Counterfeit Lies

by Oliver North

  “I am not supposed to know, but it is Iran. The Iranians have shut down their fissile material enrichment operations to comply with the new international agreement on Iranian nuclear arms. That’s why Pyongyang and Tehran have signed a compact to do all that work in North Korea.”

  Jake shook his head and said, “The ayatollahs just contracted it out?”

  “You could say that,” Park commented. “But now I must have your help, Jake—and you will be very well compensated.”

  Jake paused before responding, staggered by Park’s open discussion of nuclear weapons caught on his undercover recording device. “But how can you use this cash for buying nuke weapons stuff if you’ve already passed it on as ransom to the kidnappers?”

  “You are very astute, Jake. That is why I trust you. You are correct. We must deliver this cash to the kidnappers, recover Jenny and Gracie, and then retrieve the money—and we must do this quickly before my superiors in Pyongyang realize what I have done.”

  The undercover agent paused for a moment, then said, “Someone with the kidnappers must have known you were receiving this money—and the amount. That’s why the ransom was set at three million for Jenny and Gracie. If you and Tommy are the only ones here who knew the timing and the amount, then it must be someone from overseas. Do you have enemies inside your government?”

  In almost a whisper Park said, “I am dealing with honorable men overseas. The family is sacred. They would never target the family.”

  Jake shook his head. “We still don’t know who’s behind this kidnapping.”

  Park pointed to two burlap bags. “As I said, there are supposed to be three hundred packets of bills, ten thousand dollars per packet. Each of us will count a hundred fifty packets and put them in a bag. Place both bags in my car and we will return to my home to see if there is any news.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  By the time Jake and Park finished counting and bagging the packets, the three loaders, the rental truck, and the rolls of fabric were gone. Jake followed Park and his two bodyguards as they left the warehouse and drove east to San Marino. He checked his mirrors, carefully searching for surveillance, either friend or foe. He spotted nothing out of the ordinary but knew his fellow FBI agents were professionals who could elude detection. He couldn’t risk their interference either. Not now; too much was at stake.

  Jake knew he was trapped between two—perhaps three—rival gangs and the possibility Park had enemies in his own organization who wanted to bring him down. He also knew from his previous undercover experience the high-wire act without a net is always more entertaining to the patrons than the participant. Jake just hoped to avoid the high winds and a plummet to the asphalt below. He waited until both cars pulled onto the freeway before punching the speed-dial feature on the phone.

  Trey picked up on the third ring after spotting the caller ID. “Jake, let me put you on speaker. I’ve got Brian here with me.”

  There was a click. “You there?” asked Trey.

  There was an awkward pause as Jake wrestled with revealing Gabe’s death. He caught himself in a role he’d accused so many of playing. He was comforted by the fact he needed to make the notification in person, not over the speaker from his cell phone.

  “Yeah, I’m on my way back to Park’s house. Any word?” asked Jake.

  “On what?”

  “On anything,” said Jake, frustrated he had to spell out his interest in the investigation.

  “I’m not hearing anything from Hafner or the Agency.”

  “Figures. Did you come up with anything on the bartender?”

  “Yeah,” said Trey, rummaging through the papers on his desk. “Turns out your drinking buddy’s slave name is Jerome Johnson. He legally changed it to Kareem Abdul five years ago after he converted to Islam while at Folsom. He’s a two-striker. Both convictions are for armed robbery.”

  “Is he still on paper?”

  “Nope, got off parole last November,” said Trey.

  “That explains why he can tend bar at Yeong’s place,” said Jake.

  “I thought alcohol was prohibited for traditional Muslims. Wasn’t that the whole issue with the Somali cabdrivers in Minneapolis refusing to transport passengers carrying booze?” asked Trey.

  “It is. It’s called haram, forbidden in Islam. We were schooled on the culture before we deployed,” said Brian.

  “Those 9/11 hijackers didn’t have problems with partying before the attacks,” said Trey.

  Brian continued. “That’s the great thing about martyrdom. It cleanses you of all your past sins. You are absolved of everything and once you pull the pin of the suicide vest you are whisked straight to Paradise, where your seventy-two virgins await.”

  “So you think he’s ready to martyr himself?” asked Trey.

  “No, but a terrorist cell can be very forgiving if he’s putting in work. Financial success can trump martyrdom,” said Brian.

  “What about Candy?” asked Jake.

  “Squeaky clean. She has a brother upstate in Folsom but she has no convictions, no arrests,” said Brian. “Does that make her approachable?”

  “That’s a tough call. If she knows anything she might be willing to talk, assuming she thought as much about Tommy as he did of her. Let’s hold off for now,” said Jake. “Have you been able to pull up the crime reports on Kareem’s two convictions?”

  “Both home invasions; confessed to the first one, convicted of the second. The report mentions a drug problem and he needed a quick cash infusion. Did he strike you as using?”

  “No, he’s clean. If anything he might be on juice, steroids. He’s a rock. I certainly didn’t notice any needle marks and his eyes were clear.”

  “What’s going on at your end?” asked Trey.

  “I’m following Park back to his place. See if the kidnappers have called.”

  “We’d hear if they did.”

