They were escorted into a large office, book lined and cluttered. The smell of sweet pipe smoke seemed to rise from every inch of the place.
The goateed man left, closing the door behind him without saying another word.
Pine looked around and said, “Why do I feel like I just stepped into a spy novel from the sixties? Where are you, George Smiley, when I need you?”
Blum noted a stack of books on a side table. “Is that Arabic?”
Pine looked over her shoulder. “Yes. Simon Russell had books in Arabic, too.”
“Did he indeed?”
Pine and Blum started and looked over at a high wingback chair that had been turned away from them.
It was now swiveled around, and perched in it was a small man with thick white hair. He wore a three-piece suit with a dash of color at the neck and a kerchief sprouting from the chest pocket.
When he stood it revealed that he was probably barely over five feet tall.
“Please, sit,” he said, waving them to two chairs in front of the massive desk, which was heaped with opened books. He took the seat behind the desk and studied them both, his fingers steepled in front of him.
“We didn’t know anyone was in the room,” said Pine.
“Evidently,” said the man. “By the way, I am Oscar Fabrikant.”
“Thanks for seeing us, Mr. Fabrikant.”
“Oh, please, make it Oscar. Are you both FBI agents?”
Pine held out her shield. “I’m the agent. She’s my assistant.”
Pine really wanted to get through this without revealing their identities.
Fabrikant nodded. “Now, to business. You mentioned just now Simon Russell?”
“Yes.” Pine was annoyed at herself for not adequately scoping out the room before speaking. Now the man knew there was a connection between her and a dead man.
“And how do you know Simon?”
“I don’t.”
“And yet you know his reading tastes?”
“Ben Priest told me about him,” lied Pine.
“I see. And you’ve come here about something having to do with Ben?”
“Yes.” She looked around the office. “Do you run the Society?”
“I’m not sure that anyone ‘runs’ this place. It’s far more democratic, some might say chaotic, than hierarchical.” He smiled at his remark.
“And yet they brought us in to see you.”
“Well, I have been here longer than most. And it seems that many of the administrative duties fall into my lap. I don’t mind.” He settled farther back in his chair.
“I saw some of the TED talks the Society did,” said Blum. “Very interesting stuff.”
“Thank you,” replied Fabrikant.
Pine interjected, “Any idea where Ben might be?”
“Why would you think I would know that?”
“Doesn’t he work here?”
“No one really works here. We volunteer our time and skills.”
“And what sort of work do you do here?”
“We analyze. We read. We discuss. We talk. We listen. We travel. We write papers. We give lectures. We’re advocates on the policy front. We lobby those in power on important issues.” He motioned to Blum. “And we give TED Talks, which provide us with a global platform. I think our latest cumulative view count is north of a billion on various social media sites. Truly remarkable. What would we do without social media?”
“Well, it certainly has its pros and cons,” noted Pine.
Fabrikant leaned back in his chair and studied them for a few moments. “So how can I help you?”
“What can you tell us about Ben Priest?”
“Ben is a friend. A first-rate mind. Traveled the world. Very interesting person.”
“Okay, but what does he do?”
“He does many things. He worked in government for a time.”
“What part of government?”
“The State Department, I believe.”
“Isn’t that what everyone says when they don’t want to tell you what they really do?”
“You take me out of my depth there,” said Fabrikant.
“Okay, we understand that Priest helps people who need it. And that he was helping someone specifically at the moment.”
“Who?”
“I don’t have a name, but I have a picture.”
Pine showed him the digital sketch on her phone. She watched him closely for any hint that Fabrikant recognized the person.
“Can’t say that I know him,” said Fabrikant tersely.
Either he was an exceptional poker player, or he genuinely did not know the man, concluded Pine.
“Were you aware of anything that Priest was working on recently?”
“Not really, no.”
Pine looked around. “This is quite a place.”
“I think it’s a bit gaudy, actually. It used to be a robber baron’s mansion. He wasn’t from here, but he built it when he realized having a place close to the people in government he was bribing was smart.”
“Some things never change,” noted Blum.
Fabrikant nodded his head. “So I believe.”
Pine said, “All this talking and traveling and analyzing. It must cost a lot.”
“As I mentioned, our members work without compensation. We pay for their travel and other related expenses of course, but no salaries.”
“But you still have some form of funding,” persisted Pine.
“We have benefactors.”
“And who are they?”
“They are private. And will remain so. Are you concerned about Ben’s safety?”
“Probably.”
“That is unfortunate.”
“It certainly is for him.” She studied him. “May I be blunt?”
“I thought you were being blunt.”
“I haven’t reached my personal DefCon One yet.”
Fabrikant spread his hands. “Please.”
“I have come to understand that there may be international implications with this case.”
“Such as?”
