Coit Tower (Abby Kane FBI Thriller - Chasing Chinatown Trilogy Book 3)

by Ty Hutchinson

  After Reilly had informed me of his plans that morning, I called Po Po to let her know we would be having guests. Her reply: a loud breath followed by a remark about readying the guest room and fixing extra food for dinner. As though she ever underprepared for meals.

  I turned my attention back to Reilly. “How about one agent?” I said, not wanting to turn my home into Fort Knox just yet.

  He shook his head. “This is how it’ll work. Two agents will remain on the premises at all times. They will also be responsible for escorting the kids to and from school and play dates, as well as accompanying your mother-in-law, should she need to run an errand or whatever she does.” Reilly took a step forward. “Let’s catch up with them.” He motioned with his head.

  We followed the same narrow and grassy path alongside the old Victorian. Reilly pocketed his hands as we walked. “Did you say you installed motion-sensor lighting in the backyard?”

  I nodded. “After the call from the Monster, but the neighbors complained. I get a lot of rogue raccoons on my property, so it’s temporarily disabled for now.”

  The Monster was the nickname given to a fugitive on the FBI’s list of most wanted criminals. He had contacted me a few months ago, claiming to be standing in my backyard. He had lied, but it was enough of a wake-up call that I had the floodlights installed. Up until that point, all we had had was a meek 45-watt bulb over the backdoor of the enclosed patio.

  “Time to annoy the neighbors again,” he said.

  The yard was thirty feet wide, twenty feet long, and surrounded by a ten-foot-tall hedge thick enough to provide privacy, but there were areas where a small person could pass through if they wanted. I know so because I did it once.

  Off center stood a seventy-five-foot Ponderosa pine. The base had a span of seven to eight feet. While the branch coverage for this particular variety of pine wasn’t especially thick, it still added to the dark cover at night.

  One of the agents, Marty Castro, approached us. He was a stocky fellow who wore a thick mustache. Most agents were clean cut, but Castro relished his lip fur. “The hedge creates a natural buffer, but I recommend we secure it with additional fencing, green plastic that can blend—”

  “No fences. The property is relatively secure,” I said.

  Castro was our in-house expert on setting up safe houses. He could assess a property for weaknesses and determine how much of a viable threat existed in less than ten minutes. Scary accurate would be the best way to describe his abilities. With that said, I still wanted to minimize the intrusion so as not to freak the family out any more than needed.

  “You have to think like them, Abby,” he told me. “Think like a person who’s got nothing to lose and is willing to get to someone no matter what.”

  I had to wonder how badly those teams playing the game wanted to get to me. Is ten million dollars enough motivation to come after an FBI agent? Does a serial killer have something to lose? Yes, his anonymity.

  Castro pointed at the floodlights attached to both corners of the roof. “Are those motion sensitive?”

  “Yes, but they’re disabled right now because of the neighbors. That’s their bedroom right there.” I pointed at a window just above the hedge. “I thought of downgrading them to a lower wattage and reinstalling them to the patio roof.”

  Castro looked over his shoulder at the neighbor’s house. “Lowering them would solve that problem. Definitely a good idea to get them operational again.”

  Reilly cleared his throat. “All right, Marty, this is officially your detail. Abby, you’re in good hands.” He gave me a nod before turning on his heels and walking back toward the front of the house.

  Castro and I watched him until he disappeared.

  “It’s all business with him, isn’t it?” Castro remarked.

  I shrugged. “It’s the shell he wears. Underneath, he cares.”

  The agent who accompanied Castro appeared from the other side of the house.

  “Anything?” Castro called out.

  The agent shook his head. “No blind spots up front.”

  Castro waited until the agent closed the distance before making an official introduction. “Abby, this is Agent Kip Lin. He’s new to the team, but he’s good. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

  I shook Lin’s extended hand. “I’m not worried.” I hadn’t seen him around the office, but it’s always nice to meet a fellow agent who’s Chinese.

  “So what’s the plan? What happens next?”

