The Thought Cathedral

by Nathan Williams

  Lorren was never one to begrudge much of the political calculus that he confronted on a daily basis, nor was he transparent in the information he was privy to in his discussions with other leaders within the FBI or the military and intelligence communities. Of no doubt to Rose, however, was that, even given the volume of offensive action against the U.S., the almighty dollar was still the driving force in the relationship. The administration, it seemed, was willing to go to any length necessary to maintain a smooth flow of merchandise and capital from Beijing to Los Angeles, from Shanghai to New York. To Rose, it was past time for the U.S. to draw a line in the sand and let the bellicose howls of protest from the Party brass in Beijing flow in only one direction, that being in one ear and out the other. The seizure and search of the Empress could have been a small step in that direction. Rose could understand the delay in a seizure while they had still been getting the volume and quality of information they had been. But that had ended a few days after Lee’s encounter in Zhang’s cabin. There had been plenty of time to act, but someone in a position of higher authority in Washington D.C. than Lorren had made the decision to let it go.

  Rose sighed heavily as he slipped into a side entrance and traversed the hallway to his office. He hung his coat on a hanger, and scanned his email quickly before making his way to the main operations center, where most of the FBI personnel working Operation Crimson Shield were on hand. With the recent successes, his initial impression was that the mood was upbeat. Rose made himself a coffee and called everyone together. He made a few introductory remarks, mostly friendly banter designed to wake everyone up.

  “Listen up, guys,” Rose said. “I wanted to pass along a small update this morning while we continue to hunt for Peregrine. We’ve had a good idea for a few days now who has been responsible for the theft of Brooklyn Capital’s classified data, and now we can say we know how it was done. Tobiah and his team have confirmed that the equipment in the radio station has been retrofitted to allow for the embedding of information into sound signals. These sounds signals are being originated in the studio using traditional broadcasting equipment just as they have in the past, using an FM radio transmitter to transfer Pathos Peregrine’s voice into a radio signal. This signal is then broadcast via an antenna located on the roof of the studio.

  “Tobiah has found that Peregrine’s been using an advanced radio transmitter that allows for the embedding of information into the sound signal, which is then transmitted out via the antenna. This is done using a sophisticated process called OFDM, which has been around since the 1950s or so. However, according to Johns, recent advances in this technology have allowed for a much greater amount of information to be embedded within a signal, and also for the signal to travel for a significantly longer period of time before the information decays.

  “So, it appears that our suspects, which have grown now to a total of five Brooklyn personnel, have been printing out paper copies of these classified documents, taking these paper copies to the studio, and then using multiple scanners to scan the data into a computer. Once in the computer, it is then encoded and embedded into the signal and transmitted. The signal is then retrieved and decoded with an advanced receiver, which has also been retrofitted for OFDM. At this time, we do not yet know the location where the receiver is being kept. Johns has assured me that, based on a complicated set of computations, it cannot be located more than two and a quarter miles as the crow flies from the radio studio.

  Rose could tell from the look on the faces of the agents around him that they weren’t thrilled at the prospect of another foot search.

  “Now, I know you all are not thrilled about another search after everything we’ve been through for the past few months, but we’re using other means to determine the location of the receiver. As you know, Zhang testified under his pre-existing plea deal that he was giving us everything he knew. Fortunately, we’ve uncovered email communications on one of Peregrine’s home computers between Pathos Peregrine and Zhang Qianfang involving this OFDM set-up. Since we have proof that Zhang was lying, the plea deal has been declared void and we’re attempting to get another statement from him. We are close to reaching another agreement. I think we should hear back from Zhang’s lawyers sometime later this morning.”

  Mathiason said, “John, has Tobiah given you an idea how much information they’ve been able to embed and transmit?”

  Rose shook his head. “Despite the advances in the technology, this OFDM process remains a relatively inefficient process. Johns has been attempting to replicate the entire process in his lab. In his testing, he’s been able to embed, transmit, and retrieve approximately one megabyte of data every twelve hours. For those like myself who are less technologically inclined, that’s roughly the equivalent of a small novel. So, it’s not an efficient process, but it’s enough information to do plenty of damage over an extended period of time.”

  Rose paused for a few moments for questions, but there were none, so he resumed. “I wanted to give you all a quick update on Pathos Peregrine. I’ll turn this over to Jillian.”

  Frank turned toward the other agents, coughing gently. “Just wanted to make sure everyone has a heads up on Mr. Peregrine. Peregrine’s been working as a radio host for over twenty-five years, all of that time here in New York City. In recent years, Peregrine’s professional difficulties have been well-documented. He’s been a well-known public figure in New York for a while now, so many people are familiar with his story. He worked his way up in the radio business working for quite a number of smaller stations before getting his own show with WKQR in Brooklyn. Peregrine developed a reputation as a subversive commentator, though he is probably not characterized as a shock jock because it was more subtle and more politically oriented rather than culturally oriented. His firing from WKQR in 2010 was well-publicized locally as his show had developed a large following by then. What was never made public, however, was that Peregrine had become linked with a number of criminal enterprises working throughout the New York City area.

