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just submitted to Interpol by the Royal Thai Police for one Mark Waters.”
    “Who the hell is Mark Waters?”
    “That’s the point…. He’s no one. Mark Waters was a deep cover identity we created. And the fingerprints the Thai police have on file match ours, so we know it’s the same asset, but it’s not supposed to be active. Whoever was assigned this identity, he’s using it on his own now. And according to this file, he’s been arrested by the Thai police for smuggling, racketeering, and … looks like arms dealing.”
    Rebecca grabbed a chair and sat down next to Ethan. The young man shifted uncomfortably, but she ignored him.
    “Who the hell is this guy? Show me.”
    Ethan’s fingers danced over the keys. “Ladies and gentlemen, I present Mr. Mark Waters….” The Interpol file on the screen faded away, replaced by a CIA personnel dossier. The photo showed an attractive man in his thirties. He had short brown hair and intense green eyes. “Also known as … Thomas Caine.”
    Rebecca gasped.
    Ethan looked up at her, his eyes peering over the rims of his chunky black glasses. “According to our files, he’s supposed to be dead. You know this guy?”
    Rebecca stood up, brushed back her long red hair, and stared at the screen. “Yeah. I knew him.”
    “Well, obviously he’s alive and kicking it in Thailand. What’s his deal?”
    “Officially, he was one of our best deep operators. He was posing as an arms dealer, to make a connection with the White Leopard drug cartel in Afghanistan. According to his handler’s report, he went rogue. Killed his partner and disappeared with a shipment of guns and heroin. Then he resurfaced and tried to sell it on the black market. When the White Leopards found out who he really was, they killed him and took back their drugs.”
     Ethan nodded. “Okay. And unofficially?”
    Rebecca paused for a moment, staring at the pixilated photograph.
    “Unofficially … I knew him. I debriefed him once, after an operation. We … became close.”
    “How close?”
    Rebecca didn’t answer. She returned to her desk, shoved aside the white sea of dossiers and personnel reports, and grabbed the folder Bernatto had given her.
    “Bury that report. I don’t want any other internal system flagging it.”
    Ethan laughed. “Right! So you’re saying you want me to hack every computer inside the CIA?”
    “And Interpol if you have to.”
    She dialed her desk phone and waited for the operator to pick up. “Just do it, Ethan. Kill that report.”
    “Science and Technology, Special Activities Division,” said a voice on the phone.
    Rebecca cradled the receiver against her shoulder as she stuffed files into her leather briefcase. “Yes, video archives please? I need any footage we have on Thailand politicians. Something compromising. I need to lean on someone.”
    “Who exactly do you need to lean on?”
    “Anyone tied to the warden of Bang Kwang prison.”
    She hung up the phone, grabbed her coat off the back of her chair, and eyed Ethan. “When they deliver the footage, send it to my phone. And Ethan, not a word of this, to anyone. Do you understand? Especially not Bernatto.”
    Ethan stopped typing again and looked up. His eyes looked wide and concerned behind his thick glasses. “Well, where are you going to be, if anyone asks?”
    Rebecca slung her bag over her shoulder and hurried out of the office. “Tell them I’m visiting an old friend.”

CHAPTER SIX
    Genki Ink was a small tattoo parlor on Takeshita Dori, a pedestrian street in the trendy Harajuku area. The shop had a reputation for quality work, but its bosozuku gang clientele tended to scare off more casual customers. A small group of these gang members lounged outside the shop. They smoked cigarettes and ran combs through their greased hair as they watched the crowds go by.
    Inside, the air smelled of sweat, mixed with the antiseptic sting of alcohol. The heavy electronic buzzing of tattoo guns was constant. Not