The Gaze of Caprice (The Caprice Trilogy Book 1)

by Cole Reid

  A dark-skinned man was wearing a light gray suit with open collar and sunglasses. He stood by the fountain with a black backpack between his feet and a book in his hand. He stood in the sun. The sunlight heavily scrutinized his skin. His dark complexion was unblemished in the spotlight. He posed himself a few inches away from the guardrail around the fountain. Xiaoyu approached him and asked if he would be willing to take Xiaoyu’s picture in front of the fountain. The man obliged. As Xiaoyu approached with the camera, the man handed him the book to hold. The man took Xiaoyu’s picture in front of the fountain and Xiaoyu pulled out a pen and circled a paragraph in the first chapter of the book. Xiaoyu thanked the man and left the piazza from the south end. Xiaoyu walked for twelve minutes and found himself along Via Corso Vittorio Emanuele II. Within two minutes, he was on Largo dei Chiavari seated at a table for two at a small-but-good Mediterranean restaurant. He waited seventeen minutes until he heard footsteps pass dangerously close behind him. The man passed Xiaoyu and sat down in the empty chair across the table. He didn’t look at Xiaoyu he only looked at his book and read a circled passage.

  “Meanwhile we find ourselves confronted by a most disturbing moral problem. We know that the pursuit of good ends does not justify the employment of bad means. But what about those situations, now of such frequent occurrence, in which good means have end results which turn out to be bad?”

  “A well chosen passage,” said the man.

  “I didn’t choose it,” said Xiaoyu.

  “Then the person who did must be somewhat conflicted,” said the man.

  “How many times does the letter A appear in your name?” asked Xiaoyu.

  “Twice,” said the man.

  “What about the letter W,” said Xiaoyu.

  “Also twice,” said the man.

  “Then you must be Shaw Borwa,” said Xiaoyu.

  “And you, Reagan Lee,” said the man. Xiaoyu nodded his head.

  “How’s the food here?” asked Xiaoyu

  “Good,” said Shaw.

  “And the landscape?” asked Xiaoyu.

  “Not bad,” said Shaw, “Our client requires a lot of attention.”

  “How much attention?” asked Xiaoyu.

  “There are three of us on him,” said Shaw. “I stay here in Rome, along with one other. The third is based here but is liaising with some of the investigators. Some psychologist, trying to determine what state of mind our client is in so we can better serve him.

  “Where is he?” asked Xiaoyu.

  “He’s here. Somewhere in the city center,” said Shaw.

  “Somewhere?” asked Xiaoyu.

  “Private client, with a private life,” said Shaw, “We’ve isolated a location near here. Our software has everything, a map of Rome even underground, the catacombs. We got eye in the sky, whatever it takes to better serve our client. We know about where he is.”

  “Where?” asked Xiaoyu.

  “Here,” said Shaw. A middle-aged man with over-sized belly interrupted the conversation. He spoke Italian, only Italian. They were in Rome. Shaw ordered in Italian, pizza prosciutto with garlic and a soda. Xiaoyu wasn’t picky he ordered the same. Shaw reached into his backpack and pulled out a sleek looking black laptop. After a series of clicks and keystrokes Shaw showed Xiaoyu a bird’s eye view of Rome, a satellite snapshot of a section of the city center. Shaw zoomed in on a highlighted section forming an oblong triangle bordered by the Piazza Navona, the Pantheon and Corso Vittorio Emanuele II.

  “He’s here. Somewhere,” said Shaw.

  “You’re sure?” asked Xiaoyu.

  “Oh yeah,” said Shaw.

  “How?” asked Xiaoyu.

  “His gait,” said Shaw.

  “How do you know that?” asked Xiaoyu.

  “I don’t,” said Shaw, “The algorithm does.”

  “The algorithm,” said Xiaoyu.

  “It’s about patterns,” said Shaw, “The satellite stores the walking patterns of everyone it sees, in case we can’t get a visual ID. Like if someone’s face is covered with a ski mask or bandana or something.”

  “What if he changes his walk?” asked Xiaoyu.

