Counterfeit Lies

by Oliver North

  Jake nodded. “Could not have gone better. Why are you guys parked under a light and why all the suits? Nice cover, by the way, suits in a department-store parking lot after dark. Never would suspect they’re feds.”

  Trey shrugged and grimaced as Jake stepped from the Rover and the two walked toward the others.

  Before reaching the administrators Trey said, “As you can see, we have company tonight. . . . Please be on your best behavior for a change.”

  “Why?” Jake replied. “You worried about your next promotion?”

  “Not really. You’ve already made sure that won’t happen. But do me a favor, would you?” Bennett responded. “I just want to get some sleep tonight. And this case has suddenly generated all kinds of extra attention from Washington. Think of your responses to these nice people who are senior to both of us as courtroom testimony. Just answer their questions. Nothing extra. No embellishments. No insults. Okay?”

  “Okay,” Jake said, pulling a scrap of paper from his pants pocket and handing it to Trey. “I’ll be a good boy as long as you run this plate ASAP. This car was leaving Park’s driveway as we pulled up.”

  Trey looked at the number, nodded, and said, “Deal.”

  When the two men joined the other three, the first to speak was Hafner, the ambitious Assistant Special Agent in Charge. It was the first time Jake had known the bureaucrat to attend an after-hours undercover meeting.

  Hafner was practically giddy with excitement, a goofy grin running ear to ear. “How’d it go? You get us what we need?”

  In compliance with Trey’s appeal, Jake was all business. “It went well. I’m confident Park bought my act. I had some issues with Tommy Hwan but in the end he’s on board.”

  “What issues?” asked Rachel Chang.

  “Tommy tried the ‘are you a cop’ crap and I needed to head him off. All is now good. He’s convinced I’m the real deal,” said Jake, noticing Hafner was fidgeting, wanting to move the inquiry along.

  Interrupting, Hafner asked with the officiousness of a determined bureaucrat, “Did Park bring up the Supernote?”

  Jake shook his head and said, “Never came up.”

  Hafner pressed. “Did you bring it up?”

  “Nope, never was an opportunity to discuss it.”

  “Why not?”

  Jake paused before responding. He could trade barbs in the locker room with the best of them. He could laugh at himself and enjoyed the playful banter with his fellow street agents, but administrators needed to walk softly when questioning his investigative strategy. “What do you mean, ‘why not’? I’m asking you, ‘why?’ Why would I bring it up? Why would we even talk about it? I have no reason to inquire about counterfeit money. It makes no sense.”

  Hafner either wasn’t listening or didn’t comprehend Jake’s logic. “But we need to pursue the Supernote. That’s the whole purpose for your meeting Park. Why didn’t you bring it up? We’re getting a lot of pressure from Washington. Headquarters is being hammered by the State Department. We owe it to them to resolve this quickly. The highest levels in Washington want and deserve answers.”

  Jake looked at Trey and Rachel before dealing with the idiocy confronting him at this late hour. “In my undercover capacity I don’t even know he deals in Supernotes.”

  “But Reid paid you with Supernotes,” said Hafner.

  “But I don’t know that.”

  Hafner failed to grasp the distinction. “Of course you do. That’s what the meeting in the SCIF was all about.”

  “Jake Kruse knows but Jake Goode doesn’t,” offered Jake in a somewhat detached voice, with just a hint of sarcasm.

  Rachel Chang intervened. “Boss, he’s right. In his undercover capacity he doesn’t know the money was counterfeit. He would have no reason to bring it up since there isn’t any way for him to identify the bills as being bogus.”

  Hafner gave a halfhearted “whatever” look before he said to Jake, “The point here is that you need to get on with finding out everything you can about the Supernotes.”

  Jake was just below erupting but maintained his composure. “And what scenarios do you have in mind? I welcome an opportunity to discuss our options.”

  “You’re operational. You come up with the plan. I’m telling you to get it done and get it done quickly,” Hafner said like a petulant child.

