Lover's Atonement (PAPERBACK)

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THERE WAS A SPECIAL kind of clarity that came from knowing you were one tiny slip away from certain death. As a CIA undercover operative and former US Navy SEAL who’d completed multiple hazardous missions over the years, Chan Wei Yong had spent enough time walking along that razor’s edge to recognize its dangerous caress.

Now, he stood at the back of the raised stage set up in front of the Buddhist Thean Hou Temple in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. Chan looked out over the assembled crowd as the monk standing at the front of the stage whipped them into a frenzy of anti-Muslim hatred.

“It is time for followers of the true religion to rise up! We must cleanse this city of the infectious parasites that have been sucking us dry for so long… this is our domain now, and we must claim what we deserve!”

Thunderous roars of approval accompanied the monk’s words. The crowd stood in the torch-lit courtyard, naturally forming little clusters of people within the larger pattern of the mob. As the shouts died down, disgruntled murmuring remained audible under the speaker’s booming voice. The onlookers almost seemed to sway together, as though mesmerized by the words pouring across the open space of the courtyard.

The natural reverberation from the temple and the surrounding palm trees magnified every word the monk spoke. It was a fascinating phenomenon that allowed him to speak powerfully to large groups without the use of electronic amplification equipment.

It also allowed Chan to record the assemblies discreetly from his place in the shadows, using the wire hidden his sleeve. He stood straight, his shoulders back—his dark gaze looking out from a stony face. Every now and then he moved his eyes over the assembled people, searching the crowd for anyone with malicious intent. He needed to maintain his cover, after all. And his cover right now was the role of a hired security man, paid to protect the self-proclaimed warrior monk, Tengku Asal.

As ever, the danger of possible discovery made Chan feel more alive, even with the knowledge that his death could fall upon him at any moment. He was focused. Centered. His attention, sharp and steady.

It might have been that same craving for danger which had kept him in the service of the Central Intelligence Agency for so long—and in the Navy SEALs, prior to that. It was as though risking his life made everything feel more real to him. More immediate. As long as he was risking his life, he could set aside his feelings of failure and self-loathing for all the shitty things he’d done in the past.

Focus on the moment. That was his motto these days. Because when you stopped worrying about the here-and-now and let your thoughts wander down the path of might-have-beens…

He blinked, bringing himself back to the present, the tightening of his lips the only sign that his focus had wavered momentarily. No. I am not going down that rabbit hole tonight.

Tengku’s voice still rang out, whipping across the crowd. “…and the Divine spirit within us will wash these lands clean with the blood of our enemies! I call on each of you tonight to fulfill your oath to me. Give yourselves in honor of the nation that we will build from the ashes! We will watch the bastard offspring of the evil that has overrun this country burn alive, and they will know death at our hands!”

Chan very carefully held in the sigh that wanted to escape. Zealots were the same the world over.

Ten points for enthusiasm, he thought. Minus several hundred for logic and rationality.

He’d been deep undercover in Malaysia for almost eighteen months now, serving Tengku as his joint chief of security. Chan had moved up the ranks of the so-called Brotherhood of the Cleansing Flame thanks to an informant who’d vouched for him. Shortly after Chan was made co-chief of security, that informant had died of a mysterious illness. Chan would never know for sure, of course, but he strongly suspected poison. The man had seemed perpetually haunted and fearful whenever he and Chan met—as though he were always looking over his shoulder.

This life isn’t for everyone. You have to watch your back every moment, and if you can’t handle that, you have no business playing the game.

To be truthful, the informant’s loss hadn’t hit Chan all that hard. As cold as it sounded, it was simply one less loose end—one less person who might possibly blow his cover within the ranks of the Brotherhood. It saved him having to deal with the man at a later date, and now no one in Malaysia knew Chan’s identity. His cover was deep enough to withstand almost any scrutiny… unless he fucked up, of course. Then all bets were off.

The Malaysian government might have known that the US had a man on the ground within the Brotherhood, but they could no sooner identify him than they could lay hands on Tengku. And Chan had no doubt whatsoever that the authorities would love to lay hands on Tengku. Unfortunately, they knew full well that he and his cult were gaining in popularity by leaps and bounds. At this point, with all the instability and political scandals going on in the region, taking Tengku could well spark rioting that would tear the country apart.

