Downward Dog in Miami

by Larry David Allman

  Lenny and I had dived quite a bit, mostly in the cold California ocean, where the kelp forests were incredible. I wasn’t sure about Lauren’s abilities, but once in the water, she was our equal. Because of the depth, we only had twenty minutes, but it was a fun and interesting dive with lots of colorful fish and different sections of the old wreck to go into. The three of us moved together well, a three-way dive buddy ensemble, each person always in sight of the others. No problems for us, only the fun of diving in a new place with different sights and different sea life.

  We surfaced, got back on the boat, and traveled about thirty minutes to a blue hole, the minimum time needed to reoxygenate the blood after a deep dive. Ted, one of the dive boat assistants, came with us for this dive, as there were sharks in the hole… but not great whites. Just blacktips, four to seven feet, maybe twenty of them, menacing only visually. They tolerated us while we admired their sleekness and the ease and efficiency with which they could move so quickly through the water. Ted had a spear with him, about five feet long; the spear had a distinct tip at one end to be used if necessary. We stayed pretty close to him during the dive. Our last dive was a beautiful reef, not too affected by pollution, climate change, or natural predators.

  All in all, it was a wonderful time with my best friend Lenny and my new friend Lauren. I flashed on how, through intention and taking action, through luck and Karma, life could give such glorious moments; I sensed that Lenny and Lauren were feeling something similar.

  On the way back, while we re-energized on some freshly caught and expertly cooked red fish with brown rice and a green salad, I asked Captain Slick if we could cruise the harbor a bit, like real city slickers. He agreed. When we found the XiXiCom, we’d know what to do.

  As we arrived close to the mainland, there were about five big yachts anchored in the harbor. I saw it immediately, probably the biggest and most stylish of the big yachts. It had at least five levels, a helicopter pad, and a swimming pool with a Jacuzzi. I had little experience with yachts, but this one was obviously floating wealth, a clear statement by somebody. And this was where General Kangxi was going to stay… Did the CCP know about this? Probably not. This guy was freelancing. There was no activity on board, at least that we could see. I wanted to get a closer look. I got out my iPhone and started shooting video.

  I asked Captain Slick to drive around the harbor, and then do it again a second time, but not to be too conspicuous. He looked at me—we were no longer city slickers. The second time we got close to the XiXiCom, we stirred up whoever was on board. I asked the captain to stop a little closer. He inched forward but seemed hesitant to get into the yacht’s operational space.

  Two guys came rushing up on deck, both Asian. One was carrying what looked to be an AR-15, or maybe an AK-47; it was difficult to distinguish from that distance. They were in the shadows from the overhang of the deck above them. Then a third guy came up on deck. All three had on blue T-shirts and white shorts, a uniform. They were talking among themselves, pointing at us. The third guy had a professional-level video camera and started filming us. The guy with the weapon lifted it and pointed it at us… and yelled something.

  “He’s telling us to move off,” Captain Slick said. “I gotta move out,” he added as he turned the boat around and moved quickly away from the danger. “Is this something personal?” he shouted above the roaring engines as he headed to shore at speed. His body language told me that he didn’t like this at all.

  “Not yet,” I said as I sent the video to Linda for further investigation. Who owned such a beautiful yacht, who were the men threatening us, and why all the defensive stress? Something to do with the general’s arrival.

  We got back to the dock, tied the boat up, and walked into the dive shop with the captain while the two crew members started cleaning the boat and removing the dive equipment. I took Captain Slick aside—there were a few customers in the shop—and gave him a thousand-dollar tip. The crew had done a good job, no question on that.

  “Don’t involve us in any weird shit, man, we just run a dive operation.”

  “You’re not involved, Captain. Nothing happened out there.”

  “Right,” he responded, pocketing the cash and walking away, shaking his head.

