Johnny Liddell paced the area surrounding the table in Jimmy Kaiming’s office. He broke off his pacing to glower at his client, who sat relaxed, cigarette holder tilted from the corner of his mouth.
“I blew the whole thing. Just like an amateur,” he growled. “I got off on a wrong scent and ran around in circles like a punched-up bird dog.”
Kaiming made a gesture of deprecation. “You could not have known this woman was an undercover agent. No one could have known.”
Liddell stamped over to the chair opposite Kaiming’s, dropped into it. “It all fitted together so neatly. It had to be someone who knew the Chinese intimately enough to know where their relatives were located in China. Cerla didn’t have that kind of information. Neither did Brin. It looked like it had to be her.”
Kaiming nodd
