Gemini Series Boxset

by Ty Patterson

  ‘They’re alive, aren’t they?’

  Pizaka took Tiemann’s story while the twins gave formal statements to Chang. He recorded them silently and posed just one question.

  ‘You could’ve called us.’

  ‘Tiemann would have been dead by then,’ Beth fired back.

  The two cops consulted each other and made notes, while more officers streamed in and took away the gangbangers.

  Beth stopped the cop who was leading Tiemann away. ‘Reason we came back,’ she addressed the student, ‘was Lian seeing anyone? Any boyfriend or girlfriend in her life?’

  ‘No.’ His expression turned sheepish. ‘I made the moves on her once, she turned me down.’

  ‘Say,’ the hopeful expression returned on his face as he turned to Beth. ‘I liked that trick. How about a drink when all this’s over?’

  ‘We’ve heard of this gang,’ Chang told the twins when the police officers departed along with the captives. ‘The University cops had liaised with ours and were keeping tabs on them. This’s the first arrest we’ve made though.’

  ‘Good for you, Chang. Doesn’t get us closer to Cali, though.’ Meghan smiled to take the sting out of her words.

  Chang shrugged. Cops had to take their breaks wherever they found them.

  A small group of students had gathered at the entrance when the two cops and the twins made their way to their vehicles. A few mobile phones flashed and caught Pizaka in his glory. There would be breathless coverage of the night’s events in the university’s newspaper the next day.

  Pizaka will keep a clipping of the article. It’ll go into his media coverage collection, Meghan smiled inwardly as she keyed open their SUV.

  Neither the cops nor the twins spotted the solitary figure lurking at the edge of the crowd.

  The news filtered up the gang through several layers.

  The solitary figure at the apartment building made a note of the SUV’s plates and relayed the number and the images of the twins he had photographed. His message was received by his boss, a gang leader who controlled three blocks. The enforcers belonged to the gang boss and he had suffered the most.

  He conveyed the message to his boss, a fearsome hood with an eagle tattoo that covered the right side of his face.

  The eagle twitched as the underling relayed his news and waited for whatever fate would befall him. The underling was relieved when the eagle twitched again and the hood dismissed him.

  The eagle tat hood pondered for several moments and then took a deep breath and passed the message upstairs. As fearsome as he was on the streets, he reported to someone else.

  The loss of forty thousand dollars reached Zho the next day, after passing through two more layers. Along with it came the text message of a license plate number and a photograph of two women.

  Zho was in the Meatpacking district, in a small, stuffy office on the first floor of a block of offices.

  The offices housed graphic artists, accountants, marketing services providers…almost all of them were single owner businesses.

  The board on top of Zho’s office read Oriental Import and Export. It was a common enough name. Thousands of businesses all over the world had exactly the same name.

  Inside the office were Buddha figurines and various pieces of art housed in glass cases. There were ceramic plates, vases, on top of shelves and horses pranced on a sideboard.

  The office was just a single box like room and while it was stuffy, it was tidy.

  Zho’s desk was polished wood. Plain, but burnished to a mirror finish. A few files lay in front of him and a computer blinked silently, awaiting his command. A cell phone was on the desk.

  Zho listened silently as a broad shouldered man gave him the details. Zho fired off a few questions, in Mandarin, when the man had finished. The man answered back. The conversation was brief.

  Other than the unrecovered payment and the women, there wasn’t any more detail.

  Zho nodded at the man who left silently and shut the door behind him. Zho didn’t tap his fingers on the desk. He didn’t furrow his brow. He didn’t sigh. His face was expressionless while his mind sped and examined the news.

  Forty k was a big sum to lose. However, it was down to the street-level gang boss to make good on the loss. It wasn’t Zho’s problem.

  The capture of the enforcers was a bit more troubling, but again, the street gang would be the one directly affected. That too didn’t bother Zho. The women were a different matter, however.

  He had made the connection to one of them immediately. She was the same one who was with Cain as he died.

  Now she had popped up again, along with her sister. The two had taken out the enforcers easily. More importantly, they had made contact with Tiemann.

  Zho closed his eyes and thought back to the day he had knifed Cain. His people had been in the crowd and one of them had been within touching distance of the woman.

  His men had sworn the killer had died without uttering a word. The photograph had passed hands, but that couldn’t be helped.

  Zho could think in Mandarin, Cantonese, or English. He spoke English with an American accent, Mandarin and Cantonese with a Chinese one. He thought in the three languages now as he weighed the new information, but didn’t get anywhere.

  Zho rose and shut the office and went for a walk.

  The Meatpacking district had housed slaughter houses and refrigeration plants and had once produced a significant portion of the country’s dressed meat.

  The district was now home to fashion designers, artists, and corporate houses; there were still a few meatpackers left, in the Gansevoort Market, near the southern side of the High Line.

  Zho walked up West 14th Street, making his way through elegantly dressed women, suited men, bicycle messengers, and artists. He didn’t cut through the crowd. He drifted, men and women parting for him.

  The heavens opened suddenly and people dashed for cover. Zho didn’t break his stride. He didn’t even cover his head. Rain beat down on the black hair on his head and ran down his cheeks in rivulets. Zho stared ahead, his dark eyes seeing nothing, and yet seeing everything.