  Castro looked at his watch. “School should be finishing soon, right?”

  I nodded.

  “I’ll have Agent Lin escort your children back to the property. At that point, I’ll go over a few rules for the family. Don’t worry; I’ll keep it informal. I know this is an intrusion, but it’s for the best. The most important thing is that your mother-in-law and children understand that they’re not allowed to go anywhere without an escort. Other than that, your family should carry on with their daily routines. Agent Lin and I will stay as inconspicuous as possible.”

  “Tell you what: I’ll pick up my kids. When we get back, you can officially take over.” Picking up the kids would give me an opportunity to prep them about the situation. Plus, I could imagine Lucy running away from Lin since I had drilled it into her head that she shouldn’t talk to strange men, even if they claimed they knew me.

  Castro smiled. “We have prep work we can attend to. We’ll see you when you get back.”

  That night, I insisted that Castro and Lin eat with us at the dinner table. I thought the more informal their presence, the better. Po Po, not surprisingly, had whipped up a feast. While I fetched the kids, Lin drove her to Chinatown, where she picked up two whole roasted ducks, stocked up on fresh vegetables, bought a couple of slabs of pork ribs to roast, and picked out a large carp that she had steamed for us in a ginger soy sauce. I had a feeling she wouldn’t have any problems adjusting.

  “This is a wonderful meal, but I’m afraid I won’t be able to do my job if I’m stuffed like a turkey,” Castro said, forking another serving into his mouth.

  A sliver of a smile appeared across my mother-in-law’s face. I knew she liked the attention. “You must eat. Keep up your strength.” She balled up a fist and shook it before shuffling back into the kitchen. I swear those house slippers are grafted to her feet.

  Castro sat to my right. “Don’t fight it,” I whispered, leaning toward him. “Just enjoy it.”

  The kids took our situation in stride. Ryan peppered both agents with questions all throughout dinner, wanting to know what kind of work they did, what cases they worked on, if they had ever disarmed a bomb. I don’t know where that last question came from. He had never asked me that.

  Lucy remained quiet at first but eventually overcame her shyness when Lin made a quarter appear from her ear. After I tucked both kids into bed and said good night to Po Po, I joined Castro in the enclosed patio. “Where’s your partner?”

  “He’s positioned on the front porch. He’s got first night’s duty. He’ll remain there but make scheduled rounds around the perimeter. I’ll relieve him at five a.m.”

  “I wondered how the sleeping arrangements would work, seeing that the guest room only has one bed.”

  Castro chuckled. “We’ll never sleep at the same time. Push comes to shove, I can always bed down right out here. I like the outdoors.” He turned his gaze back to the blackness of the yard and resumed tugging on his mustache.

  The night air was cool and fragrant with pine. It was relatively quiet save for the pulsating chop of a news copter that passed overhead. I sat in the patio chair next to Castro and sipped my favorite green tea from a large mug.

  I had almost forgotten about Castro until he cleared his throat.

  “How credible is the threat?”

  I didn’t bother to look at him when I answered. “They’ll come.”

  Chapter 3

  The following morning, I rose earlier than usual for a Saturday, around six. The kid
s wouldn’t wake for another hour, and Po Po was still sound asleep from what I could hear—no noise coming from the kitchen. I checked in on Castro, who had by then taken up the post on the front porch. We made small talk for five minutes about nothing in particular before I left and headed to my office on the third floor. I wanted to familiarize myself with the remaining teams and try to determine who might actually be in a position to take on the mastermind’s offer.

  In the nook I called my office, I sipped green tea that had just finished steeping, and I stared out the tiny window that overlooked the front yard while I waited for the Chasing Chinatown game to boot up on my laptop. Initially I thought to focus on the teams whose physical distance was near San Francisco. They seemed most likely to take the mastermind up on his offer. Then again, we were dealing with deranged individuals, and what seemed likely wouldn’t necessarily equate with their actions.

