by K W Frost
Kioki was determined that no information would lead investigators back to him or his business in Japan. He knew now, he would need to take precautions, just as he had advised Whittingham to do himself.
Taking out a small black electronic pocket office manager, Kioki brought up the phone number that he needed. It answered on the fourth ring.
‘Lah Wah Restaurant, how can I help you?’
‘Black Dragon Two,’ Kioki replied.
After a slight pause, the voice countered Kioki’s request.
‘The blackbirds are singing today.’
‘They always do if the dragon is asleep,’ Kioki continued.
‘But only when the dragon is asleep…’
‘Sleeping Dragon, I have work for you. This is what I need…’
Ritson stood in a Whitcoulls book shop opposite the office block that housed Hauraki Investments. With so much traffic and electronic noise around, the simple bugs planted by Child only had a limited range. It would take less than a minute for Ritson to download the voice-activated bugs when he entered the building. At present, he was watching and waiting for Whittingham to emerge. Child was covering his car in the basement garage, while Samantha was booking into a motel close to the city.
The Whitcoulls shop staff were becoming irritated by Ritson’s presence. For the past hour and a half, Ritson had painstakingly browsed through every magazine section in the shop without buying a single thing. Ritson didn’t care. He had a perfect view of the front of the building. Child was certain that Whittingham would either walk or drive out later, and they had both covered. A quarter of an hour ago Ritson had become aware of the van parked two spaces down on Queen Street. He had registered its arrival and was keeping watchful eye on it too.
What Ritson hadn’t registered at first, were the two men sitting in the front of the van. At least one of the men kept a steady watch over the office block opposite. Ritson tried to keep them under observation as well.
What Ritson didn’t know was if he had been spotted or not.
Ritson was peering out at the driver of the van when Ritson saw him speak to his companion and gesture across the road. The passenger got out of the van and waited for movement from Whittingham, who had just emerged from the building opposite.
Ritson got a good look at the passenger as he waited. He was of medium height with sandy brown hair, clean-shaven and dressed in a business suit. He was virtually unrecognisable among all the other white-collar workers streaming along the street. Ritson took note of the man’s smooth face and sharp features. All details were important, as identification of this man could be crucial later on. Ritson named him Tight Face.
Next, Ritson took out his cellphone and snapped a couple of photos. In a few seconds, Ritson had seen all he needed to, and refocused his attention back to the busy street. Whittingham still had his right arm in a sling and carried only a small briefcase in his left. He crossed the street and headed in the direction of the waterfront. Tight Face followed behind.
Ritson pretended to inspect a science fiction paperback as the two men passed by the shop window. Tight Face’s eyes focused in on Whittingham, and he followed about five meters behind. Ritson replaced the book and smiled warmly at the assistant, who glared back at him.
‘Sorry but you haven’t really got what I want,’ Ritson said chirpily, as he exited the shop.
Outside, Ritson called Child.
‘Simon, he’s on the move. I’ll follow on foot, you clear the bug.’
Ritson set off along the opposite side of the street to allow himself a clear view of both Whittingham and Tight Face,
‘Okay, Steve,’ replied Child. ‘I’ll only be a minute or so behind you.’
‘Good — we’re not the only ones interested in him, someone else is following down Queen Street.’
‘Someone else is interested in Whittingham? I wonder how many people he’s upset. I’ll be as quick as I can, Steve. Don’t get too close,’ said Child, not wanting to speculate on any new players in the game yet.
Ritson followed the flow of rush hour traffic, allowing the tide of people set his pace along the street. He kept his eyed glued to Whittingham, only losing sight momentarily when an inconvenient bus intervened.
Whittingham was oblivious to the men following him, and he appeared not to be in a hurry as he stopped to look in shop windows and strolled along at a leisurely pace. Ritson found it almost comical to see Tight Face’s reaction each time Whittingham paused outside a shop or turned around. He watched as Tight Face stopped to read a menu outside a restaurant, did up his shoe lace, paused to cough away from the stream of human traffic. The man seemed to have an endless supply of tricks. Ritson himself had no trouble remaining unobserved.
Suddenly, an older Chinese man, complete with a long white moustache and traditional robes, stepped out from the crowd and tripped Tight Face up. It happened so quickly that Tight Face didn’t stand a chance. Ritson watched as he tried free himself from the old man’s robes but they had become tangled around his legs. It took less than a minute for Tight Face to free himself, but both he and Ritson had taken their eyes off Whittingham.
Ritson scanned the crowded street ahead, cursing himself for getting distracted. In those few short seconds, Whittingham had disappeared from view.
Eagle Three was furious by the time he reported back to the surveillance team. The old Chinese man had been most apologetic, cursing his own clumsiness and bowing several times before moving away. The old man didn’t seem to care that anyone else was in a hurry.
‘Blast it, I’ve lost him,’ Eagle Three muttered bitterly. ‘Some old man tripped me up. Nothing seems to be going our way right now. I’ll cruise around and see if I can locate him again. You guys should try his house, as he’ll no doubt go back there tonight. I’ll report back to the motel later. Eagle three out.’
