The Depository

by E Y Mak

  Less than three minutes later, he returned to street level with a specially made Glock 23 tucked into the small of his back. Theoretically, he could obtain a standard sidearm from Phineas HK, but he was here without authorization. In anticipation for this eventuality, he had stashed the Glock in a gun safe hidden in the wall of his room. As part of a special arrangement with the Hong Kong Police Department, Phineas agents could conceal weapons provided that it was electronically locked to the user. This meant that the weapon could only be fired when the agent’s thumb was biometrically identified on the grip of the weapon. Although this technology was innovative and modern, Russell had noticed that this introduced a significant amount of lag into the operation of the weapon that could be the difference between life or death.

  Nonetheless, the reassuring weight of the weapon gave him comfort. Tucked beneath his specially tailored blazer, the weapon disappeared into his silhouette. He returned to the curb in front of his apartment building and saw the silver Mercedes rounding the block.

  After another twenty minutes of stop-and-go driving in Hong Kong traffic, Benita pulled the car into the roundabout in front of the Mandarin Oriental. Before Benita had even rolled to a stop, a porter had already run up to meet the vehicle. While the slight man was helping him unload his luggage, Russell turned back to Benita and teased, “Thanks for the ride.”

  “Anytime, Russell. Just remember to show me a good time next time I’m in New York.” She brought her hand up to her face and tucked her hair behind her ear as she spoke. He debated asking her in for a drink, but there was work to do. Reluctantly, he stepped out of the car. Russell watched as she put the car in gear and pulled out of the roundabout. He imagined the types of places he would love to take her to in New York when his thoughts were interrupted by the porter.

  “Sir? Entrance is this way.”

  “Right, sorry,” he said sheepishly.

  It was approximately 11:00 a.m. before he finally checked into his room. After tipping the porter, Russell immediately performed the usual sweep of his room for listening bugs, hidden cameras, and other surveillance devices. A lot of this sweep was manual observation, but Phineas had also enabled an RF bug detector in his phone. He swept the tool over the entire room with nil results.

  Once he was satisfied with the sanctity of the room, he sat down at the desk and unpacked his laptop. He activated the cellular connection on his computer, then enabled the encrypted VPN. He began scanning his emails, automatically categorizing, sorting, and delegating several messages and tasks to other detectives. He stopped abruptly when he saw an email from Candice.

  From:Candice Pirelli

  Subject:Update

  Time:09:11

  Hi Russell,

  Looked into our faceless subject. Let’s chat when you have a moment.

  Candice

  He responded with a quick note:

  Thanks. Will call tomorrow at 09:00 EST.

  After finishing his work, he shut down the laptop. He stood up, went into the washroom, and started preparing for a long hot shower. He turned on the faucet to test the hot water and stripped down to his underwear. As he walked back out to grab his grooming kit, he stopped in his tracks when he saw his laptop flash on and off.

  What the hell? Russell thought. He looked at the screen, which was once again lit. He opened up the security defender and clicked on the activity log, which did not identify any intrusion. If anyone had tried to get in, the advanced Phineas security system appeared to have stood up to the attack. The system had always been a bit touchy—perhaps it was just a false positive. Russell debated contacting IT before settling on doing nothing for now. He couldn’t risk exposing his mission for the time being. He’d just have a chat with Petri once he was back in New York—unless something happened again.

  After checking the lock on the hotel door, he entered the shower and began cleaning off the sweat and grime that had collected on his body during the last day of travel.

  Chapter Twenty

  Later that day

  Russell left his hotel room at 17:30 dressed in a dark-blue blazer and pants, together with a solid white poplin dress shirt, no tie. He finished the ensemble with brown leather wingtip shoes. It was exactly how the investment bankers coming in to meet him during his Wall Street days had dressed.