  I navigated to the map of the world and the leaderboard. Technically, there were still fourteen teams in play, and none of them were in the States. But with every dragonhead we arrested, that meant one less Chinatown to host the game. According to the map, the nearest team was in Mexico City. But I knew I couldn’t base everything on distance. Any one of the teams was only a flight away. Since every team went by a nickname and used an avatar, I had no idea who these people were or what they even looked like. Problematic? Yes. My enemy was invisible.

  When a team completed an Attraction, that was how I tracked them. A pop-up message would appear informing everyone of a team’s success. If a team had been successful in completing all the Attractions in a city, I would receive an alert, but after that, they essentially went dark until they completed an Attraction in a new city. Being that I was the sole Attraction, I couldn’t tell who had decided to come after me. The game, previously an asset to my investigation, had begun to showcase its limitations.

  Even though we had no concrete evidence suggesting the teams would actually pursue an FBI agent, we had to act as though they were stupid enough to do so. Reilly and I talked at length about that possibility, and we both came to the conclusion that it was real. Coming after me wasn’t a smart move, but playing the game wasn’t either.

  Given the sophistication of the game and what we’d encountered so far, we knew we weren’t dealing with garden-variety killers. They were experienced and smart enough not to get caught playing a game that dictated where and when they killed. I had to give the teams credit for that. Most of our success thus far had come from eliminating the game’s management, not the players themselves.

  What I had learned about serial killers over the years told me they most likely wouldn’t come after me. It would pose too much of a risk for them, despite the possibility of a ten-million-dollar payout. But I couldn’t be sure; a nagging feeling had me doubting my initial assessment. There was absolutely no way to determine if each team fit the psychological profile of a serial killer simply by following their actions through the game. I had to rely on my gut and my experience in dealing with these types. I imagine there was a good chance some of the teams were opportunistic—outright thugs looking for a quick and easy payday.

  Before I could give my predicament any more thought, a drawn-out yawn caught my attention. I spun the leather chair around to find Lucy standing in the doorway. She still had her Hello Kitty pajamas on, and a stuffed panda bear was tucked under her arm.

  I held my arms out, inviting her to climb up on my lap, which she promptly did. “Why are you up so early? You have another half hour of sleep at least.”

  “I’m not tired,” she said, rubbing her left eye on Wonton’s head. That was what she had named her panda bear. “What are you doing?”

  “Mommy’s working.”

  “You catching bad men?” Her eyes opened wider.

  “Yes, I’m catching them.”

  A smile stretched across her face. “Good.”

  I gave my munchkin a squeeze and a few noisy pecks to the top of her head. She was getting taller and heavier, but I would never stop her from sitting on my lap. She could be thirty, married, and have kids, and I would eagerly motion her to sit.

  “Mommy?”

  “Yes?”

  “How long are your friends staying with us?”

  “I’m not sure, honey. They are here to help me.”

  “Are they part of our family now?”

  I thought about what Lucy had said for a moment. Castro and Lin were living with us rent free and helping themselves to whatever we had in the fridge. If that wasn’t family, what was? “Yes, sweetie. They are part of our family.”

  Lucy giggled. “The short one is always playing with his moochas.”

  “It’s mustache.”

  “Moochas.”

  “Mus-tash.”

  “Moo-chas.”

  Close enough. “Come, why don’t you go brush your teeth before your brother gets up? You know how long he takes in the bathroom.”

  “Forever. Like a girl.”

  “Your brother’s not a girl. He’s just very detailed with his grooming.” Lucy wasn’t exaggerating. Ryan had, over time, developed a routine in the morning that could last as long as thirty minutes, which if you ask me, was strange for a nine-year-old boy going on ten.

  “I have to get the spikes just right,” he had told me.

  Lucy slid off my thigh and exited my office, dragging Wonton behind her. I spun around just as my cellphone vibrated on the wooden desk.

  “Abby, it’s Kyle. Am I calling too early?”

  “No, it’s fine. What’s up?”

  “The street fair. Today is the open house of the Hop Sing Tong. I know you got the security detail, so I’m checking to see if you’re still game to go.”

