An extract from Liar's Game by Jack Beaumont

Allen & Unwin
Aug 8
9 min read

Former spy Jack Beaumont is back with another chillingly authentic thriller. Read an extract from Liar's Game.

While recruiting a Russian human source embedded in the shadows of illicit financial networks, French spy Alec de Payns is abruptly pulled from the field. His new mission: exfiltrate a North Korean walk-in from Beijing who claims to know the details of a massive cyberattack that could destroy the world's economy. But before the defector can utter a word, he dies in de Payns' arms on the journey home.

The failure of such a routine job enrages France's new prime minister, who views the covert actions of the DGSE - the French external spy agency - as a political liability. When de Payns' next mission mysteriously collapses, the Company has no choice but to disavow him.

Now exposed, hunted across South-East Asia and cut off from official support, de Payns must survive alone, untangle a deadly conspiracy and protect his family. But in a world of deception, who can he trust? And who is truly pulling the strings in this deadly liar's game?

‘Liar’s Game is a great read! While a work of fiction, the story offers a rare and on occasion frighteningly accurate window into the workings of modern intelligence agencies.’

Duncan Lewis, former Director-General, ASIO

Start reading your free Liar's Game extract now!

YU-JIN

The streets of Beijing bustled with activity as he walked the wide footpaths of the Dongcheng diplomatic district. He was gripped with tension, but he’d been planning this moment for weeks, he reminded himself, and now it was time to make his move.

Striding briskly along the road between the Israeli and Malaysian embassies, he reached a pedestrian crossing at Liangmaqiao Road shortly before midday and paused, collecting himself. He wanted to control his pounding heart and the slight panting that had dried

his tongue. He felt the early summer warmth on the shoulders of his black sports coat and looked across eight lanes of the huge boulevard to where the French embassy’s glass towers sat on the corner of an enclosed compound.

The pedestrian light turned green. He’d committed to this moment and now it was time to take action, to do what was right.

Standing tall, he stepped onto the crossing with a United Nations of diplomatic staffers who worked in the area, carrying their bags of takeaway food for lunch. Reaching the French embassy, he moved with a sea of people towards the main entrance. The visitors were channelled into a single file, allowing a black-clad guard with an explosive-detection dog to run the animal up and down the line.

The line then moved into airport-like security gates, a person in front of him being called back to empty his pockets which revealed a chrome bottle-opener key ring.

On the other side of the gates was a queue of French citizens, tourists and East Asians waiting to submit their visa applications.

But he couldn’t afford to wait.

With determination, and acting against all of the strict Korean manners ingrained in him, he skipped the queue and made a beeline for the main guard behind the entry desk. The guard

looked up, surprised by the intrusion, but before the guard could speak, he recited in his

best English the words he’d rehearsed many times: ‘I need to see the person in charge of security. It’s urgent!’

The guard’s brow furrowed, and he stared hard at him for five seconds before replying in English: ‘What’s your name?’

‘Kim Yu-jin,’ he said, trying to keep the fear from his voice.

‘Wait here,’ said the embassy security man, picking up the phone on the counter.

Realising he’d been holding his breath, Yu-jin tried to exhale smoothly but it came out in a whoosh. He’d been dreading this moment for months, but the ramifications of not coming here were even more dire.

***

The phone rang once and Jeremie King, French intelligence chief of station for Beijing, looked down and saw Security Post— Entry on the screen. He picked up.

‘Excuse me, sir,’ said the guard, ‘I have someone here who is asking for the head of security and he says it’s urgent . . .’

‘Describe him,’ said the chief of station.

The guard lowered his voice and whispered, ‘Asian, sir. Maybe Chinese or Korean. Around forty, skinny, properly dressed, with glasses.’

‘Name?’ asked King.

The guard hesitated, obviously consulting his notes. ‘Kim Yu-jin.’

‘You’ve checked he’s alone?’ asked King.

‘We have a decent crowd this morning, sir, but yes, I believe he’s alone and he looks very worried.’

King could sense nerves in the guard’s voice.

‘I’m coming,’ he responded. ‘Don’t let him out of your sight.’

Rising, King tightened the knot on his blue-and-red necktie and took his suit jacket from the coat stand in the corner of his office. Having made chief of station in Beijing by the age of

forty-four, on the heels of serving as deputy chief in Washington, he considered himself on a pathway to becoming director of the DR— the all-powerful Direction du Renseignement, or intelligence division, of the foreign intelligence service, the Direction Générale

de la Sécurité Extérieure.

He locked his office door behind him and descended the internal stairwell reserved for employees of the DGSE, who were known as officiers traitants, or OTs. He passed the most secure floor of the entire building, which contained the server room, the sensitive compartmentalised information facility— the SCIF— and the DGSE transmission room. Only a handful of people were allowed in these areas, and the ambassador was not

one of those people.

King emerged from the hidden stairwell on the lobby level and walked to the guards’ station. One of the four guards saw King approaching and moved to the security door.

‘Is that him?’ asked King, ignoring the guard’s greeting.

‘Yes,’ said the guard.

King peered through the bulletproof glass and saw a smallish man dressed in a black sports coat and pale chinos. As the guard had indicated on the phone, he looked Korean, or maybe Manchurian Chinese. There was an openness to the man’s face and also great

stress expressed through a pursed mouth and knitted brow.

‘Stand by,’ said King, moving past the guard to the security counter, until he looked down on the Korean.

‘What can I do for you?’ asked King, his voice steady.

The man hesitated for a moment before replying in accented

English, ‘I need to talk urgently to the head of security of the embassy.’

‘What’s your name?’ asked King, switching to English.

‘I am Kim Yu-jin.’ His voice barely rose above a whisper and his eyes were pleading. ‘I am North Korean, and I need your help.’

