The Gaze of Caprice (The Caprice Trilogy Book 1)

by Cole Reid

  “Why do you say that?” said Georgia.

  “As long as these three hold, I can still fight,” said Xiaoyu, “And I’m left a bit more to fight for, if I’m lucky, healthy and have time. I can make the money and find love. The fight for it makes it count.” Georgia would have leaned back but she was already comfortable with her back against her chair. Instead, she sat up and dropped a half-smoked Pall Mall on the floor in favor of a fresh one.

  “That’s interesting,” she said before lighting her new cigarette, “Quite interesting.” She looked to her right and exhaled smoke letting her cigarette hand drop along side the chair. She stared off, a way of having a moment to herself while in company. She didn’t take a drag. She let precious smoke escape the fire of the cigarette without so much as a puff. At regular intervals she flicked her cigarette letting the light breeze have the ash.

  “You’ve thought about those rings,” said Georgia.

  “Yes,” said Xiaoyu.

  “That means you didn’t buy them,” said Georgia.

  “I didn’t buy them,” said Xiaoyu.

  “They were from someone else, maybe family maybe not. Am I right?” said Georgia.

  “Family, yes,” said Xiaoyu, “But not how you would understand.”

  “Oh, you’d be surprised what I’d understand,” said Georgia, “The person who gave you those rings is dead isn’t he?”

  “Yes, he is,” said Xiaoyu.

  “See,” said Georgia inhaling and tilting her head to exhale upward, having made her point.

  “Something else I’m interested in is our operation,” said Georgia.

  “Can you be more specific?” said Xiaoyu. Georgia smiled.

  “What did we call it? Surprise,” said Georgia, “Any surprise with Surprise.”

  “I didn’t follow through,” said Xiaoyu.

  “Ok,” said Georgia, “Explain.”

  “I adapted,” said Xiaoyu, “You said so yourself. I can do it. Why not do it?” Georgia laughed an almost manly laugh.

  “Marti’s not that kind,” said Georgia, “But you did get her to close early.” Xiaoyu looked surprised.

  “Only the rooms on the right side of the hall are soundproof,” said Georgia, “I retired to the room in the middle of the hall on the left. Even slept there. There’s two beds in there for a night’s stay for those who might require it. See Ray, it’s the slow reveal.”

  “Ok,” said Xiaoyu.

  “I heard you and Marti come upstairs,” said Georgia, “I heard her go across the hall a few times to the cappuccino machine. It didn’t sound like—well—you know.”

  “We talked,” said Xiaoyu, “We talked a lot. And then we took a taxi. To her place and I continued on to my place.” Georgia laughed. It started deep and rose high enough to sound feminine. She almost dropped her cigarette as she bent forward.

  “I’m not…I’m not laughing at you,” said Georgia, “I’m not laughing at you. That’s how you respond to the gap between men and women. And I’m sorry. It’s not that you have so much to learn. You learned a lot in Hong Kong—a serious lot. You always have to understand the motivations of the person sitting on the opposite side of the table. That’s what men say. But you have to always understand the impulses of the person sitting on the other side of the table. And that’s what that was, an impulse. When I first got assigned to fieldwork, my every job was like the one I gave you. That was the ropes; that was work. Satellites weren’t that big a part of the game, no computer systems to help your hunches. There was so much instinct. And so much sex. It’s instinctive. You had to get close to get anything at all. And we all had such defenses back then. We never even knew each other’s names. It didn’t matter. If they know your body they feel like they know you enough. It’s the other things they tell you that count. And you were always looking to get those other things.” Georgia took a long drag from her cigarette, nostalgic.

  “But you always make the call,” said Xiaoyu, “That’s instinct too, making a call. Sex is not the only thing. You follow the feeling or misrepresent it. But you have to make a decision, the instinctive one or the other one. I made the instinctive one. That’s what I learned to do in Hong Kong.”

  “That’s impressive,” said Georgia.

  “What is?” asked Xiaoyu.

  “You’re so young but you know,” said Georgia.

  “Know?” said Xiaoyu.

  “We’re not all the same,” said Georgia, “We women.” Xiaoyu flashed his eyes at Georgia.

  “You took time to realize Marti and I are not the same,” said Georgia exhaling, “Not the same woman.”

  “That didn’t require time,” said Xiaoyu.

