“I didn’t know that,” Lee said. “How about you? What drew you to science?”
Xiang exhaled, rocked back in his chair, and raised his head as he thought about her question.
“I think it was very similar to you. It was the realization of many unseen forces at play.” Xiang smiled. “I had a grade school teacher who told us about the Golden Ratio, for example. How it seems present throughout nature in so many different ways. Then, later on, it was the study of the solar system and how the planets are in such perfect orbit, dangling there in space. Seeing photos of Earth and the other planets around the Sun that we have now thanks to our spacecrafts, the situation seems so precarious. It seems precarious even though we know things will not change. Or, at least, they won’t change for a very long time. We place an awful lot of faith in unseen things every day.”
“I agree. Everything, in reality, is so small compared to the vacuum of space. I get a little overwhelmed when I try to comprehend it,” Lee said.
They sat in silence for a few moments before Lee interrupted suddenly.
“Oh, and, oddly enough, I would also mention my parent’s record player,” Lee said, chasing her comment with a sip of her water.
“How so?”
“When I was little, they had a vinyl record player. It was just really fascinating to me how the interplay between the needle and the record could create sound. Such beautiful sound.” Lee said. “I did a science project in middle school on it and was surprised how simple the concept really was.”
Xiang again rocked back in his chair, a look of contemplation having crossed his face.
“It must be that the musical sound waves are simply imitated within the indentations of the record,” Xiang said. “Then, the sound created by the needle is amplified by electricity. The vinyl acts as a portable audio signature.”
“That’s essentially the concept, yes,” Lee said. “It’s a combination of the peaks and valleys that simulates the sound waves.”
The conversation was interrupted briefly by the arrival of their food, a chicken salad for Lee and grilled salmon for Xiang.
Xiang’s eyes again narrowed as he brought a piece of salmon to his mouth. “Very groovy,” Xiang said as he shoveled the salmon into his mouth. “No pun intended.”
Lee laughed softly. They ate in silence for a few moments.
She noticed for the first time the simplicity of the interior design of the modest little cafe. Lovely little brass Chinese lanterns sat in the middle of the tables, the tiny flames flickering joyfully across the room, illuminating a series of Chinese oil paintings on the perimeter walls that Lee knew were painted by art students in local colleges.
Xiang, still in the middle of his salmon, bit into a piece of bread he’d spread with butter and garlic.
“How’s the bread?” Lee asked.
“Very good,” Xiang said.
Lee felt a deep feeling of pride. “The bread was made by my parents.”
An expression of surprise flashed across Xiang’s face. “Your parents made the bread?”
Xiang’s startled expression was somehow attractive to Lee. It somehow revealed a warmth to him she admitted to herself she wasn’t expecting.
“Yes, my parents are bakers. They own a small bakery in Manhattan. In Chinatown. Mr. Chang, the owner of this cafe, buys a lot of bread from them.”
“I see,” Xiang said. “The bread is very good. Please give my compliments to your parents.”
Lee smiled. “I will.”
Xiang chewed slowly on the bread.
“What do your parents do?” Lee asked.
“My father is the Shanghai Municipal Party Secretary,” Xiang said. “My mother doesn’t work. She’s a housewife.”
“Wow! He’s a head of the C.C.P. in Shanghai? That’s impressive.”
“Thank you,” Xiang acknowledged, betraying no other emotion. “Head of the municipality only.”
Xiang continued to chew slowly on the bread.
“Do you like the theatre?” Xiang asked.
“Sure. Of course. I haven’t been for a long time.”
“Would you like to attend a Broadway show?” he asked as he surfed the net on his smart phone. “There’s a good one playing next Friday night.”
Lee considered the offer for a few moments.
“I’ll say yes, tentatively,” Lee said. “I had other, less formal, plans but I can re-schedule them. Can I text you a confirmation?”
“Of course.”
Xiang had paid the bill in full.
“Thank you for taking care of the tab,” Lee said, grabbing her black winter cap and gloves.
Xiang followed Lee out of the little cafe.
“I’ll be in touch,” Lee said.
Xiang narrowed his eyes again.
“See you.”
The two parted ways in front of the cafe.
Chapter 5
New York City
Tuesday, January 20, 7:53 a.m. EST
Agent Jillian Frank glared at Lee incredulously. “He did what?”
Lee smiled broadly. “He asked me out on a date.”
“When did this happen?”
“Early last week.”
“What did you say?”
“I wasn’t sure what to do, so I said yes.”
Frank exhaled. “I wasn’t expecting this to go so quickly.” Agent Frank was all business. “When is the date?”
“We already had it. It was last night.” Frank’s eyebrows leapt, and she momentarily quit stirring her drink.
“What did you do?”
“I met him at Xi Chang’s Cafe, a little cafe just a few blocks from here.”
“It’s in Brooklyn?”
“Yes.”
Frank took a sip of her water and remained silent for a few moments, playing a few options through in her mind.
“Did he ask you out again?”
Lee nodded. “Yes, he asked me out next Friday.”
“—and, did you accept?”
“I told him I’d need to check my calendar and get back. I wasn’t sure what you’d think.”
