by Glen Robins
It would have been worse if he was handcuffed.
The chief’s office was in a glass and stone tower on Milk Street in the heart of downtown Boston. An inauspicious building with a bank on the ground floor. Of course, he barely saw the outside as Steele high-tailed it into the subterranean parking garage, then hustled Lukas through a bare hallway to a service elevator where he punched the button for the fourteenth floor. Of course, American superstitions meant there was no button with a thirteen on it. Nonetheless, Lukas, always about logic and precision, knew that he was headed thirteen stories above ground and wondered if it would prove unlucky.
When the elevator door opened, Lukas was nudged straight ahead across a nondescript hallway and through an unmarked office door. For all he knew, he was entering a CPA’s place of business. Furniture was sparse and functional, the type you rent by the month from one of those budget places. There were no decorations other than a fake tree in a wicker basket filling an otherwise empty corner next to an aged waiting room chair. No receptionist, though there was a cheap desk made of pressed wood and veneer in the reception area. The other striking thing was that there was no sound other than the hum of the ventilation system. Steele nudged him along through the anterior room to the back office, where a short hallway ended with an office door on either side of it. Steele knocked on the door to the left. A muffled response gave them permission to enter.
The small space was filled almost entirely by a massive L-shaped oak desk and two chairs positioned in front of it. Behind the desk was a series of windowpanes covered by dark brown horizontal blinds, the inexpensive kind. A bald man of above average height and an athletic build sporting rimless glasses stood and stretched out his hand to greet Lukas as he entered the room.
“Lukas Mueller. George Mahoney, Section Chief of Foreign Surveillance for the Northeastern Corridor.”
Lukas cocked his head and furrowed his brow.
“I know,” continued Mahoney, “that’s a mouthful. Basically, my job is to keep track of foreign nationals of particular interest. We monitor communications of these special individuals. Your friend, Pho Nam Penh, is one of them.” He waved for Lukas to take a seat as he did so himself.
“Wait a minute. He’s not my friend.”
“No? You belong to his club and attend all of his meetings.”
Lukas’s innards felt like a layer of ice had instantly formed around each organ. “How do you …? Never mind. You’re the NSA. Of course you know this stuff.”
“I see you know about us, at least by reputation.”
“I’ve heard a few things but had no idea you were interested in college students trying to help poor people on the other side of the world.”
“Yes, yes. I know it’s all very confusing. It seems so harmless, doesn’t it, what he’s doing?”
“Seems? Why do you say it like that? We’re building solar-powered Internet kiosks for the underprivileged in Cambodia. Why is that not a good thing? How does that end up on the NSA’s radar?”
“How about you let me ask the questions, Mr. Mueller? I brought you here to find out what you know and how you got involved with this club and with Mr. Penh. Why don’t you start at the beginning?”
Lukas frowned, wary of the whole procedure. He looked at Agent Mahoney who sat across from him with his fingers steepled under his chin, waiting. Lukas realized Mahoney had all the time in the world. It was him that had things to do and classes to attend. There seemed to be no use in bucking the system, so he told his story, starting with pledge week and ending with his investigation the previous night into Penh’s and Fung’s whereabouts.
“I guess you already knew about my online snooping last night.”
“Yes. That’s what caught our attention and brought you to the forefront of your peers. We’ve talked to some of them in a less formal context and got nothing, really. You are the first one to dig around and show some initiative.”
“Does that make me a suspect?”
“Perhaps. Your involvement with Penh and his syndicate runs deep. We need to know more. We’ll decide then if you’re a suspect.”
“His syndicate? You make him sound like a mafia don?”
“I must say, your interest and curiosity hedges on self-defense.”
“Self-defense? You can’t be serious.” Lukas felt his control of the situation slipping but could not stop himself. Rather than being cool and calculating, his desire to erase any suspicions caused him to talk faster and more frantically. “Yes, I’m curious. Wouldn’t you be? I mean, the guy is passionate about his club and this project we’re working on. He gets pretty fired up sometimes, like a TV evangelist, you know. More than anything, he wants to help people and make their lives better through technology. I’m committed to that mission. I really think this is a good thing we’re doing. I just thought it was weird that he didn’t show up last night for the big kick-off, so I asked Ms. Khat. Her reaction got me thinking. My thinking got me to searching the Internet. Good grief, I can’t believe you think I’m involved in something connected to a mafia syndicate.”
Mahoney paused, letting the agitation and angst settle. He watched Lukas carefully. Lukas felt like an idiot. He had seen enough crime shows on TV to know that the investigators always waited for the guilty to self-destruct. Lukas forced calm on himself, shut his mouth, and stared back at Mahoney, vowing in his mind that he would not be weak, he would not act guilty, and he would not speak before thinking from that moment forward.
Chapter Six
NSA Office, Downtown Boston, Massachusetts
Freshman Year
After silencing himself and restoring his innate rationality, Lukas began to think more clearly and speak more intentionally. Time ticked on long enough to make most people uncomfortable. Not Lukas. He was OK with awkward moments. He had lived through many of them.