  “Is there any activity on Park’s phones?” asked Jake.

  “A few condolences.”

  “What about Hafner and the Agency? Are they giving you anything? Is NSA picking up any overhears?”

  “Hafner’s keeping us both in the dark. I think they believe my loyalty sides with you rather than management.”

  “Great, I can use a partner in Adak when I’m doing background checks for security clearances. Listen, I can’t really talk about it now but we have until the end of the day to wrap this up. I need both of you guys on the ready.”

  “What are you talking about?” asked Trey.

  “They’re shutting this down at midnight. That means we have a little more than six hours. Just be ready. I’ll explain it all later. I’ll call you after I leave Park’s place.”

  “Be safe,” said Trey, ending the call.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

  When Jake and Park, accompanied by the crime boss’s security team, entered the living room, Park’s wife was waiting, dried tears caked on her face. Soo Min, her face badly bruised, was still bandaged from the wounds she received two nights earlier and was sitting nervously on the couch.

  Park spotted the large bouquet of fresh-cut flowers sitting on the coffee table and offered an inquisitive glance.

  “The flowers arrived about an hour ago. The card is addressed to you. I was afraid to open it,” said his wife, handing the card to Park.

  Park tore open the envelope and removed the card. He read the card once, closed it, and opened it again, rereading the message. “It is from the kidnappers. I must make a call.”

  “May I see it?” asked Jake.

  Park nodded, handing the card to Jake, who grabbed it, not worrying about its evidentiary value, and read the contents. The note was in English, which the FBI agent thought strange if the kidnappers were Korean: We know you have the money. Call us immediately.

  Jake noted the phone number—undoubtedly a throwaway cell phone.

  As Park picked up the phone, preparing to call the number on the card, Jake shouted, “Wait!”

 
; Both guards jumped, startled by the outburst and prepared to protect their boss.

  “What?” asked Park, seemingly confused as he looked at Jake.

  He shook his head purposefully. “You better not use your home phone.”

  “Why?”

  Jake handed Park his cell phone, activating the discreet consensual recording button. “The police know who you are and that you were robbed the other day. They may have tapped your phones hoping you’ll identify who killed Tommy.”

  Park nodded. “You are wise. I do not want them to know about the kidnapping.”

  “Exactly,” said Jake with a look of confident reassurance. “Call the number using my phone.”

  Park smiled and said, “Thank you,” in a moment of genuine gratitude.

  “Ask for proof,” said Jake.

  “Proof of what?”

  “Proof of life. Ask to speak to Jenny. Be strong. Refuse to give into their demands unless they can prove Jenny and Gracie are alive,” said Jake with conviction and authority.

  “You sound as if you have handled such a situation before.” It was a statement, not an accusation.

  Jake shrugged and offered a comforting smile, hoping he hadn’t overplayed his hand. “Some people think I watch too much television. In Hollywood they always ask for proof of life.”

  Park walked toward the French doors leading to the garden and punched in the phone number listed in the message. Both guards followed him onto the patio as he made the call.

  Jake sat on the couch next to Soo Min, comforting the older woman, knowing he could play back the call when he departed the residence. “It’s going to be okay. We’ll get Jenny and Gracie back.”

  Park’s wife said nothing, realizing her husband’s chosen profession continued to destroy the only life she knew and the family she loved.

  Jake could make out pieces of the conversation as both he and Soo Min focused on Park. The crime boss talked for several minutes, all in English, which again surprised Jake—reinforcing his conclusion the kidnappers were not a rival Korean gang. After a brief minute of cajoling, Jake heard Park say, “Are you okay?” There was a pause. “And Gracie?” Then Park responded, “It’s going to be okay. I will bring you both home.”

  When the kidnappers came back to the phone Park said, “I will get you your money but if you harm either of them you will never live to spend the ransom.” Park paused, listening to their response, then said, “Laugh if you want but I have not succeeded in this country on kindness alone.”

  With that the call ended. Park returned slowly from the patio, his guards following closely, and handed the phone to Jake.

  Park thought for an extended moment before he asked, “Will you make the drop this evening?”

  “Absolutely.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

  Jake had the window down, allowing the breeze to cool his face. His mind was spinning, as he planned how to navigate his next move. He knew Park and the kidnappers were both adversaries. And his own FBI would become an obstacle in another five hours. If he disclosed his plan, especially his intention to safely recover Jenny and Gracie, Hafner and the Bureau hierarchy would balk.

  Logistically it was a nightmare. Legally it was questionable. No matter how you sliced it the chances of any rescue were slim. But attempting to convince Park to seek law enforcement assistance was futile and a SWAT entry made no sense; the deaths of Jenny and Gracie would be almost guaranteed.

  Jake put his cell phone on speaker and played back the call Park placed to the kidnappers. Otis Redding was singing in the background and the voice was a distinct Middle Eastern accent; a strange combination. “The girls will not be hurt if you comply. Bring three million dollars to the Shanghai Hotel, room 212, at eight p.m. Do not be stupid. And whoever you send with the money, make sure he comes alone; otherwise your daughter and granddaughter die.”

