“That went well,” Charlie said to Ty. “We got some good tips.”
“Yep. I got it all down. Your man Gil is pretty smooth.”
“That he is, Ty. Here he comes now.”
“Well done. I almost botched it,” Charlie said to Gil.
“We all have our roles to play. Where did Don get off to?”
“He had appointments to interview exhibitors.”
“Uh oh. That can take a soft touch. I better go and find him,” Gil said.
“I could help him,” Ty offered. “I already know a lot of the exhibitors.”
“We’d appreciate the help,” Charlie said. “Check with Judy to see who he’s meeting with.”
Ty stepped over to Judy for a brief conversation, handed her his meeting notes, and hurried out of the room.
Lin Fong felt someone’s presence and looked up from his laptop. Cynthia Fitzgerald was standing at the entrance to his cubicle. He was working on a program that would link the automated visitor system to the security cameras so that any Spectrum employee could click an entry in the visitor database to pull up the camera view of the appropriate door and check-in desk.
“How’s the work going?” Cynthia asked.
“Oh, fine. It’s more tedious than difficult. I just have to isolate each security camera and designate a proprietary code, then do the same thing with the computer terminals at the three visitor entrances. The cameras don’t record continuously, so I may need to do some programming to trigger recording when an entry is made at any one of the terminals. It’s simple stuff.”
Lin swiveled his chair toward Cynthia and smiled. He was twenty-two, but had an eye for older women. He might have held the smile a bit longer than he should have because her demeanor changed, and she shifted her weight to one leg and crossed her arms.
“Mr. Heinrich wants you to join him for a meeting tonight. Actually, a conference call between the operations manager and owners of Guí Motors in Beijing. The only catch is you’ll need to stay late.”
“How late?”
“The call is at eight. Beijing is twelve hours ahead of us.”
“Right. Any idea how long it will be?”
“No. Maybe an hour or so. We’ll give you a cash advance for dinner, and you can take the day off tomorrow.”
“Well, okay. That’s great.”
Cynthia turned to leave, then stopped. “To kill some time until the call, maybe you and I could grab dinner. Say, around six? I’d like to hear more about the work you’ve done.”
“Oh, I’m afraid you’d be pretty bored by my shop talk. But I’d like to know more about you,” Lin said. “I mean, you know, what brought you to Spectrum, that sort of thing. I really don’t know much about the security sector, but I’m fascinated by it.”
Lin smiled again. He’d been told by more than one woman that he had boyish charm. He was a bit skinny, but it didn’t hurt that he was six-foot-two. He crossed one long leg over the other, giving her full view of his large feet.
“Where are you calling from, Lin?” Charlie asked.
“I’m in the cafeteria. Don’t worry, no one’s paying attention to me.”
“What’s this meeting about tonight?”
“I don’t know. Cynthia, I mean Ms. Fitzgerald, said Heinrich wanted me there to do some translation.”
“Will the Chinese advance team be at the meeting?”
“I think so.”
“Okay. Don’t go to the hotel after the call. I don’t want anyone to see you coming or going there. We may need to move you to another place.”
“I could go to my aunt’s house. She lives in Palmer Woods.”
“That’s a possibility. One of us will pick you up after the meeting. Just leave when the others do and walk toward the parking elevators like you’re going to your car. Send me an email that says OTM and one of us will meet you on the top level,” Charlie instructed.
“OTM?”
“On the move.”
“Wow, just like Jason Bourne,” Lin said lowering his voice as two businessmen approached a table near him.
“See you tonight, then.”
“Oh, by the way, I’m having dinner with Cynthia. Uh, you know, Ms. Fitzgerald.”
“How’d that come about?”
“She suggested it. She wants to learn more about my work.”
“Do you have your phony resumé memorized?”
“Yes.”
“Be sure not to say anything that might blow your cover or associate you with us.”
“I’ll be careful. I think maybe we’re just flirting with each other, you know.”
Charlie recalled the gangly teenager who took a beating from his class bullies once a week. In just a few years he’d become socially adept and extremely confident.