Chapter Thirty-Two
Whittingham was unaware of the drama playing out behind him. Convinced that he wasn’t being followed, he turned into the grey concrete building. It sat between a new high-rise apartment block and a half-restored historical townhouse: a thorn between two roses.
The building suited Whittingham perfectly. It was cheap to rent, handy to reach from his main office and it was never busy inside. The building only had six floors and was earmarked for redevelopment. Blue Water Securities occupied three offices on the fourth floor. With an abundance of available office space in central Auckland, the offices on either side of Blue Water were unoccupied. Again, this suited Whittingham perfectly. His only concern was the internal antiquated wiring system. Tagahasi had solved this by running his own wiring up to the satellite dish he had installed on the roof. No one was there to notice that the dish wasn’t aimed at a circling satellite out in the stratosphere, but rather directly at the Sky Tower looming above.
Whittingham had arranged to meet Kioki at the grey building at 4.30pm, but Kioki was fifteen minutes late. Inside, the corridor was harshly lit from the fluorescent lighting overhead. It reflected off the pale walls onto the faded brown carpet.
Kioki approached Whittingham along the empty corridor. He looked enormous in the narrow space, and he seemed to brush the roof and both sides of the walls as he moved. Upon reaching Whittingham at the end of the corridor, he leant in close.
‘Any problems getting here, Mr Whittingham?’
‘All good, Mr Kioki,’ Whittingham nodded. ‘I think you overestimated precautions needed here. No one was following me.’
‘Good. Shall we proceed?’
‘Certainly.’
Whittingham turned and knocked on the door to the left. Its only signage was a company name printed in small, white letters.
BLUE WATER SECURITIES.
A small, thin man of Asian heritage opened the door. He was dressed in a white t-shirt and jeans, and his dark hair hung to his shoulders. He nodded deferentially at the two men.
‘Welcome Mr Whittingham. Please come in.’
Whittingham and Kioki entered the s
mall outer office. It was bare apart from a small desk and chair breaking up the stark monotony. Whittingham turned to Kioki and introduced him.
‘Kepi Tagahasi, meet Mr Kioki.’
‘Kunushi wah Kioki san.’
‘Kunushi wah Tagahasi san,’ Kioki replied. The two men continued to speak in Japanese.
’Black Dragon greets you.’
‘The blackbirds are singing today.’
‘They always do if the dragon is asleep.’
‘But only when it is asleep.’
Whittingham looked slightly perplexed as he had not followed the exchange, but he smiled and nodded accordingly.
‘Are your preparations complete?’ Kioki asked.
‘Everything is in order, please come through.’
The three men moved into the bigger space in the next room. This office could not have been more different. Four tables were carefully laid out with sophisticated electronic gear. Although Whittingham had helped purchase most of the equipment legally, he had not seen it set up in this configuration before. Kioki too, was no expert. He just wanted to make sure that it worked. It was vital that the technology was functional tomorrow, or more specifically by 8pm tomorrow night.
On the other hand, Tagahasi was an expert. The seemingly insignificant worker was an electronic genius. His adaptations and changes to computer components had changed the electronic world. He had the ability to take an abstract idea from the drawing board and make it a reality.
Tagahasi was not concerned with profit, but like any true academic he dreamt of seeing his ideas in practice. Kang Industries had employed him for the past five years, solely to see his latest idea come into realisation. The fact that his technology was going to be applied illegally didn’t worry him at all. He was only concerned about it functioning accurately. Besides, it was going to be used against the powerful Western corporations — corporations that contaminated the idealistic Japanese worker. The next few days were simply a trial of sorts, or at least that was what he had been told.
Whittingham looked around the room with wonder. Although these offices were originally a security firm, they had done no business. He had created a route for this electronic gadgetry. In this aspect of business Whittingham was incredibly thorough, and the true identity of the owners of Blue Water Securities was hidden behind a series of false names and companies.
Tagahasi had no fears about the hardware on show. He had connected it up into his own configurations. It would take another expert to unravel it fully. What really happened was behind the grey plastic covers.
Kioki’s laptop sat under the workstation now, open with four lines running from it. Tagahasi sat down at the sole computer terminal and started punching in passwords and identifications. Whittingham could no longer control his curiosity.
‘What does this do? What is so special about this part?’
Tagahasi looked up at Kioki and upon receiving a slow nod, answered Whittingham’s questions.
‘You have a multiple electronic receiver here, coupled with a random frequency responder that can effectively scan all known wave bands. This is stored in a super-memory ultra-fast mega giga bit configuration. This can instantaneously scan and select conversations with a nominated word or phrase. For example, if you wished to know all the conversations that your partners in your latest venture were having with others, you could use this technology. I believe that you’ve been talking to the Americans about a reciprocal intelligence exchange? Also, there would be socio-economic and environmental consequences for logging the Amazon forest holdings that you were looking to buy.’
‘How do you know about that?’ Whittingham asked, unnerved that Tagahasi had this information already.
‘I did a test and ran a breakdown of all conversations that occurred in your office yesterday. Would you like to know what the Americans think of your idea?’
‘Yes, yes, indeed I would,’ Whittingham nodded enthusiastically.
‘Please watch the screen.’
