshifted the reinforced ZF eight-speed transmission as she swerved into the left lane and stomped on the gas pedal. The supercharged 6.2-liter V8 roared as she powered her Hellcat Redeye through eighty miles per hour onto the downward slope. The Hellcat didn’t have the panache of her dad’s old Corvette Stingray, but she had to admit it had a lot more power and a bit more in the way of gadgets.

Using the steering wheel’s controls, she selected the number for her boss and placed the call over Bluetooth while moving back into the right lane and outpacing the slower-moving traffic.

He answered the call after only two rings with a curt, “Camron Knowles.”

“Camron, it’s Punky.” Her nickname sounded strange, even as she said it. She had embraced the epithet from the moment her father’s best friend had bestowed it on her, but it had special meaning now.

“You’re coming into the office, right?”

She glanced in her mirrors, easing off the 797-horsepower engine as she touched ninety miles per hour. “Not this morning.”

There was a pause on the other end. He was new to the Supervisory Special Agent role, and Punky knew he had his hands full with her. “Where are you going?”

“I’m following up on a lead.”

He knew exactly what she meant. “Punky, KMART isn’t a threat.”

But, of course, he was. The traitorous sailor aboard the USS Abraham Lincoln had conspired in a plot to sink the aircraft carrier, and she was no closer to discovering his identity than she had been before coming face-to-face with an operative from China’s foreign intelligence service. Before she killed the woman known to her as TANDY and severed her only link to the traitor.

She clenched her jaw. “Yeah, he is.”

“Listen, Punky—”

“I don’t want to hear it, Camron,” she said. “The Ministry’s West Coast network is more active than ever.”

“And still we’ve heard nothing from KMART.”

“Yeah, because I killed his handler! You don’t think they’ve assigned someone new by now?”

Camron sighed. “Fine. Where are you going?”

Punky slammed on the brakes to avoid ramming her Challenger into a slower-moving Kia sedan, then jerked the wheel left and stomped on the gas. “La Jolla.”

“La Jolla?”

She bit the inside of her cheek and debated filling him in on her plans. As a special agent assigned to the counterintelligence task force, Punky was authorized to conduct investigations to protect against espionage. But Camron was the head of that task force and had a right to know.

“Punky, why are you going to La Jolla?”