by Oliver North
“It’s time. He’s ready,” said Tommy.
Tommy kissed Candy on the cheek as he and Jake headed down the dimly lit hallway to the stairs.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Once they were away from the others, Jake said, “Sorry to hear about your friend Sonny.”
Tommy shrugged. “No great loss but I’d like to know why he was hit.”
“Is anyone offering any explanations?”
“Not yet. At least no one has heard anything.”
Jake tried to act disinterested but sought answers for the investigation. “Did you guys do much business together?”
Tommy didn’t seem to mind the inquiry and answered without hesitation. “No. He was kind of a fixture in Koreatown. He did a little of this and a little of that.”
“On the up-and-up?” asked Jake.
“Yes and no. As I understand it he got hurt in the riots back in ’92.”
Jake interrupted. “You mean injured?”
“No, not physically but he got slammed financially. He lost several businesses. Then a few years later he came back strong with overseas financing. He played both sides and moved a lot of paper.”
“What do you mean?”
“He was into negotiable notes. Not all of which were legit.”
“You mean counterfeit securities?”
“Something like that. I never quite understood what his game was. He was involved with several financial institutions both here and in Korea. He was a little too slick for me and never invited me to play. He ran with the big dogs.”
“Like who?”
“You’re meeting one today.”
“Yeong?”
Tommy nodded. “It’s Mr. Yeong to you.”
“Just keep your ears open. I don’t want anything coming back on us if this Sonny got smoked because of his walk on the wild side of Koreatown. We may be strolling down the same side of the street,” said Jake.
“That wouldn’t happen. I never had any business dealings with him unless you consider buying him a drink a business relationship.”
“You aren’t wasting any money on me. Why’d you buy him a drink?”
“He spent a lot of time here in the bar and I figured if I bought him a drink or two he might cut me in on some scam he had going, but nothing ever materialized.”
“Maybe you were lucky you weren’t involved. One of his deals may have gone south and he got laid out because of it.”
Tommy nonchalanted the comment as the two climbed the stairs.
When they came to a door at the end of the corridor, Tommy knocked twice.
Four men were in the small office, a space hardly fitting for a Mr. Yeong, someone Jake’s FBI colleagues believed to be a major player in the world of Asian organized crime. Three of the men, whom Jake didn’t recognize, stood immediately when Tommy and he entered. Two of them flanked Yeong and the third took up a position to the right and slightly behind Jake. They stayed there, unmoving, throughout the meeting.
Though the men were small in stature, Jake saw the pronounced bulges on their hips. The semi-automatic weapons they carried under their stylish Kahala Hawaiian shirts evened out any size discrepancy. Yeong, the oldest of the four, at least fifty, remained seated, smoking a cigarette.
Jake concentrated on the faces, sizing up the opposition. He wanted to establish his dominance as much as Yeong and his associates did.
The office was cold and dank. The curtains were closed and a single low-wattage lightbulb hung from the ceiling, requiring several seconds for Jake’s eyes to adjust to the darkness and the smoke.
Jake extended his hand but Yeong didn’t take it. “Mr. Yeong, thank you for trusting me enough to allow me into your office. Tommy and I have done two containers for you without incident. I am glad to have built this bond where we can finally meet.” Jake smiled and added, “You knew where I lived, but I never knew where you did business.”
“I do business all over the world. I’m not limited to this office,” said Yeong, whose thin smile quickly faded.
Jake’s face projected confidence, not a hint of fear. “Sir, I’ve enjoyed my business relationship with Tommy. It’s a pleasure to deal with honorable men, and I hope we can continue to do business for the long run.”
Yeong said nothing but took a deep draw off the cigarette. His silence only added to the mystique of the setting. He pulled two packages from beneath the scarred wooden desk where he was sitting, each the size of a Tolstoy novel. Yeong slid the packages across the desk and gestured for Jake to take them.
Jake hefted one of the packages. He guessed around two pounds—about right for a kilo of crystal methamphetamine, the new drug of choice in Los Angeles. In the early eighties it was cocaine, a party favor for the rich and famous. By the end of that decade crack or rock cocaine, a simpler, less expensive alternative to freebasing, became popular in the inner city. The Crips and Bloods financed criminal empires with the cheap high and the South Central economy flourished as criminal entrepreneurs learned the basics of the free enterprise system.
The twenty-first century saw the rise of crystal meth—“crank,” “speed,” or “ice,” as it was known on the street. The terminology changed almost monthly and even an experienced undercover agent had trouble keeping up with the street slang, but regardless of what the dealers and dopers called it, the highly addictive man-made stimulant became a multibillion-dollar industry in the underground economy.
The concoction that started out as a moneymaker for outlaw biker gangs became an epidemic criminal opportunity for anyone with an elementary knowledge of chemistry. It was as popular in the farmlands as it was in the inner city or corporate boardrooms. The stuff was so ubiquitous in Southern California that it was an accepted form of currency. By mid-2014, a kilo of high-quality crystal meth was worth more than thirty thousand dollars. Jake was only too happy to receive his payment in the controlled substance, ensuring lengthy prison sentences for all involved in the transaction.
