by E Y Mak
The tall, dark man flew backward, crumpling into the ground with a heavy thud.
“Ow! What the hell, Candice!”
“Daniel! Shit! Why did you sneak up on me like that?”
Daniel was in a fetal position, both hands clutching his crotch. “Who's sneaking up on you? Why didn’t you just turn the lights on?” He squirmed and wriggled uncomfortably on the ground.
Candice didn’t say anything and instead held out a hand to help him get up.
“Hold on . . . just let me . . . rest up . . . a bit,” Daniel answered.
Daniel and Candice sat facing each other in the darkened hallway next to her cubicle. Slowly, his breathing returned to a normal pace.
“Where’d you learn to hit like that?” Daniel asked.
“Years of practicing Krav Maga. Also, a woman’s natural instinct when surprised,” Candice replied.
She looked at the gold wedding band on Daniel’s ring finger. In the darkness, and in this less formal setting, she got a less intimidating version of Daniel. There was something undeniably sexy about him. She had been warned about both Daniel and Russell’s escapades around the tower during Phineas Academy. Whereas Russell seemed to be the funny and friendly type—the romantic dreamer, Daniel was all business—pure sexual attraction.
“It’s been a long time since anyone got the jump on me like that, let alone a Phineas rookie. I must be getting slow,” he said.
Candice smiled. Perhaps this wasn’t the career-limiting move she thought had just occurred.
“Sorry,” was all she could muster.
“No, it was my fault. I should have known better than to come down here in the dark. I wanted to let you know that there are cots in the library if you needed a break.” Daniel paused as he must have realized what he had just said. Perhaps it was intentional. He changed the subject. “Did you find anything so far?”
“I cross-referenced his appearances and found some correlations between his presence and criminal activity in this state,” she said. She summarized for Daniel the hits she had found so far. Daniel nodded.
“Is there a possibility it’s not the same guy? That we are just getting false positives?” Candice asked.
“It’s possible, but not likely. We use three-dimensional facial recognition with multiple camera angles, where we can, to analyze the faces of every subject. We generate unique models for each person-I think Russell called it a depth map. We do this for every person on every video fed from the raw surveillance data into PhineasNet. This information gets added into a massive database and can be pulled up at any Phineas office in the world for almost instantaneous recognition,” Daniel answered. “But if anything, I’m told PhineasNet underreports hits. It doesn’t automatically analyze every single feed we’ve ever had, except in certain high-risk areas, simply because of computing resources. The raw data is there, but the analysis isn’t done on it until we make a decision to investigate it or otherwise process it.”
Candice nodded. She recalled now that the depth mapping was meant to improve the cameras detection techniques significantly. But the drawback was that Phineas simply was not able to perform the analytics on all of the data on an ongoing basis-it was just too time-consuming.
“Okay, I see,” she said. “There was something else to this Phantom. It was his face. It just—stands out. Not because of what it does but what it doesn’t do. We can control our facial expressions to an extent. What we can’t control are microexpressions. It’s a brief expression that our faces involuntarily contort into to reflect the emotion being experienced. No more than a nanosecond,” she said. “I mean, take a look at this.”
Candice sat back at her terminal and showed him the first video.
“Look at this when the mattress falls over. Even if he remains as calm as possible, you can’t stop your face from making the slightest look of surprise. It’s not humanly possible.”
She slowed down the video and replayed the loop. “Nothing. Now, look at it if I slow it down some more.”
After looking at the video in even slower motion, Daniel finally said, “Nothing.” After lingering another few seconds, he looked at Candice. “The artificial intelligence in our recognition software also considers facial expressions, hand gestures, and body position when calculating the probability of a hit. It’s safe to say that this is the same person in all of the videos. The same expressionless man.”
Daniel paused again and looked to be deep in contemplation. After this moment of reflection, he looked directly into Candice’s eyes with a smoldering intensity. She wanted to break eye contact, but something-whether fear or desire, she was unsure-made her return the stare. This continued on for a moment before Daniel licked his lips and closed his eyes. She looked at him again for a bit longer, frozen by the moment. She then dropped her eyes to the floor.
Daniel broke the awkward silence.
“If this guy is a serial killer, and Tim was just his last victim, this is huge. We need to find out who he is and what he’s done. Uncovering this killer may be the big story that once again reminds New York how important we are to this city.”
He stood up and began pacing, talking to himself and strategizing, occasionally looking back at her. After thirty seconds, he looked at his watch.
“It’s almost three. You should turn in,” Daniel said. “I’m planning on staying in my office tonight. If you aren’t planning on heading home, you can..”
“Yes, I know where the cots are,” Candice said nervously. Candice looked at the Adonis across from her who was twice his age. Candice, no. This is wrong.
Sensing the moment, he stepped towards her and tried to put his hand on hers, but she pulled it away.
“I was just about to head home, thank you,” she stammered. “I can cab. Long day today, I want to get back to the tapes first thing tomorrow.”
“Where do you live? By the time you get home, you’re going to have to come right back. With the amount of time people put in here, most people just leave an overnight bag,” he said.
“I’m in Brooklyn,” she said.