King was experienced with defectors and traitors trying to buy themselves a new life in Europe, but this man had a particularly intense, fearful look on his face.

‘Follow me,’ said King, and snapped his fingers for the guard to escort the North Korean.

King led the way through the busy embassy building that had only been completed a year ago. They passed a window that looked onto a large, grassed internal courtyard and, turning

right, confronted a heavily fortified security door. King swiped the digital lock and they descended to the basement, the chief of station’s thoughts racing as he calculated his next steps and possible missteps.

He led Yu-jin through the basement network to a secured ‘locale of contact’ reserved for interviews that needed to be conducted away from prying eyes. The guard searched Yu-jin

before allowing him to enter the dimly lit room. There King gestured for Yu-jin to take a seat at the table while the guard positioned himself behind the visitor. King closed the heavy door and locked it, now creating an underground SCIF. If another service had sent a fake walk-in who was expected to transmit or receive radio traffic, they’d be sorely disappointed.

‘I’m in charge of security here,’ stated King, omitting his name.

‘I’m listening.’

Yu-jin took a deep breath, as if gravity was pushing down on his shoulders.

‘My name is Kim Yu-jin,’ he repeated, pronouncing his name like Eugene.

‘I am a North Korean security official, and I request asylum.’

King didn’t respond.

‘I am defecting,’ the North Korean confirmed, forcing out

the words. King maintained a poker face as he signalled for Yu-jin to continue.

Yu-jin took another deep breath. ‘There’s a joint cyberattack planned between China and North Korea,’ he said, his voice shaking. ‘It’s a massive operation with devastating consequences for the West. I can provide details, but in exchange I need a French

passport and a new life, with money.’

‘I’m afraid that’s not enough, Monsieur Yu-jin,’ replied King. ‘I need more details about you and your involvement in this plot.’

He watched the Korean squirm. Even people who felt a moral imperative to spill their guts to a foreign power were rarely comfortable with either the betrayal itself or with confessing to their part in wrongdoing.

‘I work in the RGB,’ said Yu-jin finally. He stared at the tabletop, seemingly defeated.

The RGB was the Reconnaissance General Bureau, an infamous division of Kim Jong Un’s armed forces that specialised in cyberattacks, usually directed at Western targets.

‘There’s thousands of employees at the RGB,’ said King, staying nonchalant even though his heart rate was rising. ‘Very few people working there would have the clearance to know of a plot between China and North Korea.’

Yu-jin looked up from the table, his face hardening.

‘I work in Unit 180 of Bureau 121. Have you heard of it?’

‘Yes,’ rasped King, leaning forward. If true, this was serious. Unit 180 was a secretive cyberwarfare group created by the North Korean generals to generate income from online bank heists and corporate ransom attacks. They also routinely infiltrated government databases, collecting names and addresses of people who were supposed to be hard to find.

‘I’ve been working there for more than ten years,’ said Yu-jin, his voice gaining some authority. He looked over his shoulder at the guard and then back to King.

‘I have access to sensitive information about this operation.’

King could feel the ground move slightly. Western intelligence services had been trying to infiltrate Bureau 121 and Unit 180 for many years. King would have to be careful about how he communicated the walk-in to the Cat, as the Paris headquarters of the DGSE was known among employees. His career would depend on it.

‘I need evidence that you work in Bureau 121,’ said King. ‘Anyone can claim they work for a cyberwarfare agency.’

Yu-jin hesitated, modified his posture and, after a silence of a few seconds, looked directly at the chief of station.

‘Your full name is Jeremie Giscard King. You are the Chinese Resident for the DGSE, for whom you’ve been working for twelve years. You joined the Company after nine years in the army transmission regiment, which included a commandant-level command of the 807th transmission company in charge of cybersecurity.’

King and Yu-jin stared at one another, neither showing emotion.

‘You currently hold the DGSE rank of lieutenant-colonel and you live in the Chaoyang district in Lido,’ he continued. ‘You have three sons, Steve, Drew and Andy, with your wife, Amy. Steve is the troublemaker, Andy the good student and Drew, it depends on the day. Shall I continue?’

King could feel the devil biting his arse as the man in front of him transformed from scared supplicant to a threat. If someone was trying to prove that they could get to him any way they wanted, they’d just demonstrated it perfectly. Still, King maintained his professional facade as he questioned Yu-jin on what he was doing in Beijing, where exactly he worked, and whether he was under surveillance by either China’s Ministry of State Security or the North Koreans. Yu-jin maintained he hadn’t dragged a follower to the embassy.

‘I’ll need some time to verify your information,’ King said after half an hour. ‘Remain here while I contact Paris to assess the potential for cooperation.’

King locked the door securely behind him as he left and made his way to the station’s secured transmission room, a place from which the most classified messages were exchanged. As he swiped his card and input the day code, he wondered how much the North Koreans and perhaps the Chinese knew about him— not only his official duties but his other activities. He knew he could elevate his career prospects in French intelligence by delivering a high-value defector— especially one with tactical knowledge of a cyberattack— but this particular walk-in was showing too deep an insight into King’s personal background, and he didn’t like it. If he was totally burned with rival services, it would spell the end of his career in the Company, no matter how much credit he might earn for delivering an RGB defector to Paris. The message he was about to send was highly significant. He needed to achieve a specific outcome, and he couldn’t get it wrong.

Seated before the secure computer, he entered his multiple passwords, gaining access to the highest level of encrypted communication. His fingers hovered over the keyboard as he

thought through the delicate business of serving France while also furthering his own ambitions. Then he typed the message.

Beijing to CAT, we have a walk-in. Send Y for escort.

Extracted from Jack Beaumont's Liar's Game - available now in all good bookstores.