Rong Kang needed a college town that still embraced yesteryear, a place largely unknown to outsiders, a base where he could conspire at white linen tables, unnoticed. Claremont Village fit the bill.

The dean put a finger to his chin as he studied this great and troubling mystery. The applicant’s response reeked of insincerity, like, “Have a nice day!” with all the friendly burned off. “Okay, Mr. Darlington. I’ll just be a minute.

Some people want you to call them rabbi; some people want you to call them American; some people want you to admire their tats. We’ve all got our facades. At least the dean’s self-qualifier is based on merit. Can you say the same about your tattoos? Come on, he’s a sad man. Leave him alone.

Zoe did what civilized people do when they freak out: she drank tea. She had walked from her little bungalow to Coffee & Tea. It was always filled with the well-educated, the complicated, the people who read books with captivating titles. A perfect place to ignore and be ignored. She found the anonymity delicious.

Mario’s high spirits soon took a somber turn. He rolled himself closer to Frank. “I need this job, but you were right. More than a job, I need a way out.”
Frank had him. He was about to detour the rest of Mario’s life. Build a team, deploy them, scoop up the data, get the hell out of town. Frank had left an unhappy trail of ruined technicians. Spies do that kind of shit, were his usual parting words.

Pleading for forgiveness was always on the tip of her tongue. She had tried doing a good thing, but because of one thoughtless act, his two beautiful daughters were brutally raped, and running to the other side of the world hadn’t helped. Because of her, two innocent ADP employees were dead. She was older but not a shekel wiser, still opening the wrong doors.