by Chris Kale
“We know Joon was important for your organization,” Ron said. “And we’re sorry for your loss. But his murder was. . . excessive. . . in our field. Why do you think someone would go to such lengths to kill a computer programmer? Personal vendettas? Did he have some shadows in his past that came back? Anyone that works here with a jealous nature, maybe that had a score to settle?”
“No. None of that. Nothing like that. I have no idea who would do such a thing to a human being.”
“More people are like that than you may think,” Ron said, looking down at his lap, but then looked straight into Li’s eyes. “We need to get this one off the streets. This one, he’s done this before, and he’ll do it again. This was no random murder. Whoever killed Joon is a savage. He enjoys it.”
Li was lost in thought then. His eyes rolled back, and the back of his neck wrapped over his chair as he looked up at the ceiling of the room, washed in the soft glow of relaxing, warm lights. “I don’t want this to happen to anyone else. The funds that are missing, they are missed, and we have to find them again. But what amount of money is worth such a murder? It's so sad. . .” His face calmed as it came back down to look at the two men, and Soo-Jin Park behind them, who hadn’t moved since they’d first arrived. “Now, if you don’t mind.” He looked at the door behind Soo-Jin.
“Very well,” Thomas said, standing up, as Li had already moved from his seat to the side of his desk. “I hope we’ll be able to speak again in the next couple of days after I have time to look over the report.”
“We will,” Li said, with a wry smile, “and if not, you’ll be able to reach my assistant any day you need.”
Li seemed to be curtailing them out of the office with his sense of urgency.
“OK,” Ron said. “Thank you, Mr. Wei. Good luck with your business.”
“Yes,” Thomas said. “We’ll do everything we can.”
“I appreciate that,” Li said, and Soo-Jin opened the door, letting them out, and after a few handshakes Thomas quickly found himself on the outside of the office.
“Well, that was insightful,” Thomas said sarcastically, scratching his hair.
Soo-jin went over to the secretary with his hand out, and she handed him a sealed envelope, which he handed over to Thomas.
“Here’s the info,” is all Soo-Jin said. They both knew the information in the packet was highly confidential, and that there was to be no sharing of it.
Thomas nodded, and they all went back toward the exit in the room full of people manic as all hell, unsure of what to do with themselves. There may as well have been papers flying overhead as if the stock market itself had imploded.
There was something that stood out to him in the strange panic that filled the room. As they were making their way toward the elevator, a man walked out of that same elevator, and in the madness, this man seemed as cool as they come. The tall, white man strode past them in a short-sleeved black T-shirt with a silver necklace dangling around his neck. He was strong, with long veins running down his arms. But what Thomas really noticed was the man’s eyes. Two blue orbs of life, devoid of life. They looked like the eyes of a great white shark while biting down onto a block of frozen fish for a fisherman’s photography—lifeless, merciless, and hungry.
The man only glanced into Thomas’ eyes, but his eyes moved back toward the direction of Li’s office. He moved by quickly, and was past them soon, shuttling past the secretary and moving into Li’s office.
Thomas looked over his shoulder as the man entered, and Li began to ask the man questions with his arms outstretched. He soon found himself in the elevator with the two other detectives.
“Who was that man?” Thomas asked, looking into the eyes of the other two men. “The man with the blue eyes?”
“That’s Li’s newest private security,” Soo-Jin said. “His name’s Niklas.”
“Ex-military, I believe,” Ron said. “He came highly recommended. Expert in high-profile clients, or so I’m told.”
“Niklas?” Thomas asked. “Niklas what?”
Ron answered in a low voice, “Niklas Wolf.”
Chapter Twelve
Exiting the elevator into the main lobby of clear glass windows that rose to the high ceiling, smooth marble tabletops, and the warm glow of the city streets seeping in, Thomas was surprised to find the protesters still outside. Man, these people are determined! They still chanted, perhaps not as loud now, but then he realized he shouldn’t be surprised. The people on the other side of the glass weren’t protesting some Supreme Court justice nominee, those people out there were all robbed of who knows how much money.
He remembered in the financial crisis of 2008 the suicide trail left behind its wake was astonishing, and grizzly. How many of the people with anger and frustration painted on their faces lost everything while Li Wei sat on the telephone at his five-figure desk? As they came to the main desk and the receptionist with the warm smile, Soo-Jin bid them goodbye.
“We’ll be in touch,” he said, bowing to Thomas, who bowed back. “How long will you be staying with us in Korea?”
“Not sure yet.” Thomas tightened his grip on the packet in his right hand, then lifted it out in front of him. “Depends on what I find in here. I’d like to help you solve the case before I leave.”
“Crypto is difficult to follow,” Ron said, scratching his course, black beard. “Like Li said, we know where it is, but who has it? And how is Joon Chang-Min involved? There’s an obvious connection, but Li is certain he wasn’t in on it.”
“We have our best working on it here too,” Soo-Jin said. “We’ll find the bastards. Enjoy your stay here.” Thomas and Ron made their way toward the front doors, and toward the crowd. “Won’t you be taking the elevator to your car?”
“I want to see the crowd,” Thomas said, turning back to him. “Ask some questions.”
