In her search, she came to realize that her chosen passwords had always been a function of the period in her life she was in at the time. Another idea came to her, and she typed it in. The man in the sketch became animated—its eyebrows rose and he raised his index finger vertically and shook it back and forth as if to say “not so fast.” A blurb appeared above its head that said “Failed, sucka. Try again.” Lee squinted and cursed at the caricature.
She sat in the dark silence, racking her brain. The white light from her computer screen cast a soft glow throughout the den. Characters from the binding of a multitude of books on the shelves around the perimeter of the den caught the light, illuminating them and creating an illusion whereby they seemed to float. Lee glanced above her head where the black metal of a telescope, suspended below the skylight by three metal brackets, shone dully. Lee, tiring of the struggle to re-enter the web site, rose from her sitting position. The ceiling, except for the convex window above the telescope, was flat and low enough that she wasn’t able to stand fully upright. She shuffled to the perimeter of the den, closer to one of the books resting on a shelf near the floor. The book, titled Principles of Physics in Sailing and Nautical Astronomy, had interested Lee ever since the book’s thickness and the silver sailboat imprinted on its binding had first caught her eye. Feeling as though she needed a break from her online struggles, she decided to pull it off the shelf. She sat down with her back against the shelf and began to thumb through the thick pages, coarse in texture and yellowed over time. The book was very comprehensive for its subject matter, and she found herself stopping at multiple places throughout the first few chapters.
She was determinedly focused on a section detailing the geometry of the seasonal movement of celestial bodies when she heard a knocking coming from somewhere below her, a knocking that was muted, in part, because of the thickness of the carpeting. The knocking was followed immediately by a clicking sound as a trap door opened. Lee flicked on the lamp as a slender hand holding a gray metallic object protruded through the door.
A deep, resonant voice with a French accent bellowed through the opening. “Talley hoe!”
A lithe figure with a shiny bald head slipped easily through the door. Maliq Okoye, still dressed impeccably in his work attire, drew his legs up and carefully closed the door. Because the top of the door was carpeted, it blended seamlessly with the rest of the floor. Okoye’s complexion caused him to disappear within the den’s shadows. The striking exceptions were the whites of his eyes, which glowed luminously against his ebony skin.
“You got it for me!” Lee said.
“Yes, well—”
Okoye didn’t even have time to answer her before Lee had snatched the HUD from his hands.
“Thanks, Maliq,” Lee said.
Aside from his regular duties within Brooklyn Capital Fund, Okoye had also been a member of the security team for over two years. As such, he had possession of a portal HUD, which he used only sparingly. He preferred to use the two-dimensional version on his computer.
“It’s not a problem. I do have to lay one strict ground rule regarding its use, however,” Okoye said.
“What rule?”
“You can’t use it outside of my regular shift from 7:30 a.m. to 4:30 p.m., Monday through Friday. If you use it outside of these hours, it may trigger an enquiry with my supervisor.”
“I’ll be careful.”
Okoye pulled a tin container from an empty compartment within the shelves. “Would you like some walnuts?” He presented them to Lee. “I love these things. They’re unsalted.”
“Mmm…I love walnuts,” Lee said, grabbing a handful. “I’m going to have to get some water after I eat them, though.”
Okoye said, “I see you’ve been keeping yourself busy up here.”
“Well, trying to as best I can.” She held up the book she’d pulled from the shelf. “I didn’t realize you had an interest in sailing.”
A smile flashed across Okoye’s face. “I purchased that particular book only to learn a bit more about the role of astronomy in sea navigation.”
Lee opened the beginning of the book and skimmed the table of contents. “You bought this whole book just for the astronomy section? There’s so much great info here.”
“Okay, there may have been another motivation.”
“What might that be?”
“Someday I’d like to sail to Africa. It’s very unlikely that this will happen, I know, but I thought that, if I ever get the opportunity to take it seriously, the book will be there waiting for me.”
“You want to sail back and stay permanently?”
Okoye shook his head. “No, not permanently. Just to visit for a while. See extended family.”
Lee slid herself back to her laptop and sat down Indian style again. “Thank you so much for the HUD, Maliq. And for letting me borrow your den. It’s fantastic here.”
Okoye shrugged. “Certainly. It’s my pleasure.”
“May I ask, Maliq, why you’re doing this for me?”
Okoye inhaled deeply. “Let’s just say that there were others who, long ago, helped me in a similar time of need. This is just my way of paying it forward, so to speak.”
“If I ever have the opportunity, I’ll return the favor.”
“You needn’t worry about repayment,” Okoye said. “The decision I’ve made has little to do with you.”
Lee thought this a curious statement, but she decided not to press him. She would wait for another time. They fell into silence for a moment before Okoye said, “How have you been feeling? You doing okay?”
“I’m okay. Trying to problem-solve.”
Okoye adjusted his position on the floor of the den, leaning with his back against the shelf, his legs bent at a ninety-degree angle in front of him, right leg crossed over left. Okoye said, “What’ve you been up to?”