He thought about his good friend Collin Cook and how he had point-blanked Collin about his life plans after high school. Collin tried to blow him off and weasel out of the conversation by changing the subject. Each time he did, Lukas redirected him back to his ambitions. This created the kind of tension that most people avoid. Lukas did not mind it so much. He needed to know and was fine waiting for Collin to answer.
The situation with Mahoney was similar. The difference was this guy was not his friend. In fact, to some degree, he was the enemy. Giving him unsolicited information was a bad strategy. Lukas was more than willing to hold his peace and wait it out rather than talk himself into more trouble.
Finally, Mahoney broke the silence by clearing his throat. He leaned forward and with a parental look of concern and pity, said, “The concept behind the project is good, noble in fact, but the do-gooder club you joined is just a cover.”
“A cover?”
“Penh has some very nefarious people in his circle. These people have a dark agenda.”
“So? Does that make me guilty of something?”
“That depends on the types of activities you were involved in with this club.”
“This club seemed like the perfect fit for me. They recruited guys like me who have technical skills and a lack of enthusiasm for drink and silliness. I stayed with the club because I thought it would be a good way to help people and build my resume at the same time. I had no other involvement.”
“Mr. Mueller, you are either naïve or a really good actor.” The parental concern was gone, replaced by the tone the TV detectives used when trying to amp up the pressure.
Lukas found this accusation amusing as he remembered the plot line of so many TV crime shows he had watched. “I’m not a good actor. Ask Mrs. Delaney.”
“Who’s she?”
“The drama teacher at Edison High. I tried out for a part in ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream’ my sophomore year. I ended up being the audio/visual technician for the next three years.”
“So, maybe you’re naïve.”
“Maybe I am. Is that a crime? And if I am, so are the other twenty members of our club. I know
I’m not the most experienced or savvy person in the world. The same goes for most Freshmen at MIT. Like me, they have spent a lot more time in the books and on their computers studying than you can imagine.”
Mahoney leaned back in his chair, considering what Lukas said. “OK. Let’s suppose that’s true. Let’s suppose you’re not up to your eyeballs in it. Tell me what you learned about your leaders during your little online adventure last night?”
Lukas nodded, feeling he had to share some insights in order to reduce suspicion. “I learned that Pho Nam Penh may not be the knight in shining armor I thought he was.”
When Lukas paused, Mahoney encouraged him. “Go on.”
“I learned that he has a dark side, a temper, and scares those who know him best.”
“OK. Keep going. What else have you learned?”
Lukas sucked in a deep breath. “I don’t want to believe this, but I think he might be capable of murder.”
Mahoney raised an eyebrow and gestured with his hand for Lukas to continue.
“I think there’s a chance at least that he killed Harold Fung. That’s a terrible thing for me to say, but Ms. Khat, who knows him far better than I do, told the police she believe he’s capable of killing out of revenge or jealousy or whatever.”
“Don’t feel bad, Mr. Mueller. It’s easy to get caught up in the current when things seem to be on the up-and-up. You don’t know Penh’s full background.”
“I know he grew up poor and watched his older siblings get sold off when they turned thirteen. I know he was afraid of what would happen to him when it was his turn. I can only imagine what that could do to a person, especially a kid.”
“Do you know what happened to him at thirteen?”
“No, he’s never told us that part of the story.”
“I doubt he ever will. That part of the story is where things take a turn toward evil.”
“Evil? At thirteen?”
“See, at thirteen Pho Nam Penh was taken in by a wealthy industrialist in Kuala Lumpur who has a sordid history. This man is with a radical terrorist.” Mahoney assessed Lukas’s reaction.
Lukas’s disbelief must have shown on his face because Mahoney frowned, opened a desk drawer, and pulled out a thick file and plopped it on the desk with dramatic flair. “You need to understand your club president’s background, so let me spell it out succinctly. From the time he was thirteen, Penh has lived with and learned from a well-known terrorist.” Mahoney extracted a glossy photo and slid it across the desk. “This mentor of his ran a youth organization there whose stated purpose was to give underserved youth a place to acquire the skills necessary to succeed. His organization, like yours, sounds good and noble, doesn’t it?”
Lukas nodded his agreement, still leery of the source.
“Thing is, this guy, Mr. Naseer Seng, is a billionaire. He owns manufacturing facilities and shipping companies and banks. Rich, powerful, and full of deceit. Everyone thinks he’s a saint because of the ‘orphanage’ with his name on it. Truth is this guy hand-picked the best and brightest among the poorest segments of the population from around the region. He would go to places like Viet Nam, Laos, and Cambodia and search out struggling families willing to give up a child or two so they all could have a better life. He would take them to Kuala Lumpur and provide them a lifestyle they had never dreamed of—one they never knew existed. They lived in comparative luxury, got three square meals each and every day without fail, and slept on beds, not a dirt floor covered by a mat made from rice stalks. He provided a top-notch education for these kids. For those who performed well and set themselves apart from the crowd, the level of privilege increased. The top-ranking students were given private lessons and provided with a distinctive badge to wear on their uniform and leadership positions where they could practice on their peers. These favorites trained for and competed in sports competitions, like fencing and the martial arts.
