The Gaze of Caprice (The Caprice Trilogy Book 1)

by Cole Reid

  “Ten years ago I asked you to risk your lives, but I didn’t tell you why,” said Mr. Li, “That was immature. Now we’re older. We’re alive. That must mean we’re wiser. This time I tell you everything.”

  • • •

  Mr. Li told them everything. He told them how he cut a deal with Chessmaster to avoid prison. He told them about the CIA and about ASP, even about Caprice. And he said none of it was a problem. They didn’t ask questions. They just listened. The time was ripe for listening and the story was interesting. Mr. Li explained Chessmaster had been captured in Venezuela and they were going to reverse it. That’s where the projector came in. Mr. Li turned on the project, letting it cast its light on the warehouse wall. Then Mr. Li told them his plan. He showed them pictures of The Reis Center Building in Downtown Los Angeles and told them about Costas & Yeager and the $308 billion sovereign wealth fund. The plan was easily understood. They would break into the building, kill the guards and transfer the money to different accounts. Then they would hold the money hostage, ransoming the money in exchange for Chessmaster.

  The Venezuelans had to accept the exchange. Chessmaster wasn’t worth $308 billion. Mr. Li assured them of that. In addition, the Venezuelans had more at stake. It wasn’t only the theft of the $308 billion that would plague the Venezuelans but also the ensuing public relations nightmare. The world didn’t know Venezuela kept its entire sovereign wealth in the United States. The Venezuelan people in particular didn’t know. The Venezuelan government would rather compromise on keeping Chessmaster than compromise on a larger asset. Mr. Li only had to explain the details once. The others were good listeners. The gravity of the scenario had been poignantly explained. His plan seemed well thought out. He even told them he already had the program to transfer the money. They only needed to get to the Costas & Yeager server to dispatch it. Mr. Li paused after painting the landscape. He gave them all time to think whatever they wanted. They would need the time; they hadn’t come to Los Angeles on holiday.

  Mr. Li walked toward the far wall and grabbed two green nylon sacks. The sound of metal against metal echoed as he walked back. He handed one sack to Liu Ping and the other to Li Tao. They recognized they would have to assemble the cots to have space to sleep. Mr. Li pointed the others to the wall to retrieve the three remaining cots. The day was withering into night. Mr. Li hauled a propane tank and placed it in the center of the coolers pushing the laptop and projector to the side. He grabbed the laptop and projector and took them to the Escort. He placed them in the back seat. He came back with an outdoor stove burner. He attached the hose from the burner to the propane tank and lit the stove. He forced Wang Xi to get up and retrieved meat and vegetables from the cooler he was using as a chair. He sent a now-standing Wang Xi to get a wok buried against the wall where the cots had been stacked. Mr. Li spent the next forty-five minutes cooking an early dinner for his five guests. He stir-fried the meat and vegetables before replacing the wok with a pot to boil rice. He handed out chopsticks from a zipper bag. The food was done. They ate dinner in an upside-down universe. The light came not from stars above but star-like sticks on floor. Otherwise, the warehouse was dark. It was a camp out in a separate space, Mr. Li’s private campground. The next morning brought little conversation with it. The five men expressed their willingness to help without agreeing. Liu Ping asked what they were to do next. The shipment sent by the old man in Hong Kong to Los Angeles had arrived the day before. They had to retrieve it.

  • • •

  The rail yard was located next to the Los Angeles River. It was a city within a city. But it wasn’t a city built on a society. It was a city built on a system. The CIA hijacked part of that system. The Agency long had a way to surpass the system. The Agency had created a company with authority over customs controls and immunity from search. It ostensibly operated shipments for foreign diplomats who had immunity from customs checks. The US Congress extended the immunity to the company itself. Instead of being regulated, the shipping containers were relegated. All steel shipping containers were left in a fenced off northwest section of the rail yard. The designated container would be emptied by its receiver with the container door left open. It would be removed from the rail yard within a week. The container was cream colored with the number Y10076090. It didn’t take long to find. Mr. Li drove the Escort and Liu Ping drove the Neon. They filled the trunk and back seat of each car with padlocked hard case storage boxes taken out of the shipping container, seven in all. Other than the storage boxes the container unit was empty—so much space for nothing. They left the rail yard leaving the cream-colored steel container open.