  Jake looked at the others before facing Hafner. “If you think you can do it any better, pal, I’ll make the introduction.”

  Jake did an about-face and walked toward his car, not waiting for a response.

  Hafner started to chase after him but Rachel held out her hand, blocking his pursuit. “Boss, I think it’s best to let it go. Trey and I will touch base with him tomorrow.”

  Through it all, Wilson never uttered a word.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  Jake was steaming when he got into the Rover. He also knew better than to let it show. He took a deep breath, started the vehicle, eased methodically out of the parking space, and headed toward the Rosemead Boulevard exit. While waiting for the light to change he was thinking about the confrontation that had just occurred—and how much it distracted from accomplishing the mission.

  He was a hardened warrior—and wanted nothing more than the satisfaction of removing the cancers of society. He had proven himself on the battlefield in Iraq, and on more than a dozen undercover assignments since joining the Bureau. But he also knew “fighting the good fight” included too many skirmishes with administrators who didn’t understand or refused to acknowledge the complexities of undercover work on the street.

  Hafner was one more self-proclaimed beacon of brilliance from Headquarters who spent too much time jockeying for the throne at D.C.’s puzzle palace. He would never grasp an essential reality: every undercover assignment is an unscripted one-act play with the actors fluent in the language of deceit. Jake needed to get home before he went Waco on this ASAC. He resolved to remove the administrator from his Christmas card list.

  As the light turned and Jake pulled out onto Rosemead and headed toward home, his cell phone rang. He fished through his pocket for the phone and answered on the third ring. “Yeah, this is Jake.”

  It was Bill Holodnak, a former Marine on the Joint Terrorism Task Force. “Jake, I’m in the wire room working Park’s phones.”

  “I was there less than an hour ago.”

  “Well, apparently since you departed, there was some kind of home invasion at Park’s. He just got off the phone with someone, maybe one of his security people. From what our interpreter says, Park was saying his daughter Jenny and his granddaughter were kidnapped.”

  “What?” shouted Jake. “Are the police there? What happened?”

  “I’m not sure but I think Tommy’s dead.”

  “No! Was Park hurt?”

  “I think he’s hurt but is going to be okay. There was a lot of confusion but I’ve got our Korean translator listening to a playback of the call.”

  “Did you call the police?”

  “I called 9-1-1 but the dispatcher said they were already notified. I know it wasn’t Park. We would have picked it up on the wire. It must have been a neighbor or maybe the alarm company.”

  Jake pulled the Rover to a halt in the parking lot of a bank and said, “This may work to our advantage. Call Trey. He’s with Rachel and Hafner. I just left them. Tell Trey what happened and that I’m heading back toward Park’s home in San Marino.”

  “Roger,” Holodnak replied. “Anything else?”

  “Not right now. I’m going to call Park on a cell phone number you may not have on the wire warrant. I’ll record it in case you can’t listen in. I’m going to call as if I have an idea on how to handle Reid, his attorney. Maybe he’ll tell me something about what just happened.”

  “That might work. I’ll notify the others now. I called you first since your stake is personal,” said Bill.

  “Thanks,” said Jake.

  “I’ve got your six. Be careful.”

 
“Thanks, Bill. I’ll give Park a call.”

  Jake ended the call and reached into his pocket for the number Park gave him. He activated the internal recording device on his phone and punched in the number.

  Park answered on the first ring.

  “Hey, Mr. Park, it’s Jake. As I was driving I got to thinking about how to handle Reid. What if we—”

  Before Jake completed the sentence Park interrupted. “Where are you?”

  “What’s wrong? You sound upset.”

  “I need you back here immediately. I need some help, especially from someone outside the family.”

  “Sure. I stopped to get gas and a bite to eat. I can be back at your house in a few minutes.”

  “The police may be here when you arrive. Tell them I asked for you.”

  “What’s wrong? Why the police?”

  “Just get here,” ordered Park.