  “Perhaps because you haven’t been around us so much,” said Georgia, “Just your sister as I understand it.” Xiaoyu had nothing to say. Georgia had it right; there wasn’t any qualification.

  “There are a lot of men who have been around what might be too many women,” said Georgia.

  “Define too many,” said Xiaoyu.

  “When they begin to lump us all together,” said Georgia, “When they know us to be all the same. Then you’ve had too many.”

  “Too many,” said Xiaoyu, “I just hope for three things.”

  “Would I be surprised?” asked Georgia. Xiaoyu showed the three fingers on his right hand with Luck, Health and Longevity.

  “Not a bad thing to look forward to in your position,” said Georgia.

  “Or yours,” said Xiaoyu.

  “You’re probably right,” said Georgia.

  “This time, I am right,” said Xiaoyu.

  “Mature boy,” said Georgia.

  “I’ll take that,” said Xiaoyu. Georgia laughed.

  “From a geriatric?” said Georgia.

  “You move well for your age,” said Xiaoyu.

  “I would say so,” said Georgia laughing from self-flattery.

  “Remember what I told you yesterday?” asked Georgia. Xiaoyu shook his head.

  “About training,” said Georgia.

  “I didn’t forget,” said Xiaoyu.

  “That’s good because we have more ground to cover,” said Georgia, “They have a role for you at OG.” It took Xiaoyu a few seconds to understand the letter pairing OG—Open Gate.

  “Two months then you go,” said Georgia, “I have till then to get you where you need to be. That means more scenarios. That means more practice. I would enjoy the next weeks in Paris, food especially. Malaysia’s food is hit or miss.” Xiaoyu flashed his eyes back at Georgia.

  “Life is hit or miss,” said Xiaoyu.

  “Agreed,” said Georgia, “Remember everything I said.”

  “About?” said Xiaoyu.

  “Not working with your fist but working with your fuss,” said Georgia, “You won’t need to throw a punch this time around if you put your back into it.” Xiaoyu looked off around the courtyard at nothing in particular.

  “Adapt,” said Georgia, “But know your limits, kiddo. It’s what’s kept me in one piece.” Xiaoyu didn’t understand the word, kiddo. It was absent from his subconscious or conscious memory. It left him with a subtle reminder, there was more than he knew—always. And he didn’t mind learning from Georgia. Like Mason, he was keen enough to see the benefit in her experience. Learning to seduce women by being seduced by one, wasn’t objectionable to a man of twenty-three years. It was exciting for him and instinctive—Georgia was right. There were no emotions for Xiaoyu only a newborn instinct. There was nothing deep about it, only fundamental. A man had to know a woman’s expectations of him. Georgia was the best person to teach him the ins and outs. She was conducting a prostitution camp. Teaching him to sell sex for secrets as she had. Like so many things Xiaoyu had to learn, he became good at it.

  Xiaoyu requested a change of venue. He didn’t want to have sex with Georgia in the gallery with Marti in the building. It was a like-minded request. Georgia didn’t want to repeat locations. Paris had hotels of all kinds and they ran the gamut. She took him to the del
uxe and the dingy—penthouses and virtual out houses. He had to be aroused and go to work in any setting with anyone, to go where the work took him. They traveled. Brussels, Lyon and Nice. They rented rooms next to each other. Xiaoyu would be given a target to bring back to his room. He wasn’t always required to have sex with the target but more often he was. He had to get her to tell him something deeply personal even though he was a stranger. Something she wouldn’t tell just anyone. That was the point. He was no one. He had to make her feel comfortable in his presence right after introducing himself. It was stressful and he had to get her and himself aroused, knowing Georgia was monitoring. The most important lesson was not to let the target know they were being used or be gone by the time they found out. For that reason, Georgia took him out of Paris. It was an exercise not safely done in Paris. This was also part of the exercise. More important than a safe house was a safe zone. There had to be a way out, always. Agents had to leave some place with enough space where none of their lies had to be true. Georgia had chosen Paris long ago, so she chose the city for Xiaoyu.

  Two months had come and gone and Xiaoyu got something from Georgia that he hadn’t before, a hug. Mason was waiting for him in Kuala Lumpur. Georgia drove Xiaoyu to the airport and said a curb goodbye at Charles de Gaulle. Watching Georgia drive away made Xiaoyu feel sorry for her. A lifetime in the Agency looked lonely. The work was the distraction.