“All the more reason. Let’s go to the cots,” he said, as he grabbed her hand again. This time, she gave up and let him take it.
He led her by the hand to the fire escape staircase. They walked in the darkness down the stairs to the library, except halfway down, he stopped, turned and leaned in to kiss her on the lips. She didn’t really like it but didn’t resist. As they connected on the darkened staircase, she felt his hands slide down from the nape of her neck and into her shirt. Soon, his gigantic hands began cupping her breasts. As she anticipated the impending sensation from his warm hands, she suddenly heard moans coming from several floors up the staircase. Evidently, another couple was also working the late shift together. Another sharp cry and Candice came to her senses.
“Stop. Stop. I have to go.” She looked at Daniel and saw the intensity in his eyes instantly turn from lust to anger.
“No. I need you tonight,” he said as he gripped her hand tighter.
“No. Let go. Now!” she said, more determined than before.
Daniel let go, but the anger shone through his quivering upturned mouth. She ran back up the stairs, her mind a fog of insecurity with mixed sensations of fear, reprisal, anger and awkwardness. As she opened the door back to the main floor, she could still feel Daniel’s presence, dark in the shadows, and imagined him silently seething, teeth clenched. She hurried to the nearest elevator, still shocked from the experience.
Breathe, Candice.
Outside Phineas Tower, heavy rain had started. She had not noticed it at all through the thick office windows. She turned to the left to find her usual shortcut to WTC station—the same one she had taken every day for the six months since she had arrived in New York. The alley was dark. Not pitch black but darkened, just like any other alley in NYC would look like in the middle of the night. The full moon shone down and brightened the cement on the side of the building. She looked up. People were still worki
ng at Phineas. Some of the lights were on, and the alley got the overflow light leaking out the windows. The streetlights spaced every twenty yards gave the lane an amber-gold hue. It was good enough.
She wasn’t afraid. This was her element. She traversed this path often. Sometimes with coworkers. Sometimes without. She recognized everything in the alley. The industrial garbage and recycling cans. The graffiti. She even recognized the puddles. They were always in the same place. The ubiquitous rustling noises of some concert flyers flitting about in the wind.
Up ahead, she saw something new. A large panel van. Tinted windows. She gave it a wide berth. Fifty feet later, she was steps from Park Place.
Suddenly, she felt a sharp pain on the right side of her head, and everything faded to black.
Chapter Nineteen
Landing in Hong Kong
After Russell had stepped off the airplane onto the terminal gangway, he took advantage of the shorter queue for persons with Hong Kong identification. Within ten minutes of offloading from the plane, he had already picked up his luggage, exited the airport, and was on his way to the hotel.
He sniffed as he exited the airport. The smell of Hong Kong is what many notice when visiting for the first time, especially in the summer. Although both his parents were immigrants to Canada, Russell had spent almost a decade living in the Asian metropolis as a child, and though it wasn’t a particularly pleasant smell—a mixture of exhaust fuel, saltwater, and sweat, made worse with the high humidity—to Russell, it said Welcome to Hong Kong.
He had arranged to meet Benita Sato, an old friend from a smaller investigation firm in Hong Kong, Yin-Lok Investigations. Perhaps referring to Benita as an old friend was a bit of a stretch. Russell had liaised with her many times when Phineas HK was conflicted out of a specific engagement. She had always done excellent, discrete work, and Russell had recommended that she join the Phineas HK office. They had often chatted late into the New York evening on matters entirely unrelated to the case at hand. They fast became confidants—even though they had never physically met—and Russell was in love with her voice. She had the rich exotic accent of her native Spain, but also with soft obedience reflecting her father’s Japanese heritage. The tone of their conversations had also become increasingly flirty after their most recent file together. Russell thought it was the sexiest voice he had ever heard and her best asset until recently, when he saw a photo of her at a celebratory dinner following a joint operation between their two agencies.
Between the sea of Chinese faces, Russell spotted a tall Asian woman holding a sign with his name on it. She had brown hair, almond-shaped eyes, and a tan complexion. He instantly felt a quick twinge of nervousness; his knees buckling just the slightest as he stepped towards her.
“Benita?” he said.
Her long flowing hair was tied into a ponytail that ended slightly past the nape of her neck. Her chestnut eyes flickered with a sense of recognition and narrowed ever so slightly as she smiled at him.
“Russell—good to finally meet you!” she said as she came in for a hug.
That voice! He felt like he was going to collapse on top of her.
They chatted as he followed her to her car, a shiny white Mercedes CLA 45 AMG sedan. After shoving his luggage into the trunk of the vehicle, he walked over to the passenger’s side. By the time he sat down, Benita had already started the engine. His head snapped back into the headrest as she pulled out of her spot and expertly made her way to the highway connector. They sat in brief silence as Benita deftly maneuvered into the parking lane before exiting the lot.
“The Mandarin Oriental, right?” asked Benita.
“Right,” Russell answered. “But first, I need to pick something up in Kowloon. Can we make a quick detour?”
“For sure. I’ll show you the way,” she said.
After exiting the lot and making it onto the Lantau highway, Benita started with the shop talk. “Did you take a look at the profile I prepared on Mauritius, his staff and Fuengirola?” She said the last word as a native Spaniard—“Fu—engi—roller” and accentuated the Rs.
