“The Chinese again,” Charlie stated the obvious.
“I guess now DHS will step in to take charge of the operation,” Gil said somberly.
“No. We’ll stay on last night’s incident, but we want you guys to continue as lead on the threat investigation. If we step in, we’ll have to notify every other security agency and the State Department. We’ve informally spoken to the FBI, but since we don’t have a specific threat to the homeland, we’ll stay in the background. Otherwise, the auto show might be canceled, and the Super Bowl would be put on high alert. Both options are still on the table. A lot depends on what you all dig up in the next thirty-six hours.”
Don and Charlie didn’t talk much in the idling car. Lin Fong had stayed at his aunt’s house overnight, but today they were moving him to Charlie’s apartment on East Jefferson, where he would stay for the duration of his assignment.
Lin bounded down the stairs with a large duffel bag, and a backpack thrown over his shoulder. It was raining and in the mid-thirties, but he wore a University of Michigan sweatshirt, knee-length shorts, and sneakers with no socks. White earbuds hung from under his hoodie.
“So, Charlie tells me the executives in Beijing mentioned trade secrets?” Don spoke over his shoulder as Lin settled into the backseat.
“What? Did you say something?” Lin said pulling the right bud from his ear.
“Would it be too much to ask, for you to focus your attention on the people you’re with?” Don said angrily.
“Don’t mind him.” Charlie smiled at the embarrassed boy. “We had a really rough night.”
Charlie looked at Don, whose jaw was set hard. They’d agreed not to tell Lin about Josh Simms. They didn’t want to scare him, and Charlie was still convinced Lin was in no particular danger.
“Tell Don what you told me about the videoconference.”
“The Guí motor guys were upset with Mr. Kwong. They badgered him about some new navigation system they want, and one of them told Kwong that his family’s well-being was connected to his success in Detroit. Kwong told them he was being careful, because their efforts had already been spotted by General Motors techs.”
“Did you tell all this to Heinrich?” Don asked, keeping up with the traffic heading east.
“Yes.”
“How did he respond?”
“He didn’t seem surprised or concerned. He asked if anyone asked about the investigation of Chenglei’s murder.”
“Did they?” Charlie asked.
“Mr. Kwong brought it up, but that was it.”
“Anything else we should know?” Charlie asked.
“Well, like I told you last night, I think Kwong’s assistant may have guessed that I speak Mandarin. I think she noticed me taking notes, and I know she saw me give my notes to Mr. Heinrich. Also . . . well, you know, Cynthia Fitzgerald asked me a lot of questions when we had dinner.”
“What kind of questions?” Don was scrutinizing the boy in the rearview mirror.
“About where I grew up and things like that.”
“Is there more to it than you already told me?” Charlie turned toward the backseat.
Lin squirmed. “Well, I remembered more about it this morning.” Lin paused, looking at Don’s eyes in the mirror, then shifting quickly to Charlie. “I had a glass of wine. Cynthia said it was okay, you know, because Spectrum was paying for our dinner. She seemed real understanding about how I was bullied at school, and, you know, I may have mentioned that I took self-defense classes when I was a kid and that you were one of my instructors.”
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Don said with exasperation.
“Did she want to know more about that?” Charlie asked.
“No. But, I realized I shouldn’t have said it as soon as it came out of my mouth, and I . . . you know, glossed over it, and just started talking about how college was much better for me than high school. She was drinking wine, too. So I don’t think she even noticed.”
Charlie exchanged a glance with Don. Lin’s cover was probably blown. They’d just have to see how Cynthia responded. She had, so far, passed the loyalty test Judy had devised. It involved a handwritten note planted, in full view, on Judy’s desk. The note said: Heinrich. Foreign national, temporary visa? The number at the bottom, connected to a voicemail on one of the extra Berrys. Cynthia had seen the note, but the number hadn’t been used.
“Nice place,” Lin said, surveying the contemporary décor of Charlie’s high-rise apartment.
“Yeah, and it’s all yours for a few days. There’s food in the refrigerator, high-speed internet, and cable TV. Don’t have any wild parties, don’t bring in any drugs or prostitutes. Don’t answer the phone, and, oh, don’t go through my dresser drawers.”
Lin blushed.
“Are we clear?”
“Yes, Ms. Mack. Thanks.”
As expected, a few exhibitors were livid about the new security cameras, and they filed formal complaints with DADA about privacy infringements. Although foreign cars were being assembled in the U.S., and vice versa, manufacturers were still very competitive, and leaks of proprietary information were always a concern. New technologies, engineering breakthroughs, even innovative accessory designs, could give an automaker an edge resulting in tens of millions of dollars in annual sales.
Charlie and Don were making personal visits to the holdouts, and Don maneuvered a cart nimbly through the second-floor exhibit areas, where equipment and construction crews prohibited a straight course. Charlie held tightly to the grab bar on the canopy and leaned with every turn.
“Guí and Bavarian Motor Works have refused the additional cameras. Tesla Motors pulled out of the show altogether, but they had an electric car prototype they were skittish about, and might have dropped out anyway.”
“What kind of leverage do we have?” Don asked.