  When Park demanded to speak to Jenny, she managed to say only a couple of words before the phone was yanked from her mouth. She begged for help, tears in her voice.

  Jake replayed the recording, seeking more answers before calling Trey.

  “Check indices and tell me everything we’ve got on the Shanghai Hotel,” said Jake.

  “The what?”

  Jake repeated himself, then added, “If it’s the same place I’m thinking, it’s a whorehouse.”

  “Were you a patron or was this part of an official investigation?” asked Trey, not expecting an answer as he accessed the computer on his desk to search FBI records. “Got it. Yeah, it’s on Olympic near Hoover in the Mid-Wilshire District.”

  “That’s the one.”

  “You frequent the place?”

  “No, but I did a dope deal there three years ago. It’s a three-story building with girls running in and out all day. It’s perfect for what I want to do.”

  “Do I want to know?”

  “You are part of the plan . . . idiots!”

  “Are you calling me an idiot?”

  “No, them. I love it when their IQs are double digits below mine. Now we just have to play all the interests.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

  Jake pulled into the parking lot of a strip mall just north of the 10 Freeway, a few miles from Park’s residence. He cruised slowly toward the lone empty parking space in front of the liquor store. Noting the five men congregating in front, he tapped his back as he exited the car, ensuring his Glock was securely nestled in the waistband. His biggest fear wasn’t death; it was embarrassment.

  He didn’t want to get caught in the middle of an armed robbery, not having his weapon, and somehow the police and media learning an unarmed FBI agent failed to thwart a felony in progress. His destination was not the liquor store but the nondescript phone store next to it. Jake weaved his way past the men sharing a forty-ouncer hidden in a not-so-discreet brown paper bag. He smiled confidently, not wanting to be confrontational, but remembered the words of Marine General James Mattis preparing us for combat in Iraq: “Be polite, be professional, but have a plan to kill everyone you meet.”

  Jake was the only customer in the phone store, and the long-haired, pimply-faced teenager sitting behind the counter looked up from his iPad to greet a potential commissioned sale. “Can I help you?”

  “I sure hope so,” said Jake, acting confused by the many phones offered on the wall display.

  “You’ve come to the right place. We’ve got all your cellular phone needs. You’re actually in luck. The owner is running a special on the iPhone 5 and with a three-year service contract you get an automatic free upgrade each year on your contract anniversary.”

  Jake smiled. The kid was good and pushing hard for a sale, but the undercover agent was going to be a huge disappointment. “Look, I’m in a hurry and just want the cheapest prepaid phone you have in your inventory. It’s for my grandmother so she can put it in her car in case of an emergency.”

  The clerk gave Jake a “cheapskate” look. “A lot of customers initially want the prepaid, minimal-use phone but quickly learn it’s not the ideal plan. Let me show you some free phones that I can give you merely by adding your grandmother to our new family and friends plan. For less than a visit to Starbucks I can make your grandmother always available.”

  “Nice try but you don’t get it. I don’t want her always available. I want her to know this is limited use and only in the event of an emergency,” said Jake, admiring the kid’s persistence.

  Without much of a fight, the young salesman selected a no-frills cell phone, which served the purpose but meant pennies in the young man’s pocket.

  Jake thought he’d ease the pain for the salesperson as he rang up the sale and was genuine in his next statement. “I’m in a hurry but I may be back. That three-year contract on a 5 sounds enticing. I’m looking to upgrade.”

  The clerk gave Jake an entrepreneurial grin. “I’ll give you my card. I hope when you come back in you’ll ask for me.”

  “You can count on it,” said Jake as the teenager handed him t
he bag with the prepaid cell phone and a business card with his name and phone number on it.

  Before Jake went to his car he stopped at the liquor store.

  “You got aspirin?” Jake asked the clerk behind the counter. The man was short and dark, possibly Indian or Pakistani.

  The clerk responded but Jake had no clue what he said. Jake repeated the question and the clerk pointed to shelves at the back of the store, where Jake found an assortment of high-priced over-the-counter drugs. He was looking for the largest bottle of aspirin and shook each bottle to make sure it met his needs. When he was satisfied, he found a roll of overpriced Scotch tape on another dust-covered shelf and stopped by the cooler to grab a Pepsi before heading to the cash register.

  Once inside the car he popped three aspirin, washed them down with a swig from the Pepsi, wrapped the cotton from the aspirin bottle around the mouthpiece of the prepaid cell phone, then taped it in place with a couple of inches of tape from the roll he had just purchased.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

  Jake called Park as he approached the residence. When the gate opened he drove up the long driveway. Park was standing in front when Jake arrived, the Green Hornet and Kato by his side. As Jake hopped out of the car he said, “I don’t have much time. I need to get back to the other side of town and I don’t trust the traffic.”

  “I understand,” said Park.

  Jake handed him the cell phone and Park gave an inquisitive look.

  “Just follow the directions on the card,” said Jake, handing Park a three-by-five file card. “At the time specified on the card I need you to call this number and read exactly what I’ve written. Do you understand?”

  Park nodded but asked, “Why the cotton?”

  “I want your voice muffled.”

  “You mean in case the police have voice-recognition software?”