She fumbled for her keys in the inner pocket of her winter coat, pulled them out, and unlocked the front door of her small apartment. The color of the door, painted white, conjured thoughts of hope and resignation simultaneously. Hope for the rest and relaxation she knew was to finally come tomorrow, and resignation that she was going to be in for it again starting on Monday.
She fumbled as quickly as she could through her foyer, maneuvering by memory through the darkness into the living room. She groaned under the strain of her gym bag and laptop as she struggled to turn on her lamp. At last, she found the small switch, turning it over twice. A bright light illuminated the room.
She hustled to a brown-and-tan cloth sofa on which she, mercifully, dropped the baggage. She sighed deeply as she took a moment to work the fatigue out of her neck, back, and shoulder muscles. Without yet removing her coat, she flopped heavily onto an easy chair she’d recently purchased. Without warning, something dark appeared in her field of vision and speared her directly in her face. This startled her to such an extent that an odd, breathless doh sound escaped involuntarily from her mouth. It took her a moment to realize what had happened. She’d purchased the chair from Slapstick Furniture, a company that made gag furniture. This particular chair came with a padded foot-rest attached to a spring mechanism that, when left unlatched, sprang up between the weary person’s legs on a swivel, striking the person in the face.
As she lay in the chair, her hair now scattered haphazardly across her face, she found she could not stifle a long, deep, sardonic laugh at herself for having been so obviously the butt of her own mischief. After returning the foot-rest to its proper resting place, she sat in the chair for a few minutes, melting into it, with her eyes closed aware that, with her coat still on, she was extraordinarily hot and drifting precariously toward sleep. She woke and sat still for a while longer. She stared through strands of her hair, which had exploded into a disheveled mess. A few stray hair strands tickled her eyeballs. She let herself be at the mercy of the tickling sensation for a few moments as she studied the collection of photos and paintings she’d placed on her living room wall. These included a black and white of photo of Brooklyn-born 1950s actress Susan Mayfield, a color photo of Lucille Ball, a photo of her friend, mentor, and scientist Susan Giamatti seated amidst stacks of papers in her CERN office, and two water color paintings with Chinese themes painted by her mother.
A few minutes later, she forced herself out of the chair. She slipped her coat off, tossed it onto the sofa, and shuffled into her bedroom, where she flipped on her desktop. She slipped out of the yellow blouse and black slacks she’d been wearing in favor of a pair of shorts and a white tank top, which fit tightly around her torso. She saw immediately that her chat window had popped up. She leaned in closer in order to read the first message. It was from her old friend, Pan-Ik.
Pan-Ik: You there, Lyn?
Lee typed a short reply before retrieving some bagged popcorn to snack on from her kitchen. She hadn’t even finished in the kitchen when she heard her computer speakers ping, which meant Pan-Ik had responded. She hustled back into her bedroom and typed out another message.
ElectricPanda: Here now. Had to get a snack.
Pan-Ik: I want some. I’m coming over.
ElectricPanda: Pffft. Please. It’s almost 2 a.m. I’ll be in bed at 2:05.
Pan-Ik: Fine then. Where the #$%@ have you been? Haven’t seen you online since last Tuesday.
ElectricPanda: Sorry. Just been crazy busy. Been working on a new project at work that’s killing me.
Pan-Ik: Sorry to hear that.
ElectricPanda: No problem.
Pan-Ik: Had a chance to look at the script I sent you?
Lee sighed. He’d sent a piece of code he’d written and used for one of his hacker exploits. He wanted her to examine it and see if she could figure out what it was used for.
ElectricPanda: Not yet. Don’t you have to work tomorrow?
Pan-Ik: Negative. Tomorrow is Sunday.
Since she’d been in the office earlier that morning, she’d forgotten it was the weekend.
ElectricPanda: Oh, right. Been so busy that I forgot it was even Saturday.
Pan-Ik: You really do need to take a break.
ElectricPanda: I know. Anything new with you lately?
Pan-Ik: Not really. Passed two years full time @ Security Ltd. as of this Tues. That’s two years in full-time legitimate employment. Can you believe it?
ElectricPanda: Congrats. You have documented proof of this?
Pan-Ik: I do. But it’s at the office.
ElectricPanda: Well, feel free to drop it by here anytime.
Truthfully, she just wanted to get him into the gag chair.
Pan-Ik: I may drop by this weekend sometime.
ElectricPanda: That would be fine.
Pan-Ik: TTYL
ElectricPanda: Later.
Lee checked her email, where she had eight emails waiting in her personal in-box. She opened the one from Megan O’Connor, a friend from college.
Lyn, may be a little late next Thursday, but I’ll be there. Have to run a couple errands first.
Megan
O’ Connor was one of her few friends not employed in the IT or science fields and, for that reason, she treasured her company. They’d been meeting for dinner on Thursday nights at various locales throughout New York City for going on a year and a half.