  He didn’t look forward to the call he had to make, but his expression didn’t give anything away.

  Matters had to be escalated.

  Chapter Twelve

  Zho and all the layers, down to the street-level gang, belonged to 41S.

  41S was a New York criminal gang that had its origins in the powerful 14K and Sun Yee On Triad gangs in the city.

  The 14K and Sun Yee On were two of the largest Triad gangs that had their origins in mainland China and Hong Kong in the eighteenth century. The gangs had survived through the centuries, and had grown, despite the best efforts of various law enforcement authorities.

  The Triads had branches all over the world and were involved in prostitution, drugs, weapons, and people smuggling, counterfeiting, and assassination.

  The 41S had been formed in New York a decade back, by one Alex Peng Huang, who had once been in the 14K. Peng Huang had risen up the ranks in the Triad gang and ran several gang members in midtown Manhattan.

  He had found his ambitions thwarted in the 14K. He had found the ways of the Triad stifling. Peng Huang studied criminal gangs in the city and learned how the most successful ones adapted to changing times.

  His gang didn’t change. It stuck to tradition and rigid hierarchies. Its recruitment was failing.

  Peng Huang, whose folks were from Hong Kong, wanted to grow faster than his gang would allow him to. He wished to capture territory from rival gangs; he wanted to be feared.

  In a bold, audacious move, Peng Huang reached out to like-minded members not just in the 14K but also in its rivals, the Sun Yee On.

  In a secretive meeting in a business hotel, he outlined his plans. It wouldn’t breakaway from tradition entirely; it would adopt the same hierarchy the Triads operated, but there would be fewer layers.

  There would be more autonomy. Street-level gangs would run their
business the way they felt best. There would be top level directions, but those would be limited to policy.

  Peng Huang liked policy. It was a corporate term. His gang would be more corporate like.

  There were ten attendees at that meeting that night. Most of them were gang bosses in the two triads. Three of the gang bosses signed up to Peng Huang’s 41S that same night.

  Three others were killed on their way home. Two others found their wives dead when they reached their homes. The last two got the message. The meeting was never to be spoken of.

  They didn’t. They had reason to fear Peng Huang. Everyone in the 14K and Sun Yee On had reason to.

  For Peng Huang, had Zho.

  Zho had been a Red Pole, an enforcer in the 14K, the chief enforcer in the New York chapter. He also was enforcer in Peng Huang’s gang.

  That wasn’t the only connection that linked the two men. Peng Huang’s folks had found Zho, shivering and crying, in the ship they arrived in.

  The ship carried illegal immigrants stowed away in containers in its holds. Each container held masses of humanity who looked forward to reaching land, America, where they would make their dreams come true.

  Peng Huang and his parents were in one container, along with tens of other people. Zho, a young boy, a couple of years older than Peng Huang, was in the same container, along with his folks.

  In the crossing, Zho’s parents died, as did several other immigrants; the lack of sanitation, fresh air, and habitable space taking its toll on the frail and elderly.

  Peng Huang’s parents adopted Zho and he became family.

  Peng Huang and Zho. The former had ambition, cunning, and street smarts. The latter was a cold blooded killer, the likes of whom the 14K had never seen before.

  The 14K and the Sun Yee On soon found out about the breakaway gang, which Peng Huang mockingly named the 41S.

  The two gangs made outraged noises. Talked of honor and brotherhood. At one point, the hostile discussions nearly resulted in bloodshed.

  No one wanted to go against Zho however, and the 41S was left alone. It was a small gang after all. How much territory could it capture?

  The 41S didn’t stay small for long. Peng Huang was a charismatic gang boss and he attracted youth who were disenchanted with the Triads.

  The membership grew to thirty, then fifty, and reached a hundred in no time.

  That was still tiny compared to the larger, established gangs in the city. Size wasn’t what Peng Huang was interested in, however. He wanted power.

  He visited Hong Kong and mainland China frequently and established contacts with powerful men. He created alliances and partnerships, another corporate word that he liked.

  In New York, he formed his network; corrupt police officers and politicians. City officials and builders. Those who existed at street level. Chinese cab drivers, cleaners, doormen, and store owners.

  In the ten years of forming 41S, Peng Huang’s gang in New York became known as the go-to gang for those back in China.

  Killing Cain was a contract that had come from China. There were other contracts related to Cain.

  Zho returned to his office, his mind back to its equilibrium state.

  He lit a joss stick, seated himself, and made the call. He wasn’t worried about taps on his phone or bugs in his office.

  Peng Huang had a Chinese firm that took care of security. They said they were better than the NSA and claimed they had hacked into the NSA’s servers and pirated classified intel.

  Zho had no reason to doubt them. He would have dealt with them a long time back, if they hadn’t lived up to their claims.

  He spoke in Mandarin and briefed Peng Huang on the developments. He waited when he had finished and in the stillness at the other end, heard the murmuring of a woman and Peng Huang shushing her.

  This time of the day, Peng Huang would be with his mistress. One of them. Zho didn’t have any. He had no romantic liaisons. The work was his gang. Peng Huang was his brother. There was no room in his life for women.