“Been trying to contact a friend of mine via online chat. But I’m trying to stay away from my usual accounts in case the FBI is tracking them. So I’m trying to re-gain access to an old hacker site he used to frequent. Not having much success, I’m afraid.”
“I’m sorry, Lyn. If I could help with that, I would.”
“I know. You’ve done more than enough already.”
They fell into silence again for a moment before Okoye spoke. “They made a startling announcement at work today. I think it may be related to your situation.”
“What announcement?”
“They pulled us in small groups into the auditorium and told us about some abductions that have been happening to company personnel.”
“Abductions?”
“Yes. They’ve been happening for a while now—for a few weeks. There’ve been six of them total. Three of them have already been found deceased. Sounds like the people doing the abductions are attempting to force our execs to release some of our classified information.”
“Three deaths? How much do you know?”
“They didn’t tell us much due to the fact that the FBI is still investigating. Just the bare bones.”
“Please tell me everything. What are the names of the deceased?”
“I’m not sure exactly what the names are. They’re all employees that worked for Brooklyn Venture Capital, which is not where I’m at. They’re all researchers. If I had the names, I’d give them to you. You may know some of them.”
Abductions. As a natural response, Lee rose out of her Indian squat, attempting to stand, but then she realized that she was too tall to stand comfortably so she sat back down again. “Why didn’t they—” Lee thought about Frank and Reardon and how she’d asked multiple times for any information on Dr. Xiang. They’d always given her the impression that it was about a mole hunt.
“The FBI never told me about these abductions,” Lee said. She thought carefully about how much she should tell Okoye. She’d already told him some of the basics. She’d felt it necessary to justify her time living in his home. “I never knew.”
“I’m sorry,�
�� Okoye said.
“Me too.” Lee shook her head. “So there are still three of them presumably still alive somewhere?”
“That’s my understanding, yes.”
Lee leaned back against the shelf again and took a deep breath. “Well, I’m going to try and find them.”
A skeptical grin spread across Okoye’s face. “And how are you going to do that?”
“I have no idea. But I need to start by getting in touch with my—” Lee’s voice trailed off.
“With your…what?”
She smiled sardonically. “With my friend. I think I just remembered the login information I was trying to retrieve.”
“Excellent,” Okoye said. “I’m going to leave you to your search. I brought some pizza home if you want some.”
Lee thanked him again as he slipped down through the trap door. After he’d gone, she typed in the newly recollected login id and password and pressed the ENTER button. The little man on her screen slid the oversized glasses forward on his nose, tipped his head forward, and raised his eyebrows as another caption appeared above him. The caption said, “It’s been 2,376 days, 9 hours, and 16 minutes since your last login. Click on my shades to enter.” Lee did as the little man advised, and the glasses briefly flashed a multitude of neon colors before he dissolved and she found herself at the home screen she remembered from so many years ago.
She accessed the chat tool and discovered the email address she’d been using at the time to chat with Pan-Ik was outdated. She typed in his current email address and waited for the network to establish the connection. She held her breath as she wasn’t certain whether he’d retained the old chat tool on his computer over such a long period of time. A few seconds later, she breathed easier as a connection confirmation message appeared. With the connection established, she typed in a short message. She had no idea how long it would be before Pan-Ik would respond, or even if he’d respond at all. She was hungry and she needed to get out of the den for a while, so she pulled the trap door open and began her descent down a sliding ladder, her mouth watering at the prospect of hot pizza.
Manhattan, New York
Thursday, February 27, 9:18 a.m. EST
Terry Phong steered his town car along a gravel road, massive steel shipping containers stacked atop one another to his right, a warehouse of corrugated steel to his left. On the side of the warehouse was a sign that said USA Ports Management, LLC. He drove another forty feet or so and pulled into a diagonal parking spot along the warehouse, the sound of white gravel grinding under the tires. He threw the gearshift into park and sat by himself for a few moments, listening to the muted tones of music emanating from the speakers. He slid his black sunglasses off and laid them on top of the dash. He then fastened the top button on his dress shirt, tightened the tie around his neck, and checked to make sure his collar was pulled all the way down. He grabbed his FBI credentials, which he’d affixed to a lanyard, and slid them over his head. He took a deep breath, grabbed the handle on his black leather briefcase, opened his car door, and stepped out of the vehicle, sliding the shoulder strap of his briefcase over his head and onto the opposite shoulder.
Seabirds squawked overhead as the pale winter sun shone. He skipped a breath as the chill of the breeze off of the Hudson River blew through the lot. He tightened the scarf around his neck to keep the air from seeping into his winter coat as he hustled toward the entrance to the warehouse. Glancing over his shoulder, he caught a glimpse of the upper decks of the Imperial Empress through an opening between stacks of containers. The upper bulwarks of the ship rose majestically into the sky.