Lee typed out a short reply and hit the send button. She sat in silence for few moments longer, struggling to keep her eyes open. She glanced briefly at a small poster she still kept hanging on her wall of a drummer in a band, a vestige of her younger days. The drummer’s face was frozen in an expression of emotion and concentration as his body strained to keep the rhythm on the drums. The camera had captured a bright multicolored flash of light in the background, reflecting off one of the stage lights.
Her gaze shifted to a smaller, framed black-and-white photo of a young Albert Einstein resting on her dresser drawer, his eyes droopy and seemingly in a state of concentration. This photo was as quiet as the poster of the drummer was loud. Currently, Einstein’s solitude was winning the moment as Lee yawned widely, her eyes watering. She pondered the current situation with Xiang. What a complicated mess. How much longer would the FBI want/need her to keep going? How far was she willing to go? Xiang had surprised her in more than one way. He was more competent both socially and athletically than she’d anticipated when she first met him. There was a softness to him she hadn’t expected, but he could also be blustery. She found she was comfortable in his presence, and they had a lot in common. He was her equal, and then some, intellectually. That was nice.
The more she thought things over, the more complicated everything seemed until she found herself shutting down. She forced herself out of the chair, turned off the light, and slid into bed.
New York City
Tuesday, February 3, 7:58 a.m. EST
“So you’ve planted the listening device,” Agent Frank said matter-of-factly.
“Yes. How did you know?”
“Our surveillance people started receiving the signal.”
Lee nodded. “Oh, okay.”
“Where did you place it?”
“In one of three potted plants he has in his living room.”
“Okay. That should work just fine.”
They’d been in the small café in Brooklyn for going on twenty minutes. To this point, Frank had steered the conversation clear of the case, preferring to talk about peripheral topics of discussion. So they’d spent the first few minutes talking about Lee’s relationship with various people in her social sphere, including her relationship with Lukas Dvorak. Lee noted that Frank seemed ever-curious as to the goings on within Brooklyn Capital, including who the key managers were, what kinds of projects they were working on, the company culture, and many other questions. Lee answered the questions patiently to the extent she could, given that much of the work was still classified. In return, Frank answered Lee
’s questions about life in the FBI, a life that seemed more difficult and less glamorous than Lee had originally anticipated.
Presently, the waitress had arrived and the two halted their conversation as the young woman slid a breakfast omelet in front of Lee and a bagel and a bowl of fruit for Frank. Once the waitress left, Frank finally decided to address the case. “How are you doing with Xiang?”
Lee struggled with a hot pepper she’d bitten into in the omelet, which was preventing her from answering. She felt her face flush red with the burning sensation in her mouth.
“That well, huh?” Frank smiled.
Lee swallowed the pepper, sipping some ice water to wash it down with. She fanned her face with her left hand. “Sorry. Bit into a pepper that got the better of me,” Lee said, smiling weakly.
“Take your time.”
“Well, as far as Xiang is concerned,” Lee continued, “so far, so good. I’m getting a little bit nervous how all of this is going to end up.”
“Okay. That’s certainly understandable.”
Lee’s biggest concern was how she should handle Xiang if he should express a desire for more physical intimacy. Physically, Xiang was neither terribly attractive, nor unattractive. He took care of himself, and she appreciated that. He was confident and, she had to admit, had some unexpected talents. He’d been nothing but respectful. His intellect definitely enhanced his physical presence. Her own feelings toward mild physical intimacy with Xiang at this point in their relationship were probably…neutral.
On the other hand, she was infatuated with her new role with the FBI, and she was keenly interested in pursuing that further. She didn’t want to let them down. Still, she felt pressure as to whether she should bring these issues up with Frank. What good would that do, though? She’d already accepted her role in this. There seemed to be an implied understanding that, having accepted this relationship with Xiang, she would have to manage the politics. It really seemed straightforward. Either she’d deal with these issues, or she’d have to end her relationship with Xiang and, by default, also end her relationship with the FBI. She wasn’t ready yet for the latter. Reluctantly, she decided to withhold her concerns. At least, for the time being.
Frank seemed to sense something troubling her. “Are you okay, Lyn?”
“Yes, fine. Thanks.”
“Any news of interest?”
“Nothing that seems substantial. At least, not yet. Well, there was something…”
“Yes?”
“We went to Della Donne’s in Manhattan on Friday, and there were a couple of men I haven’t ever seen before. Xiang recognized them, and they came over to our table and spoke with Xiang for a few minutes.”
“What did they talk about?”
“I don’t know. They spoke in a dialect I can’t understand. And, anyway, it was noisy in the restaurant, and I couldn’t hear much of what they said.”
Frank reached into her leather case that she’d kept on the floor next to her chair. She’d pulled a folder from the case and placed it on the table. “Do you recognize any of these people?” Frank slid a group of photographs toward Lee.
Lee looked at each photo in turn. The photos were of various sizes. Some were in black and white, some in color. Most of the men and women in the photos were of Asian origin, but there were a few Caucasians in the mix.
“I don’t think so, no. Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Frank said. “You never know. I wanted to show you this photo in particular.” Frank searched through the stack of photos she’d already given Lee before realizing the one she wanted wasn’t included. She reached back into her case and pulled another photo out. “Study this one closely.”