  “Doesn’t matter,” said Shaw, “He walks. He runs. He jumps. He skips. None of that matters. He could even walk with a limp and we’d know it’s him.”

  “Why?” asked Xiaoyu.

  “People don’t have the same body proportions,” said Shaw, “Two guys the same height and weight will still have different proportions. One guy’s got longer legs, the other guy longer arms it affects how they move. Even twins, the eye in the sky will know the difference even if they’re minimal. The way you move is like your fingerprints. That’s how we know he hasn’t moved outside this area. He last stepped into that building and we lost him.”

  “Did you check the building?” asked Xiaoyu.

  “We did,” said Shaw, “About five hours after he entered he didn’t show back up on the satellite grid. That meant he was still in the building. Two of us went in and knocked on doors but no one says they saw him.”

  “What street is that?” asked Xiaoyu.

  “Via Del Teatro Valle,” said Shaw, “It’s not far from here.”

  “Can we go there after we eat?” asked Xiaoyu.

  “Of course,” said Shaw.

  “Is it possible he was walking with an umbrella?” asked Xiaoyu.

  “Believe it or not, the algorithm accounts for that as well,” said Shaw, “It uses the shadow and the movement of the umbrella to figure out who’s carrying it. If it’s someone we don’t know, that’s one thing. But if we’ve already recorded the person’s movements, we should know it’s them. It’s geeky stuff but if no two people move exactly the same no two people carry an umbrella exactly the same. I’m telling you he hasn’t moved from that building.”

  “Ok,” said Xiaoyu. The topic changed as their meals arrived, less business more personal. Shaw was originally from Swaziland and spoke English, French, Italian and Swati. He was a COSOP Review Assistant for the International Fund for Agricultural Development—IFAD, a United Nations organization. COSOP was the Country Strategic Opportunities Program. It did the routine check ups to let the organization know how it was doing. IFAD was based in Rome and provided great cover for a background agent. Background agents had longer stay periods than other field agents; that was the point. Background agents stayed in place and familiar with the landscape. Working for an international organization explained why a non-Italian had been living in Rome for so long. Shaw was in his eighth year. Field agents were often enrolled as students in a local university. But students were expected to graduate at some point and tuition was expensive. Embassy workers changed with administrations and political shake-ups—no long-term guarantee. Working for an international company or organization made an agent buried treasure. It also saved the Agency money. Shaw was paid by the CIA but not a full salary. His salary from his job at IFAD was taken into account. He had a CIA retirement plan in any case.

  Xiaoyu looked at Shaw as someone affected by circumstance, not unlike himself. Shaw’s reason for joining the Agency was that it kept him from having to go back to Swaziland. He had no other citizenship and didn’t have permission to stay in Italy after finishing an engineering degree at Tor Vergata. He thought racial hiring preferences explained his inability to find work in Italy. He said he didn’t think being from Africa would be a problem because he was near the top of his class, but all his European classmates that wanted jobs got jobs. Xiaoyu didn’t mention the playgrounds of Kuandian, but he understood prejudices and preferences. Shaw said he scheduled an appointment with the US embassy to apply for a visa. During the visa interview, he said he didn’t want or need a visa but was happy to stay in Rome and spy for the US. He offered to continue studying if the Agency would fund him. After several hours and several phone calls, the answer came back, no deal. Instead, a higher mind thought his African background would make him a good fit for IFAD. A lot of IFAD projects were in Africa. The embassy helpe
d Shaw with his application to IFAD and then made it better. Shaw said he was given three recommendation letters: two from Consuls in Milan and Florence and one from a US representative he had never met or heard of. But he got the job. The relationship worked very well. Shaw got to stay in Italy. But he was not an American citizen, giving the Agency plausible deniability. The Agency could deny he was their spy anytime. Shaw knew he was expendable. It was written all over him. When he laughed out loud it was obvious he could control it and shut it down instantly. Even his laugh was expendable. Shaw admitted being lucky though. Background agents didn’t have too much risk, including getting caught.

