25. A Well of Secrets

Winter slouched down in the car seat and pulled his hat lower. Through the narrow slit between the hat's rim and his mask, he could see glimpses of the city outside slowly awakening. Street vendors bustled around their stalls, setting up wares and firing up grills. Giant shallow skillets gave off clouds of smoke and steam as cooks turned fluffy meat buns on their surfaces. Clothes, bags, and jewelry hung from the sides of stalls, glittering in the strengthening dawn.

"You sure got unlucky with your tour stop's timing," the police officer said, his gruff voice breaking the silence in the car.

Winter snorted and looked at him gloomily. "I've gotten stuck before," he replied, "but this kind of lockdown is definitely a first."

The officer nodded. "I'm sorry about your president."

The reminder sent another ribbon of nausea through Winter. He shook his head grimly. "I don't know what this is going to mean," he said.

"Well, the rest of us know what it means when you poke the American bear." The officer let out a laugh that wasn't a laugh at all. "If tanks and soldiers from your military start showing up next week, I won't be surprised."

"Singapore didn't sanction this," Winter said with a shrug. "Even if the suspect is from their ranks."

"The Americans won't care," the officer replied. "Even if they do, they'll assume someone else forced our hand."

"China?"

The officer nodded. "I guarantee your government's huddled in a war room right now, discussing sanctions against China for paying a Singaporean official to assassinate your president. Wondering if they can handle a war."

It aligned with the briefing that he and Sydney had gotten. Tems had said the same. But hearing it from the officer made his heart constrict. War.

Winter held his hands up. "I hope it all gets sorted out soon," he said.

"You and me both," the officer said with a sigh. "Maybe then the CIA will leave us alone."

The CIA.

Something about the man's words hooked in Winter's mind. The CIA.

Tems and Niall had been working with the CIA for weeks now, but Tems had been unable to reach the CIA ever since the assassination. Yet it sounded like the CIA had no trouble staying in close contact with the police here. Why were they ghosting Tems?

"The CIA?" Winter asked curiously, careful to make his voice sound awed, and leaned forward. "You got to talk to a real CIA agent?"

The officer nodded, and Winter noticed him sit straighter in his seat, obviously pleased to have impressed him. "They're not as scary as they sound."

Winter nodded and murmured his admiration, but his mind was spinning. Multiple CIA agents meant that they had sent a task force, that there was another team working on the same case here without telling them. Why hadn't they reached out to Tems? Why hadn't they included Panacea on this? Unless they had gotten fed up with working with an outside agency.

Unless Tems had been cut unceremoniously from their communications. The thought sent a shiver down Winter's spine. He felt like he was trapped in a well of secrets, the water turning murkier the further he sank.

They traveled in silence for a while, until they neared the border. The car had started to feel claustrophobic, and Winter's feet bumped restlessly against each other, aching to get out. Up ahead, he could see concrete barriers on either side of the lanes, as well as a few guards standing at a station far at the end of the road.

As a soldier began walking toward their slowing vehicle, the officer asked, "How did you find yourself in Little India, anyway?"

The question was casual enough, asked with near indifference. But when he met the officer's gaze through the mirror, Winter could sense an ever-present suspicion behind the man's friendly nature.

"I got separated from my entourage after getting turned away from the airport," he replied. The man didn't react to his words.

Stay calm,Winter reminded himself. He thought of Sydney hiding in the back of the car, able to do nothing except hope that he would say the right thing.

He was about to explain further, when the soldier finally, mercifully, reached them. The police officer's attention turned from Winter, and he let himself relax slightly in gratitude.

The soldier greeted the officer in Mandarin with a shake of his head, and the officer responded with what sounded like a protest. Winter couldn't hear what they were saying—he could only watch as the soldier gestured back toward the station.

Border's closed,the soldier seemed to be explaining.

The officer made an annoyed sound in his throat and gestured behind him, as if telling the soldier to look at his passenger. Winter put on his polite smile as the soldier walked over to him and gave him a stern look.

"Nǐ hǎo," he greeted.

"Nǐ hǎo," the soldier responded, eyes narrowed.

Then he lit up. "Eh!" he exclaimed, exchanging a knowing glance with the officer. The officer gave him a smug smile.

"Mr. Winter Young?" the soldier said.

Winter nodded. "Just trying to pass through, sir," he replied in Mandarin, and the man beamed to hear him speaking it.

The soldier hesitated as the officer said something else to him. The two laughed for a second, and Winter felt himself relax more. For the first time since the assassination, a faint bloom of hope appeared in his chest. If they could get through, if they could just be in Malaysia, they could find a way to reach Panacea and fly out. Tems was hopefully still on his way, too. If they could just—

Then the officer turned around to look at him. "They'll let us through," he said. "But they'll need to inspect the vehicle. You'll need to step out. I'm sorry for the inconvenience, Mr. Young."

Winter's moment of hope vanished, turning into dread. A vehicle inspection. They would find Sydney for sure.

He swallowed, smiled, and unclipped his seat belt. "Of course," he replied.

As he started to rise, he hoped that Sydney had heard that conversation, that she understood the Mandarin well enough to be warned that they were about to check the car. But even if she did, where would she go?

Unless she had already moved, had managed to disappear into the foliage along the side of the road.

Winter stepped out into the humid air. As he did, he watched the soldier wave several others over. One of them opened the car's hood and peered at the engine. Another walked around to the far side of the car, tapping the tires.

Winter felt his muscles flood with adrenaline. What would they do if they found Sydney? He didn't know. He knew he couldn't leave her. He—

As one of the inspectors came around, his eyes focused on the ground below the vehicle, Winter saw a message from Sydney appear on his phone.

Move.

Move? Winter frowned. Then he looked over his shoulder—to see a distant dot heading rapidly toward them down the road.

Veryrapidly.

It was a motorcycle, and it looked like it was going a hundred miles an hour.

Winter's eyes widened.

He whirled around and saw one of the soldiers heading to the back door of the SUV. His lips parted.

"Get back!" he shouted.

Every head whipped to the road in unison—just in time for the motorcycle to hurtle right into the car.