I shook my head.
“Some sick parent stuffed their kid into a suitcase and left her outside the building this morning.”
“What? Like a baby?”
“From what I heard she was older, maybe ten. SFPD took her to the hospital to get her looked over.”
I cringed. “That’s terrible. I think I prefer your steak-and-football story.”
I picked up my belongings on the other side of security and then rode the elevator up to the thirteenth floor. Most of the agents arrived around nine. Many were already on calls or tapping away at their laptops. I made a beeline toward the staff kitchen and fixed a cup of my favorite: tieguanyin tea. I always kept a tin of loose leaves on me.
I settled into my desk amongst the others. Even though I had significant seniority—assistant special agent in charge—I didn’t have an office. Didn’t want one. I liked being out in the open with the rest of the field agents.
I’d always been that way, even when I lived in Hong Kong and served as the chief inspector in charge of Organized Crime and Triad Bureau for HKP. I didn’t hide away in a big office. I sat with my team. I’d have it no other way—then or now.
From the corner of my eye, I spotted Kang walking toward me with his lanky strides. He stood over six feet and often appeared a bit awkward to those who didn’t know him, but he had quickly become the best partner ever, and friend. He still dressed the same as he did when he was a detective: dark-colored suits purchased off the rack from the local department store. I liked that familiar quality about him.
He was chatting on his cell phone when he sat down at the desk opposite me. He smiled and mouthed, Sokolov.
Detective Pete Sokolov had been his partner at SFPD. When they worked together, they were often referred to as The Wall and The Curtain.
“Yeah, send it to me. We’ll see if you got the goods,” he said before disconnecting the call.
“What did he get his hands on?” I asked.
“He said he found your doppelganger.”
Just then Kang’s phone chimed, and he tapped at the screen.
“Holy moly!”
Chapter Six
“It’s you! It really is.”
“You know the problem with doppelgangers,” I said as I stood up and made my way around the desks to his side. “Everyone thinks it’s an exact lookalike except the person who is the comparison— Holy crap!”
“You were saying?”
I snatched the phone out of his hand for a closer look. I simply couldn’t believe it. I’d had people send me photos before, claiming they’d found my twin, but I never once thought they’d nailed it. In fact it often made me a bit angry because those “doppelgangers” always looked odd or unpleasant or simply ugly. Oh my God. Is that what I really look like? It’s enough to mess with your head.
“I don’t know what to say… She’s like a mini-me.”
“Did Sokolov nail it or what?”
Her nose.
That black hair.
Even her eyes were green like mine.
Flashbacks of my childhood popped into my head as I stared at the phone; it was as if I were seeing myself as a little girl. Granted she still looked like a child; it wasn’t as if she looked like an adult version of me, but nobody could miss the connection.
“Cute kid. Is she your daughter?”
Agent Oliver Hansen was looking over my shoulder at the screen. He was freshly minted out of Quantico. While he only had seven months of the job under his belt, he had incredible street smarts and was a quick learner. He also always had freshly minted breath. I had taken a liking to him and often involved him and his partner with the investigations I oversaw.
“She’s not my daughter.”
“Wait, I thought you had a daughter. I swear I heard you mention it before.”
“I do have daughter, but this isn’t her.”
“My old partner at SFPD sent me this picture,” Kang chimed in. “They found her outside our offices.” He pointed toward a window. “Child abandonment.”
“Oh my God,” I said. “One of the FPS officers downstairs mentioned this to me. This must be the girl he was talking about.”
“Didn’t he see the connection? I mean, it’s pretty obvious.” Kang said.
I shook my head. “He said the girl had been taken away by the time he arrived.”
“You talking about the guy who always grills steaks and watches football on the weekends?”
“Yeah, why?”
Kang shrugged. “Nothing.”
“What?” I crinkled my brow.
“Just find it weird that he does the same thing every weekend.”
“It’s football season. Thousands of people do this every weekend.”
“I’m just saying. You know, in general. He could mix it up.”
I looked at Hansen. “Is it me or is he not making any sense?”
Hansen shrugged.
“Hold on,” Kang said. “How does saying someone does the same thing every weekend not make any sense? Sounds pretty clear to me. Hansen, isn’t it pretty clear?”
“Uh, well… I think you’re both right.”
“Come on. Just pick a side.” Kang gave him a friendly wink. “There’s no wrong answer here.”
“There could be.” I doubled down with a toothy grin.
“In that case, I side with Assistant Special Agent in Charge Abby Kane. Sorry, Agent Kang she outranks you.” He called his partner, Agent Patrick Pratt, to come and look at the photograph.
“Whoa. That’s definitely your twin,” Pratt said to Abby. “Do you have a picture of yourself at that age? It would be neat to see the comparison.”
More agents began to huddle around and gawk at the picture. I wasn’t sure who had said it first, but eventually we all started to refer to her as Suitcase Girl.
Deep in conversation, not a one of us saw our boss, Special Agent in Charge Scott Reilly, approaching.
“Where’s Kane?”
“I’m here.” I poked my head out from the huddle.