“Look, I’m going to take a chance that you actually are a society for good and tell you something that ordinarily I wouldn’t at this stage, because, frankly, I don’t know you. But I sense I’m running out of time and I have to get some traction on this sucker.”
“I’m listening.”
“I’m talking about a clusterfuck of epic proportion that will strike right at the heart of this country and perhaps destroy it.”
Fabrikant’s amused look faded. “I hope that is your DefCon One. I would not like to think there is another level to be reached.” He paused. “What exactly are you talking about?”
Pine glanced at Blum and said, “Maybe a coup directed at our government.”
Fabrikant’s jaw dropped slightly. “A coup? This is America, not some banana republic.”
“This country began with a revolution.”
“Yes, well, that was a long time ago.”
“So history never repeats itself?”
“Actually, it does, all the time.”
“Okay, then.”
“You’re serious about this?”
“People who know about these things are serious about it.”
“You mean like Ben Priest and Simon Russell?”
“And perhaps the Chinese are involved as well.”
“Why do you say that?”
Pine took out her phone and held it up.
Fabrikant leaned forward and stared at the photo there. “And who is this?”
“This is a man who has now tried to kill me twice. I would like to know his name and background.”
“Let me call someone in who might be of assistance.”
He lifted his phone, spoke into it, and replaced the receiver.
After Pine counted off ten clicks in her head, there came a knock at the door.
“Enter,” said Fabrikant.
The door opened, and a man dressed in a suit, and n
early as small as Fabrikant, walked in.
“Show Phillip the photo,” directed Fabrikant.
Phillip looked at the picture for only a second and then glanced at Fabrikant and nodded.
“You can tell her,” said Fabrikant.
“His name is Sung Nam Chung.”
“And who is he?”
“Your worst nightmare.”
“As bad as he is, he will never be my worst nightmare,” replied Pine brusquely.
“Is he Chinese?” asked Blum.
Phillip looked at her. “No.”
“What is he then?” said Pine.
“Korean.”
“Korean? North or South?” asked Pine.
“From what I have learned, he was born in the South. He traveled to the North as a child and was detained there. In a camp. He came out of it alive and now works for whoever pays him. He is quite an accomplished operative. And very lethal when he has to be.”
“So Sung is his surname, then?” said Pine.
The man shook his head. “Chung is. He has been in this country for a while now and has Westernized his name. He is very careful, and the authorities can prove nothing against him.”
“How does a person like that get into the U.S. in the first place?” said Blum.
“If you have the resources there are ways,” said Phillip.
Pine looked at Fabrikant. “The peace talks with North Korea have just gone off the rails. And this guy shows up on American soil. Do you think there’s a connection?”
“I can’t say definitively that there isn’t a connection.” He turned to Phillip. “Thank you, that will be all.”
After the man left, Pine said, “Does Priest have an office here?”
“Yes.”
“Can we see it?”
Fabrikant studied her for a long moment.
She said, “I would really appreciate it.”
“I can see how you would. Come with me.”
CHAPTER
39
There was no hint of pipe smoke in Priest’s small office, but it was as cluttered and stacked as haphazardly with things as Fabrikant’s space. Clearly this coterie of elite, benevolent geniuses were not neat freaks. Pine also noted that there were no personal articles, no photos, no mementos from trips or family events. It was as though Priest had no life outside of his work.
Well, we’re not so very different on that score.
Books lined the shelves and were piled on the floor. Binders full of papers formed columns across the floor and tables. The desk was overflowing with more stacks of paper, books, and file folders.
A shiny Apple desktop computer occupied a prominent place on the desk.
Fabrikant watched Pine as she took in the space along with Blum.
“Ben was quite the renaissance man. He had many interests.”
“I would imagine that all of you here do,” noted Blum.
“Yes, we do, actually. Although some of us also have specialties.”
Pine sat down at the desk and stared at the computer. “I need to get on to his computer.”
“I’m not sure I can allow that, but, in any case I’m sure he has a password.”
“Priest left behind a flash drive that I think has something important on it. But it’s also password protected.”
“Then getting on Ben’s computer won’t help you.”
“You’re wrong, it could.”
“How?”
“I’ll show you.”
Her fingers hovered over the keys even as she eyed the various things on Priest’s desk.
“What are you doing?” asked Fabrikant.
“Profiling, for want of a better term.”
Her gaze continued to dart to various objects, until it held on one.
It was a coffee mug full of pens. Printed on the side of the cup was a movie poster.
She typed in the name Keyser Soze.
Nothing happened.
She added another word to Keyser Soze. Then she added more words and then changed their order.
The computer sparked to life.
“How did you do that?” asked Fabrikant.