“When did you become so sure of yourself?”
“It was right after you taught me how to kick ass, Miss Mack. Nobody’s messed with me since. I’ve got to go.”
Charlie turned to Judy. “Lin has a dinner date with Cynthia Fitzgerald tonight.”
“Hmm. Gil will be sorry to hear that.”
“Really? He has eyes for her?”
“It seemed that way to me. I’ve been thinking some more about Cynthia. She’s very helpful, but she keeps a pretty close watch on our comings and goings.”
“I’m sure Heinrich has told her to keep tabs on us.”
“Yeah, but I think, just like Heinrich, there’s more to her than meets the eye.”
Charlie trusted Judy’s instincts. She could be a worrier, like Charlie, but also an innovative problem solver. “Maybe we could plant some information with her and see how she responds.”
“I think I have just the thing,” Judy said.
Don welcomed Ty’s offer to help with the exhibitor interviews. Most were repeat customers, car manufacturers who used the auto show as a platform to show off their latest models, and their setup processes had been honed over dozens of years. The interviews had been low-key, focusing on a few questions to determine any major fluctuations in their standard operating procedures.
“So far things seem normal, right?” Ty asked.
“So far. Who’s next?”
Ty looked at the schedule Judy had emailed. “We’ve got a tire manufacturer, Guí Motors, and three more after that.”
“Let’s save the Michelin folks for last. This Chinese group is new, right?”
“Yep. They’re not very friendly with peons like me. They’re VIPs, and the general manager has been meeting with them on logistics and such. They’ve been very demanding, and ever since that worker of theirs was murdered, I’ve been told to stay away from them.”
“Why?”
“Because they believe everything they’ve read about Detroit, and they think their guy was killed by some black dudes. Enter me.”
“Well come on, they’re going to have to deal with a black dude today,” Don said, leading the way.
Guí Motors was a diversified company that had been in the auto manufacturing business in China and Eastern Europe for a dozen years. Their small, fuel-efficient cars were characterized by workhorse chassis and practical accessories; they wanted to make a splash in Detroit by revealing a new luxury model that could compete with Hyundai’s Sonata sedan.
The Chinese automaker’s three-room office suite was on Cobo’s third level and was lavishly decorated in teak and jade. A receptionist with her hair swept up in a bun recognized Tyson with a smile, and nodded politely at Don. She stood to greet them. The plaque on her desk read: “Amy Wu.”
“May I help you?”
“Amy, this is Mr. Donald Rutkowski. He is a special security liaison for the auto show,” Ty said.
Don took over. “Would it be possible to meet . . . uh, Mr. Kwong?” he asked, looking at his clipboard. “He’s the team leader, I understand.”
Amy entered the door that led to an interior office, and closed it behind her. The anteroom was decorated with traditional Chinese furnishings. Two red screens flank
ed high-backed wood chairs at a black-lacquer table. On the tabletop were three small jade boxes. The modest reception desk sat in front of a six-foot-high, ornately carved wood cabinet with brass hardware shaped like dragons. Within a minute, the inner door opened and Amy appeared, the smile still pasted to her face. “Mr. Kwong will see you.”
Don and Ty entered the office and met the stares of Kwong and Geoff Heinrich. Heinrich sat on a red satin bench with copper nail heads along the base; Kwong sat on a matching bench opposite him. Between them was a low rectangular black table inlaid with mother-of-pearl. Both men’s faces were strained in seriousness. Kwong stood while Heinrich turned his attention to the crease in his slacks.
“How do you do,” Kwong said, holding out his hand to Don. He nodded to Ty. “I understand from Mr. Heinrich that you have some concerns about the death of Chenglei?”
Don glared at Heinrich, who showed his unabashed contempt for the two visitors. Don took an involuntary half-step toward the man, then stopped. “Actually, I’m surprised he’s shared any such information with you, since he is aware that the nature of our inquiry is confidential.”