  * * *

  Driving back to the hotel after our dive outing, Lenny called Agent Howard Ross and explained that he was calling on my behalf at the request of Agent Sartrelle in San Francisco. Ross was fully aware. We put the call on the speakerphone, and I introduced myself. Ross came off as a decent guy, not obnoxious or problematic. He said that it was urgent that we meet, so we agreed to have dinner with him that night—on us, of course. He suggested an Italian place which was, fortunately, close to our hotel in Coral Gables, Caffe Abbracci, at seven; he would handle the reservation. “They know me there,” he said. Game on.

  I looked forward to meeting a federal agent who could help us. Lenny’s approval of him meant everything. Effectively engaging the power of the federal government could be the difference between success and everything else that sounded a lot like failure. I had been able to use that kind of federal help in a few prior cases, but in other cases, the egos, the self-interest, and the incompetence of too many federal officials had been appalling. This one had promise.

  I had to get us back to the hotel safely. As I drove, I checked behind, to the sides of, and around us. Situational awareness was job number one right now. No one, especially not the dolts from Siroco, would get the drop on us again. Nobody was following or checking on us; nothing suspicious. Maybe the Siroco people didn’t work on weekends.

  We retreated to our rooms for some rest. Lauren said she was tired and would stay at the hotel while we went to meet Ross. She would order room service if she was hungry.

  FBI Agent Howard Ross was waiting for us when we entered Caffe Abbracci. He was sitting—facing the door with his back to the wall, of course—at a table toward the rear of the large room, one with some intended privacy, separate and in a corner. The fragrant smells of garlic and tomato sauce hung in the air like an intoxicating mist. There was no doubt we were in a fine Italian restaurant. Ross stood immediately as we approached his table, grasped Lenny’s hand, and embraced him in a sports-bro hug, then introduced himself to me. Excellent so far. We all sat down and examined each other for a moment.

  “You guys are in some shit with DHS,” Ross started the conversation. “I need to know what you’re doing.”

  Lenny jumped in. “I’m here helping my friend. He’s cyber security. He’s going to level with you. There’s a serious, international criminal threat here. But you gotta work with us, Howie. You gotta be real; none of that FBI need-to-know crap.”

  “I can’t make any blanket deals. But you know me, Lenny; you know how I work. Tell me what’s going on, and we’ll handle it. You know me,” Ross repeated, bringing his hands together under his chin, looking from Lenny, to me, to Lenny, like some kind of wise man giving absolution.

  “Be straight with us, that’s all we ask,” Lenny said.

  “I can do that,” Ross agreed. “So, what is this you’re involved with that’s triggered a national security investigation? You’re lucky… Right now, it’s on my desk.”

  Lenny looked at me, smiled, and said, “Okay, bro, bring it.”

  I gave Agent Ross a recap of the case, as I understood it. “I was engaged by Sabra Security to investigate a computer break-in and theft of $2.4 million dollars. I discovered Siroco International Investments Corporation, a criminal organization with international ties and players. Siroco targeted a Sabra employee using a honey trap, used his phone to hack into the system, and stole the money. Then they used that information to attempt an extorted takeover of the business. Siroco is building a network of other businesses to create what appears to be a vertically integrated criminal enterprise that, most likely, is going to be importing drugs and probably some other items into the country. I
t’s trying to take over other businesses in Miami, including a crane operator and a trucking company. It has three real estate developments that are fronts for some kind of money laundering operation, and they employed naked intimidation tactics in these fake negotiations. They most likely murdered an employee of Prime Mortgage, where they need a legitimate financial commitment to get the project permitted. They already failed with two other mortgage companies. You might know something about them—the FBI was called on those.” I stopped for a water break.

  “Yes, we know about those,” Ross said, not offering any details. Need to know?

  I waited for some reciprocity, some details from Ross, which didn’t come, then continued after a few moments of silence. “I’ve seen these people in action a couple of times. I was in a meeting at Prime where a guy named Lev Lavorosky and one of his goons literally threatened the manager and another employee with further acts if they did not approve the construction loan commitment. Brazen thuggery; I’ve never seen it so naked and obvious.”