“Passwords are a pain in the ass to keep straight. Some people use password vaults that generate passwords for lots of different applications, thus obviating the need for a person to remember any of the passwords other than the vault’s. But most people don’t use that method. They could base their passwords on things they keep around them. That helps them remember what they are.” She looked around the room. “There’s absolutely nothing personal in this room. No pictures, or artwork, or memorabilia. Nothing to show the personality of the man who works here. Except for that.” She pointed to the mug. “The Usual Suspects. Kevin Spacey played the character of Verbal. I tried various combinations that were pretty straightforward, like ‘Verbal is Keyser Soze.’ But having met Priest, I concluded he’s not so straightforward. He marches to a different beat. So, I tried the reverse, ‘Soze Keyser is Verbal,’ and bingo.”
Fabrikant silently clapped his hands together. “Impressive. I like how your mind works.”
Pine inserted the flash drive and brought up the screen where the password was asked for.
“Do you think it’s the same password?” asked Blum.
“Doubtful, but I’ll try. We might get lucky.”
She typed in “Soze Keyser is Verbal,” and nothing happened.
“Okay, that’s a no go.”
Fabrikant said, “Do you know for a fact that what’s on the flash drive is related to your case?”
“Priest went to great lengths to hide it, so other things being equal, yes, I’m pretty sure it is.”
She hit some more keys, and a list of the files on Priest’s computer came up. “Is it okay if I print out the list of his files? I can go over them in more detail later.”
“Certainly. But just the file list, not the files themselves. I can’t allow you to take Ben’s work product without his permission.”
“Well, I hope he’ll make it back one day to give his permission.”
“Is it really that serious?”
“With this Sung Nam Chung involved, what do you think?”
Pine printed out the file list and exited out of the computer.
Fabrikant escorted them to the building entrance. Before he closed the door, he handed her his card. “All my contact numbers are on there. If something comes up, or you need some help, don’t hesitate.”
“Thanks,” said Pine, taking the card.
As they walked down the street to the parking garage, Blum said, “Why don’t you profile Priest again? That might help us figure out the password.”
“I can try,” said Pine. “But if it’s just in his head, we’re not going to get it.”
“Glass half full.”
“Right.”
“What did you think of the people back there?”
“Either they are what they appear to be, or they’re a front for some weird shit going on.”
“They wouldn’t have helped us if they were bad people.”
“Depends on your definitions of help and bad.”
“True.”
They reached the Kia and climbed in.
Pine pulled out into traffic and turned left. As they drove along, she glanced in her mirror. “Here we go.”
“What?”
“We picked up a tail.”
“I wonder who.”
“Come on, Carol. You don’t need three guesses. The Society for Good is on our ass. Jeez, you wouldn’t think they’d be so obvious.”
“And what are you going to do about it? Lose them?”
“Not quite.”
“Why not?”
“I’d like some answers.”
Blum sat back in her seat. “Well, you always know just the right way to ask.”
CHAPTER
40
The man following Pine and Blum turned down another road, keeping them in sight in the traffic.
The Kia made another le
ft, then a right, and the man barely made a traffic light as he continued to follow them.
Then he lost the Kia for about a minute but then picked it back up again.
A few seconds later he watched as the Kia parallel-parked in an open space.
The man looked behind him and found a free spot. He backed up and pulled into it. He put the car in park and waited.
As he watched, Blum got out of the car.
The man checked his watch and settled back into his seat.
This lasted for only a moment before the passenger door was wrenched open and a gun was pointing at him.
Pine climbed into the seat and said, “I thought we’d just cut to the chase.”
The man looked from her to Blum, who was looking at him through the driver’s side window.
She waved at Pine and then climbed into the rear seat.
The man was the same one who had answered the door at the Society for Good and escorted them back to Fabrikant’s office.
“You can’t do this,” he said. “It’s illegal.”
Pine held out her badge. “This gives me the right to stop anyone acting suspiciously.”
“I wasn’t acting suspiciously.”
“Then what were you doing?” demanded Pine.
“I wanted to talk to you.”
“About what?”
“I know Ben.”
Pine lowered her gun. “I’m listening. But first, what’s your name?”
“Will Candler.”
“Okay, Will, let’s hear it.”
Candler cleared his throat and gripped the steering wheel so tight, his knuckles shook. “He was into something. Something really dangerous.”
“Tell me something I don’t know,” Pine shot back. “And make it quick.”
“Ben was at the office one night late a while back. He looked so agitated that I asked him what was wrong.”
“And what did he say?” asked Blum.
“At first, he sort of blew me off. Said everything was fine, blah, blah. But I persisted. I told him I might be able to help. I’ve been in DC a long time. I’ve worked in a couple of administrations. I’ve got contacts. Plus, I’ve served in capacities all over the world.”
“So did he open up?”
Long Road to Mercy Page 22