The Gaze of Caprice (The Caprice Trilogy Book 1)

by Cole Reid

  While Alex and Bobby talked, Joe brought up the essential data on the triple monitor. Xiaoyu eyed the screen to see a tall angular building. Joe identified the building as Malpen’s Kuala Lumpur main office.

  “Because Malpen is the eighth largest employer in Malaysia and because the Malaysian government has around a 12% stake in Malpen we’re not taking a direct approach to the scenario,” said Joe. Xiaoyu listened. The other men in the room didn’t have to. They knew more than Xiaoyu. Xiaoyu could tell.

  “Our approach has to be measured,” said Joe, “It would be ideal to put someone on the inside of Malpen to spy what we need but a friendly government is involved. So we have identified someone on the inside as a potential source of information. An employee of Malpen.” Joe hit the spacebar and an image of a woman came up on the middle screen.

  “We’ve identified this woman as Liu Dan, goes by Diana,” said Joe, “A Malpen employee. We have people in India accessing the cotton supply chain, but it’s hard to get a lead on the entire distribution system without access to the main office. The company also has a magazine publishing concern in Australia which may play a role in how they are printing money and keeping it hidden but we don’t know that. They might be using their own cotton to make the paper or they may be buying it. There are a variety of scenarios and we have to tiptoe so as not to come into conflict with the Malaysian government.”

  “Or any other government,” said Mason, “This company is a multinational. They are no doubt sourcing materials from different countries. It’s how they keep from being discovered. It’s difficult to put the whole operation together if they keep it spread out. But in our theory, all or most of the fake money works its way back here to Malaysia.”

  “Who is she?” asked Xiaoyu.

  “She’s a senior systems analyst and systems programmer for Malpen,” said Mason, “She’s twenty-nine years old and she’s from the exact same province in China as you.” Xiaoyu looked directly at Mason. The look turned into a stare. A feeling rose from deep. Xiaoyu’s brow narrowed. Georgia’s training was for a reason. It wasn’t the game of an aging hormonal, not entirely. There was mastery to her madness. The question that lingered in his mind and eyes was whose mastery was it? Had Mason told Georgia about Xiaoyu’s role and she took it upon herself to show him his way around a woman or was it Mason’s plot all along? Mason decided on his recruitment. How much did that involve his training? Xiaoyu looked down as his body temperature went up. Mason kept going.

  “She’s your target,” said Mason, “You need to get close to her and gain her confidence. We need as much information as you can get. She speaks English all day at work and we think having the opportunity to speak Mandarin will help you develop the required relationship. As far as we know she doesn’t have many friends in the city. She’s a kind of misfit. There are many Chinese-owned businesses in the city but they’re owned by businessmen from Mainland China. They’re just not her crowd. She’s not Malaysian so she doesn’t feel exactly at home here. But her job is good and she’s been steadily promoted so she stays. We don’t know much about her romantic life. She has access to some sensitive information that might affect who she chooses to date. Malpen’s stats come on board from the different locations where Malpen does business. They’re very top down. They have the servers in their headquarters. They have the analysts and executives in their headquarters. They pretty much run everything from their building here in town. Everything else is plantations and factories. They even bring the factory managers to the city twice a year for meetings. And they teleconference every month. There’s so much data in their office all we need is a peek, so our people can go over it. The more we find, the more we find out, the better we can handle this. Like has already been said, this whole operation is politically sensitive so we’re trying to do this organic.”

  “What does that mean?” asked Xiaoyu.

  “It means we’re not asking anyone to do anything they’re not already doing,” said Mason, “Except…”

  “Except me,” said Xiaoyu.

  “Ray, she’s already in the company,” said Mason, “She already works there for a long time. She already has access to the information we’re looking for. We need you to have her give it to you. That’s it.”

  “Why should she do that?” asked Xiaoyu, “The information is sensitive like you said.” Mason motioned to the other three men in the room to step outside. With the door shut Mason continued.

  “Ray, this is easy,” said Mason, “No gunfights. No fistfights. No stuffing guys in the trunk and sneaking them to the safe house in some place you never dreamed of visiting when you were a kid.” Xiaoyu looked up at Mason.