Phong pulled a tinted glass door open, where he was greeted by armed FBI security personnel. After passing through the security checkpoint, he was left to his own devices. He was in a large room, one of several rooms within the warehouse owned by USA Ports Management. The room was alive with activity as FBI agents and other support personnel scurried between the main room and a series of other smaller rooms along the east-facing side. The men and women were dressed mostly in formal clothing in various stages of neglect. Given the hours he’d been working, he could relate.
One of the women whose attire was not lacking was a middle-aged woman who’d been seated at a desk situated behind a partition. She smiled faintly and extended her hand as she approached. “May I be of any assistance, sir?”
Phong shook her hand. “I’m looking for Agent John Rose.”
The woman’s eyes widened. “Oh, I see. Follow me, Mr.—”
“Phong. Terry Phong. I’ve been summoned here by—” Phong slid a piece of paper out of his pants pocket. “Special Agent In Charge John Rose.”
The woman nodded. “Follow me. I’ll take you to him.”
Phong had to walk briskly to keep pace with her, as they weaved their way around and through other personnel coming and going. Some sped by, walking with a purpose, while others stood in small groups or by themselves downing cups of coffee or water. The room they were in seemed to be the central point of the activity. There were people sitting in chairs at computers situated around the perimeter of the room and at rows of tables running parallel with each other along a north-south axis. The table in the center seemed to be a communications hub with a couple of copier/fax combos, landline telephones, and satellite equipment. Intuitively, Phong felt a sort of low-level internal discomfort as they progressed further into the room, but he couldn’t seem to understand the source.
The woman led Phong to a tall but athletic-looking man and another male who was shorter and with broad shoulders who were speaking animatedly to each other, but in a quiet tone. The thin man, who seemed to tower over Phong, was dressed in black dress slacks and shoes, a skinny microfiber maroon tie with purple, silver, and black stripes, and a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The heavyset man, who was gesturing animatedly, appeared haggard with his tie undone, bags under his eyes, and small beads of sweat on his forehead. As Phong studied him, he realized that the source of his feelings of discomfort was due to a sense of fatigue and tension that was being communicated through the nonverbal behaviors of those in the room—the craning of necks, the tapping of shoes, the massaging of temples.
The two men seemed to arrive at a natural end to their conversation. The taller of the two—the one with the maroon tie—dismissed the other with a nod of his head. The tall man, who appeared older to Phong now that he could see the crags in his face, caught sight of Phong’s diligent host and inquired as to the reason for her presence with a nearly imperceptible nod of his head.
The woman took her cue and said, “John, this is Terry Phong. He says he’s been summoned by you?”
A confused look momentarily crossed Agent John Rose’s face before he realized who Phong was. “Oh yes! I did summon Mr. Phong.” The trace of a smile played across the corners of Rose’s lips. “Thanks for stopping by, Mr. Phong,” Rose said, as he extended his hand.
“My pleasure,” Phong said as they shook hands.
Rose nodded at the woman. “I’ll take it from here, Michele. Thank you.” Rose waited a moment for Michele to depart and then tapped Phong on his shoulder and said, “Follow me.” Rose led him through a doorway cut into a partition that extended across the length of the room and into a hallway. A series of small office rooms ran along the opposite side of the hallway, along the east-facing side of the warehouse.
“Welcome to Operation Crimson Shield,” Rose said. “It’s a little bit of a mess around here at the moment. We just set up shop here a couple of days ago.” They walked a few paces before Rose said. “Agent Reardon’s been keeping me up to date on your work. I’m particularly interested in your conclusions regarding this person of interest who’s taken to using “deity” as a handle for identifying himself online.”
Rose wasn’t asking for a response, so Phong didn’t give him any. Rose continued, “Tell me about it. How did it come about?”
Rose had led Phong down the hallway a few meters before stopping and positi
oning them along the perimeter, away from the foot traffic.
“It was just an idea that came to mind. Because that’s how these guys who are in the financial elite in China think. They very much believe they’re untouchable, almost like demi-gods. And I know that these elitist websites are popular with men like that in China because it allows them to more easily network with similar people. Just makes sense to me.”
“So you ran an Internet search of all of these sites. How did you go about doing that?”
“A friend of mine is a freelance computer programmer here in New York. He created a web “spider” to mine for certain kinds of publicly available information on the web for a marketing firm. I had him tweak it a little for my search.”
Rose nodded. “I see. Follow me, Mr. Phong.”
Phong followed Rose into a small and rather disheveled-looking office that was clearly temporary in nature as there was no attempt at any interior design.
“Please have a seat,” Rose said. Rose maneuvered around a desk with a computer and a stack of folders lying on top. As he sat, Phong noted a gray metal bookcase along the wall behind Rose and the presence of an American flag in the corner.
“I received the information you forwarded,” Rose said. “Thank you for encrypting it. Please continue to do so in the future.”
The phrase “continue to do so in the future” immediately aroused Phong’s curiosity. This implied that Phong would be communicating with Rose in the future, something he’d been unaware of as he’d made the trip in.
Rose had opened one of the folders and was browsing through information on a printout. “So you graduated from Johns Hopkins with a degrees in business and East Asian studies?”
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