  ‘You’re sure he didn’t speak to her?’ Peng Huang asked finally, referring to Cain and the woman they knew as Meghan Petersen.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Where’s the other woman?’

  ‘Dead. Where he left her. Someone will find her at some point.’

  ‘You’re keeping watch?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Will the watcher take care not to be made?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Peng Huang snapped his phone shut and slapped the rump of the woman beside him. She wriggled it invitingly. He ignored it and lay back on the bed.

  The developments weren’t bad, but they weren’t welcome. Still, some complications were to be expected. Peng Huang knew only part of the plan, but he knew it was big and bold and had several moving parts. Some disruption had been factored in.

  Peng Huang rose from his bed, padded to the bathroom and freshened up. He went to the balcony of his fourteenth floor apartment and looked down at midtown Manhattan as he made a call.

  Peng Huang too had a boss.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The boss was in Hong Kong. He wasn’t really a boss. He was a connector of people, a mover and a shaker. He was an influencer for sure, however he didn’t hold any real power. Nor did he make any decisions.

  He was the one who had put the 41S in touch with his masters. Peng Huang’s report needed to be relayed to those masters.

  He looked out of his mirrored high-rise in Central Hong Kong, at the city’s skyline. A jet streaked in the blue sky in the far distance and for a moment he wished he was on it.

  He shook his head in irritation and made his call.

  The call bounced from server to server all over the world before ending up in another office. In Beijing. The recipient listened and barked an order. It translated to haul your ass over here in English.

  The connector of people sighed in Hong Kong. He was expecting precisely that reaction. He made another call, to the driver of his Mercedes and then dialed the number of his favorite mistress.

  She would accompany him to Beijing. He might not return alive, but at the least, he would have good company.

  The man in Beijing and the connector of people, met in a massage parlor in Beijing the next day.

  It wasn’t any random massage parlor. This one catered to the powerful and the rich. Its security was unrivaled and it offered something of enormous importance to its patrons.

  Discretion and privacy.

  The two men lay side by side as their bodies were worked on by two masseuses. They were confident the women wouldn’t tattle.

  They couldn’t. The masseuses tongues had been cut off.

  The connector of people told the other man about Peng Huang’s call. The man grunted and rolled over on his back at a tap on his shoulder.

  He winced in pain as the masseuse’s fingers dug deep into his shoulders. He welcomed the pain. Pain was good.

  ‘How close are we?’

  ‘Very close, sir,’ the connector replied.

  The plan had been devised by the man in Beijing. It had taken several years to get all the parts in place since everything had to be done clandestinely, and in the early years, the end game wasn’t clear. The papers were vital to the plan; they were being manufactured in three plants, in Ohio, California, and Washington.

  Once they were ready, they would be shipped out. Then the other event would occur and the world would discover the enormity of the plan. It wasn’t as dramatic as exploding a nuclear weapon in America.

  It was something far more dangerous.

  ‘You noticed those gang members were Chinese?’ Beth huffed as the twins ran in Central Park two days later.

  Two days in which there had been no progress. The captured hoods hadn’t revealed anything and backed up Tiemann’s story that he owed them money. A large sum.

  Jack Minter had called once to check up on their progress. Meghan’s hand had whitened on the phone as she replied there wasn’t an
y.

  ‘Yeah,’ Meghan replied. ‘Lian is of Chinese origin. You think there’s a connection?’

  ‘Worth looking into. It’s not as if we have a lot to go on.’

  They ran another mile in silence before Beth spoke. ‘You remember that comment Tiemann made? About Cali when she returned from California.’

  ‘That she acted scared.’

  ‘Yeah. We should look into that.’

  They visited the Minters that evening, who confirmed that Cali had mentioned Lian several times to them.

  No, Lian had never visited them with Cali. They had seen her pictures, but had never met her.

  ‘They went to California a few times,’ Percy piped up, hope in her eyes.

  Meghan didn’t meet her eyes. It was increasingly looking like Cain had killed Cali, even though I don’t want to believe that.

  They would pursue the Lian connection, but it felt like it would go nowhere.

  ‘Did Cali tell you anything of Lian?’ Beth asked Percy when the younger girl accompanied them to street level.

  Percy pursed her lips and thought back. ‘No, not that I can remember. She was excited about going to California, the first time.’

  The twins flew to Palo Alto the next day.

  Palo Alto, in the Bay area of San Francisco, was small; sixty-seven square kilometres with a population of less than seventy thousand. Initially founded as a temperance town by the founder of Stanford University, Palo Alto was now home to some of the most famous high-tech companies in the world.

  Beth dug out Lian Cheng Vaughn’s office address as their Gulfstream cut through blue sky and scoffed at gravity as it flew across the country.

  ‘Hattexon Research,’ she murmured aloud, and placed a call to its switchboard. An assistant came online and made an appointment for them to meet Lian the next day.

  Beth leaned back in the plush leather seat and admired the interior of the aircraft; it was a gift from the same Middle Eastern royal Zeb had helped. It was piloted by two ex-servicemen who were on the security consulting firm’s payroll.