  Jake heard the weak sound of sirens in the background as he ended the call. Instead of heading for home, Jake turned west on Huntington and backtracked to Park’s home in San Marino. This time he made the trip without “the King.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  When Jake arrived at Park’s home, the San Marino police were on the scene. Red and blue flashes shot into the night sky like strobe lights at a seventies disco. The media were also on hand, reporters across the street attempting to get a few facts to piece together a story and helicopters circling, their bright lights attempting to get footage for the eleven o’clock news. Uniformed officers blocked the entrance at the gate. Jake couldn’t very well flash his FBI credentials to gain access. He would have to bluff his way through the cordon—and still avoid being plastered on the front page of tomorrow’s Los Angeles Times.

  He drove down the block, parking around the corner from Park’s home. Grabbing a baseball cap from the backseat, he pulled it down low on his head, put a new memory chip in his recording device, and locked his Glock in the glove compartment.

  He slipped behind the shrubbery of a nearby home and made his way down the driveway, where he walked with purpose toward Park’s drive, appearing to the media to be a nosy neighbor.

  Approaching a uniformed officer at the gate, Jake said, “I’m a friend of Mr. Park’s. He called and asked me to come over. He’s not real comfortable around uniforms. Where he comes from, people wearing uniforms aren’t exactly on the side of the citizen. I think I could help gain his cooperation.”

  The police officer nodded and said, “Let me call my sergeant.” With that he walked a few feet away and spoke into the radio attached at his shoulder. The other officers remained vigilant just in case one of the perpetrators had remained at the scene, risking capture to further satisfy his bloodlust. An evidence technician inside a patrol van was discreetly videotaping the crowd so detectives could review it at a later stage of the investigation. When the officer guarding the gate returned seconds later he said to Jake, “I’ll escort you to the house.”

  “That’s okay, I know the way,” said Jake, acting naïve about proper police procedures that prevent citizens from freely roaming around a crime scene.

  “I’ll escort you. Let’s go,” said the officer in a command voice.

  After turning the corner of the driveway, beyond the site of the media or neighbors, the officer said, “As a precaution I need to pat you down.”

  “I understand.”

  The officer gave a cursory search, asked Jake to remove the wallet from his back pocket and then hold his undercover driver’s license while the cop used the camera on his smartphone to photograph it. Then, using a field interrogation app on the phone, the officer asked, “Is this address on your license current? You’re not a neighbor?”

  Jake’s undercover address—an apartment he rarely frequented—was downtown. “Yes, that’s my address. I know Mr. Park from work.”

  When they arrived at the front door Jake saw the destruction. Having executed early-morning arrest warrants, Jake had burst through enough doors to recognize the work of trained professionals. The intruders had skillfully centered the ram just below the doorknob and shattered the wooden frame, defeating the lock and dead bolt.

  A female detective came to the front door. “Is this the guy Park called?”

  “Yes,” said the uniformed officer. “I patted him down, he’s clean. I sent the FI card to your phone.”

  The detective nodded and extended her hand. “I’m Kelly Rodriguez. I’ll need you to sign the log-in sheet.”

  “Jake Goode,” said Jake. “What happened? Do you have any idea who did this?”

  The dark-haired detective shook her head. “I’m hoping you can help. Park doesn’t seem too interested in cooperating. He’s not much of a talker.”

  Jake maintained his serious façade. “He’s from a police state. I don’t think he had much success with uniformed authorities.”

  “Maybe you can convince him this isn’t a police state.”

  “At least not yet,” said Jake.

  She gave him a look and he knew what she was thinking. Oh great, just what I need at a triple homicide, some left-wing nut job with an agenda.

  Jake knew he wasn’t making a friend but he wasn’t interested in earning his Merit Badge this evening.

  With a hint of resignation, Rodriguez said, “Maybe hearing it from you will make him realize it’s in his best interest to work with us. The sooner we can get the information out on the air, the quicker we may be able to find who did this.”

  “I’ll do my best,” he said with feigned sincerity.