“You and your partner! My office! Now!”
It’s never good when he calls me by my last name.
Chapter Seven
Kang and I trailed behind Reilly, walking the length of the carpeted corridor sandwiched by cubed offices. I couldn’t help but wonder what the hell we had done to merit the attitude. It really wasn’t like Reilly to show his temper. Unless…
That’s what it is. The higher-ups are riding his arse.
We hung a left into his office. In the years I had worked for him, the décor had always remained the same. Except recently he had acquired a potted floor plant, a Pachira or money plant. The metal blinds that shaded the large window behind his desk were always kept angled downward. He liked peering at the street below.
Reilly scooted around the large oak desk and took a seat before removing his glasses and setting them down on a stack of manila folders. Usually his desk was a battlefield of folders and paper. That day everything was arranged into neat piles. I give it a few hours before it looks like a bomb exploded on his desk.
Behind him was a credenza. The familiar photo of his daughter sat on top of it in a silver frame. She had gone missing when she was only twenty-two. Cold case.
He rubbed his eyes. “Look, there’s no easy way to say this, so I’ll just say it. I’m getting heat from the deputy director on the Dead Red Operation.”
The Dead Red Operation was a big deal for the FBI. A task force had been put together that involved the CIA, the Department of Homeland Security, the National Security Agency, Border Protection, and Immigration. It was ongoing, and its purpose was to determine and neutralize credible terrorist threats aimed at the US from China.
Most people thought our biggest threat was the Middle East, and it was, but China had become increasingly aggressive over the last few years, moving beyond hacking our government servers. Every agent in the office had a piece of the operation on his or her plate.
It was a necessary
pain in the butt.
Why?
The Department of Justice wanted to see operations foiled and cells dismantled. Monitoring chatter wasn’t good enough. And anyway, the NSA had a monopoly on that. What they expected from us was actionable intel that led to arrests.
About a month ago, Kang had received a tip that a small accounting firm was moving money from China into the US. If we could identify the players and follow the money, we figured it might lead us to an underground cell, one that hadn’t yet caught our attention.
It took us two weeks just to execute a black-bag job, where we survey a business or a home to figure out how to infiltrate and plant RF bugs. Once we had the place tapped, we conducted surveillance from a van near the business. We also utilized a stingray: a tracking device capable of capturing calls made by cell phones. Kang and I would sit inside the vehicle all day, listening to conversations taking place over the phone and on the premise. We had been actively listening for a week and had absolutely nothing to show for it.
“Unless you come up with something substantial today, I’m pulling the plug on the wire.”
“But—”
“Abby, we can’t keep listening if nothing’s coming of it. Not to mention it’s a waste of resources. You’re one of the best agents I have. No offense, Kang.”
“None taken.”
“I need you on something that will yield results.”
“It’s only been a week. I just think we—”
“Don’t think. Your time is up unless you deliver me something actionable by end of day.”
Reilly put his glasses back on and started tapping on his laptop.
Needless to say, Kang and I were both a bit shocked at the abrupt ending to our little operation. Reilly looked back up at us.
“Last I heard, the federal government wasn’t paying you two to sit.”
Message received. We left the office.
“What just happened?” Kang asked as we walked back to our desks.
“We got axed. That’s what.”
“Can he do that?”
“He can and just did.”
“For some reason I thought only crap like that happened at the city level. We’re FBI, the federal government. We can do whatever we want.”
“Ha! Whatever gave you that impression?”
“You,” he said, jerking his head back.
“Oh…” I started gathering my stuff from my desk.
“Plus now you’re the assistant special agent in charge at the office.”
“Big deal.”
“Abby, you’re second in command here. Soon you’ll have Reilly’s job and be running this office.”
“Nah,” I waved him off. “Too much paperwork and politics. Who needs that? I like being in the field.”
Hansen walked over from his desk and in a low voice asked, “Hey, boss, what did the big man want? He sounded pissed earlier.”
“He’s pulling our surveillance detail. If we want to save it, we have the day to produce something, anything,” I said.
“That sucks.”
“Yeah, a big one.”
“Has he mentioned what you might be doing if he does pull it? Pratt and I are dying to get our hands dirty on something you’re working on, so if there’s an opportunity…” He flashed a smile.
“Don’t worry; I’ll let you know.”
Hansen clucked his tongue. “Good luck.” He gave Kang a slap on the arm before walking away.
Once Hansen had walked out of earshot, Kang leaned toward me with a smirk on his face. “Me thinks he has a crush on the bossy boss.”
I slipped my purse strap over my shoulders and whispered back, “Maybe. At least he doesn’t get jealous like you.”
Chapter Eight
Kang and I continued to battle back and forth over which one of us was more the jealous type as we drove. Since we’d first met, there was always playful flirting in our relationship. We never seriously acted on it, but maybe that was why we got along so well.
Our destination was the accounting offices of Woo & Sons in the Richmond District. This was the city’s second Chinatown, a neighborhood where a number of affluent and middle-class Chinese families lived.
