Somehow he’d grown to enjoy the drive into New York City from his home in Secaucus, New Jersey. It took him roughly forty-five minutes to get from his home to the FBI Headquarters building, just long enough to keep him an arm’s length away from the city and, therefore, an arm’s length from the politics and stress of his job. It was nearly always dark for the majority of the drive, and the drone of the V8 drowned everything else out, creating an artificial boundary for himself—a space where he could exist for a time in his own mind, with his own thoughts.
Mostly they were thoughts of his previous life working in the drug enforcement section of the Chicago PD. At only twenty-six years of age, he’d spent a year and a half working undercover. It’d been a thankless job and a huge risk. Nineteen months spent penetrating the high-end Chicago drug market, which meant utilizing his already well-developed social skills and political connections. Being the adopted son of a prominent Chicago lawyer and socialite, this part of the job had come naturally for him. Part of the job, he found, had also necessitated partaking in much of the illegal activity he’d sworn to stop.
Rose felt the muted roar of the engine as he swerved into the fast lane, accelerating around an SUV. A familiar billboard floated by in the pre-dawn darkness. It depicted a wave of water on the top half that descended into a cascade of shades of blue until, at the very bottom, it became black. His time spent undercover, which at the time had been viewed through the foggy lenses of time and the influence of drugs, now seemed surreal. It seemed as though he’d been living perpetually underwater, his senses blunted by the constant, invisible thrum of internal and external noise: the sublimely subdued distortion of time and movement, the throb of bass and the gentle whine of a guitar from an endless stream of home audio systems, the fragrance of naked, burnished skin.
The results of his time undercover spoke for themselves. He’d won a promotion out of narcotics and into the prestigious joint task force which, ultimately, helped him secure a position in the FBI. The risk had paid off handsomely for him, but the road had been much darker and more difficult than any of his professional colleagues ever knew.
Rose pushed on the gas and the Corvette screamed forward. The lights of Manhattan rose steadily higher in his window as he approached.
New York City
Wednesday, February 18, 9:36 p.m. EST
Agent Milt Reardon tapped again on the earphone lodged in his left ear, creating a muted thumping sound. Reardon turned to his left where Jillian Frank was sitting, dressed casually in jeans and a sweatshirt and wearing the same bulky earphones that he was. Her face glowed a spectral green and her pale skin, Reardon thought, was an ideal screen for capturing the neon colors projecting from the digital screen in front of her. Her dark hair melted into the surrounding darkness.
“Are your earphones working okay?” Reardon asked.
Frank lifted the earphone from her right ear, her expression turning from one of focused concentration to that of sincere curiosity.
“I’m sorry? Did you say something?”
Reardon repeated the question.
“Oh, yes, they’re working fine. You’re having problems with yours?”
“Intermittent problems.” In his chair, Reardon pivoted clock-wise ninety degrees. He wanted to rise out of the chair, but his right leg collided with another leg. He lowered himself back into his chair, ripped the earphones off his head, and tossed them haphazardly in front of him onto the makeshift wooden desk on which the computer screens were perched. Ross Witt, an FBI technician sitting immediately to Reardon’s right, turned toward Reardon, a look of surprise on his face. “Sorry, Ross,” Reardon said. “Can I slide out for a moment? My headphones aren’t working right.”
Witt slid his chair over so Reardon could leave his seat. Reardon stood up and nearly bumped his head on the ceiling.
Witt looked up toward him, a sympathetic look on his face. “There are some more headphones in that box.” Reardon followed Witt’s finger toward a cardboard box lying on a shelf at the end of the van.
Reardon nodded. “Thank you. I forget how much I hate reconnaissance work. This body of mine wasn’t designed for it.”
Reardon stepped away from the desk. Two steps later, in semi-darkness, he was picking out another set of earphones. He made his way back to where his chair sat vacant and, still standing, unplugged the old headphones, replacing them with the new ones. He leaned over the chair, placing his hands on the desk for support in order to get a closer look at the computer monitor he’d been studying for the past several hours.