As he examined the tightly wrapped package in clear plastic, Jake said, “It’s tough to tell in this light but from what I can see it looks good. The color is better than the last batch of meth I bought, but that was from Mexicans. It had a yellow tinge that frightened my customers.”
Yeong, always the businessman seeking to promote his product, nodded and said, “This is made in a government laboratory near Pyongyang. The state security forces protect the factory. The North Korean People’s Army ensures safe delivery and it is the finest in the world.”
Jake examined it more closely, smelling the outside of the package and holding it closer to the light. He paused for effect, hoping to gain more admissions on the tiny recording device he was wearing. “It does feel a little light. Did you weigh it?”
Tommy’s eyes widened and he snapped: “Jake, I can assure—”
“You are questioning my integrity?” asked a clearly aggravated Yeong, interrupting Tommy.
Yeong’s three associates said nothing but readied for a combative response.
Jake held up an apologetic hand and answered in a calming voice. “Not at all, sir. I’m questioning whoever packaged this. Tommy assures me you are a most trustworthy business partner.”
Yeong’s irritation was still evident. “I can assure you my people are accurate and there are no extra thumbs on the scales.”
“If you say so,” said Jake, with less respect than a man of Yeong’s position presumably deserved.
“No one has ever questioned my packaging. I have satisfied many who return often for my product. If you wish to challenge me, then I suggest you return to the Mexicans and their off-color product. I’m sure you can find someone else willing to supply your needs, but they cannot give you the quality I am offering.”
Jake turned on the mea culpa and the sincerity in his response was evident. “I’m sure you’re right. Excuse me for even appearing to question you. That is not what I meant.”
What he meant, he obtained: an extended conversation with a suppl
ier who displayed significant knowledge of an illegal enterprise.
Yeong, momentarily placated by Jake’s response, said, “You know, you don’t have to take meth for payment. If you are fearful about reselling the contents of these packages, I can arrange to pay you in cash, or counterfeit clothing, maybe even jeans? There’s a big markup with Dolce & Gabbana. I can even pay you in cigarettes.” Yeong held up his cigarette, implying it may have been manufactured in North Korea but packaged as an American brand.
Though it wouldn’t minimize the criminal culpability, Jake wasn’t happy. Yeong’s choice of words almost made it sound as if Jake had forced him into the illegal barter of drugs for the shipping container.
“Mr. Yeong, you know smoking’s bad for your health, even the counterfeit brand you’re holding. There’s a warning label on every package,” said Jake in a casual tone with mock concern.
Yeong was still uncertain how to read the American and replied, “You accepted cash for the previous container.”
Jake held up one of the kilos and said, “This is fine, Mr. Yeong. All those who buy your product know you have the best ice made by man. Your reputation throughout Southern California puts you number one with a bullet on any Top Forty chart. I have customers who pay top dollar for this. The risk to me is worth the profit.”
Yeong didn’t speak for a moment. Then, as though he had made up his mind, the Korean gangster said in a quiet voice, “There is always great risk, which is why I am most cautious in my dealings. Only on Tommy’s guarantees have I invited you today. I know there are many agencies of the government here who investigate drugs. Those who are caught face devastating consequences. Be extremely wise in your choices, as I am. Limit your dealings to only those you can trust.”
Jake shook his head slowly, knowing the man across from him wasn’t nearly as wise or as careful as he thought he was. “Mr. Yeong, I appreciate your concern but I’m very careful. As you have seen I have a well-established business which caters to very specific needs.”
Yeong smiled. “I am well aware of your business and that is why I want you as part of my family.”
Jake feigned confusion. “You want me to be an Oriental?”
Yeong corrected him immediately. “We do not like that term.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Yeong, I forgot. Tommy told me. I didn’t mean to be insensitive.”
Tommy looked at Jake, trying to determine if in fact he forgot. Yeong was an important figure in Koreatown and Jake’s continued showing of disrespect might upset the delicate conspiracy the younger criminal capitalist was hoping to create.
Yeong finished the first cigarette and crushed it into a green ceramic ashtray shaped like a dragon. He took deliberate efforts to remove a gold Cartier cigarette case, identical to the one Daniel Reid possessed, from inside his jacket. Yeong grabbed a second cigarette and placed it to his lips, eyeing the bodyguard on the right. Without being asked, the henchman offered a light and Yeong took several long puffs, looking away as if contemplating his next statement.
Jake questioned if he’d crossed the line but then Yeong spoke. “I would like to negotiate for the exclusive use of your contacts at the border. Your connections at the U.S.-Mexican ports of entry are important to our enterprise. We have many different kinds of things we want to ‘import’ into the United States. We have learned it is much safer to bring containers into this country from Mexico than it is to import them directly from overseas into a U.S. port like San Diego, Long Beach, Oakland, or even Seattle.
“Our partners in Asia are counting on my organization to seize this opportunity because they want to make a significant increase in the quantity and types of imports. That is why I am inviting you to become part of my business family.”