  Mr. Li and Liu Ping returned to the Van Nuys warehouse bearing gifts. The four men left in the glowing emptiness were bored. Wang Xi opened the warehouse bay door to let the Escort and Neon in. Then they went to work. The hard case boxes had heavy duty latches that sprung open two at a time. The lids were lifted and their contents were seized. Kevlar vests were the favorites, revealing a natural inclination toward self-preservation. There were ten vests in all, more than enough. The vests were simple and civilian, a deep charcoal gray hue. Each vest was the same. Two pieces of personal Kevlar armor were sewn together at the shoulders and the ribcage. Two Velcro straps encircled the midriff for better fitting. Each vest was as simple as that. Mr. Li and the five others each fitted themselves with a vest and strapped the Velcro snug. They left their vests on as the unloaded the other boxes. Mr. Li took flashlights from the cooler to make their work easier. The glow sticks didn’t produce enough light to work with. In addition to the Kevlar vests, there were the weapons. MP5 machine pistols came willingly from their cradled spaces. Each man from Mr. Li down to Li Tao, took turns dry-firing their weapon to make sure they were consistent. Mr. Li explained their inconvenience. They were in an urban setting and their task was to hurry. They didn’t have time or space to fire their weapons before they would have to use them. No one seemed to have a problem. No one said anything. But Mr. Li was used to thinking ahead. Located within one of the hard case boxes were laser sights with a misunderstood purpose. The laser sights weren’t intended for combat they were intended for the shooting range—with no shots fired.

  Using glass bottles as targets and glow sticks as foot markers on the floor, Mr. Li built a shooting course in the warehouse, in the dark. The purpose was practice. He put a glow stick in each bottle and placed the bottles on top of the coolers at staggered distances. He readied the timer on his watch before readying the five men. He timed each one as they ran through the glowing path and called out hits as they aimed at each lit bottle. Mr. Li himself ran the course several times. The reason for the timer was motivation, a personal one. The idea was for each man to become a soldier. Mr. Li had already earned the title. He wanted the men to push themselves and each other, becoming better and better at aiming their weapons to hit their targets. Their speed through the course didn’t matter in the end. They would all make the team. It wasn’t a tryout. It was a warm-up exercise. The laser represented the line of fire. If they could hit the glowing bottle with the laser and squeeze the trigger, it was the same as a kill in the outside world, outside their dark dimension. With each squeeze of the trigger each man called out one word, kai—fire.

  The targets were small and the warehouse was dark. The glow sticks were the only exception. They brought a dreamlike quality to the exercise. That was Mr. Li’s point, to shift all realities into the confined dark space, narrowing down the range of possibilities. The outside world would be the opposite. There would be light coming from multiple sources. It would be the targets that didn’t light up. And the targets themselves would be threatening. None of that mattered. It only mattered that they kept their minds focused in his controlled dimension. If they could operate successfully in Mr. Li’s dark world, the outside world would pale in comparison. All they had to do was kai.

  The glow sticks exhausted themselves and had to be replaced. Mr. Li took the opportunity to switch the foot markers and targets ar
ound. At night, Mr. Li surrendered cooking duty to Liu Ping. The rest sat listening to the exhaling of the propane tank and told stories. In reality, it was Mr. Li who told the stories. The others asked a multitude of questions. Mr. Li was very forthcoming. It was easy. The five men were the closest to family he had. They met him when he was just a boy. It didn’t last long. He was taken away. But they could verify his life story. Mr. Li had pretended to be other people. But the five men were the only other people who could pretend to know Mr. Li. The idea stung Mr. Li like a wasp with no other purpose. His definition of family was momentary. He could sit, drink and talk with the five men more easily than any family he had ever known. Even the memories of the sister he once had were dwindled. He didn’t remember anything positive from his relationship with her. He only remembered the abandonment—the negative. But he did remember he once had positive memories of her. He just didn’t remember why. The reasons had been long forgotten. The surprise was that he remembered her at all. He was less her brother and more a brother to the five men. He guessed he must have been innocent at some point and maybe his sister had loved him because of it. That made it easy not to think of her at all. There was no way she could love him now.