Soo-Jin shrugged, as if only mildly interested in Thomas’ intrigue.
The two of them left the building and found themselves the targets of an intensified shouting. Again, chants of ‘Don’t believe the hack,’ and ‘Li is a liar,’ were flung in their direction.
The security guards looked puzzled at Thomas and Ron as they walked toward the group, but Ron waved their concerns away as he flashed a badge toward them, seeming to make the yells of the crowd dissipate, but only slightly.
Thomas walked over, standing directly in front of the man who was in his early twenties, possibly from Korea, though he chanted in English. His face was red and strained as he yelled.
“Young man,” Thomas said, “I’d like to ask you. . .”
Before Thomas could finish, he heard the familiar, pop pop pop, of gunfire on the far side of the protesters.
The crowd dropped and scattered as Ron drew his gun, aiming it at the far side of the running, screaming crowd. Thomas didn’t have a gun but wished he did now. The security guards drew their weapons, while others were quickly on their radios, calling for backup from the local police.
“Get back in the building,” Ron said to Thomas as he scanned for a shooter but found none. The security guards moved closer to the area but found no shooter either. Only a Daewoo K5 handgun, lying on the cold pavement with three bullets missing from the clip.
Ron holstered his weapon and moved his tan suit jacket back over it. “They can handle this, let's get you to your room.”
“That didn’t seem like the crowd that would fire a gun,” Thomas said.
As they made their way back into the building and toward the elevator that would take them back to the sedan, and as Soo-Jin was running out to join the security guards, Ron said, “Well, if you’re into conspiracies. . . it’s a good way to end a protest if you’re on the other side.”
Ron let Thomas out at the entrance to Millennium Seoul Hilton, a high-rise hotel north of the BitX. In the twilight, the hotel created a wonderful cascade of golden light from the hundreds of rooms that was surely filled with all manner of tourists. Thomas wasn’t too picky about the quali
ty of hotel rooms while abroad, but he certainly didn’t mind the finer ones.
He checked in, went to his room, threw his luggage on the floor by the door, sat at the table by the large window, and put the file on the dark-wooden, circular desk. He removed the string that held the envelope closed, undid the clip at the back, opened the light-tan paper top, and pulled free the hundred-or-so pages from it.
“Goddammit,” he said to himself, “fucking government bullshit.”
The first thing Thomas saw upon the front page was large swaths of paragraphs blacked out. Nearly one-third of the page was gone, classified from even him—an investigator trying to help them get their money back. Thumbing quickly through the pages, nearly every one of the pages had been censored. He even discovered that Joon’s name was missing from the document.
Why would you need to black out a dead programmer’s name from me? It’s as if they’re doing this just to get me to pack up and fly back to the U.S.
Nearly everything left was technical and very police-like. The times of the hacks, which servers were affected, but even the wallet addresses were hidden. He threw the papers on the desk, and rang the front desk for dinner—after all, he knew he’d have to get some sleep soon, as he’d had a long day of flights, cheap fast food, an interview with a ‘too-busy’ CEO, and was nearly shot at.
After eating his meal of sushi, miso soup, and seaweed salad, he lay in bed with the TV on. It was a British TV channel playing some extremely British comedy show. . . you know, the type with the far-too polite humor and laugh track. While he began to doze off, a thought came to him.
I seem to be hitting a wall with the local help, but how about the foreign help? He picked up his personal cell and made his way to the messages with the anonymous hacker.
Find anything new? he typed.
Nothing for a few minutes, and he turned off the light on the nightstand next to him, as drowsiness set in like a wave of the night tide. His head fogged with weariness, and his mind went to a place that made him want to forget the gunshots from earlier.
He set the cell on the nightstand, and just as he set it down, it beeped from a new message. Checking the message, he found she’d replied with: It's a deep rabbit hole.
What do you mean? he typed.
Joon found something, and I think he’s trying to tell us something from the grave. . .
Tell us what? I’m getting blocked by BitX and the authorities here, are you referring to the wallet addresses? he sent.
I think there may be a hidden message somewhere in there, but I don’t know what it is yet, she said.
What is she talking about? he thought. A hidden message? But he thought about his own concerns about the variances in the amounts.
Why were the amounts three Bitcoin apart? That got me. I don’t believe Li, he said.
Li’s a pompous idiot with great hair.
He didn’t know what to say to respond to that, after he chuckled. So he didn’t. A minute later she responded.
Three was Bob June’s favorite number. The magic number. He built algorithms around three-part structures, and he was superstitious, she sent.
“Hmm.” Thomas rubbed his chin. “Three was his favorite number? There’s got to be something there.”
Listen, I need your help on this. If you come to Seoul, I can pay you as a contractor, nobody will know who you are. You’ll just be a consultant, he typed, waiting to hit the send button, as he didn’t want to scare her off, but he knew without some inside information, it was going to be all-but-impossible to find these funds. He hit send.
Fuck off, she quickly responded.
Can’t blame me for trying
I’ll message you if I find anything, she said.
Why are you helping me again? If you find what you’re looking for, wouldn’t you just send the information to the local authorities like you do? he asked.
I see you looked me up, she typed.