  “I lied to Juric,” said Xiaoyu, “I told him I was an arms dealer trading weapons smuggled from the French military. That was all just business. In his line of work, he should expect someone would come looking for him. He did expect it. He just didn’t expect me. That’s why you sent me. The same is true for Voloshyn. He knew what he was doing and what he was getting himself into. He knew someone would come after him. That’s why he was hiding. But this is different. She has a job at a company. She works for her money; she’s not selling weapons. She has no reason to see us coming because we have no right to come. And because she’s Chinese and I’m Chinese you want me to use her to spy on her company, putting her in jeopardy.”

  “It’s the safest way for us to proceed,” said Mason.

  “Not for her,” said Xiaoyu, “If they are printing money. They will kill her to cover it up.”

  “Why you doing this?” asked Mason, “You’ve killed Triads. The Triads are supposed to be a big family, just different branches. You’ve ripped some of those branches right off the tree, permanently. You’ve killed with your bare hands, kids you never met. And now I want you to get some information she already has and you complain about it.”

  “Do you understand the difference between killing someone and ruining someone?” asked Xiaoyu.

  “Yes,” said Mason, “Remember when we first met. To get you to come aboard I threatened to ruin your sister. I never said anything about killing her or anyone else. I just said I’d have her application denied and have her kicked out of the country. Ruin everything she worked for. I’m CIA. I’m the Chessmaster. I know all about ruining other people.”

  “So you can understand me. I’m the opposite,” said Xiaoyu. “I’m not CIA. I’m one of your chess pieces. I’ve killed. But killing is civilized. Even animals kill. But its understood, every creature has to eat. They kill to survive, same as me. You just get it over with. But you want to usurp someone’s life to get what you think you can use. That’s a scam. Even animals don’t do that.”

  “It is a scam,” said Mason, “And it isn’t. We are scamming her for sure. That’s what we do. But the work is serious and consequences are real. Doesn’t matter if you’re scamming a person or killing a person. We play a game of consequences. Play it with respect for those consequences.” Xiaoyu understood consequences but he didn’t understand how a company printing money measured up to ruining the livelihood of a woman with a job at the same company. Mixing an honest worker with a dishonest line of work was a sour cocktail. Not everyone could be a spy. Diana Liu would surely get herself in trouble. Xiaoyu knew he should not be doing it. They walked two different roads. The intersection was bothering him.

  • • •

  Organic was the rhetoric Mason had used. It was also the reason. The coffee shop was called The Doorbell Drippery. The shop was relatively quiet after the morning rush. The most distinct noise was the namesake old-fashioned doorbell that chimed when the door opened, not when it shut. Xiaoyu wore a black single button suit—post-modern. His cut-to-fit pants creased only once as they stood atop his black Hugo Boss loafers. He wore no belt. He didn’t need one. His pants were made for wear. He ordered a plain black coffee, seasoned it with creamer and stood at a standing table with his eyes on a copy of the New Straits Times. Diana Liu walked in after fifteen minutes, orderi
ng a latte macchiato. Xiaoyu saw her walk in. She saw him in her usual spot and decided to enjoy her morning pick-me-up at work instead. The day wasn’t designed to produce anything, only a reaction. Diana had seen Xiaoyu and he was in her head. That was all it took. That was all that was required. The understanding was organic. Diana was allowed a break for one week but she saw Xiaoyu similarly dressed drinking coffee, reading newspaper in her spot. It was a week later on the same day, a Tuesday. He stood at the same corner table reading the same newspaper’s newer edition. The table was the same, big enough for three people if they were willing to share. Seeing Xiaoyu for a second time made Diana more willing to share her table. She was territorial like most introverts and her territory was mainly her mind, which included the table. The table was her mental space. She organized her morning on the table. When the table was clean it was an ideal mental bulletinboard. Thoughts could be pasted to the table and once they were in order, Diana felt ready for what was next. She read a few headlines to fuel her mind and get herself rolling. But The Doorbell Drippery aimed from a certain distance, close-range. The shop carried the five major circulars of Kuala Lumpur, delivered every morning. The shop had delivered one of each. Most of the shop patrons weren’t so personal that they had to have an unused newspaper. It wasn’t that kind of shop with that kind of clientele. Even Diana was open to sharing her table with a newcomer but she needed her paper to fill her mind—to fill her morning. She walked toward the table. Xiaoyu ignored her approach. He sipped his coffee and read about a scandalized regional businessman. Diana stood at the table opposite Xiaoyu, leaving little space for a third person. Xiaoyu read through the article and looked up at Diana.

