When The Devil Whistles by Rick Acker Read Free Book Online

you.”
“And it’s always good talking to you, Allie. Have a great dinner. Danko’s is the best place in the city.”
Connor took off his headset and was truly alone for the first time that night. He looked around the restaurant and realized he was the only one eating by himself. He must look a little pathetic.
He shook off the feeling. Tonight was a time to celebrate. He took a bite of his filet mignon. As delectable as always. The jazz trio was just starting to play, and the sky overhead had darkened to deep sapphire, with a few early stars glimmering in it like diamond chips on blue velvet. Maybe Allie would like this place after all, at least tonight. He smiled at the thought and took another bite of his steak.

Allie closed her cell phone and put it down on a cluttered counter. She sighed and shook her head slightly. It really would be fun to be dressed up and sitting in Danko’s right now.
Instead, she was wearing sweats and standing in her kitchen. Erik hadn’t liked the idea of her “going out” with Connor, even though they would have been miles apart. He had promised to buy her lobster and champagne to make it up to her. But somehow that hadn’t actually happened.
She looked over to the sofa and saw Erik watching her with a smirk. “Qui Tam Girl and Lawyer Boy? Excuse me while I go puke.”
She wadded up a piece of junk mail and threw it at him. “Oh, shut up. I thought you were asleep.”
“Why’d you tell him you were at Danko’s? I thought we agreed that… uh…” She watched his smirk fade as he remembered the lobster and champagne.
She shrugged and turned away. “It’s what he wanted to hear, and there’s no harm in letting him hear it.”
“So, how often do you lie to me?”
“Hmm, let me see… Never—as far as you know.”

9
T HE MAN LOOKED DOWN AT THE PASSPORT IN HIS HAND AS THE LINE SNAKED toward the customs checkpoint at San Francisco International Airport. It identified him as Cho Dae-jung of Seoul, Republic of Korea. Other papers in his wallet and luggage reversed family and personal names in the Western fashion, calling him Dae-jung Cho. Some even informally Westernized it to David Cho.
He reminded himself that he was Cho so long as he was in America. Cho couldn’t be just an act —it had to be him . He needed to lose himself in this identity as long as he was in enemy territory. He needed to be utterly convincing to the outside world. So from now on, he would think of himself as Cho.
Cho was a sailor employed by Incheon Marine Industries, a South Korean marine exploration and mining firm—or so his documents said. He was here to make a voyage aboard the Grasp II , an American vessel with advanced technology unavailable in South Korea. The trip would begin and end across the San Francisco Bay at the Port of Oakland. He doubted that the customs clerks would be chatty enough to ask about the exact purpose of his trip, but if they did, he could give an honest answer: he didn’t know. His superiors were keeping the exact destination and goal of their trip confidential—which was not unusual among the secretive fraternity of ocean bottom explorers.
The line moved forward and he was at the front. The clerk in one of the customs booths motioned him over. His heart quickened, as it always did at these moments. His papers and cover story were both solid, but what if his name had been added to a TSA watch list? What if the South Korean National Intelligence Service had discovered he was here and told the CIA? What if the clerk simply didn’t like his looks and had him pulled aside for fingerprinting and a thorough background check?
He walked forward and held out his documents to a bored-looking overweight woman whose nametag said “Sandra.” She looked at them quickly and glanced from his passport picture to his face and back. “Anything to declare, Mr. Cho?”
“No.”
“How long will you be in the United States?”
“Two or three weeks. It depends on the weather and how many