  “Of course I am. The detail is for the kids and my mother-in-law. I talked Reilly out of giving me a shadow. Though I’m not sure if I should bring the family.”

  “Bring them. It’ll be fun. The agents can watch over them as we case the tong. Plus there’s somebody I want to introduce you to.”

  It was set. Kang and I made plans to meet at the south entrance to Waverly Place, just off of Sacramento, around eleven thirty. That would give Castro plenty of time to think about our little outing and how he wanted to handle it.

  Chapter 4

  I had to admit, the street fair that the Hop Sing Tong had organized took me by surprise. I expected a table outside the tong with a couple of members greeting people, maybe a food booth or two, and something fun for kids, like a face painter.

  Instead, the tong had the entire street shut off from vehicle traffic. Food and merchant booths ran the entire length. There were face painters and clowns making balloon animals, a variety of carnival games, even a pony ride. The tong had gone all out in an effort to present a different, positive face to the community. What had once been a stronghold for Triad gang activity now masqueraded as a recreational center for the residents of Chinatown. At least, that was how it came across to me. And that was exactly what they wanted.

  As I looked at the sea of people in front of me munching on Chinese finger food, playing pin the tail on the dragon, and shopping for sandalwood and teak carvings, I wondered if I were alone in that thinking. Did the people at the fair really believe the tong had changed its ways, or were they simply enjoying the moment and not giving it much thought?

  Kang and I broke off from the family almost instantly after arriving. Castro and Lin set off with the kids and Po Po while Kang and I talked more about my situation.

  “You know what I don’t understand?” Kang said as he steered me to a booth selling egg rolls. “Why target you and not me? I’m as much a part of this investigation as you are.”

  “If you want, I can message the mastermind and see if he’ll include you so you don’t feel left out.”

  Kang motioned to the vendor with two fingers, and within seconds, two large egg rolls fresh out of a vat of hot oil were dumped into a couple of paper trays. Kang grabbed a handful of towels and handed half of them to me alon
g with an egg roll. “That’s all right. I’m not that eager to become a target. It just doesn’t make sense for them to single you out. Anything come to mind on why that would be?”

  I took a moment to think about his question. I also took that moment to take a tiny bite of my egg roll. The crispy outer shell crackled as my teeth sank into the golden-brown cylinder. Enough of the insides spilled onto my tongue for me to realize the roll would rock once it cooled down. Kang blew on his eggroll twice before biting it in half.

  “Nothing jumps out,” I said before I sucked a whistle of air into my mouth to cool off the bite I had just taken. “I keep trying to think about moments or interactions I might have had without you. Two come to mind: the meeting I had with Somchai, the guy who managed the game in Bangkok.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know who you’re talking about. Let me guess the other—the girl you interrogated, the assassin. What was her name?”

  “Sei. Well, that’s the name she gave us.”

  Kang puckered his lips for a few seconds. “Maybe something you said or did during that interrogation made you a threat, because if you remember correctly, I did meet that girl on two separate occasions.” Kang popped the last of his roll into his mouth and brushed his hands together.

  Mine had cooled enough for me to seriously attack it. “You said earlier you had someone you wanted to introduce me to.”

  “Yeah, but I don’t see her yet. Let’s head over to the tong. She might be there.”

  Kang led the way, snaking a trail through the crowd as his height cast a shadow over my petite frame. “By the way, where’s your girlfriend?” I asked between bites.

  “She’s at the station working on some big story.”

  Suzi Zhang, or Dragon Woman, as I liked to call her, was an anchorwoman for KTVU TV station located across the Bay in Oakland. She’d had a rocky relationship with Kang a few years ago before taking a job in Florida. Now back in town, she’d since reconnected with him. Clearly he hadn’t learned his lesson the first time around. “Is the story about fresh-pressed juicing and how some juicers fresh press very little of their supply? No, wait. I know. Oil pulling: Is it really the cure all we think it is?” I mimicked a marquee with my hands for added effect.