  They were closer than they had ever been since she left him. She lived nearby, a tenured professor at UCLA. He knew where she was but he didn’t know what it meant. There was a feeling that he hid since the day she left. He pretended it didn’t matter. But with her so close—within striking distance—it began to strike him. She would always know him better than anyone else, a part of him. No matter how resolute he became and no matter how assured he was in his decision-making she would know a bit more about him still. The five men knew him and what he had been through. But she—more than anyone—knew where he came from. He inherited from his mother. Some things about him were from her. He felt it. He had always felt it. But he kept his mind away from a woman he had never met. It made him feel like a shadow. He had met men and had killed them but he hadn’t met his own mother. Still, there she was, in him—in some deep dimension that was apart of him. He had become mature enough to give her credit. She was tough. She had survived everything he had. She could go anywhere he could. And there she was—his inheritance—surviving along with him. That had been his gift from her all along. Being not so far from his sister made him realize it. He inherited his mother’s survivability, her outlasting toughness. The ability to stand and hurt but stand, he had it all along.

  • • •

  The five men, from Liu Ping to Li Tao all wore their Kevlar vests beneath a nice shirt, dressed like Triads. Mr. Li had been many things since being a Triad and when he was a Triad he wasn’t like the rest. Even now, he didn’t look like the rest. He had on dark pants like the rest and a Kevlar vest. But unlike the five men he wore no shirt at all. His processed flesh was in full display. Every angle of every scale of all his dragons could be seen until he put on his vest. Even what was hidden wasn’t enough to hide that his body had been used as a canvas. Red flesh peeked through dark lines covering his arms. In Southern California, the stares would be minimal. At 3:18am, the only people who would see wouldn’t be believed. Society had stopped listening to them long ago. But they were in full view of the tattooed man and his five followers. The entrance to The Reis Center Building was on a corner facing South Grand Avenue. Up the street was a beige colored maintenance door. The door was eyed by a camera. Liu Ping maneuvered against the wall beneath the camera. He jumped and grabbed hold of the camera using his bodyweight to bring it down. The support arm broke and the camera dangled like an ornament. Liu Ping pulled the camera from its wire severing the connection. Liu Ping and Huang Sitian applied force to the lock with a small reciprocating saw. With the lock cut the door was still immovable. Huang Sitian pointed out the floor bolts. Liu Ping cut the floor bolts and the door opened. The disabled camera would bring security and security travelled in twos. Liu Ping and Huang Sitian waited in the corridor.

  The building’s entrance lobby was served by a long counter. The counter had two split screen monitors with nine camera angles each. There was a microphone for the PA system, a trigger switch for a silent police alarm, two phones for an inside and outside line, a checklist and a holder for radio transceivers. There were two security guards stationed at the counter during the day and one at night. The security guards weren’t allowed guns but one was tucked away in a safe behind the counter. The guard noticed the camera at the side entrance no longer had a live feed. His phone rang. He was asked by his colleagues in the security room if he had noticed the disrupted camera feed. He had. It was decided that two guards sitting in the security room would investigate. A third guard remained in the security room while a fourth was on routine patrol. The front entrance of the building was quiet. The quiet was interrupted. There was an abrupt sound like a child stirring the pot banging the spoon against every side. It was loud. Then it stopped. The guard at the front desk heard the sound. He picked up the phone receiver to be sure he wasn’t the only one. The phone rang in the security room. There was no answer. He set the receiver down and looked around the lobby. He pressed the red button in front of him and spoke into the microphone. Front Desk calling Backroom, please pick up the phone. His voice didn’t show any panic. If anything it was a joke. It had to be. But one part didn’t fit. The guard looked up and saw three men approaching the front door. One had a dark vest and tattooed arms. A large assault weapon was cradled in his arms. The other two were holding duffle bags in one hand and guns in the other. One of the men swiped a black card across the magnetic reader then swipe the same car in a small black device. He swiped the black card again on the magnetic reader and the glass door was unlocked. The tattooed man pushed through the glass door entrance. The door didn’t resist him. The guard sat at the desk. He was stunned. If it was a prank he wanted to be a man about it. He didn’t want to break. If it wasn’t a joke the silent alarm was overdue. Mr. Li walked toward the counter with the muzzle of his MP5 aimed directly at the security guard—not a prank.