Kwong averted his eyes, signaling his distance from the conflict brewing between these two Western men. “Please sit,” he said, pointing to the other two benches that completed the set. Don was uncomfortable on the seat with his knees almost parallel to his chest. Ty admired the satin covering on the bench and rubbed his hand along the decorative nails.
“Mr. Kwong. Can you tell me your understanding of Chenglei’s murder?” Don asked.
Kwong looked at Heinrich, who gave a stare that was difficult to read. Kwong sat straight-backed on the bench and placed a palm on each knee. His dress was formal, a navy-blue suit with a red tie. His black socks peeked above highly polished shoes. Don thought Kwong must be the most well dressed of those overseeing the construction of their company’s exhibits. The dress of the other advance teams consisted primarily of jeans, boots, and flannel shirts.
“The Detroit police told us Chenglei was in the wrong place at the wrong time. He left the hotel after dinner to take a walk. He was accosted by a group of . . .” Kwong looked at Ty then averted his eyes. “He came upon three men who beat him, and then one of them shot him. Chenglei was a recent addition to our company; he didn’t follow all the rules,” Kwong said.
“What rules are those?” Don asked.
“Our group had several weeks of training to acclimate ourselves to American culture and customs. We also familiarized ourselves with Detroit. Chenglei was aware that he was not to travel outside of the hotel alone, but he disregarded that rule. He was a foolish boy.”
“How old was he?” Don said, looking at his notes. “Oh, I see it now. He was twenty-three years old. What was his job, Mr. Kwong?”
“He was part of our engineering team. We have a piece of new technology we plan to introduce at the show.”
“Oh, that’s interesting. What is it?”
Heinrich lifted his eyes from examining his herringbone trousers. He gave Kwong a look of warning and shifted in his seat.
“I’m not at liberty to say, Mr. Rutkowski,” Kwong said. “Ours is a very competitive business and often requires secrecy.”
“Sounds mysterious,” Don said.
Heinrich rose from his bench, and spoke to Kwong. “I’ll leave you to your discussion. I’ll be in touch with you on that other matter.” He shared a brief look with Don before leaving the office.
The afternoon Cobo managers’ meeting went smoothly. Following the formula of the first meeting, Gil took the baton while Charlie played second fiddle. When they were done, they had twenty leads that needed follow-up, and the promise from each manager to contact Ty if they had any other ideas or incidents to report.
Don was still doing exhibitor interviews, so the next order of business was to complete the check of personnel records. Judy had three file carts stacked high with folders for Cobo employees, Spectrum staff, and contract workers. Charlie, Gil, Judy, and Carter Bernstein were systematically going through each.
“What are we looking for again?” Judy asked.
“Anomalies,” Gil said. “Five years of good performance evaluations, and then the last one sucks. Anyone who has been employed with Cobo for less than six months, or someone who recently returned from an extended sick leave. Things like that.”
The group worked through lunch, munching on chips, soft drinks, and M&M’s. As dinnertime arrived, so did Don.
“You guys thinking about food?”
“Not yet,” Charlie said. “Did you and Ty finish the exhibitor interviews?”
“We did today’s list, but we have a few more for tomorrow. Nothing much to report so far, except the Chinese delegation may be in cahoots with Heinrich.” Don dug into the bowl of M&M peanuts and popped a few in his mouth.
“What makes you say that?”
“Heinrich was sitting with the head of the Chinese group when we got there, and they’re keeping secrets about something.”
Don pulled a couple of brochures out of his pocket and leaned back in his chair to read.
“You and Ty went to see more concept cars, didn’t you?” Charlie accused.
“Only the new Lincoln SUV. It was developed with the Volvo designers. It has 20-inch chrome wheels and a 4.4 liter V8 with a six-speed transmission.”
“Is that the one with the transversely mounted engine?” Gil asked.
“Yeah, man. It’s a good-looking car, and it’s got all-wheel drive.”
“What’s transversely mounted mean?” Judy asked.
“Don’t you have some work to do, Novak?”
“Don’t I have the right to ask questions?” Judy retorted.