The scene on the monitor was a three-dimensional map of New York City. A scattering of colored markers, like small illuminated thumb tacks, were spread out across the city. Most of the markers were currently in the Brooklyn area of Manhattan with only a few outliers. They were color coded: the green ones were members of the FBI surveillance teams, the blue ones were agents, and the red ones were the individuals they were targeting. Each light was labeled with the individual’s surname. The red lights totaled four in number. Reardon had confirmed the labels many hours ago at the beginning of his shift, so he knew what they said: Wencong, Yong, Liu, and Yongping. These were the men whose names General Fang had written on the marker board within the bowels of the Imperial Empress.
Reardon felt his cell phone vibrate. Retrieving it from his pocket, he checked the number that was dialing him. It was, he knew, an unlisted number.
“Reardon here.”
“Milt, it’s Benny.”
Reardon didn’t have to be told who it was. He’d have known Cardenas’s Spanish accent anywhere.
“Hey, Benny. How’s it going out there?”
“Es bueno. It’s cold outside, but Zulu Three’s been holed up in a tavern for the past two hours. I’ve been drinking coffee all evening. “
“Zulu” was the surveillance team’s designation for their four targets, the red markers. Cardenas was working Zulu Three, which was Fu Yong.
“I told you it was going to be cold tonight.”
Reardon scanned the map for Cardenas’s blue marker. He tapped it four times, triggering the software to drill down to street level. According to the map, Cardenas was standing either next to or inside a coffee shop in Brooklyn off the corner of Bedford and Clarendon.
“It is cold tonight. Which is why I’m happy to be sitting inside. So happens, they’ve got a nice little fireplace burning in here.”
Of all the agents Reardon knew, he knew of no one who enjoyed being out in the streets more than Cardenas, who had a natural curiosity about people that drew him there. He was in his element. It was why he’d volunteered to be a part of the surveillance team for this run. He’d been allowed on the team because, in his previous life in the U.S. Army, he’d been on a number of surveillance missions overseas and most of the principles were the same.
“Sounds cozy. Been quiet tonight to say the least.”
“I hear you,” Cardenas said. “Been a caffeine beast trying to keep myself awake.”
“Yeah, well, if something’s going down tonight I gotta figure it won’t be too much longer. Most people aren’t going to be out and about later tonight in this kind of cold.”
“Roger that. Give me a heads up at the first sign of activity, will you?”
“I will.”
Reardon disconnected and slid the phone back into his pocket. He sat back down in his chair, opened a manila folder, and pulled out a stapled packet of papers. The packet was a list of bios for each of the four targets. He flipped to the second bio, which was for Fu Yong.
They knew about as much about Yong as they did the other three, which wasn’t much. Yong was employed at the New York branch of a company called Asia Trust Ltd., a Chinese-based consortium that was apparently very prominent throughout Southeast Asia. He, as well as his superiors in the FBI, had noted that Asia Trust was majority owned by the Chinese government. In fact, three of the four men who the FBI was following this cold winter night worked for Chinese state-owned busines
ses. The only one who did not, Yang Dongping, was a full-time clerical employee in the Chinese embassy. Or, at least, that was his official status.
As Reardon studied the dossiers and the map on the screen, the silence was periodically broken by a steady stream of routine communications from the men and women on the surveillance team. The chatter of late had grown quiet since none of the men targeted had been on the move for at least two hours.
Reardon studied the dossiers for a few minutes before he noticed that the communications from the surveillance radios had picked up and all of the Zulus were moving.
Most of this communication from the recon teams was routine. Each of the four Zulu’s had a five man recon team. This meant there were a total of twenty people, including Cardenas, on the streets of New York working surveillance. Radio communications for each team were restricted to its own team members, but Reardon, being the lead agent, could listen in on everything. Team Beta’s communications caught his attention.
“Beta Two. Zulu Two moving quickly northbound on east 28th.”