  “Did you do it?” asked Mr. Li. The guard shook his head. I don’t know what you mean.

  “Do it,” said Mr. Li, “Hit the alarm.” The guard sat still with his hands up in the air, full surrender. Mr. Li squeezed the trigger. The shots weren’t as loud as would have been expected. The sound of the guard hitting the floor with his keys was just as loud. Mr. Li walked around the counter and hit the silent alarm switch beneath the counter. He could hear footsteps in the hall. Mr. Li called out in Mandarin to the Sheltered Ones. There was no answer. A security guard fired a shot with a gun he wasn’t supposed to have. The shot hit Mr. Li in the right of his chest. The strap of the Kevlar vest took the blunt force but the bullet grabbed some flesh. Mr. Li caught his balance and aimed his muzzle at the corner and opened fire into the space leading to the elevators. Mr. Li sent Wang Xi and Yi Le around to the other side of the foyer while he stayed low to the ground. Mr. Li advanced slowly with much of his body weight on his forearms. His advance was slow but steady. He kept his muzzle aimed forward. As he moved he thought of his opponent, an old habit. The shot had been fired with minimum readiness and maximum accuracy. If the shot had rang out to the right it would have hit Mr. Li in the neck—fatal. Mr. Li barely got a glimpse of the guard’s uniform as he ducked back down behind the wall. He was effective. Effective had to be practiced. Effective had to be taught. Mr. Li knew the guard had training—not for security detail—for combat. He realized sending Wang Xi and Yi Le to the other side was a mistake. It was a good move to flank. It was a bad move when it cut off communication. Wang Xi and Yi Le still thought they were dealing with a run of the mill security guard. Mr. Li took it upon himself to correct his mistake. He took his shoes off and walked along side the wall. He threw his shoes out toward the elevators. The security guard was around the corner crouched against the wall. It wasn’t sophisticated but it was enough. The flying shoes distracted the guard’s attention just enough for Mr. Li to reposition himself against the
opposite wall spraying bullets at the guard’s position. Several bullets hit the guard. It was the natural outcome of Mr. Li’s actions. The guard was still breathing. Mr. Li could hear it. His breathing was labored as if he was breathing around his lungs, not through them. Mr. Li’s next shot was fired out of mercy. But Mercy Rules didn’t last long. There was still one more guard. He had retreated into the security room and locked the door. Mr. Li wasn’t sure if there were anymore surprises in the security room so he instructed Wang Xi and Yi Le to fire through the door. They did. Shooting the lock off the door Mr. Li kicked open the door. He moved to the side of the doorway and threw his MP5 on the floor in the security room. The door swung shut.

  Inside the security room, a middle-aged man had a look of utter anxiety on his face. His heart beat so fast it hurt. He was unarmed against automatic weapons, weighing his options. When the MP5 landed in the room, he instinctively grabbed it. Like a sailor turning to seawater, it was better than nothing. Mr. Li looked at Wang Xi and Yi Le. He put his index finger over his lips. He opened the door again to see a scared look on the security guards face and an MP5 in his hands. The security guard aimed at Mr. Li and opened fire. The bullets either bounced off Mr. Li or went right through him. Mr. Li was unaffected. The guard realized the magazine was empty. All rounds were spent. He realized it too late. Mr. Li rushed in kicking him in the bridge of his nose. The force of the kick and the breaking of his nose were enough to render him all but unconscious. He was still awake when he felt the weight of a foot on his throat. The foot sank deeper blocking the flow of air to his brain. He slowly went under, slowly. It was peaceful, except for the intended consequence. Wang Xi destroyed the surveillance equipment and the camera feeds, otherwise leaving the security room in tack.