  A waiter appeared from out of nowhere to take our order. She was a sizzling, light-skinned Black woman with a puffy Afro and sleeveless top that displayed muscle definition from a lot of obvious hours at the fitness center. She reminded me of Lauren with the way she laughed easily and with confidence—maybe that, too, was Miami style. She knew Ross but was fixated on Lenny. He drew out that her name was Lenore, and that she was a medical student at UM and was working to pay for tuition. Impressive. At her urging, we all ordered veal, pasta, seasonal vegetables, salads, and loads of garlic bread. Lenny and Ross ordered the house Chianti. I don’t drink alcohol—all three looked at me like I had a Mars passport.

  As soon as she left with our order, Ross asked, “Why are you dealing with the Chinese?”

  “That’s part of the international dynamic of this case. One of the principals of Siroco is a General Kangxi… Active Chinese military. Do you know him?”

  “I really can’t confirm that,” Ross deflected.

  “C’mon, man,” Lenny challenged forcefully. “If we’re gonna work together, you gotta work with us.”

  “Okay. We know this guy, and we think he’s dirty… but we don’t have any evidence yet. It’s early. But he’s active Chinese military.”

  “I can give you overwhelming evidence in a few days. He’s coming here Monday. Did you know that?”

  “That’s interesting. No, we didn’t know that. Is that the Chinese connection that triggered this national security investigation?”

  “Yeah. Apparently, the general gave Siroco a really sophisticated encryption algorithm for its internal system. I gave it to a friend at the Stanford Computer Lab, and that’s what brought you guys in, via Agent Sartrelle in San Francisco. You probably know him.”

  “Not so well. He’s kind of a swinging dick in the organization, but he’s gotten results, and he’s not one of the bad apples. A little stiff… I guess you saw that.”

  “Whatever. Now we’ve got you. So far it seems okay. Can we work together?” I asked him.

  “I think so. I like what you’ve said so far. Yeah, I think so. What else?”

  Our salads and garlic bread arrived, so we took a break to dig in. Lenny and I had had a great lunch on the dive boat, so I was not so hungry. But Lenny eats like a champion horse, and with speed. I just nibbled at the salad, then started back in.

  “Stanford has considerable computing power, which is why I use them. They broke the code to the encryption, but it’s got a tricky code plus-one element. We got into the Siroco system, but only for a couple of minutes. We planted a worm that’s still working, and we’re still monitoring what’s going on in there. They’ve got some big plans, Agent. We have real work to do.”

  “Like what?” Ross asked, still giving nothing.

  “The general is coming here personally, and he’s bringing ‘heavy baggage.’ We don’t know specifically what’s in that baggage, but we all know what gangster talk like that means. My best guess is China White: fentanyl.”

  “Why do you think that? Could be anything—money, guns, humans, drugs.”

  “Here’s another side to this. There’s a Ukrainian involved; he’s a principal too. Get this, he’s the Minister of the Interior of Ukraine. Dip status. It was his employee who seduced the Sabra employee and got into his phone and their system. I have another source that says that they’re involved in drugs in Eastern Europe, Albanian drug gangs. That means heroin and cocaine, Golden Triangle and Columbia connections. I think this minister is the connection to that. They sprinkle on a little China White, and they can dilute their drugs by fifty-to-one. Exponential profits. There’s no other business model with that level of profit margins. What do they do with all their cash? They funnel it into these fake real estate projects. They end up with laundered money they can bank legitimately anywhere in the world. It’s a pretty nifty plan, don’t you think?”

  Before he could answer, our main course arrived, brought by three young servers with Lenore supervising. The aroma of the food on the plates knocked us into silent respect. We dug in. Lenny, who usually ate at warp speed, took his time to savor each bite. Ross ate slowly, too, but I could see him thinking about all the “evidence” I had presented him. Ross shared some thoughts, based on his self-professed cooking expertise, about the spices and flavors and ingredients and how well they were blended. True Italian food at the highest level. But I could see that behind the food small talk, he was still analyzing. Good so far.