  Jake stepped through the front door and immediately spied a dead body to the left, a sheet covering the corpse. In the living room a paramedic was treating Park, placing a bandage on the large gash above his eye. A second team had already taken Park’s wife, Soo Min, to the hospital.

  Jake headed to Park, who stood up, pushing aside the paramedic. “No more. I am fine.”

  “But sir . . .”

  Park offered a slight bow as Jake approached. “Thank you for coming.” Then, almost in a whisper, he said, “Walk over here.”

  “Sir, if you are refusing any further treatment I’ll have to ask you to sign this form.”

  Park waved him off. “I will sign your paperwork later.”

  The paramedic began cleaning up the mess he caused treating the wound as Park and Jake walked to a quiet corner. The detectives watched intently.

  Park said, “They have Jenny and Gracie. At least five men broke into my home. When Tommy tried to stop them he was killed. Jake, Tommy was very brave. He saved my life. Do not say anything to the police about Jenny and the girl. I will handle this matter.”

  Jake balked. “But it’s a multiple murder. Your house is a bloodbath. The cops are swarming all over the place.”

  Park answered quietly but sternly. “I will handle the kidnapping in my own way. Let them investigate the murders. I will do the rest.”

  “Do you think Reid is behind this?”

  “He would never be that stupid.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  Good to his word, Bill Holodnak notified his FBI superiors about what he knew of the attack at Park’s residence. Charles Hafner, still smarting from the confrontation with Jake, had just gotten to his car with Wilson when the call came in from Holodnak. He turned on the speaker so the CIA officer could hear the report from the wire room.

  Immediately after receiving the report and pressing END CALL on the keypad, he turned to Wilson and said, “You want to go see Park?”

  “How are you going to make that happen?” Wilson asked.

  “I know the San Marino chief of police. He’s a graduate of the FBI National Academy.”

  The ten-week school in Quantico, Virginia, for state and local police administrators was the product of J. Edgar Hoover’s efforts to enhance law enforcement professionalism throughout the United States. The coveted school provided graduate-level studies in criminal justice and was a great resume booster for any law enforcement official. On a more practic
al level it encouraged cooperation between the FBI and local law enforcement with a common bond of training.

  The FBI hierarchy in L.A. frequently socialized with National Academy graduates in the region. When time was of the essence, this networking bridged bureaucratic obstacles.

  The CIA operative considered the offer for a moment and said, “I don’t want our respective bosses in Washington to get their knickers in a knot over this, but if you can get us in without a lot of fanfare, we might be able to get to the bottom of what Park is doing with the Supernotes and make ’em all happy back in D.C.”

  Hafner immediately dialed the chief and explained that he and a colleague wanted to go to the crime scene at Park’s residence on a “not to interfere basis” and see for themselves whether there were any connections to a matter of national security.

  The local lawman immediately agreed and said that a Lieutenant Jon Osborne, one of his department’s senior detectives, would meet Hafner at the entrance to the residence.

  Hafner and Wilson arrived about ten minutes after Jake. Lieutenant Osborne was waiting at the gate as the duo exited Hafner’s car. He left the blue lights hidden in the grille flashing for effect.

  Hafner explained the situation, detailing the FBI’s interest in Park but not mentioning the Supernotes, Jake’s undercover role, or providing the true identity of Wilson. Since the detective received his marching orders directly from the chief, he was only too eager to support the FBI. Privately, the detective hoped his assistance might lead to an appointment to the career-enhancing National Academy.

  The three men walked up the driveway to the front door and were immediately granted access. The game was on as soon as Osborne entered the house accompanied by the ASAC and the CIA official.

  Jake immediately spied the new arrivals and was stunned Hafner and Wilson would intrude in the midst of his undercover operation.

  Lieutenant Osborne, tall and thin, flashed his badge. “Mr. Park, I’m Lieutenant Osborne. I’m a detective with the San Marino Police Department. You want to tell us what happened here?”