This communication was from recon team member Beta Two. Each team member began their transmission by identifying themselves.
Reardon shifted his attention back to the 3D map. The Zulus’ travels throughout the day had, to this point, been somewhat haphazard. Zulus Three and Four, for example, each lived in Manhattan and had traversed parts of Manhattan prior to making their way into Brooklyn later in the day, whereas Zulus One and Two both lived in Brooklyn. Zulus One and Two had both taken a circuitous route down into extreme south Brooklyn and had then completed a U-turn and had been progressing north for a while on foot. Meanwhile, Zulu Three and Four had been traveling southbound, originating from positions further north, also on foot. It was now apparent from the positions of the recon team members that the Zulus were beginning to converge at a single point somewhere on or around the Brooklyn College campus.
“Beta Two. Zulu Two is entering a black SUV into driver seat. License FAP dash 5853.”
Reardon glanced back at the map. Zulu Two was in the southeast quadrant relative to the other Zulus and moving north.
“Command to Beta Two. Where’d the SUV come from?”
“Beta Two to Command. SUV was parked along 28th street.”
“Command. Copy that beta two.”
He turned to Frank. “Can you track that license plate for me?”
Frank turned to her laptop and began typing furiously.
Reardon reached up with his left hand and moved a small microphone into position near his mouth. He spoke into the mic.
“Command. Grayhound One ready to roll?”
Grayhound One was the first of four auto surveillance teams that were in place and had been waiting in the background, one for each Zulu.
“Grayhound One. Affirmative, ready to roll.”
“Command. Do you have visual on SUV?”
“Grayhound One. Affirmative.”
Grayhound One would take over surveillance for Beta Team as soon as the SUV started into motion.
Reardon took a moment to speed dial Cardenas’s number.
“In case you don’t know already, your Zulu is on the move.”
“I know! And he’s moving quickly!” Cardenas said.
Reardon disconnected from Cardenas. The introduction of the SUV was entirely new. It had to have been parked there by someone they didn’t yet know about.
“Beta Two. Zulu Two moving forward in SUV northbound on 28th.”
Reardon spoke into his mic.
“Command. Grayhound One, Zulu Two is yours. Over.”
“Grayhound One. Affirmative. Zulu Two moving north on 28th.”
Grayhound One was now in place and responsible for auto surveillance on Zulu Two.
Reardon continued to follow the four Zulus. Their paths continued to converge to a point near Brooklyn College.
Agent Frank spoke: “Milt, the SUV is a 2006 Ford Explorer. It belongs to Sophia Yang. Thirty four years of age. Works for CUNY in one of the Brooklyn branches.”
“Thanks, Jillian. They’re converging at Brooklyn College. Try and find who from Brooklyn Capital they may be targeting. Is there anyone from Brooklyn Capital who works there or is taking classes?”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
Cardenas found himself having to walk at a quick pace trying to keep up with his Zulu. It was, however, nothing too fast for him. In younger days, he’d been a Special Ops soldier in the U.S. Army and he still kept himself in good shape. Though it was required by FBI protocols, he’d have done it voluntarily anyway.
He was in costume and, as such, was wearing a vest that added twenty-five pounds to his gut underneath his shirt and winter coat. Also part of the costume was a black winter cap and a thick pair of glasses on loan from the FBI.
In fact, Cardenas savored the quick pace. It gave him a chance to warm himself in the winter cold and stretch his legs after sitting in the shop for so long.
He took a deep breath and exhaled, following the trail of his breath as it left his mouth. He’d arrived at another intersection. The street markers told him he was on the corner of Bedford Street and Glenwood Road, just off the Brooklyn College campus. His target, Zulu Three, was about a block and a half ahead on Bedford continuing south. The young Chinese man showed no sign of any suspicion that he was being followed.
Zulu Three continued southbound on Bedford, passing through campus and continuing to Avenue I, where he made a right turn into a residential area.