“Yes,” Russell said. “Thanks for getting us tickets to the privacy conference. I’m going to try to get his attention and an invitation to Fuengirola. We need to ask him more about the deal with Ndian.”
Russell looked down at the notes he had scribbled on the conference agenda on the plane ride over. The conference was going to be at the International Finance Center building in Hong Kong’s central district, colloquially known as IFC. “I’ll get to IFC first at 18:30—you linger and enter at around 18:45 or so. He should be there already by then. Try to grab his attention right away.”
She looked over as she let off the gas slightly to let in a merging Audi. “Oh, Russell. I guess we won’t get to pretend that we’re together?”
Russell smiled at the continuation of their telephone flirting. He had been worried that their earlier flirting would make it awkward for them to actually try to work together. “Maybe he’ll see us get drunk and leave together.”
She blushed slightly. “Right, Russell . . .”
He reached into his travel bag and pulled out an American quarter. “Anyway, while you have him distracted, I’m going to slip this into his briefcase. It’s got a microphone and a GPS.”
“Couldn’t fit it into a Hong Kong coin?” she asked.
“We don’t want him to use it accidentally. After the lecture, I’m going to approach him as a potential investor. We know that he’s interested in diversifying his operations and is looking for financing. If I can convince him that I have some money, he might be interested in showing me his operations.”
“Why does he need investment? I mean, he’s one of the richest men in Asia. Why would he need anyone else helping him out?” she asked.
“If he’s starting up something new, he’ll want to spread the risk around so that if he fails, he’s not caught with the tab—or at least all of it.”
“I guess just asking him about Fuengirola is out of the question, right?” she asked as she sped up to pass an older-looking poultry-delivery truck.
“Yes. We’ll have to be subtle. If we take too direct of an approach, we are going to spook him before we learn anything about Fuengirola,” he said.
“Alright—sounds like a plan. Let’s meet up again at 14:00 at Prince Café before heading over to IFC. I’ll text you the address. You know Hong Kong pretty well, right?” she asked. He knew that she knew the answer.
“I do. Are we talking about the one on Mong Kok Road?”
“Señor, there’s five of them on Mong Kok Road. I’ll text you the address,” she said.
As they rounded the bend of the highway and came out from behind an outcrop of nondescript skyscrapers, Russell saw a familiar sight. Floating high above the calm waters of Victoria Harbour was another airship, a dark, red, ominous airship that struck a much more intimidating figure than the Guardian II. In the distance were about a dozen much smaller airships circling at various distances to the imposing figurehead ship.
“So that’s the Observer, eh?” he said.
“Yes—that’s it. How does it compare to the Guardian II?”
“It’s bigger and floats higher in the sky then the Guardian. But I understand you can get in a lot closer with the optics on the Observer.”
“Yeah. Not only can it see a lot closer, the Observer is armed. I guess that’s what happens when you have the Chinese behind a project,” she said as she turned the Mercedes towards the exit marked Kowloon. “Things happen faster.”
“That would never fly in New York,” said Russell. “Phineas had enough trouble getting the Guardian and Guardian II cleared.”
“It’s different here,” she said. “The Brits wanted to build something similar to the Guardian II in the 1980s, right? But at the time of the handover in 1997, the Chinese Communist Party didn’t want foreign control over the project anymore,” she said, eying the Observer. “But they still wanted the surveillance capabilitie
s. So the MSS is just licensing the technology from Phineas for now. Everyone knows that they are just accelerating their own tech in the background.”
As Candice drove, they whizzed by other familiar sights from Russell’s childhood. Giant dockside gantry cranes unloading large metal containers from foreign vessels. Neon street signs and ancient billboards hanging low into the street. Masses upon masses of red taxis heading in every direction.
Soon, they rounded into a quiet corner of Kowloon where all the buildings were at least ninety years old. The old Kai Tak airport was located pretty much in the center of Hong Kong, surrounded by tall residential buildings. Before its closure in 1998, there were strict height restrictions in place to ensure safe passage for incoming and outgoing airplanes threading the needle between the shaky old towers. After its closure, building restrictions were quickly lifted, and a rush of new skyscrapers were constructed in Kowloon. Russell’s familial home was purchased by one of the largest developers in the city, but the neighboring building had not yet been purchased and was still running out several twenty-year leases. Until then, the developers let Russell’s family retain possession of the home. Now, Russell’s family had emigrated to various parts of Canada and the United States. The loft was used primarily by his extended family as holiday quarters.
“There it is,” he said as Benita navigated the Mercedes through familiar aging cement walls of the six-story Victorian-style building that was his familial home. “Don’t bother trying to find a parking spot,” he said. “Just round the block twice. This shouldn’t take me very long.”
Russell jumped out as she stopped the vehicle in the middle of the street. He heard the car quickly whiz away as he exited, and turned to see a line of three cars already queued, honking impatiently.
Russell fished into his jacket pocket and pulled out a single steel key. After entering the dilapidated building, he walked right by the broken elevator and ran up six floors to the tiny little flat midway down the hallway.