“Thank you for that,” Frank said. “This is not a frivolous situation. It’s important you understand what you’re getting into.”
Lee felt a pang of apprehensiveness. “Do you know if Xiang has any criminal history?”
“He has no criminal history that we know of,” Frank said.
“If he had, would you have told me?”
Frank leaned in, placing both elbows on the table for emphasis. “Lyn, we absolutely would’ve told you any such information. You have to understand that. It’s very important that you trust us.”
Lee nodded. “Of course. Thanks.”
“We need to be able to trust you, as well.”
Lee nodded again. “Of course.”
“We need you to always maintain communication with us. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“And keep us updated on the status of this relationship with Xiang.”
Lee said, “Do you want me to see Xiang next Friday?”
Frank inhaled and exhaled deeply, clearly making a point as to the importance of the decision.
“Yes, that would be fine for now.”
“May I ask,” Lee said, “if there are any pre-determined boundaries here?”
“Not yet,” Frank confirmed. “It’s a fluid situation. We’ll continue to evaluate as we go. Okay?”
“Okay. So we’ll just continue to meet as normal going forward.”
“As normal, yes,” Frank agreed. She paused. “Any thoughts on Xiang? What’s he like?”
“For the most part, he seems pretty normal. He’s a very determined man, as are all of the researchers I work with. But, he smiles easily. He has an odd, sort of wry sense of humor that I wasn’t expecting. Overall, he’s seems friendlier, more personable, than most of the researchers I’ve met. He’s very comfortable in his skin.”
Lee waited for Agent Frank to catch up with her notes.
“Anything else at all?” Agent Frank asked.
“The only other thing I wanted to mention is that Xiang’s father is a senior member of the C.C.P. in Shanghai,” Lee said. “I know enough about the Chinese government to know that this is a big deal.”
“Yeah, we know about that,” Frank confirmed. “It’s part of the reason we flagged him. But thanks for letting me know. Anything else stick out to you about Xiang?” Frank asked after she’d finished scribbling some more notes.
“Not at this time, no.”
“Okay, thanks for your input.”
The two of them spoke for a few more minutes, Frank reiterating the importance of communication. Lee wanted to ask if they’d gathered any other information elsewhere regarding the theft of company information, but she didn’t feel comfortable asking those questions. At least, not yet. Frank, wishing to remain in the cafe for a while longer, let Lee leave the cafe first this time. Lee thanked her for the government-paid meal and left the fogged-up windows of the little cafe behind her, heading back into the winter chill.
New York City
Tuesday, January 20, 3:09 p.m. EST
Special Agent in Charge John Rose took a seat at the head of the conference table. He surveyed the three agents sitting around him as he reached into his black leather computer case to grab his laptop. He sat it on the table, and booted it up.
“Okay, let’s get started,” Rose said. “First off, if you’ve not yet heard, there have been two more abductions of Brooklyn researchers over the past seventy-two hours. The first one, Dr. Patrice Clemente, has been working on Project Magus for the past four years. She disappeared sometime between one p.m. and six p.m. Sunday evening. The NYPD has been working the case in Brooklyn. We have no leads yet on that one.
“The second abduction was of a Vietnamese researcher by the name of Dr. Sam Than. Dr. Than has been working for Brooklyn Capital on Project Faraday for seventeen months and, previous to that, he was on the Magus project for six years. He disappeared yesterday evening, sometime after leaving work at a quarter to six. Dr. Than resides in a brownstone just south of downtown Brooklyn. Both of these missing persons were reported by their significant others. We’re going to need to follow up with both of them ASAP.
“In the meantime, I want to know if we have any leads on the other three abductions. Cardenas, you get first honors today.”
Cardenas, at five feet nine inches, had an athletic, if not muscular, frame with broad shoulders and salt and pepper hair. A second generation Spanish immigrant, he spoke with a Spanish accent, a carryover from his parents. His family had eventually settled in Chicago where he’d been raised until joining the army at eighteen years of age.
“I blanketed Pierrepont Street and the surrounding neighborhood. I’ve only found one potential lead thus far. One of Craig’s neighbors from down the street said she saw him starting off on his morning run along Pierrepont the day of his disappearance. I haven’t been able to find any confirmation as to whether or not he ever made it back.”
“What time in the morning?” Reardon asked, his baritone voice filling the FBI conference room where they’d gathered for the meeting.
“She said about a quarter after eight,” Cardenas said.
“No other leads?” Rose said.
“Not yet,” Cardenas said, holding his hands, palms out, in front of him, half-heartedly feigning a plea to leave him alone. It was an attempt to communicate non-verbally that he was doing the best he could. “How about Mr. Halberstom,” Cardenas countered.
Reardon rearranged some papers on which he’d scribbled some notes. Reardon was the oldest of the group at sixty five years of age, followed closely by Cardenas at sixty four. He was a large man, though still in shape for a man his size. He had a heavy, wide frame, and he was barrel-chested with a thick neck, salt-and-pepper hair, and massive arms. Rose figured, if Reardon wanted to, he could comfortably pick him up and hold him suspended in mid-air. Reardon, a product of Oklahoma City, Oklahoma, spoke in a Midwestern accent
“One witness. Joanne Wilkins, one of Halberstom’s neighbors, noticed a black van parked in the parking lot in the alley alongside his apartment,” Reardon said in his baritone voice. “Says she saw a group of men exit the apartment on Monday night. It was dark and there isn’t a whole lot of lighting in the lot so she didn’t see much. The only man she got a good look at was an Asian man dressed head to toe in black.”