  Xiaoyu finished his food two slices before Shaw. Shaw talked as he ate. Xiaoyu just ate. Seeing that Xiaoyu was finished, Shaw offered to pay for his first meal in Rome. Xiaoyu obliged. They left the restaurant with Shaw leading the way. Shaw introduced Xiaoyu to Rome, serving as a tour guide as they walked along the main streets. Via del Teatro Valle was a ten-minute walk away. Shaw reminded Xiaoyu when they arrived it was the last place Mykola Voloshyn had been seen. Xiaoyu reminded Shaw it was the last place Voloshyn had been seen by satellite. Xiaoyu knew something Shaw didn’t—Caprice. Shaw was under orders to track Voloshyn but he didn’t know anything more. He didn’t know Voloshyn had a habit of escaping the eyes of satellites. That was the reason that sent Xiaoyu to Rome. Voloshyn was no longer on Caprice’s grid either. They couldn’t kill him by remote detonating his chip. Caprice’s high technology had failed. The project had been reduced to old-fashioned ways.

  • • •

  Via del Teatro Valle was an alley wide enough to be a one-way street. It was always dark. The buildings that enclosed the street weren’t tall but they crowded the narrow space below, crowding out the light. Sunlight was left like crumbs at the alley’s mouth. The facades of the buildings were the rear view, unfinished and unappreciated. Rome didn’t take care of the faces of the buildings on Via del Teatro Valle. The faces took care of themselves, mirroring the darkness with a dingy look all their own. The Via wasn’t one of the arteries of Rome; it was one of the bowels.

  “Here,” said Shaw, “This is where he was last picked up on the satellite.” Shaw and Xiaoyu stood in front of a dark door that echoed its presence. The door itself seemed misplaced and agonized that it could do nothing about it. The door caused as many problems as it solved. At night, residents had to have their key ready or they would be stuck at the door in the night on The Via. The Via wasn’t hospitable even during the day.

  “So he entered this building and the satellite got that,” said Xiaoyu.

  “Yeah,” said Shaw.

  “But he came out and we don’t know when because the satellite didn’t know it was him,” said Xiaoyu.

  “Yeah,” said Shaw, “We even traced all occupants of the building. They’re all accounted for and none with connection to Voloshyn.”

  “So he picked the lock and came out shortly after he went in,” said Xiaoyu.

  “If he did, the satellite would have recognized his movement,” said Shaw, “He could have worn a wig or a dress. The satellite should have recognized his movements.”

  “But it didn’t,” said Xiaoyu, “That means Voloshyn understands their satellites better than they do.” Shaw gave a worried look—not worried like the end of the road, worried like the end of his time in Italy.

  “What about a car?” asked Xiaoyu, “What if a car picked him up right here?”

  “The algorithm still should have picked up his pattern of motion as he left the building and got in the car. It could have been a split second. It’s sensitive enough to get him,” said Shaw.

  “We’ll pick up where the satellite left off,” said Xiaoyu, “We’ll get him.”

  “Ok,” said Shaw.

  “Can I ask you a favor?” said Xiaoyu.

  “Sure,” said Shaw.

  “I need your backpack,” said Xiaoyu.

  “Sure,” said Shaw.

  “You might not get it back,” said Xiaoyu, “Even still you might not want it back.”

  “It’s ok, we get these at the office,” said Shaw. Shaw kneeled down and retrieved his laptop, book and a notepad from his backpack. Then handed the backpack to Xiaoyu.

  “I left some pens in there,” said Shaw, “In case you need something to write with.”

  “Thank you,” said Xiaoyu as he started toward the end of the alley, toward the light.

  “Where are you going?” asked Shaw.

  “Where our guy is,” said Xiaoyu.

  “Where’s that?” asked Shaw. Xiaoyu didn’t answer, didn’t stop. He kept walking.