“If any exhibitor refuses the cameras, they’ll be suspended from the show. The DADA board members will visit, in person, to make it official. Hartwell means business.”
“The guy’s got more balls than I gave him credit for,” Don said.
“Agreed.”
“Believe me, we wouldn’t be so insistent if we didn’t have major concerns,” Charlie told the BMW operations director, who finally acquiesced at the mention of Homeland Security.
“Will the show be safe?” a member of the design team asked nervously.
“Yes,” Charlie answered with unwavering eyes and as much certainty as she could muster.
The Chinese weren’t as easy to convince. Kwong sat behind a large cherry desk. The emblem of the People’s Republic of China was affixed to the wall behind him. Heinrich stood near a bookcase; he’d been invited by Kwong to help his case. Don and Charlie were seated on the uncomfortable benches.
“We understand your concerns, Mr. Kwong,” Charlie said. “But we’re taking orders from the dealers. We think there is a credible threat to the show, low-level, but a threat, nonetheless. Mr. Hartwell says if you refuse, your company will be suspended from the show.”
“He can’t do that,” Kwong said, looking toward Heinrich who cleared his throat as if he might say something, then shook his head in resignation. Kwong’s fists tightened on the desktop and his face flushed with rage. Suddenly, in an amazing metamorphosis, Kwong’s skin paled and his hands began to tremble. Charlie thought he might be having a heart attack, then realized he was willing himself to be calm. She watched with fascination.
“Are you in or out, Kwong?” Don asked impatiently.
Kwong couldn’t help but show the disdain he felt for Don’s incivility, but his thoughts quickly drifted to his family in Nanjing. His two sons would be sleeping, their bed sheets thrown aside, with sweat clinging to their foreheads. His wife, Jiaying, would be lying near the open window allowing cool air into their small room. She was depending on him to reverse their fortunes. This job was their second chance, and an opportunity to prove his worth to the Central Committee.
“I have no choice but to agree t
o your conditions,” Kwong said. “But I do so under great protest. I must check in with my superiors who will, no doubt, be in touch with your State Department.”
“That’s your prerogative, Mr. Kwong. Technicians will be around this afternoon to install the cameras,” Charlie said, rising.
Charlie and Don paused in front of Amy’s desk in the reception area, and she looked up from her work with a shy smile. When Heinrich followed through the door, she feigned concentration on her computer keyboard.
“If you don’t mind. I’ll have a couple of my techs assist in installing the cameras in Mr. Kwong’s space,” Heinrich said to Charlie. “He’s a VIP this year, and I’ve been asked to show him every consideration.”
“That’s fine,” Charlie said. “But we’ll be there to supervise, and we need to put cameras on the entrance to this suite, as well as in their staging areas.”
Heinrich left without another word. Amy picked up her phone in response to the intercom buzz. “Yes, Mr. Kwong.” She reached under her desk and retrieved a canvas bag that rattled with the sound of bumping bottles. She stood and looked patiently at the two visitors, waiting for them to leave.
“We’ll be going now,” Don said.
Amy gave a slight bow, stepped around the desk, and passed into the interior door.
“Uh, Ms. Mack. I need to speak with you.” Carter Bernstein had come into the office from the conference room as if being chased, and now he hovered over Charlie’s desk.
Charlie and Judy had just returned from an emotional visit with Josh Simms’s widow. Bonnie Simms was surrounded by family. She had three small kids, and the two youngest had clung to their mother as she moved about the house being attentive to all her visitors. Bonnie’s mother had followed her daughter’s movements with eyes filled with worry. “She’s being very brave. She and Josh were devoted to each other, and I don’t know how she’ll be able to go on,” her mother had said. The oldest boy, J.J., was almost eleven and had sat sullenly in the corner of the living room playing a handheld video game, but before they left the house, Judy had managed to engage the boy in an animated conversation about game strategy. She told Charlie on the drive back to Cobo that J.J. Simms was a strong, smart boy who would be a great help to his mother in the hard days and months to come.
“Yes, what is it, Carter?”
“You remember the Spectrum contractor I told you about? Dudiyn?”
“The guy who installed the retina system?”
“Yep. He’s dirty.”
“What do you mean?”
“I dug up a prison record, and from there his education documents. The guy’s illiterate, never even went to high school. No way he can even spell retina let alone install a high-tech panel like that.”
Charlie puzzled over the information. A person didn’t need a degree to install electrical systems or be a skilled technician. At least that had been the case only a decade ago, but now technicians were specialists who had to read and write training manuals, keep up with federal regulations, and analyze systems information.
“Are you sure?”
“I don’t know what he’s doing, but I doubt that it’s building ocular security systems,” Carter said.
“Okay. Let’s fill Gil in on this. And I’ll speak with Cynthia about Dudiyn. Give me any notes you have on the guy.”
Carter handed over a file containing handwritten notes, transcripts, and a photograph from Interpol of a bald and bearded Bernard Dudiyn. Charlie thumbed through the contents and realized Carter was still lingering at her desk. “Is there something else?”
“My contact at the Federal Bureau of Prisons said they had another request, not so long ago, for information about Dudiyn.”