“How certain was she that the man was Asian?”
“Very certain. The man stepped into some light from one of the lamps along the walkway in the complex. She got a good look at him.”
“Was she able to pin this man’s ethnicity down further within the Asian spectrum?”
“No, but I’m going to have her work with a sketch artist. I’m hopeful we can get a decent sketch out of her.”
“Did she happen to get a look at the van’s plates?” Rose asked.
“Negative,” Reardon said. “She doesn’t remember seeing any plates.”
“She never actually saw Halberstom?”
“Negative.”
Rose turned his attention again to Agent Pernetta Walker. Walker, the product of a fatherless household and who had seen two of her siblings shot and killed during her middle school years in New Orleans, had suffered more and beaten greater odds than anyone else in the room. Yet she possessed a humility and sense of justice that was as sound, in Rose’s opinion, as that of anyone he’d met.
Walker sat straight as an arrow, her thick hands resting, folded, on the office table. She flicked away a wisp of her salt and pepper hair, her gaze upon Rose unwavering. Walker’s surly, dark skin creased into thin folds around her dark eyes, which seemed to fall into the thick bags. The irises of her eyes always seemed to burn a brown-ish red. Rose fancied them small, marble pools—the color of dark chocolate with a slight crimson hue. She carried a perpetual frown but, rather than affecting an air of sadness, it came off as a deeply inspired faith.
“—and how about Ms. Honeycutt?” Rose inquired.
“More of the same, I’m afraid.”
The deliberate words that came in Walker’s deep voice tipped the others off to the structured reasoning in her thought processes.
“Only one witness or, at least, only one willing to come forward. She saw a black SUV, but she didn’t recognize the make or model. She thinks it was a foreign make, but she couldn’t pin it down to a specific auto manufacturer. She was in a hurry to leave, so she didn’t stick around long. She saw the SUV idling by itself when she left the parking lot next to Honeycutt’s apartment.”
“There were others who you feel may have seen something, but are unwilling to come forward?”
“I don’t know about that. Only one for sure but, as I said, she only saw the vehicle. She did not see Honeycutt at all.”
“Do any of you have anything else at all to add at this time?”
All remained silent.
“Again, we need to follow up on Clemente and Than. Reardon, I’d like you to take Clemente. Do you mind following up with Than, Benny?”
“I’ll head back into Brooklyn immediately,” Cardenas offered.
“Okay. Again, please keep yourselves available in case things start moving more quickly. I’m in continuous communication with the CIA. There continues to be a great deal of chatter coming from Beijing. Between what I’m hearing from them and these recent abductions, which seem to also have a China connection, Lorren is raising the priority level on these abductions, and I’m going to be bringing additional agents in to assist. It feels like something big is about to happen, so I need all of you to stay on alert and be ready to roll if something else transpires.”
New York City
Tuesday, January 20, 5:14 p.m. EST
Dr. Jonas Craig raised himself once again as he had for the thousandth time from the small bed. They’d blindfolded him after they had him in the van, and kept it on him until, ultimately, they’d led him to the small room he was now a capti
ve in. It was a tiny room, not more than four hundred square feet by Craig’s estimation, and contained nothing but a small bed, some shelves, and a small space in a corner with a toilet.
Though the initial shock had worn off, he continued to seethe with an underlying apprehension and fury. He’d always been an individual with a massive amount of energy and endurance, and he’d spent the time since his abduction constantly pacing around and around the small room and muttering to himself, trying to make sense of what had transpired. He couldn’t be certain how much time had slipped by since the men had stripped him of his radio and cell phone, but he believed it had now stretched into two or three days. They were long hours that had been interrupted only by the occasional entrance of a Chinese man carrying a cup of water and a small bowl of warm stew, always accompanied by a second man brandishing a pistol.
Boxed in as he was, all of his kinetic energy was being focused on the questions surrounding his abduction. Why me? What do I have that anyone would want? The only thing that made sense was that these people were after information related to his work. He’d been working at Brooklyn Venture for several years and virtually all of it was classified. He had faith that Brooklyn’s leadership was, at this point, actively pursuing his disappearance and that they would ultimately find him, if he could stay alive long enough. They hadn’t threatened him in any way up to this point. Thank God. But he needed to stay alive. Just stay alive.
New York City
Friday, January 23, 7:46 p.m. EST
Lyn Lee slid into a plush red seat next to Wu Xiang, the auditorium now nearly filled to capacity.
“Have you ever been to a show before?” Xiang asked, as they sat waiting for the performance to begin.
Xiang appeared young for his age. Lee thought it was because the lighting hid the shadows that had aged him in the café on their first date.
“No. Never. I’ve never been to a Broadway show.”
The Thought Cathedral Page 7