  “Would you like to have a look?” said Xiaoyu.

  “Thanks,” said Diana taking the paper out of his hand. Xiaoyu waded in the water of his own coffee for another four minutes before the coffee and the moment were done. He left the table and the coffee shop leaving Diana with the newspaper and the table. Xiaoyu’s contact with his target was short and direct but organic—nothing structural or forestalled. The contact was blossoming and would bloom. Diana didn’t see Xiaoyu for another week still. Xiaoyu saw plenty of Diana. He was given all available public information about his target. All of it was committed to serious memory. He compiled information about Diana’s life on top of his own memories. In his head, he could access her file a bit quicker than his own. The third contact was similar to the second. Xiaoyu was at the coffee shop earlier than Diana and was occupying the table. The problem was he wasn’t alone. A middle-aged man in suit arrived a few minutes after the ever-early Xiaoyu. The man was quiet, reading the Berita Hedana newspaper. He drank hurriedly. He was noticeably shy on time. He left a few minutes after arriving at the table but his presence was enough to send a message and send Diana on her way. Xiaoyu’s frustration gave way to his training. He remembered what Georgia taught him. He took a cue from the limited contact. When he was alone, she had approached the table. When he was accompanied she felt unwelcomed. It was either him or the table. Georgia would have said there’s only so much interest a woman could have in a table. The fourth contact with Diana was two weeks after the third. Xiaoyu stayed away from the coffee shop to make his presence precious. If she saw him again she would recognize him but one week passed and she didn’t know if she would see him again. Onto week two, it was good to see him again. The emotion was silent; she didn’t say anything. She couldn’t. She hadn’t said anything to the well-dressed stranger. Few women did. But he was there at the table as if he belonged there. He was starting to. As she approached the table she noticed the New Straits Times was in it carousel on the newspaper rack. She assumed he had taken it. She assumed he was reading it. Looking over at the newspaper rack, she couldn’t imagine what Xiaoyu was reading. She told herself she didn’t care. Her daily was available. It appeared as if not a hand had been laid on it—fresh. As Diana approached the table she subconsciously eyed the periodical in front of Xiaoyu, The China Press. Looking at the page gave Diana a light-colored shock. She had previously seen Xiaoyu reading the New Straits Times, an English-language publication. He was now reading a printed daily in traditional Chinese characters. The idea disturbed her and didn’t go away. She would read two sentences of the New Straits Times before peering over at Xiaoyu who seemed to be enjoying the comedic style of The China Press. The more pressing idea was that the coffee shop didn’t order The China Press. Xiaoyu had brought the paper in himself. Diana thought about it and didn’t understand it. At best guess, he was from the Philippines. How did he know The China Press? How did he understand Chinese? Xiaoyu kept reading the periodical as if he were alone. He gave his watch a peek as if going somewhere. It was all an illusion for her benefit. The glance at his watch made Diana feel as if she had little time left. She would have to go soon. She didn’t know if she would see the man again. He had been missing for two weeks. The mystique of the dark man in dark suit was enough. Her curiosity was dripping. She was drowning. Weeks before, he had offered her the newspaper when he finished reading. As much as she knew him, she knew he was polite. She felt it was safe to assume more politesse.

  “Can you understand that?” she asked. The question didn’t come out right. It wasn’t her fault. The situation wasn’t exact. She didn’t know him. She was overcome by curiosity. She immediately felt like the question should be reeled in. Maybe he was better at Chinese and didn’t really catch the meaning. Maybe she should rephrase. She thought better to forget it and go.

  “I’m sorry,” said Xiaoyu. She struggled against the casual abatement—nothing. She had meant something. The question was valid if not in her mind. But he wouldn’t read what he couldn’t understand. That would be awkward, like the moment.

  “You read Chinese,” said Diana.

  “I am Chinese,” said Xiaoyu.