“Is that important?”
Carter slid a sheet of paper toward Charlie. “It’s a copy of a request for records form.”
Charlie studied the signature at the bottom of the form, leaned back in her chair, and folded her arms. “That is odd, isn’t it?”
Lin Fong had been playing the Madden game on his Nintendo DS for four hours when he realized he was starving. He poked his head into Charlie’s refrigerator, grabbed two cherry tomatoes, and shoved them into his mouth. He picked up a few jars, looking at the labels— pickles, capers, chutney— and returned them to the shelves. No lunch meat, no leftovers. There were eggs, but he didn’t like to cook. He checked the cupboards and opened a half jar of creamy peanut butter. He scooped a glob onto his finger and put it on his tongue. Lin checked for bread. “Damn, only English muffins. Who eats those things?” He spotted restaurant menus tucked between two cookbooks, and spread them on the counter. One menu was for Grant’s lounge downstairs. They didn’t deliver, but they had chicken wings and fries.
The lounge was dim, and it took a moment for his eyes to adjust. He took a corner stool at the bar and ordered a dozen wings and cheese fries to go. While he waited for his food, he played the next level on his handheld game. He’d scored another touchdown when the light from the street flashed across his screen, and he glanced in the mirror to see two men entering the lounge from Jefferson Avenue. Lin was about to return to his game when he realized one of the men was Geoff Heinrich, so he swiveled his stool away from the door and hunched over his game. He instinctively knew he shouldn’t be seen by his boss, and he peeked up at the mirror as Heinrich and his companion passed the bar to sit at the far end of the room near the condo entrance.
The man accompanying Heinrich didn’t seem the right type. He was large, bearded, and wearing black jeans, a long-sleeved black T-shirt, and Doc Martens. A chain hung from his belt, and he wore a green knit cap stretched low to his earlobes where ostentatious gems, probably zirconia, sparkled. Even though it was freezing outside and raining, the man didn’t wear a coat.
When Lin’s food arrived bagged for a carryout, he pulled on his hood and headed for the outside door rather than the entrance to the condo. The wind cut through his thin layer of clothing, and he walked quickly to reenter the building through the front door. Lin hadn’t expected his espionage duties to continue on his day off, but seeing Heinrich in this out-of-the-way location with an odd-looking man might be something Ms. Mack would want to know.
Charlie paused in the threshold of the office. Cynthia had her back to the door with her feet elevated on the credenza behind her desk. A large-format watercolor, similar to Monet’s Water Lillies, covered the wall. The rest of the office was decorated in light woods and gray fabrics accented with lavender pillows, ceramics, and a green accent rug. Charlie knocked on the jamb, and Cynthia lowered her legs and spun her chair in one fluid motion.
“Hi, Ms. Mack.”
“Please, call me Charlie. Can I sit?”
Cynthia moved to her sitting area and pointed for Charlie to take the sofa. “Can I get you some coffee, juice, or spring water?”
“I wouldn’t mind an espresso. I’m surviving on caffeine today. I didn’t get much sleep last night.”
“I’m really sorry about Mr. Simms.”
“Judy and I visited his wife today. She has to raise three kids by herself now.”
Both women paused to reflect on that information. Charlie took a sip of her coffee.
“Cynthia, we’ve been checking the Spectrum personnel records, and we have questions about one of your employees.”
“Which one?”
“Bernard Dudiyn.”
Charlie locked eyes with Cynthia, looking for any sign of discomfort or surprise, but there was none. She found herself thinking Cynthia was a woman she shouldn’t take for granted.
“What about him?” Cynthia asked.
“He’s only been with the company for six months, is that right?”
“Isn’t that what it says on his employment documents?”
“Yes. But I thought maybe he’d had a previous relationship with the company, or maybe with Mr. Heinrich.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Our researcher has found that Dudiyn has a criminal record. He was incarcer
ated in Chechnya for two years, and his employment application references a company in Tel Aviv where he alleges he worked, but we don’t think he’s ever been employed with that company.”
“Mr. Heinrich personally approved Dudiyn’s employment, so he bypassed our regular hiring process. He supervises the technicians who installed, and now maintain, our retina-scanning systems. I found out about his prison record, but my hands are tied.”
“Why on earth would Heinrich do that? Hire a criminal to work on security systems.”
“He’s often up to his own devices.”
Charlie took another long sip of the hot, strong coffee, feeling the immediate jolt of the caffeine, and let her eyes slip to the cup as she placed it in the saucer. Over the years, she’d learned to allow silences to do some of her work. But Cynthia was a formidable opponent.
“You did your own check of Dudiyn’s background, didn’t you?” Charlie asked.
“Yes.”
“Did you tell Heinrich?”
“Of course. This feels a bit like twenty questions.”
“We’ve done some checking on you, too.”
“And I, you,” Cynthia parried. “Look, Charlie, what is it you want to know?”
“Do you think Dudiyn might be a threat to the show?”
“Possibly.”
“What about Heinrich?”
“What about him? Look, this is getting us nowhere. Maybe we need to put our cards on the table.”
Wake Me When It's Over Page 10