The surveillance team would always try to maintain a floating box around the target. They always kept one agent ahead, agents to the right and left of the target, and one behind. As the target moved, they’d continue to rotate in order to maintain the box. In cases deemed especially important, as this case was with a potential abduction at stake, they kept a fifth person ahead as an extra. That way, if any of the agents became compromised, the extra could take over.
Charlie Three, Cardenas’s team member, had been maintaining a course parallel to Cardenas southbound on 24th Street, one block to Cardenas’s right. Since Zulu Three had turned right, Charlie Three would now be the lead member, being sure to stay ahead of Zulu Three. Cardenas would now turn right, westbound, but still stay a block north of Charlie Three. He was now the team member flanking the target’s right side. Thus, they’d continue to rotate in this way in order to maintain the box. Charlie Two, who’d been flanking Zulu Three on the left, was now trailing and, as such, had taken over responsibility from Cardenas for communicating the progress of the target.
Cardenas continued westbound along the southern edge of campus. There was no paved road here between the campus and Avenue I, so he found himself progressing along a set of train tracks that had been laid in the middle of a clearing of trees. As he walked, another transmission came from Charlie Two.
“Charlie Two. Zulu Three continuing westbound on Avenue I coming up on 24th Street.”
Cardenas thought he’d worked himself slightly further west than Zulu Three. He wasn’t worried about losing himself as he’d studied the maps and he knew the train tracks ran parallel to Avenue I for a good distance.
“Charlie Two. Black SUV pulled up. Zulu Three has stopped and speaking with Zulu Two in SUV.
Cardenas followed the tracks a few more paces until he saw another north-south-oriented street up ahead. He cut through some trees, onto the north-south road, and walked south back to Avenue I. He found himself on the corner of 25th Street and Avenue I. He meandered east on Avenue I for a few meters. Up ahead, he saw a black SUV pulled alongside the road. Zulu Three was standing along the sidewalk, talking to two other men who Cardenas assumed were Zulu Two and Zulu One. Reardon confirmed this with the next transmission.
“Command. Zulu One has joined Zulu Two and Zulu Three. Zulu Four approaching Zulus One, Two, and Three.”
Cardenas sat himself on a bench along Avenue I, casually watching the three men chatting next to the SUV. He could see their breath as they exhaled into t
he cold air. Quite suddenly, a fourth man dressed in street clothes and of Chinese ancestry passed him by along Avenue I. Zulu Four.
“Command. Zulus Three and Four now with Zulus One and Two. All Zulus entering SUV.”
Cardenas watched the four men open the doors to the SUV and enter. A moment later, the SUV pulled out onto Avenue I, traveling west.
“Command. Grayhound One, confirm target acquired.”
“Grayhound One. Target acquired, over.”
Cardenas watched the SUV as it progressed down Avenue I as he sat on the bench. He would gather with the other four members of Charlie Team and wait for another FBI van to pick them up. They would then follow Grayhound One. If there was an abduction attempt, they’d follow along to try and help intercept it. He rose to find the rest of his team when he received another transmission from Reardon.
“Command. SUV has stopped. Grayhound One, what’s going on?”
Cardenas perked up. He left the bench, making his way west along Avenue I. He’d only walked a few meters when he saw the SUV a block or so ahead. It had stopped and pulled along Avenue I. He saw three of four men exit the SUV and start off on foot in different directions. This sudden abandonment was very strange. Cardenas worried they’d suddenly become aware of the FBI’s presence. It certainly appeared as though they’d aborted their own mission.
“Grahound One. Zulus One, Three, and Four have exited the SUV and are scattering on foot.”
Cardenas sighed heavily. The surveillance teams would now have to reacquire their targets and follow them on foot. Reardon confirmed this with the next transmission.
“Command. Teams Alpha, Charlie, and Delta reacquire Zulus. Over.”
Cardenas listened as each of the team leads confirmed Reardon’s instruction. This was going to be a longer night than he’d anticipated.
Chapter 24
New York City
Thursday, February 19, 8:39 p.m. EST
The Thought Cathedral Page 29