So, with few other options, the Malaysians simply watched and waited, hoping that Tengku’s cult wouldn’t continue to grow at its current pace—all their hopes riding on one unknown American agent in the midst of the nest of lunatics.

And didn’t it just sound completely ridiculous when you put it in those terms? They couldn’t even be bothered to embed their own damned spies in their own damned back yard… or at least, they hadn’t done so as far as Chan knew. If nothing else, a bit more international cooperation here would lessen the load of paperwork Chan faced once he returned home. If he returned home.

“The government soldiers will soon be coming for us!” called a voice from the crowd, interrupting Chan’s thoughts. “We must take care, my brothers!”

He gave the speaker a closer look and moved strategically forward, ready to protect Tengku if the guy made a move toward the stage. Almost everyone in the crowd was either a Chinese national or a naturalized Buddhist immigrant, including the man who had spoken.

“And even if the soldiers do not come, the Malay Muslims will fight to the death, just like their brothers in the Middle East!” the guy continued, gesturing with both hands.

“We will not bow to those swine,” Tengku replied in a deceptively calm voice. “Come forward and join me, brother.”

Chan watched as the man blanched, clearly not expecting to be called up to the stage. He shuffled forward and stepped onto the raised platform with Tengku, looking like someone who was abruptly and seriously reconsidering his life choices.

“What is your name?” The monk asked, placing a hand on the speaker’s shoulder.

Chan could see the man swallow hard. “Loy Cho.”

“Why do you doubt the cause, Loy Cho?”

Loy chewed on his lower lip, obviously sensing the danger in Tengku’s voice. “I’m… merely concerned for your safety, Honored One, and the safety of all the Brotherhood.”

Chan could tell Loy was lying through his teeth, but he did not speak. He moved closer to Tengku, ready to intervene if Loy tried to attack the monk physically.

“Such deception,” Tengku purred. Slowly, he withdrew a dagger from his waistband. Loy jerked backwards even as Chan stepped forward, grasping his shoulders from behind to hold him in place.

“You will pay the price for your lack of faith,” Tengku whispered. Menace radiated from him, palpable in the still night air. No one in the crowd moved or made a sound. They scarcely seemed to be breathing.

With a flash of the blade, Tengku ripped open Loy’s shirt with the knife, nicking his chest superficially with the tip of the blade. The wound was not life threatening, yet blood streamed from the shallow gash.

The man gasped and tried to pull away. Chan tightened his grip and hissed for the man to remain still.

Tengku paced back and forth, a predator toying with his prey. He fingered the blade in his hands, tapping it gently on his palm. It left bloodstains on his skin.

Using the tip of the knife, Tengku flicked the shredded pieces of fabric away from the man’s chest, exposing more of his flesh. The heat of fear was rising all over Loy’s body, and Chan could feel sweat forming on his skin under his grip. Loy flinched away every time the knife was brought towards him.

“I think he is beginning to learn, don’t you?” Tengku asked Chan.

Chan knew better than to respond. Instead, he maintained his flat stare at the leader, as any faithful security chief would do. Tengku smiled and shook his head.

“All work and no play, Chan?” he asked.

The western proverb was stilted and out of place in the Malaysian dialect of Mandarin Tengku was speaking, and Chan was too old a dog to fall for such an obvious ploy. He allowed a slight expression of confusion to pass across his features before they settled back into a blank stare.

“Oh, never mind,” Tengku said with a wave of his hand. He turned back to his victim, who used the momentary interruption to speak.

“Honored One,” he croaked, his voice harsh, “I will never doubt the cause again. I meant nothing by my questions, I was simply seeking to ensure that everyone remains safe. I hear rumors on the streets day and night; I thought I could serve you in this warning!”

The monk raised an eyebrow. “Rumors? And what exactly are the contents of these rumors, my conflicted friend?”

The man swallowed, and Chan could feel him trembling. “People speak of government crackdowns. They are saying that the police may start mass arrests in some of the Buddhist enclaves.”

“What do you think, Chan?” Tengku asked. “Should we believe him?”

Chan stared into Tengku’s eyes, his expression betraying neither worry nor any other emotion.

“Caution is always prudent,” he replied, keeping his voice low.

“Well said,” Tengku acknowledged. He turned back towards Loy, who was now sinking towards the ground as his knees went weak. Tengku raised the knife, and Loy let out a terrified squeak.