Jake nodded slowly and hoped he appeared to be considering the offer. He knew from previous conversations with Tommy and from intelligence reports he had reviewed preparing for the assignment that Yeong was in competition with Park Soon Yong for King of the Hill in the Korean organized-crime community. “That’s an interesting proposition but I’m a pragmatic man. It would have to be financially beneficial for me to limit my dealings to just your organization.”
“Don’t let a reckless desire for success destroy your life. Confucius says, ‘If you try to do too much, you will not achieve anything.’ ”
“I thought Confucius was Chinese.”
“He was but he was still a very wise man. If you bet wrong in this business the consequences are far too great.”
“Well, in the words of one of my favorite philosophers . . .” Jake began to sing, “I’ll take your bet and you’re gonna regret ’cause I’m the best that’s ever been.”
Tommy shook his head. “Jake!”
“I don’t understand,” said Yeong, confused by Jake’s off-key addition to the conversation.
“Charlie Daniels, ‘The Devil Went Down to Georgia,’ ” said Jake with a huge smile.
Yeong blew smoke into the air. “Confucius also said, ‘A superior man is modest in his speech but exceeds in his actions.’ ”
Jake nodded as if in agreement, but then said, “Modesty doesn’t become me. But my actions prove my success.”
“We can do very well if you will be smart. Continue to bring my containers through the border and I will see you are rewarded quite well. Take my cash but leave the ice,” said Yeong, taking a long draw on the cigarette. He then reached into a drawer and Jake readied for the unknown, his weight shifting to the balls of his feet, prepared to attack. When Yeong’s hand surfaced he was holding six bundles of hundred-dollar bills, totaling sixty thousand dollars, and threw them on the table.
Jake shook his head and decided to reset the conspiracy for the purpose of the recording device he was wearing. “Mr. Yeong, I agreed to bring these containers across the border for sixty thousand dollars cash per container. These two keys of meth cost you what, forty thousand dollars at the most, maybe even as little as thirty? I can have my people break down these packages into eight-balls and resell it all for two hundred K—maybe as much as a quarter of a million. You save money. I make money.”
Yeong nodded but then said, “What you say is correct, but breaking down the packages takes time—and reselling brings additional risks. In six weeks we have done two containers. That is a hundred twenty thousand in cash. Is that not enough to satisfy your needs?”
Jake could not have scripted the conversation any better. “I have expenses, Mr. Yeong. It’s not all profits. You’re a businessman, you know that. With this payment in the yaba I can make a whole lot more than a hundred and twenty. Let’s continue to work together. Our common goal is lining both our pockets with American currency.”
Yeong nodded, grabbing the bundles of hundreds from the table and sliding them back into the top drawer of the desk.
Tommy interceded. “We need to leave now.”
“But I’d like to continue to talk long-term business plans with Mr. Yeong. We’re just getting started. I think this relationship might evolve into substantial profits for all of us,” said Jake.
“It’s not wise while we’re all together with what you’re holding in those two packages,” said Tommy, just a hint of irritation in his voice. “We can meet again tomorrow or the next day to discuss long-term plans.”
With that Yeong clapped his hands twice. “Very wise, Tommy. You are learning.” With the back of his hand Yeong gestured for everyone to leave.
Jake threw the two kilos into a nondescript brown paper bag Yeong provided.
“We’ll talk more next time. I’d like to explore a long-term business proposition. We might be able to make it work if you make it worth my while,” said Jake as he was leaving.
“We will talk again soon,” said Yeong.
Tommy hustled Jake out of the office and back down the stairs.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
As they began the long walk down a now-dark alley toward the Range Rover, Tommy fumed, “You made Mr. Yeong angry.”
“What do
you mean?” asked Jake, knowing exactly what he meant.
“You know Mr. Yeong doesn’t like being called Oriental.”
Jake smiled but said nothing.
“Why do you do that?” asked Tommy.
“Because I can get away with it,” said Jake with a smirk, celebrating the fact he had just added one more nail to the coffin of several gangster entrepreneurs.
Tommy shook his head. “If you want to keep taking your fee in Mr. Yeong’s yaba, I suggest you show the man a lot more respect.”
“Oh, come on. Don’t give me that respect crap. This is all about the money. I’ve got what he needs. If he can’t handle my insensitivities, I’ll just move on to someone else. A lot of people will pay for my services. If this is going to work, he doesn’t have to like me. All he has to do is trust me—and pay me.”
“Why should he trust you? I don’t know that I do,” said Tommy.
“Well, apparently he doesn’t trust you. He wouldn’t even front you two kilos of ice to pay for the container we smuggled into the United States. I’d watch my back around him. From now on, you ought to insist on half payment up front.”
Jake knew he had three solid counts against Yeong: two containers of counterfeit goods smuggled across the U.S. border and now the crystal methamphetamine. He needed to move quickly to Park, whom he had not met but who had brokered the Rolex watch deal through Tommy. The investigation might be short-lived because of the lawyer’s solicitation to commit murder. The undercover agent wanted to get Tommy off Yeong and on to Park. This was an opportunity to plant seeds of doubt and fear, maybe even a little paranoia.
Jake continued. “I’d drop this guy like used dental floss. From everything you’ve said Park is more honorable.”