Woo & Sons was a small firm—just the owner, Arthur Woo, and four other associates, including his eldest son. The office was on 6th Avenue, just south of Clement Street. We always parked our vehicle on Clement. Out of eyesight but close enough that we could still listen in.
Kang moved the gearshift to neutral and set the parking brake. “Just admit you were insanely jealous over Suzi.”
She was Kang’s last girlfriend, and I despised her. And yes, I’ll admit… at the time, I sort of, maybe, had a crush on Kang. But I also knew, before she came into the picture, he had a crush on me. The problem back then was one of us was always in a relationship. Now that we worked together permanently, it definitely wouldn’t happen.
“You see that’s where you’re wrong,” I said. “I wasn’t jealous over Sushi—”
“Calling her names… isn’t that a sign of jealousy?”
“Pbbbfffttt, I just didn’t like her. Plus I wanted to be a good friend for you.”
“What, by breaking us up?” A large smile formed on his face.
“Well, yeah, I mean, you were so whipped there was no way you could see the scaly dragon under that pancake foundation she always wore. You—” I pointed at him. “You should be thanking me.”
“If we’re talking about giving thanks here, then you should be thanking me from saving you from that hippie, Green.”
Dr. Timothy Green was the top medical examiner in the city. We often worked cases together.
“Save?” I cocked an eyebrow. “Puullease, Green is practically my height, which ain’t much. I didn’t need saving, and anyway, he’s always been a perfect gentleman. He’s nice.”
Kang waved my answer off with his hand. “You just like the attention. I’m getting a box from Schubert’s. I’ll be right back.”
With Kang gone, I busied myself with setting up the equipment. I hooked a laptop up to the stingray and then powered up the surveillance device. Cell phones are always searching for the nearest cell tower, even when they aren’t making a call. All the stingray does is trick the phone into thinking it’s a tower. It then collects the data without the cell phone knowing before passing it on to the actual tower. That allowed us to target specific phones. Easy peasy.
The car door opened, and Kang slipped inside with that familiar cardboard box. “I got two Neapolitans, two cherry tarts, and two slices of opera cake.”
“Yes!” I held my hand up, and Kang high-fived me.
He slipped off his jacket and rubbed his hands together before picking up a Neapolitan and taking a large bite. The flakey crust exploded at the corners of his mouth and sprinkled across the front of his shirt.
I grabbed a plastic fork and targeted the opera cake. The hazelnut-flavored sponge cake layered with chocolate and mocha praline was out of this world. If possible, we always kept conversation to a minimum while we stuffed our faces.
Kang adjusted his headset over his ears. He monitored the bug we had inside the office. I tracked the calls made from Arthur’s cell phone.
“He’s on a call,” I said. “It’s his girlfriend. She wants to go shopping.”
Arthur Woo was mid-fifties, his girlfriend was mid-twenties, and his wife was mid-forties.
I let out a defeated breath. If this call was any indication of how our day was headed, there would be no saving this operation.
I took another bite of cake. “You think maybe we got it all wrong?”
Kang tilted his head from side to side. “My informant has always been reliable. I wouldn’t have pushed for all of this,” he motioned around us, “if I didn’t think there was something here. Why, you thinking otherwise?”
“No, sounded credible and worthwhile. I mean, it had to have been or else we would have never been given the go ahead. It’s just weird that there’s nothing. Aside
from cheating on his wife, Woo’s business seems pretty legit.”
“You know, it could be that they aren’t discussing anything over the phone or in person.”
“I doubt the Chinese are using email. It’s a sure paper trail. Plus, Woo is using a burner cell. I don’t believe it’s because his real cell phone is broken. I just wish we had something that would convince Reilly to let us listen for a bit longer. I’d like to know how often Woo changes phones.”
“You think maybe they’re on to us?”
I took a moment to think about that. “Eh… if they are, it’s probably the name painted on the decoy van that gave us away.”
“Aw, come on. Give it up already.”
“What?” I shrugged. “I said probably, not definitely.”
We were using a commercial painting business as our cover. Kang had fallen in love with the name the Great Wall of Paint, featuring an image of the Great Wall made out of paint cans.
“I distinctly remember telling you that sounded too fake.”
“Oh and ‘Easy Painting,’” he used his hands to produce an imaginary marquee, “‘You point. We paint.’ is a better choice?”
“Sounds more legit to me.”
The truth was both names sucked, but we’d flipped a coin and Kang won.
“You’re just used to having everything your way, and this time the tarot cards dealt a different fate.” Kang smiled.
I laughed.
He laughed.
I threw a fake punch at his arm and then quickly followed up with a double punch. “Two for flinching.”
Chapter Nine
Benito Decker, the FPS officer who had found the suitcase, lived at an address in a nondescript area of the city. The neighborhood was too far south to be considered Lower Fillmore and too far north to be part of Hayes Valley. It wasn’t the greatest neighborhood, rough around the edges but affordable in pricey San Francisco.
Sokolov parked the Crown Vic next to a small apartment building at the corner of Laguna and McAllister streets.
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