  He exited the hotel into the roundabout and asked the porter to call a cab for him. He watched the porter gingerly walk into the street and begin making a motion simulating the waves of Kowloon Bay, the local sign for calling a taxi destined to cross the tunnel over to the Kowloon Peninsula. Within seconds, a familiar red-and-white Toyota Comfort taxi pulled into the roundabout. Russell stepped in and simply said, “IFC 2.”

  The International Finance Center is one of many prominent landmarks in Hong Kong. Consisting of two towers, IFC and “baby” IFC, the center hosts some of the world’s largest brands, including BNP Paribas, Soros Fund Management, UBS, and the Four Seasons hotel.

  The primary attendees at the International Privacy Symposium were privacy professionals, cybersecurity experts, policymakers, audit experts, and other technologists, all looking to gain knowledge and network. Russell knew that he was going to be bored stiff.

  After arriving at IFC Tower 2, he entered the building and cleared the lobby security checkpoint. He dawdled briefly at the espresso shop on the first floor, reciting the names of the menu items and eavesdropping on the Mandarin conversations, before making his way to the elevator leading to the conference. He arrived exactly as scheduled at 18:30 p.m.

  Russell took in the conference and immediately began mapping out the layout of every exit and vantage point. The organizers had separated the event into two sections. The first section was composed of three auditoriums, each with seating for over one hundred people. From the signage located on a tripod at the entrance to the conference annex, Russell determined that Mauritius would be speaking in the banquet hall

  The second section was a reception area the size of three tennis courts, where attendees mingled before heading into one of the auditoriums. The reception area consisted of two bars at the north and south corners of the room. Cocktail tables dotted the tables, and couches were set up along the sides of the west and east walls. About sixty people populated the room. He scanned the occupants. They looked to be mostly conference attendees, but there were about a dozen hotel employees, including what looked like six security personnel dressed in all black.

  There he was.

  Mauritius was sitting in one of the couches set in the corner. His companions were two older men, an older Asian woman, and three attractive younger Asian ladies. He was laughing it up with the other men at the table. The younger ladies looked to be laughing awkwardly, as if just reacting to the temperature of the conversation as opposed to its content. The older lady was more focused and appeared to be monitoring the crowd around them. From Benita’s briefing file, Russell recognized her as Elva Zhao, Mauritius’s personal lawyer and accountant. Mauritius sat in the middle, a leather satchel on the table in front of him.

  He checked his watch. 18:37. Benita should be here soon. He decided to try to blend in. Russell walked up the southwest bar, about ten yards from Mauritius’s sofa. He turned to the bartender, a Hong Kong girl of no more than twenty with her long black hair tied in a bun behind her head. He decided that something sweet would hit the spot. “Iced tea, with no ice, in a whiskey glass,” he said, hoping to at least look the part and blend in. He craved some scotch but needed his faculties.

  While the bartender poured his drink, he turned to chat with the pretty blonde in line behind him. In his peripheral vision, he spotted two menacing brutes standing about thirty feet behind Mauritius, scanning the room with watchful eyes. They looked over at him twice while the blonde was recanting her story of dining at Din Tai Fung, a Michelin-star Shanghai restaurant in the Causeway Bay area of Hong Kong.

  Was Russell already on Mauritius’s radar?

  While he feigned interest in the blon
de’s culinary adventure, he noticed Mauritius’s group standing up and strolling to the auditorium. Russell knew that once Mauritius entered the auditorium and stood at the front, there would be no chance to discretely bug his briefcase.

  He needed a distraction. Where the hell is Benita?

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Russell watched Mauritius head towards the door to the auditorium, briefcase in hand. There wasn’t much time left—he needed to take things into his own hands. With a half-hearted apology to the besotted blonde at the bar, he rushed at a semi-brisk pace towards the door to intercept Mauritius. He expertly maneuvered between three separate clusters of attendees before stopping to casually let a waiter pass with a tray of hors d’oeuvre.