All three men gazed intently at the screen. Tagahasi had an air of confidence, and Kioki a curious interest in seeing years of research and planning coming to fruition. Whittingham watched with apprehension.
Almost immediately after Tagahasi’s fingers stopped flying over the keyboard, the results of his search appeared.
What did you think of Whittingham’s Amazon idea?
Whittingham is a pompous idiot, but we might be able to use the concept. I’ll take the idea and adapt it to our own purposes, there could be big profits if we can get around the greenies.
Yeah, we can use cheap South American labour, lean on the Brazil government a bit to get a favourable tax incentive for exports. I know someone who might be able to get that done for us.
Tax incentives, cheap labour, and a global demand for wood that will only increase. I think we could be onto a winner. It’ll need a lot of research and some well-placed investment to pull it off, but it’s definitely possible.
You forget another advantage…
What — what have I missed?
We need a fall guy if it all goes wrong. Someone to sacrifice to the greenies and I know who our guy is already.
Someone who is disliked and irritable? Someone from a country that prides itself on its clean green image?
Of course, Whittingham.
‘Enough,’ snapped Kioki, ‘you have proved it’s working.’
He wasn’t the only one thinking of using Whittingham as a scapegoat.
‘But there’s more…’ replied Tagahasi.
‘No, that’s enough,’ Kioki snapped again.
Kioki turned to a stunned Whittingham, who was still staring bewildered at the screen.’
‘We must speak about this timber deal, Mr Whittingham. My associates and I could be interested in investing in this area, and we would be much more respectful business partners than your American friends.’
‘Those bastards, just wait until I see them again… I’ll tell them what for!’ Whittingham exploded.
‘You will tell them nothing,’ commanded Kioki. ‘Nothing… I will not allow anyone, or anything jeopardise this project. Your little deal will be nothing compared to the information that could be collected over the next week.’
Kioki turned swiftly to Tagahasi, dismissing Whittingham with a cold stare.
‘Tagahasi, do the other functions work as effectively?’
‘I’m completely confident that they will, however, I’m yet to test all functions due to the late arrival of the specific ultra-transmitting frequency board. I installed that this afternoon, but have yet to test its specific functions.’
‘Well, what else can this do?’ asked Whittingham, his personal concern temporarily forgotten in his curiosity.
‘As you may have deduced, I can scan the telephone frequency for all conversations. This is achieved by simply plugging into any telephone wire and the receiver dish on the roof. That way I can also scan all mobile phone transmissions and compute that data as well. Conversely, if necessary I could jam all frequencies by reversing all transmissions,’ detailed Tagahasi.
‘And what would that do?’ asked a confused Whittingham.
‘You would get static — you couldn’t call in and you couldn’t call out. Communication would cease.’
‘I would like a test, Mr Tagahasi,’ said Kioki.
‘Certainly, Mr Kioki, but could I suggest it be of a very limited time. We do not wish to arouse suspicion.’
‘Agreed. Would a duration of fifteen seconds be a sufficient test?’
‘Certainly,’ said Tagahasi.
‘A complete communications blackout: telephone, cellular, radio, television, and even shortwave communication.’
‘If that is what you wish, Mr Kioki. I can do the lot, or just a selection of your choice.’
‘I think television and cellular phones will be a sufficient test for today, Mr Tagahasi.’
‘Then I suggest that you be in a position to watch a television and plan a phone ca
ll for nine pm tonight, Mr Kioki.’
‘I will make sure that I will be in a position to do that,’ nodded Kioki.
‘And who will you be calling at nine pm during the test?’
‘That’s simple Mr Tagahasi — you.’
‘Why?’ asked Whittingham with a perplexed expression.
Kioki turned and stared hard at Whittingham.
‘That is of no concern of yours, Whittingham.’
Whittingham took the hint and remained silent, continuing to look around at the equipment instead. Kioki ignored Whittingham and turned back to face Tagahasi.
‘I want communications to go off at nine pm exactly, for a duration of fifteen seconds. Afterwards, everything needs to be returned to normal.’
‘As you wish, sir. The test will be as you say.’
Kioki turned and looked around the Spartan room. He noted the fold out camp bed against one wall, and a supply of food and water with a small cooker stacked up neatly. A small bag suggested a change of clothes but not much else. He was almost contemptuous of a man who would squirrel himself away for days on end, glued to a computer screen with the aim of completing a project that he wouldn’t personally benefit from. Computer geniuses were a breed apart.
Kioki looked over at Whittingham again. It was a long, hard stare that made Whittingham nervous.
‘What… what’s the matter?’ asked Whittingham
‘I’m thinking about what I should do with you, Whittingham,’ replied Kioki casually.
‘Do with me… what do you mean?’ he replied quietly.
‘Do you realise that you were followed here today?’
‘Nonsense…’ muttered Whittingham indignantly. ‘I checked several times! No one followed me here.’
‘You were followed. However, I had your tracker stopped without arousing any suspicion. Do you know an American man of medium height, clean shaven with sandy coloured hair?’
‘No… not of that description,’ Whittingham said, racking his brains for someone who fitted the profile. ‘Why do you ask?’