  “To be more specific, the NYPD has found that Peregrine has been a participant in heroin trafficking, prostitution, and in illegal activities related to political campaign activity. He was indicted two years ago for charges related to extortion of a prominent Brooklyn businessman in order to gain financial contributions for a New York mayoral candidate. This candidate supported the veto of legislation that had been introduced to curb freedom of speech in the largest radio stations, legislation that Peregrine viewed as a threat to his career. When the NYPD raided his apartment in Brooklyn, they found that it had been booby-trapped.

  “So, please keep in mind who you’re going after. Peregrine is very well-connected in the criminal underground as well as within certain subgroups of the political elite in New York City. He’s already proven he’s unafraid of harming cops, if necessary.”

  Pernetta Walker asked, “What happened with the charges? Did he go to trial?”

  “No, he didn’t go to trial. Peregrine used his considerable connections to force a plea deal. The NYPD was going after a bigger fish, and Peregrine was able to give it to them. He’s really adept at influencing people and in negotiation.”

  Frank waited a moment before continuing. “Anyway, I wanted you all to know who you’re dealing with in Pathos Peregrine. Be extra cautious, particularly if you find yourself in or around any of his properties.”

  “Anyone have any questions about any of this?” Rose asked. Rose was met with silence. “Let’s get to work.”

  Brooklyn, New York

  Thursday, March 13, 10:29 a.m.

  Cardenas and Reardon walked through the side entrance of a federal detention facility in Brooklyn and followed the tiled corridor to a T-intersection where an oversized photo of a ruddy old Germanic ex-facility director cast a disciplined eye on the passersby. The two agents made a left turn at the intersection, ambling down the corridor until they came to a set of steel doors. Reardon led Cardenas through, where they were met by a uniformed
security officer. The officer led them to a sterile gray room, empty except for a table and chairs.

  A couple of minutes later, the officer led a young Chinese man into the room dressed in black jeans, a white T-shirt, and sneakers. The young man was followed by an older man dressed in a suit and tie.

  Reardon extended his hand toward the younger man as he and the silver-haired man in the suit walked around to a set of chairs on the opposite side of the table. “I’m Milt Reardon, FBI.”

  The young man glanced at Reardon’s arm, adjusted his glasses, and kept walking without returning Reardon’s handshake. The older man offered a firm handshake.

  As the four of them settled into their chairs, Reardon said, “You are Nuo Zhang, son of Qianfang Zhang, the Chief Executive of Far East Marketing here in New York, and known here as David Zhang?”

  “That’s me, yes.”

  Reardon studied Zhang as the young man ran his left hand through his closely cropped black hair. Zhang, with his thin, featureless face, physically appeared younger than the FBI file in front of Reardon indicated. Reardon shifted his gaze to the older man. “And you are?”

  “I’m Don Pollak, lawyer overseeing the elder Zhang’s interests.”

  Zhang and Pollak had taken a seat in two of the chairs opposite Reardon and Cardenas.

  Cardenas said, “May I ask why the legal representation is necessary, David?”

  “I’m here at the request of Qianfang,” Pollak said. “Making sure you two don’t overstep any boundaries.”

  “Fair enough.” Reardon shifted back to Zhang and said, “Can you tell me how you met Simon Shelby?”

  “I met Simon during my internship for Brooklyn Capital.”

  “Simon was a coworker?”

  “Yes, he was also participating in the internship.”

  “In 2007?”

  “Yes, when I was still at NYU.”

  “How did you end up recruiting him for Black Dragon?”

  “We were friends first,” Zhang said. “We were both sophomores at NYU, both into computer programming. We went out together.”

  “How long before you pitched it to him?”

  “Hmmm. I think it was probably a good nine or ten months.”

  “How did you pitch him?”

  “It was fluid,” Zhang said. He ran his hand through his hair, adjusted his glasses again. “I invited him out to my father’s place on the Upper East Side. We did it there. It really was just kind of an extension of our friendship. He agreed to help us then, but we ended up having to pay him.”

  “Why do you think he agreed to do it?”

  “I think, for Simon, it was a combination of access to certain things and probably also financial considerations.”

  “Access to what?”

  “Money. Women. Prestige. My father is wealthy and has connections. We offered him access to these things.”

  Reardon turned a page in his notebook, the paper rustling in the silence. “I’d like to talk about your father’s connections. How connected are your father and his associates—and, by associates, I’m referring to the network of men who were working with your father on Black Dragon? How connected are they to the Chinese Communist Party? Keep in mind, David, that this is an ongoing FBI investigation and, if we later find inconsistencies in your statements, we can revoke this deal.”