  After letting him through, he pushed forward and continued towards the door, casually looking at his Speedmaster to suggest that he was late for something. He charged through, almost spilling another man’s beer. He apologized but kept his eyes on his target, who was now less than twenty feet from the door.

  Suddenly, the elevator next to the door opened.

  Out walked Benita, straight into Mauritius’s path.

  She was dressed in a full-length gold embroidered dress. She wore her hair in a dramatic side part, allowing her curly brunette locks to cascade down over her bare right shoulder. A keyhole cutout at the front of the dress accentuated her cleavage, and the sheer fabric of her dress showed off her long legs. The glow of the elevator light enveloped her and, in the darkened reception hall, illuminated her in a way that made her look angelic.

  He stopped in his tracks briefly just to think, Man, what an entrance.

  Russell watched as Mauritius stopped to let the beauty through. “Señorita, please,” he said, motioning her to walk in front of him.

  “Thank you, señor,” she said. “Can you let me know where the banquet hall is?”

  Mauritius let out a loud chuckle. “Which table are you at?” he asked as he motioned to his entourage to go ahead. He held his elbow out. “Allow me to escort you.”

  Benita smiled and wrapped her arms around his outstretched limb.

  As he watched Benita and Mauritius walk into the banquet hall together, he saw his opportunity. At the far end of the auditorium was another bar. He set his untouched drink on a nearby cocktail table and beelined straight for the distant bar. Russell worked his path so that it took him right by Mauritius’s right side, where the leather briefcase dangled loosely from his elbow.

  Russell readied the quarter.

  He sped up before slightly slowing his pace to match another cluster of guests heading towards the dining area. As all three groups were forced into a chokepoint between two banquet tables, Russell closed the distance with Mauritius and dropped the listening device into the open side newspaper pocket of the Spaniard’s briefcase. Without breaking stride, he continued his progress towards the far end bar.

  Once he arrived at his destination, he casually ordered another iced tea with identical instructions. As he turned around with his drink, he saw Mauritius helping Benita with her seat. They appeared to briefly chit chat before he excused himself.

  Russell took a sip of the iced tea as he watched Mauritius head to another table at the front of the room.

  Suddenly, a deep voice with a Cantonese accent interrupted his gaze.

  “We need a word with you,” it said.

  He turned back towards the bar, immediately locking eyes with the two brutes he had seen behind Mauritius earlier.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Russell didn’t react. “Yes?” he said, feigning disinterest.

  “We need to have a word with you.”

  Russell sized them up. The thug talking to him was about six three and at least two hundred and thirty pounds. Brute Number One. Brute Number Two was slightly taller and thinner. Neither exhibited the calm and professional disposition of tactical or martial arts training. Brute Number Two avoided eye contact with Russell, suggesting nervousness. Russell knew he could take each of them individually and he had a reasonable chance at both, but didn’t want to cause a scene in the middle of the ballroom.

  At least, not at this time.

  “Okay, start talking,” he said dismissively.

  “We need to talk in private. Miss Ronda wants to talk to you.”

  “Miss Ronda?” he asked.

  Brute Number One motioned to a girl standing at the ballroom entrance. It was the blonde from the first bar, and she looked pretty angry, with a pout on her face and her arms crossed in front of her chest.

  “You owe her a drink,” Brute Number Two said.

  Russell stifled a laugh. She had taken offense to him brushing her off, and she was trying to get back at him. Evidently, the brutes were hers, not Mauritius’s. Probably a wealthy socialite, one of thousands in Hong Kong.

  “Listen, I apologize for being abrupt with her, but I don’t know why she wants a drink or a word from me now,” Russell said. “But if you don’t get out of my face, there’s going to be trouble for you both. Now, excuse me.”

  He reached between the two thugs, grabbed his iced tea, and calmly walked to his table and sat down. Eventually, he snuck a peek back and saw that they had both sat down at a table in the rear near Miss Ronda. She still had the bitter look on her face of a woman scorned but was getting attention from some of the other male guests at her table. Neither Miss Ronda nor the brutes were paying any more attention to Russell.