  • • •

  Xiaoyu spent the rest of the afternoon in the Triangle. He walked the streets of the highlighted area that Shaw had shown him on the satellite map. His unobstructed memory was useful. He walked passed the Pantheon, he knew it subconsciously—a temple built to all gods of Rome. He saw it and recognized it but kept walking. The day got old as did walking around the city. Xiaoyu went back and found his rented Lancia. In the trunk was his duffle. In the duffle was all he needed: satellite antenna; polymer spray; toiletries and change of clothes. His hotel wasn’t far so he paid for parking until midnight. After midnight, parking was on Rome herself. His hotel was a few blocks away, La Portata di Roma. La Portata di Roma was a quaint four-star located in the city center. Its name owed to the fact that the four sides of the four-story building corresponded to the cardinal directions. The front door of the hotel faced true north and the back faced directly south. The hotel had a central stairwell and no elevator. The lack of air conditioning meant summer visitors had to sweat the night away. The hotel had complimentary electric fans but not enough to supply each guest. Xiaoyu was lucky; the hotel wasn’t full. He got a fan. He was also lucky his room was on the second floor. He would have climbed to the fourth floor with only the heat to greet him. Going to the second floor was little work to speak of. He entered his room and put his duffle down. Reaching for the silver topped spray can, he undid the paint bonded to his skin. Dusting himself off with a towel, he used the small black antenna to connect his cell phone to an anonymous and powerful satellite. The call was answered in Paris.

  “Ray,” said Mason.

  “I have an easy one for you,” said Xiaoyu.

  “Sure, go ahead,” said Mason.

  “How smart is Mykola Voloshyn?” asked Xiaoyu.

  “Voloshyn,” said Mason, “He isn’t smart. His project manager had this idea about recruiting a guy who was like a killing machine. Not too bright and trained to follow orders. He wanted a bad dog using Caprice as the leash on him. Of course we know how that went. Voloshyn’s IQ was 80 or somewhere around there. Why?”

  “Patterns,” said Xiaoyu, “That’s how the algorithm works.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Mason.

  “Shaw. The contact. He said they lost Voloshyn somewhere in the city center. The satellite is on an algorithm designed to record the pattern in people’s movement. Even if the person’s disguised the satellite will know by the way they move,” said Xiaoyu.

  “What’s that have to do with Voloshyn?” said Mason.

  “He knows patterns,” said Xiaoyu, “He knows how to manipulate them. It’s how he fooled the trackers here and how he dropped off the Caprice grid. Shaw is still thinking Voloshyn is in the building where they lost him because that’s where the satellite last had him.”

  “And you’re sure he’s not,” said Mason.

  “Voloshyn killed his project manager so he could hide,” said Xiaoyu, “His PM would be the best person to find him. He’s not going to hide where we know he is. He knows how reliant you are on your satellites. He’s using it to make us look one place so he can hide in another. His mind is simple enough to see a simple enough pattern.”

  “What pattern is that?” asked Mason.

  “You’re all too confident with your satellites,” said Xiaoyu, “It’s one move, one attack and you rely too much on it.”

  “How does tha
t relate to how smart he is,” said Mason, “It seems the dumber he is, the easier it is to keep him on a leash. But he keeps breakin’ em.”

  “You pick us for Caprice by our background. And you say Voloshyn is not that smart. He knows that. He’s known that since he was a child. He’s not confident. He just looks to see what he can see. He can see patterns. And he sees the pattern of your reliance on your technology and your information. He’s fooling your technology and confusing your information,” said Xiaoyu, “Don’t rely so much on your file, be more adaptable.”

  “I adapt,” said Mason, “But I don’t when the rules are the same. Voloshyn is the target, Ray. Hit the target.”

  “I will,” said Xiaoyu, “Maybe he is dumb like you say. But he understands patterns if nothing else and right now that’s why he’s winning.”

  “Winning?” said Mason, “When you’ve been in this game longer you’ll understand no one is winning. You take turns making moves. Now’s our move.”

  “How’s Georgia?” asked Xiaoyu.

  “Why do you ask?” said Mason.

  “I remember something she said,” said Xiaoyu.

  “What?” asked Mason.

  “There’s nothing suspicious about an art gallery in Paris,” said Xiaoyu.