  “Really?” said Diana. Xiaoyu nodded.

  “From where?” asked Diana.

  “Liaoning Province,” said Xiaoyu.

  “Which city?” asked Diana.

  “Changyu,” said Xiaoyu.

  “I’m from Jiang Cheng,” said Diana.

  “What a coincidence,” said Xiaoyu.

  “It is,” said Diana, “What brings you to Malaysia?”

  “Business,” said Xiaoyu, “You?”

  “I work locally,” said Diana. Xiaoyu glanced at his watch.

  “Oh. I gotta go,” said Xiaoyu, “Nice meeting you…”

  “Liu Dan,” said Diana.

  “Guo Bai,” said Xiaoyu, “You can have it if you like.” Xiaoyu left the paper for Diana and left before she had time to answer. His coffee came with him.

  Diana didn’t see him till the next week. The next week rained. Xiaoyu stood at the coffee table at 7:35am. The fifth contact had more contact. Diana saw Xiaoyu standing at the table in the usual corner. The sight was becoming commonplace; it processed easily. Diana became less certain the corner was hers. Xiaoyu looked up at her as she walked toward the corner. He held up his latest edition of The China Press.

  “At it again,” said Xiaoyu.

  “I see that,” said Diana, “How are you?”

  “Good, yourself,” said Xiaoyu.

  “I’m on my usual routine,” said Diana, “I don’t complain unless thrown off of it.” Xiaoyu found the conversation flowed more naturally in their native tongue. But he noticed an inability to fully express himself in Mandarin. His formal education had ended at age eight. The architects behind Caprice had not thought of everything. They used After Sensory Perception to program foreign languages into his subconscious. They didn’t account for his Mandarin or lack there of. It was his native language; they knew. They hadn’t accounted for his ten years in Hong Kong. He had spent more years hearing and handling Cantonese than he had with formal study of Mandarin. Still, he could speak. But his shyness about exposing his lack of sophistication with Mandarin had the effect of a vaccine. It was poisonous at first. It wounded his pride. But it proved to be the deciding factor in the health of
the operation. Xiaoyu’s Mandarin or his perception of it made him speak less. Diana filled in the space that opened up. Xiaoyu was forced to listen. This endeared her to his conversation—the absence of it. She had the opportunity to have someone listen to her in her native language. It was appreciated.

  • • •

  Two weeks later, they met for the first time outside the coffee shop. The comedy club was called Ha-Laysia Comedy Lounge a local favorite in Medan Pasar, a few blocks from the Klang River. Most of the acts were in English but a few stand-up acts were in Malay. Malay comedians were unique, many had made their careers doing English-language stand-up. But the draw was the cross-cultured and cosmopolitan nature of the city itself. So many jokes were funny because so many jokes were true. The English stand-up made sure locals and internationals could blend the audience. Diana was more local and Xiaoyu more international but they blended well. They’re first meeting outside the coffee shop was important. Diana had to make a decision on Xiaoyu with something other than both liking coffee in the morning. So many in metropolitan cities had that in common. Processed Arabica beans were a daily dose for most city dwellers but reheated coffee was never as good. Diana wanted to be sure she wasn’t repeating the same strained relationship with a different guy. She admitted to herself Xiaoyu was exotic looking. To her, that made him attractive, not different. What made him different was how he laughed. He laughed like a baby walking the first time without falling. He just went off in uncharted direction. He wasn’t doing it for anyone else; he laughed for himself. Like he needed it. Like a baby first walking, he knew he needed to eventually. So he did. For Diana, there was something appealing about a young and handsome man enjoying himself for delight of himself—inexcusably appealing. Xiaoyu made no excuses. From Changyu to Kuala Lumpur it was his turn to be in control or out of. He adapted. He forgot about so many things for so many moments then the show ended. The comedy club had food but Xiaoyu had suggested they just drink and get food at a place he knew. The place he knew was known by Mason first. He suggested it because it was quiet and dark. The kind of intimate setting Georgia would have approved to treat a lady. He did. They ate a la carte and ordered a bottle of merlot. Georgia made sure he knew what he was doing with a menu and wine list. Diana reminded him of his sister—in lifestyle, not appearance.