  • • •

  Kuala Lumpur International airport got straight to the point. The airport had an air of hurry, which made it efficient. It was different than Charles de Gaulle. The corridors were straight—no curves, no hourglasses. It was different from Fuimicimo Airport in Rome. Airports in Rome didn’t try to impress. They tried to impress with Rome. You weren’t meant to stay in Fuimicino, you were meant to leave it. Xiaoyu wasn’t meant to stay in Kuala Lumpur’s airport. Rather than send an unfamiliar face to greet Xiaoyu at the airport, Mason came himself. They hadn’t seen each other in over nine months. The reunion underscored the need of one person to feel connected to another despite circumstance. Regardless of the yellow card, red card and whose finger was on the button, Mason felt good seeing Xiaoyu. Xiaoyu felt the same. After nine months, Mason had become familiar with the landscape. But new faces en masse made the longing for old ones more severe. It was nice. It was strange. Despite nine years of intelligence work, Mason was most comfortable around his most opposite. He was comfortable with someone to whom he had a questionable commitment, Xiaoyu

  “How was the flight?” asked Mason.

  “Direct,” said Xiaoyu. Mason smiled.

  “We do what we can,” said Mason, “We’re this way.” They walked side-by-side like hunting wolves. There was communication but they didn’t look at each other, staring straight ahead at whatever target. The target turned out to be a beige 2002 Ford Taurus with diplomatic plates. Xiaoyu put his duffle in the back seat. Mason started the engine. The next target was the US Embassy in Kuala Lumpur. The Embassy was a walled multi-storied compound with orange clay tile roof and cement exterior. Security recognized the diplomatic plates and the driver. Mason and Xiaoyu were able to enter the compound with no slow down. Mason parked the car next to other cars with similar plates and price range. They entered the building through keycard-guarded entrance at the back of the compound. A security officer was behind the door. Mason showed the officer his ID and pointed to Xiaoyu. The officer didn’t have a problem with either of them. They made their way to a second floor room. The room was bigger than expected. There were two long tables one with a triple monitor computer the other with coffee thermos and Styrofoam cups. Folded steel chairs were against the wall. Mason filled a cup with coffee. Xiaoyu grabbed a chair and sat down.

  “They should be here in the next few minutes,” said Mason.

  “Who are they?” asked Xiaoyu.

  “Two are Secret Service,” said Mason, “The other is a background agent here in Kuala Lumpur. Same as Shaw Borwa you met in Rome.”

  “What do they have?” asked Xiaoyu.

  “With respect for inter-agency collaboration, I best let those guys tell their part,” said Mason.

  “Do you know their part?” asked Xiaoyu.

  “Chessmaster,” said Mason taking a sip of coffee. The Secret Service agents were almost on time, along with the background agent. The Secret Service agents weren’t what Xiaoyu was expecting. He imagined them as tall with wide shoulders, men meant to intimidate. The Secret Service had intimidating agents but didn’t use them to track counterfeit currency. Instead, one of the agents was a half-head shorter than Mason and plump. He had a thick mustache varied with white hairs and an extra chin from extra meals. His one confusing feature was his full head of hair with lack of white spots. A head of straight-combed thick brown hair made him look both young and old—hedonist and healthful—both out of and in control. The other agent was about the same size as Mason, an almost twin except for blonde hair and a few more lines around his eyes adding a few more years to his appearance. The background agent looked Malay. He was Malay but American-born. His name was Johan Sale, Joe. Joe was in his late twenties making Xiaoyu the youngest in the room. The plump Secret Service agent introduced himself as Alex O’Hare. His partner was Bobby Lowe. Alex did come across as a hedonist. He didn’t waste time with formalities or introductions. He laid down facts as if anticipating a buffet when the meeting wrapped. The facts were like family photos, clear at times and fuzzy at others.

  The landscape was politically sensitive. It was the first thing Alex mentioned. Malpen Industries, was a near monopoly. Formerly MalPen Rubber Company, Malpen was the largest rubber goods manufacturer in Malaysia. The City of Kuala Lumpur and the Malaysian government bought the majority of their rubber products from Malpen, by law. The government was even a minority stakeholder. The government of Malaysia had a twenty-month old order for rubber equipment. The order was large and comprehensive. The purchase included new tires for most government vehicles, including the military and capital city police. Rubber bullets were purchased for the riot control unit. A new high-tech rubber-soled boot that was extra-shock absorbent and soundproof was ordered for the city SWAT unit, as were knife-resistant rubber sleeves. The Malaysian government and City of Kuala Lumpur used the backdrop of the US War on Terror as a reason to season their own ability to deal with rioters and terrorist threats.