“Seng kept his following small—maybe two dozen kids at a time in the whole program. Most of his work was done in what looked like a small church attached to a YMCA-like gym, so it would appear legitimate. Each year, a new batch of these kids would head off to college abroad, where the grooming would continue. Eventually, many of them would graduate with honors, then step into high-powered roles within his network of companies at very young ages. Of the hundred or so kids he’s put through this system, two have emerged as his persons of interest to our operators in the region.
“Penh and Ms. Khat,” Lukas said, just above a whisper.”
“You’re quick. That’s a half dozen years of field work by multiple agents.” Mahoney tapped the top of the file folder. “It’s all documented.”
“What did Penh do to deserve such special attention from the NSA?”
“Ah, yes, Mr. Mueller. You ask some great questions. Why indeed? Let me tell you. After 911, our role in the nation’s security nearly tripled. By that I mean the resources and the reach of our counter terrorism intelligence network were extended globally to sniff out any threats as they were developing. We were tasked with ‘cutting off the head of the snake,’ wherever and whoever it might be, before another deadly strike could be mounted.”
“You’re saying this guy is planning a deadly strike against the US?”
“What I’m saying is, this Mr. Seng, one of wealthiest men in Southeast Asia, caught our attention. Before 911, he was very outspoken about things like Western imperialism and economic domination, American elitism, and the evils of capitalism. His wealth and influence then were a fraction of what they are now, but 911 sent him underground knowing the United States was on the offensive against potential threats. Since then he started ‘playing nice,’ at least on the surface. He changed his tactics and started working the long game.”
“Makes sense. He prepped the next generation to carry out his designs. Penh and Ms. Khat are his proteges?”
“Yes, his indoctrination was thorough and effective. That much we know. What we don’t know is what exactly went wrong.”
“You mean, the pupil became the master?”
“But we do know there was some sort of fall out between the old man and Penh right before the old man died suddenly. It was reported that Penh was eager to do more than Seng wanted. He wanted to move up the timelines, but Seng cautioned him to stick with the long-range plan.”
“So, you think Penh killed Seng because he was too impatient?”
“The circumstances of his death are murky at best. A cause of death was never made public. The body was cremated within twenty-four hours, rather than a traditional burial. No autopsy was done, and the funeral was not announced.”
“Is that unusual?”
“In Malaysia? For an otherwise healthy business mogul in his early seventies? Yeah, that’s unusual. And the cremation? Virtually unheard of for a man of his wealth and station. In fact, it is viewed as a disgrace by many.”
Lukas glanced out the window at the steel-gray cloud cover. Not a hint of sunshine or blue sky. A portend of miserably frigid temperatures hung over everything he could see. He turned back toward Mahoney. “What does this have to do with me? I mean, why am I here? Is it because I hacked into the police records?”
“I don’t care about that,” Mahoney said with a frown. “I know about it, but don’t care. In fact, I’m glad. It shows a hunger for the truth, for answers and explanations. I like that. You’re not in trouble for hacking, so don’t concern yourself with that.” He waved his hand like he was batting away a fly. “Now go on. I want to hear what you make of this.”
Lukas shook his head rapidly, surprised by Mahoney’s response. It took him a moment to formulate his thoughts and questions into words. “Well, then…I’m curious about the fact that Penh’s benefactor dies under mysterious circumstances and no one bats an eye,” Lukas said.
Mahoney stayed silent but nodded his head.
Lukas continued. “Despite that, Penh and Ms. Khat are allowed to leave the country a few months later, to start their studies here
in the US. MIT, no less. He and Ms. Khat are free to come and go, apparently. Penh flew back there before Christmas and hasn’t been seen nor heard from since. No questions asked as he enters the country? No cloud of suspicion? The Malaysian authorities don’t lift a finger?”
“Correct.” Mahoney lifted an eyebrow and nodded his head for Lukas to continue.
Lukas was shooting in the dark, no real coherent strategy as he let his thoughts turn into words. “There’s something shady going on. Penh has friends in high places, maybe. A cloud of mystery that no one investigates. Could Penh be influential enough to have officials covering for him? He seems awfully young for that.”
“We know Mr. Seng had some very powerful allies in the Malaysian government for a long time. Some of his former orphans have key positions within the government of Malaysia, too.”
Lukas scrunched his eyebrows when he heard this. “Wouldn’t that make them wary about the circumstances surrounding his death? You would think they would be all over that.”
Mahoney smiled a patronizing smile, the kind that told Lukas there was more in that file than he could divulge. “Let’s just say there are allegations of abuse. We don’t know the extent, but our sources inside the organization say that Seng had a thing for some of the young girls, most of whom disappeared.”
“What about Ms. Khat?”
“What about her?”
“How did she escape his abuse?”
“Who says she did?”
A cold chill entered Lukas’s heart. He like Ms. Khat. She was bright, competent, and eager to see their project completed and delivered. She was also a good TA, always willing to stay late and answer questions. He respected her and looked up to her. “That’s awful.”
“Yeah. She was one of his favorites.”
“Penh liked her, too.”
“Story goes that Penh acted out of chivalry to avenge her and the other girls. That’s why none of the students from his orphanage past or present have allowed any suspicion about Penh to gain any momentum.”