  “Easy now, Agent Reardon,” Pollak said. “David is well informed as to the consequences of inaccuracies and omissions in his testimony today.”

  “Mr. Pollak is correct,” Zhang said, a thin smile spreading across his face. “I understand quite well the stakes here. But, either way, I’m quite certain, once I leave this facility, you will never find me again.”

  Reardon sighed, leaning back in his chair. “You have everything anyone could want in life, Mr. Zhang. How willing are you to risk all of that?”

  “Certainly, there are a good number of us who are either party members or who have connections to the party elite in China. As a result, we have received some assistance from the Chinese military and state intelligence apparatus. However, we are a private, for-profit, organization.”

  “For profit? Does that mean the Chinese government hasn’t received any of the stolen data?”

  “The Chinese state has possession of very little of this data.”

  “Your syndicate, for lack of a better word, is going to put it up for sale.”

  “Of course.”

  “To whom?”

  “I don’t honestly know, Mr. Reardon. I’m not at a high enough level in the organization to know. But I think these details are still being worked out.”

  “But your father is.”

  Zhang remained silent.

  “So, if the Chinese state wants the data, they’re going to have to pay for it like anyone else.”

  “They are.”

  “Well, I’d say that limits the number of places for you to hide, wouldn’t you agree.”

  Zhang remained silent.

  Reardon flipped a page in his notebook. “Who is Phua Youhong?”

  “I don’t know much about that guy,” Zhang said. “He’s an acquaintance of Ambassador Li.”

  “How did Ambassador Li meet him?”

  The young Zhang adjusted his glasses again, which seemed to be a habit of his while he was thinking. “I believe I remember the ambassador saying that Lobsang introduced Phua to him.”

  “Who’s Lobsang?” Reardon asked.

  “I don’t remember.”

  “You don’t remember?”

  “Look, Mr. Reardon,” Zhang said, a trace of impatience in his tone. “I don’t know as much as you think I might. My father never fully let me in to his business connections.” Zhang sighed heavily and leaned back against his chair. “I remember a conversation I overheard between my father and Ambassador Li at a marketing function in Manhattan. Lobsang recruits high level talent in technical fields for a number of Chinese firms. He used to be a Sherpa in the Himalayan Mountains. Lobsang knew Phua somehow. I have no idea how.”

  “Phua ambushed one of our agents in Manhattan. He was shot dead.”

  “That was an accident.”

  “An accident?” Reardon said. “What do you mean?”

  “Phua was intricately involved with Black Dragon at the time, and we knew you were watching him.”

  “How did you know we were watching him?”

  Zhang shrugged. “I don’t know. I was never privy to that information.”

  Reardon grunted. “Not high enough in the food chain, eh?”

  “No.”

  Cardenas said, “How was it an accident?”

  “Phua knew too much. We had snipers in place if your guys decided to take him hostage. But the shooting was premature.”

  Reardon said, “Premature? How so?”

  “My understanding is that the shooting was premature. The man who fired did so without prior authorization. He broke the…chain of command. I think that’s how you guys say it.”

  “Were these snipers P.L.A.?”

  “No, private guys. Some of them ex-military.”

  “Can you give us names?”

  “No, I don’t have that much information.”

  “And your father doesn’t?”

  “You’d have to ask him.”

  “What happened to the sniper who shot our guy?”

  “He is no longer in the U.S.”

  “Where is he now? China?”

  Zhang shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  Cardenas said, “When did you know about Lyn Lee?”

  “We didn’t think anything of her until the Imperial Empress, where her behavior aroused some suspicion. But we really didn’t seriously suspect her of anything until a bit later on, but I’m not sure why. We didn’t know for sure, though, until she broke into my father’s lodge in Connecticut.”

  “Why the recent attempt on her life?”

  “Attempt on her life? I don’t know anything about that.”

  “Lee was attacked by a man, a ta
ll Chinaman. She insists that this man was an acquaintance of Ambassador Li.”

  A flash of recognition crossed Zhang’s face, and he ran his hand through his hair again. “Oh, yes. I only know of him vaguely. He’s an assassin from China. I don’t know anything else about him.”

  “Nothing else?”

  Zhang’s jaw tightened and his face segued into a stone-faced expression. “Nothing, Mr. Reardon.”

  Reardon silently flipped through his notebook for a few moments before Pollak broke the silence. “Do you have any more questions for my client at this time?”

  Reardon glanced to Cardenas. Cardenas said, “How was Pathos Peregrine brought into this scheme?”

  Zhang’s face segued into a look of reticence as he contemplated his answer. “We had been aware of Pathos for some time before Black Dragon. I have connections in the heroin trade here in New York and I had met him a while back. He was going to let the distribution ‘managers,’ if you will, use a property of his in Queens as a storage facility.”

  “How were you aware of this meeting?” Cardenas asked.