  There was nothing wrong with the Malaysian government’s recent efforts to expand its security, in fact the US goverment and the US Ambassador to Malaysia complimented the Malaysian government on its efforts. The problem was the Malaysian government’s reason for spending more money. The decision to spend more to outfit the police and military was a result of an increase in raids on pirated DVD shops. The DVD shops would get raided and arrests were made, but more shops would pop up across the country. The Malaysian parliament was in the process of discussing increased penalties for those convicted of selling pirated DVDs. The problem was that setting up a DVD shop with bootleg DVDs was so easy. Blank DVDs could be purchased cheaply then burned with copies of movies. An average computer would do the trick. An image of the film could be obtained from the Internet then printed on the face of the DVD for added effect and value. The DVDs were packaged in a simple cellophane sleeve with poster card advertising the movie. The quality wasn’t always good but it didn’t have to be for the low price. And locals knew where to find the shops. They were just about everywhere. In the back of an auto repair garage. In an empty-looking storefront accessed from the restaurant next door. Anywhere. The Secret Service was alerted by the high cash content that was being seized. Hundreds of thousands of US dollars were being seized in the raids. The Malaysian government was happy with the progress of finding and flushing pirated DVD rings, but the US Embassy had a quiet concern, Why so many dollars? The Malaysian government chalked it up to organized crime; the US dollar was the currency of criminals. While the Malaysians made their arrests, the US Embassy called the Secret Service to take a look. What they found pointed
to a massive yard sale. The background was fuzzy but the picture was clear. Someone appeared to be making counterfeit dollar bills, good ones. The bills were turned over to organized crime rings, who set up pirated DVD shops. The shops were open to the public, who knew where they were. When enough people knew the location of the DVD shop, the police would find out eventually and seize the shop, the DVDs and dollars along with Malaysian Ringgits. The amount of dollars being seized continued to be uncomfortably high. The money collected from each raid was impounded and held until trial. Once the ring members were convicted, the money was used by the City of Kuala Lumpur Police Department and the national government to help combat all crimes, not only piracy. Combating crime was signalled by increased raids and updated equipment. When the city and state governments of Malaysia deposited the seized cash in their own accounts, it became legitimate by definition. Cash seized from criminal activity was always reinvested by the police into their own crime-fighting training and equipment. The city and state governments had a legal mandate to buy 80% of their rubber equipment from Malpen Industries, unless Malpen didn’t make the product. Malpen was making a windfall from all the DVD raids. Without a scent of where the counterfeit money was coming from, the Secret Service with help from the CIA had formulated a theory. Besides some seized counterfeit bills—which US diplomats were given by exchanging actual bills—the Secret Service just had its working theory.

  The theory was Malpen was behind the dollar bill forgeries. They hired the organized gangs and paid them with real money. The gangs were willing to set up the illegal DVD shops because of the light penalties associated with piracy over drugs or prostitution. Most of the gang members were back on the streets the same year they were arrested, unless arrested after September. Malpen was taking advantage of the government mandated law that forced the Malaysian city and state governments to buy rubber goods from them. The increased seizures of money meant increased spending by the government and increased sales for Malpen. Malpen was using the Malaysian government to make its fake money real. It was the Secret Service’s theory, but it was only a theory. The CIA supported the theory. The Agency checked all of Malpen’s businesses. Malpen was originally Malaysian Peninsula Plantations Company. It began by buying up rubber plantations in Malaysia and cotton plantations in India in the early 1960s. As Malaysia became the world’s largest supplier of rubber, the company sold some of its cotton plantations to invest more in its rubber plantations changing its name to MalPen Rubber Company. MalPen became a diversified conglomerate with overseas affiliates changing its name to Malpen Industries. The name changes disguised the fact that Malpen still produced over one million bales of cotton per year. The CIA thought Malpen was using some of the cotton it produced to make cotton paper for the counterfeit dollars. And the reason why no one blew the whistle was because no one knew. The CIA thought only a handful of people at the top of Malpen knew the company was printing money. Even more intriguing was the organized gangs. Only a few gang members must have known about the counterfeiting as well. And they never said anything to police because the top dogs were never arrested in any of the raids. The underlings knew only what they were told, nothing.