  The food was spectacular, but the business was more important, so I continued. “There are just a few more things, mainly around the margins, which I think are important for you to know. Siroco is trying to take over a crane operator at the port, and a trucking company, same as Sabra. They ask to buy the company, then they create problems to induce a sale. It hasn’t worked so far. They’re really just thugs, especially this guy Lavorosky. But they’ve got a plan. And if it works, they will be a truly dangerous criminal organization, and they’ll be able to do some real damage to this country. How does that sound… Agent Ross?”

  Ross put down his fork, finished chewing in a contemplative manner, clasped his hands under his chin, and got ready to pontificate.

  “Your work is impressive, Mr. Randall,” he started.

  I jumped in. “Derek would be better.”

  “Okay, Derek it is. And I’m Howard… not Howie,” he said, giving Lenny some attitude about the name. “We can work together. But you’ve got to toe a certain line here. We’re the F… B… I… We don’t need partners. We do well by ourselves. But in truth, you’re way ahead of us on this one. As I said, impressive work. But we need some ground rules if we’re going to work together. You understand?”

  “Well, Howard, that would depend on exactly what are the ground rules.”

  “You share everything with me. Nobody else.” Right away, he got proprietary, displaying the information-sharing phobia which has crippled the FBI in the past.

  “That needs to go both ways, Howard. I just opened up to you and gave you a lot.”

  “Granted. I can’t give you everything; there’s sources and methods and informants I can’t share. You have to understand. But I promise to be as transparent as I can be under the circumstances… We can work together here; just work with only me.” He looked at me, then at Lenny, then at me again, expecting our agreement on the spot.

  That wasn’t the way it worked. Lenny and I don’t roll over easily. Ross had revealed that he needed us as much as we might need him.

  “What are the other ground rules?” I asked.

  “No cowboy stuff. If there’s any kind of takedown, we do it. Me, us, our SWAT team. We do all the heavy stuff, all the takedowns. You have to agree to that or we can’t work together.”

  I felt the need to make a joke: Who wouldn’t agree to that one? I pointed to his open shirt collar. “Okay, bring your mic up here closer: I… agr
ee… you… get… to… do… all… the… takedowns. How’s that?” I said.

  “I could take offense at that. But I won’t. It would be rude to record our first meeting. Even for the FBI.” He smirked. We laughed at that one. I thought for sure there were bugs in the restaurant somewhere, at the table, in the seats—somewhere. Why else would he choose this restaurant and this table? But I felt good about the meeting and Ross, so I wasn’t concerned. Besides, my cell phone was recording everything in real time… Who cared if Agent Ross also had a recording of this meeting?

  With the business out of the way, we enjoyed the rest of our dinner. Ross gave us his private cell number and another way we could get in touch with him. We made plans to talk again on Monday. I did not tell him about the yacht where Kangxi would be staying, nor about the meeting with Katarina Truska tomorrow morning. You always keep something of value in reserve, especially when dealing with the federal government.

  When we had finished, Ross said he was going to stay for a few minutes to return some calls, so we shook hands at the table and left. The hotel was close. I was sure Ross wanted to check the quality of what he had just recorded. Who would he be calling on a Saturday night?

  While I was driving back to the Biltmore, Linda called. She said she had some new information. I told her I would call her back from my room in fifteen minutes. I punched it back to the hotel.

  With the productive meeting with Agent Ross and the call from Linda, I was a professional, and so was Lenny. Coming out of the restaurant, getting my car from the valet service, and driving back to the hotel, I was in high situational awareness mode, checking three hundred and sixty degrees around me, especially while driving. Lenny was checking things more than me. How comforting was it to have highly competent help from my best friend?

  * * *

  When we entered my room at the hotel, Lauren was asleep on the couch with the TV on. She awoke immediately, eyed us, and breathed in deeply through her nose. “You guys had Italian,” she said. She was wearing one of the fluffy hotel robes with a T-shirt and had her hair back in a ponytail. She was wearing glasses, which I had not seen on her before. I stirred a little.