  Russell faced forward again. He noticed that the auditorium was quickly filling up now.

  Okay, I won’t be able to do much until at least after Mauritius’s talk. Let’s pretend to fit in here.

  Russell began idly chatting with the other guests at the table. Three of them were directly in the privacy business, acting as privacy officers in their respective organizations. Two others were privacy lawyers and the last was a director in Hong Kong Vital Statistics. Believing that Russell was a banker, the two lawyers repeatedly tried to strike up lengthy conversations with him to get the inside scoop on his upcoming deal flow. Russell talked in very general terms and tried to ignore them, but his reserved words made them come on all the more aggressively. Was I ever like this in private practice?

  While they were talking, the banquet host walked to the front of the room and called the room to order.

  “Ladies and gentleman, thank you for attending the Fifteenth Annual International Privacy Symposium. We’re delighted to be in Hong Kong this year to a sold-out event. Every year, we try to highlight a particularly important topic for discussion. It should be no surprise, however, that this year’s topic once again focuses on online privacy.” The host paused. “Over fifty-five percent of the people surveyed in North America, Europe, and Asia indicate that the protection of their personal information online is more important to them than physical privacy, and that number is increasing every year. Our guest speaker tonight has been a champion of online defenses since the 1990s and has always been involved in the conversation on protecting privacy.” The host turned and gestured towards Mauritius’s table. “Without further ado, Mauritius Delgado!”

  The spotlight turned on Mauritius, still seated at the head table. He stood, waved to the crowd, and walked to the podium, hands in the air. He flashed a luminous smile to the event photographers situated next to the entryway of the stage. The host moved back, gave him room, and passed over the microphone. Thunderous applause abounded and continued for a good thirty seconds.

  Mauritius was definitely a rock star in this crowd.

  “Thanks, Andrew. It’s a pleasure to be here tonight,” Mauritius said, facing the host. He then turned to the crowd. “I’m here to talk once again about the intrusion of technology into the everyday life of the world’s citizens. For the last fifty years, we’ve always felt the eyes of the state on us—high in the air, looking, scanning, recording—all in the name of ‘public safety.’” Mauritius air-quoted the last two words.

  “For the last two decades, however, our activities online are f
raught with much more peril than anything that we could possibly do in the real world. The internet is the real world. What did you do between the time that you woke up this morning and now?” he asked the crowd. “Did you pay a bill online? Did you make an online purchase? Did you send an email to a loved one? Did you ’Check-in’ to IFC tower when you arrived?” he said, pausing after asking each question.

  “Think of what information you have put out there. Any of these activities expose your information through a myriad of online weak points. And yet, the world at large is okay with this.”

  As Russell listened, he scanned the banquet hall repeatedly, keeping tabs on Elva and Benita, and watching for anyone leaving or entering the banquet hall. For now, it was mostly waitstaff. He turned back to Mauritius.

  “Now, you all know about data mining. Data mining is examining large databases for patterns to generate new information. So we log on to Facebook and see a targeted advertisement about something we just searched. We get emails from Amazon telling us about deep discounts on a product we might have looked at a month ago. Lots of people buy lotion, but if a woman suddenly began to buy unscented lotion,—Boom!—Pregnancy ads begin to pop up in her search results. Why? Because tests have suggested that a woman buying unscented lotion is likely to be in her second trimester. And this is just from Amazon! What about your online brokerage account? Your secret Grindr profile? What of the skeletons in your closet? What kind of an analysis of behavior could be done with this type of information?” Mauritius was speaking faster now, his passion for the topic making him sound almost angry.

  “Why does this creep the average person out? Because we are used to anonymity. Or at least thinking that we have it when we are inside. We assume that what we do online is anonymous—and we feel spied upon when this is untrue. So when we find out that something out there, a computer, has been looking at and analyzing our patterns and predicting future behavior, it’s unsettling.”