The man in the photo was a younger Asian man. He was thin, with dark hair parted on the side, dressed in a black business suit. Lee didn’t see anything about his appearance that was particularly striking to her.
“Who is this?”
“His name is Phua Youhong or, at least, that’s the name that appears on his passport. He works in the Chinese embassy here in New York as some kind of assistant to one of the ambassadors.”
“Why is he of interest to me?”
“He’s been meeting up with Xiang in Chinatown in Manhattan for an unknown period of time. We’re not sure of the reason for these meetings.”
“I’ll keep my eye out for him.”
Lee studied all of the photos in detail. Agent Frank pointed to a dozen or so individuals apart from Phua for her to keep an eye out for. This was followed by more small talk before Frank ended the meeting. She left the cafe feeling more uncertain than ever, but not threatened. So far, so good.
Chapter 16
New York City
Tuesday, February 3, 2:56 a.m. EST
Special Agent in Charge John Rose slid into his usual spot at the front of the ovular conference table inside the FBI New York Headquarters building in Manhattan. He quickly surmised all invitees were at the meeting with the exception of one. Agent Reardon was sitting opposite Cardenas. The two of them were engaged in a conversation Rose wasn’t following but was, he could vaguely tell, related to the current whereabouts of former army colleagues. Apparently, a radio operator in Vietnam was a mutual acquaintance and was now an astrophysicist doing research for NYU in radio telescopy.
Mathiason had slid into a chair next to Pernetta Walker, who sat in silence, her hands folded in front of her. Her eyes were partly closed and her lips were curled into a curious grin. He realized after a moment that she was, in fact, reading something she’d placed in an open folder in front of her on the table.
The door to the room clicked quietly behind him, and Rose felt a slight rush of air. Sliding by him was Jillian Frank, dressed sharply in a charcoal-gray skirt and a dress coat. Frank took a seat across from Walker, who acknowledged her with a faint smile and a nod of her head.
“Sorry I’m late,” Frank said. “Benny happened upon some video footage of one of the abductions. I had to get it over to forensics to have it analyzed.”
Rose waited for Frank to get seated. “Still sending your trainee on rookie errands, Cardenas?” Rose asked, with enough of a smirk to make certain everyone knew it was said tongue-in-cheek.
“Absolutely not,” Cardenas said. “She happened to be closer to headquarters this afternoon so she could get it processed and sent over to the media lab.”
“He’s right,” Frank interjected. “It was more a question of logistics.”
“Alright,” Rose continued. “What was contained in this video?”
“One of the merchants, Wilkerson’s Electronics, located south of downtown Brooklyn called us,” Frank said. “They have a security camera trained on their warehouse at the rear of their store. Apparently, they get the occasional break-in from the alleyway behind the store.”
Cardenas continued: “Mr. Wilkerson’s night manager caught the footage while doing an audit of the video. It’s not the best footage, but there is definitely an abduction there. It can be seen through a large window at the rear of the store. We feel strongly it’s Jonas Craig based on what the victim was wearing. We may even be able to get a license plate number or, at least, a partial. It’s too blurry for the naked eye.”
“Any guess as to make and model of the vehicle based on what you’ve seen thus far?” Rose asked.
“It’s a black SUV,” Frank said. “Benny and I agree it looks like a Ford Expedition, but we’re not a hundred percent sure.”
“Anything else on Dr. Craig?”
“Craig was an avid runner,” Cardenas said. “We got his running routes from friends and family. We’ve been knocking on doors along the routes inquiring as to whether anyone has seen Craig and whether they noticed anything out of the ordinary. There’ve been quite a few people who recognized him because of the head scarves he wears on his runs. No major leads yet though, other than the video.”
“How about Rochelle Honeycutt?”
The sleepy look on Agent Pernetta Walker’s face melted away as he
r eyelids lifted.
“Nothing much more than what we have on Craig,” Walker said. “It’s clear there was an altercation of some kind in her apartment. There were pillows and some furniture strewn about in there. The radio was still on when the NYPD arrived. Tuned in to a music station. Honeycutt’s coat was still lying on the couch where she presumably placed it when she arrived home that evening. I have one tenant from the same apartment complex, but in a different building, who thinks she remembers seeing a black SUV, but she doesn’t remember seeing a license number. Just wasn’t paying attention. Its windows were tinted, so she wasn’t able to see inside.
“There was a second tenant in the same building who remembers a vehicle of some kind parked close to the building entrance. He could hear the engine running close to his window. However, he never bothered to look at the vehicle.”
“Any other evidence left in Honeycutt’s apartment?”
“None. Other than the disorganized furniture and such that was left behind.”
“Anything new on Halberstom, Reardon?”
Reardon finished sipping a small cup of coffee. “Forensics finalized cause of death as being from asphyxiation. It happened prior to when he was dumped into the river, but not much prior. The instrument used to asphyxiate him was some kind of leather rope, black in color. There wasn’t a lot of decay to the body when it reached the shoreline, so it wasn’t in the water for very long either. It is likely the body was dumped from a vessel that was afloat at the time the body was released into the river.”
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