You’re a new form of vigilante looks like.
This hack is bigger than outing scammers. I can’t trust the Korean govt if I find anything. And you. . . I did some research too. I think you may distrust govt just as much as I do. That's why I’m choosing to work with you.
I’ll take that as a compliment I guess.
Again, I’ll reach out if I find anything, she sent.
He fought off the urge to type, goodnight, as it may come off as creepy. But Thomas couldn’t deny it felt good to be talking with someone this late at night, and he thought of Sarah. He missed the feeling of being loved, whatever that form took. He mostly just missed his family. What was she doing at that very moment? Probably sleeping or waking up with his grandchild, Adon, he thought.
He sighed, and turned to his side, nestling his cheek into the soft pillow. “Goodnight, Adon. Love you,” he said before he drifted off to sleep.
Chapter Thirteen
The sounds of the city flowed into the hotel room like a child being stirred back to life after a long nap. They came in steadily, growing in noise over the hours throughout the morning: the honking of horns, the slow drag of tires on a moist road, the flapping of bird wings accompanied by chirps. Warm sunlight poured through the window to his right, which caused him to flop over to his left side.
The itinerary of the day began to flood his brain as he shut his eyes sharply.
Just another ten minutes. I’ll get up in ten more minutes.
His hand then went to his phone and raising up before his eyes—with one still shut—he saw he’d received a message from the hacker in the middle of the night.
It read: I cracked the code. I’m coming.
His eyes burst open and he sat up in bed. His hand shot up to his head and he ran his fingers through his thick hair. “What?” Thomas’ mind raced with all the things that might come if she truly did crack the code. First of all, it was, if she cracked it, how long until others do? If she really did, she could have moved the funds already. We need to get that moved ASAP.
He was so excited, he attempted to call the number her messages had been sent from. He was oddly disappointed by her not picking up, but all his logical self knew she wouldn’t. He then was vividly surprised in her message she was coming to Seoul.
What in the world would make a woman who was so wanted and secretive to come out into the open? She knows she’s going to be seen, even if I do everything I can to cover her up. This is a fucking murder investigation for Christ’s sake.
He dressed in a blue button-up shirt and tan pants with a crease down the front. Thomas knew he needed to reach out to Wyatt about this. This was a huge revelation in the case. He knew at this time in the morning in Korea that it was about 7 p.m. in Washington. He made a quick cup of coffee in the dinky machine by the tiny sink, and then made the call.
Wyatt picked up, after only a ring and a half. “Thomas,” he said, his voice gruff, and sounding like he’d already had a scotch or four.
“Hey,” Thomas replied. “I’ve found something. Well. . . not me. But we’ve found something.”
“What? Who?”
“It seems that the programmer was the one who sent the Bitcoin around the blockchain,” Thomas said. He caught a muffled laugh on the other side. “What’s funny?”
“You sound like your old self,” Wyatt said. “You sound like you know what you’re talking about with this stuff now. I’m impressed. Sorry.” He cleared his throat. “What did you find?”
“The CrytoCunt I asked you about—” Thomas said.
“Great name,” Wyatt said.
“Great name, yes,” Thomas added. “She solved the hidden message in the blockchain. June probably moved the money and left a code in there so it could be found. She’s got it!”
“Did she tell you what it is?”
“No,” Thomas said. “But she’s coming here. I think we’re going to meet?”
“Really? That’s surprising. Why would she do that?”
“I haven’t had time to think about it yet,” Thomas said, but then
it dawned on him. “Unless something in the message pointed to something here. Something in South Korea.”
“Something in his condo?” Wyatt asked.
“Maybe?” Thomas said. “Or at BitX?”
There was a long pause while both men contemplated what may be the reason.
“You let me know as soon as you know more,” Wyatt said. “And remember to be safe out there. Stay in touch with the local authorities, there is still a murderer on the loose.”
That made Thomas remember that pair of blue eyes that hadn’t left him yet.
“Wyatt, can you look up another person for me?” he said in a soft, yet stern voice. “The man’s name is Niklas Wolf, ex-military type.”
“Will do, what’s up with him?”
“Not sure, security for Li. I’d like to know a little more about him.”
“Done,” Wyatt said. “Anything else?”
“Yeah.” Thomas smirked. “Lay off the brown booze. Harder to process, and you’re making me jealous.”
Wyatt laughed heartily. “You’re not one of the ex-alchies who thinks your better than everyone now, right?”
“You know I’m exactly that now.” Thomas didn’t laugh but enjoyed the fun.
“I’ll have another for you,” Wyatt said. “If nothing more than to piss you off.”
“Have ten,” Thomas said, now laughing.
Wyatt laughed, and then after it subsided, he said, “Niklas Wolf, anything else?”
“Uh, Ron, Ronald Jones. . . you trust him,” Thomas asked, scratching his elbow.
“He’s good, totally checks out.”
“Good, what about Soo-Jin Park? Local investigator?”
“I know you don’t like big government, but I thought you always trusted guys in blue?” Wyatt asked.
“I think I trust them,” Thomas said. “I’m more worried I’m getting the runaround. I don’t know if I’m going to be invited back to BitX or not even.”