“If you open the hood of your car, the engine will be mounted parallel to the windshield,” Gil explained in lay terms. “A normal rear-wheel drive engine is mounted the long way, perpendicular to the windshield.”
Gil’s explanation was to keep the peace. But he needn’t have bothered. Judy was still confused, so she let it go. Don was hungry, so he did the same.
“What about dinner?” Don asked.
“Those are the personnel files we’ve flagged.” Charlie pointed to a stack of folders next to the M&M’s. “We need to follow up on those tomorrow, but we still have more files to review, and I want to finish them today.”
“I think I’ve got something here,” Carter said abruptly, and all eyes turned to him.
“What is it? You were looking at the TV crews, right?” Gil asked.
“No, I finished those a while ago,” Judy said. “He’s going through the Spectrum staff files now.”
“Spectrum hired a new technician six months ago to install and test their retina-scanning gear. The guy’s name is Bernard Dudiyn. He seems to have the right skills, but his references don’t work.”
Carter paused to down a bottle of water. His face was unremarkable, a good quality for an investigator, but his attire screamed attention. His tortoiseshell glasses looked very expensive, as did his wristwatch. His white shirt appeared to be tailor-made and Charlie thought the jacket which hung on the back of his chair was probably Armani. With a less flashy wardrobe, he could pass for an accountant.
“What’s wrong with his references, Bernstein?” Don said impatiently.
“Oh. I’m sorry. Uh, it’s this company called Bantom Biophysics in Tel Aviv. He says he worked for them from 1998 to 2002 but they don’t hire Americans.”
“How do you know that?” Gil asked
“I did some work for them.”
“Aren’t you an American citizen?” Don asked.
“Yes. But I also have an Israeli passport.”
“Hmm,” Don responded.
“Maybe this Dudiyn guy also has dual citizenship,” Gil said.
“Maybe. But there’s only a copy of a U.S. passport here,” Bernstein said, flipping through the folder, then picking up another.
“Anything else?” Charlie asked.
“Well, maybe. They
just hired a programmer. Name’s Lin Fong. His resume looks too perfect to me, and I never heard of the companies he says he worked for.”
“You can pass on that one. We’ve already checked out Mr. Fong,” Charlie said.
“I don’t know. He speaks Mandarin, like the guy who was killed, and he just got hired. That’s a lot of coincidence to me.”
“Just forget about Fong,” Don’s voice was raised. “We already have him on our radar.”
Bernstein looked perplexed, but nodded. “Okay, should I just do some more checking on Dudiyn?”
“Yep. Good idea, Carter,” Charlie said. “Meanwhile, Don, why don’t you go out and pick up something for dinner?”
“Sure. Maybe Chinese carryout? What’s so funny? Oh, I see. No, really, I didn’t make the connection. I just have a taste for shrimp egg foo young.”
Kwong pushed the intercom button and Amy appeared at the door. She was the American granddaughter of an important man in China. He’d agreed to take her on for the planning and execution of their auto show launch— a six-month job. She was respectful, obedient, and attractive. “I want a scotch and water.” He watched as she moved to the bar hidden in the cherry bookcase. Her calves were well defined; her small hips moved in a languid sway. He imagined how she might feel against him. Amy placed the drink on a black coaster on his desk and bowed slightly.
“I’ve told your grandfather that you are doing an excellent job,” Kwong said.
“Thank you, Mr. Kwong. I’ve enjoyed the work. Except, of course, the horrible incident with Chenglei.”
“Of course.” Kwong held Amy’s gaze until she looked down.
“Is there anything else I can get for you?”
“No.”
Kwong’s eyes followed Amy’s exit, and he felt a tremble in his loins. He took a long sip of his scotch. That foolish boy’s death had jeopardized his plans, and intensified the already heavy scrutiny of his delegation. He’d contained the police investigation, and thought he’d assuaged the concerns of the auto dealers group, but now they’d hired private investigators because of their continued suspicions.
Wake Me When It's Over Page 8
