Trigger Break

by Ty Patterson

  He stood motionless, figuring, examining each thread, as the night deepened and the city’s pulse slowed. New York never slept, but it certainly snoozed, and as he watched, a dog walker cut a solitary figure as he walked his pet.

  The dog sniffed scents on the sidewalk, darting here and there in no apparent pattern. Just like me. Random stabs in the dark.

  Zeb gave up when it turned three a.m. He was no closer to any flash of insight. He removed his shoes and draped himself on a couch. He pulled out his phone and checked an unread message on it.

  It was a reply from Mandel Leclair. Zeb had sent him a text earlier in the day. I am with you, he had typed.

  I know, Leclair had replied.

  They’re going after my friends, Zeb thought. They may not know about me, but they will. Soon. Someone, somewhere had declared war on his friends.

  They didn’t know that Zeb Carter was a master of war.

  Chapter 13

  ‘Who are you people?’

  The question woke Zeb. He sat up on the couch and looked around. His team was there, as were Holly Nicholson and Mulan Yao. Bright sunlight streamed through the windows, and from outside came the muted sounds of the city.

  On a large flip chart, Meghan had written names. Shira Levin. Theresa Leclair. Avichai Levin. Mandel Leclair. Several others. She had drawn diagrams, connections to people and possible events. Business angle. Vengeance. Targeting the TWKC. Something in Levin’s and Leclair’s pasts. She had listed plausible motives and had several question marks at the bottom of the chart.

  The twins used flip charts and whiteboards to test their theories. In combination with Werner’s algos, they usually got the who and the why right in their investigations.

  ‘We started without you,’ Meghan told him when he rose and stretched. He nodded, greeted the others, and went to the office’s bathroom.

  ‘We are a security firm, ma’am. We often work with the NYPD, advising them on critical cases,’ he answered Holly’s question after he joined them, fresh from a shower, and with a coffee inside him.

  He answered more questions, and then asked one of his own. ‘How is it that Shira Levin and Theresa Leclair went to the same school as you?’

  ‘It’s not uncommon, Mr. Carter—’

  ‘Zeb.’

  ‘Zeb. Only if you call me Holly, and her, Mulan.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  ‘Ignore him,’ Meghan cut in impatiently. ‘He’s like that.’

  ‘Okay…’ Holly gathered her thoughts. ‘It’s not a coincidence that Shira and Theresa went to the same university. Their fathers move in the same circles. They share similar lifestyles and security risks. Such people generally discuss schools. Homes. For example, many ambassadors to the US send their kids to the same schools.’

  Makes sense, Zeb thought, considering her reply. There’s familiarity. But also reduced security risk. Which brings me to my next question.

  ‘Who else is on your board?’

  Meghan knew what he was asking and tapped the flip chart. ‘There’s one more.’

  Zeb read the name she had circled and rose abruptly. He knew the name.

  Susan Thompson. Daughter of Sir Alex Thompson. Head of British MI6.

  ‘She’s in London. She and Theresa manage our European operation. She too has two companies that are for sale,’ Holly said, reading his train of thought.

  Zeb took in both the women fully. Neither of them looked like they had slept well. Their faces were pinched. Their eyes reddened. Fine lines around their lips and eyes. They’ve lost two friends in a very short time. In brutal killings. They were shot at. They don’t know what to think.

  ‘I spoke to Susan last night. She was shocked, like all of us. Her father wanted her to drop her business commitments. But she’s determined. She’ll carry on. She has made one concession. She has agreed to a bigger security detail around her.’

  ‘All this…’ It was Mulan, who threw her hands up in a helpless gesture, her shoulders sagging.

  ‘Ma’am?’

  They looked at him, hearing the tone in his voice.

  ‘Go about your business. Stick to your routine. Tell the rest of your members. Nothing should change for you. That’s the quickest way for all of you to get back to normalcy.’

  ‘But what about these killings? They seem to be targeting us.’ Mulan again, her voice less shaky.

  ‘That’s our job. And the NYPD’s, and the French police’s. You should trust us. Beth will arrange security for the rest of your members. We know good people. She’ll talk to the local police and—’

  ‘All done,’ Beth interrupted. ‘As of seven a.m. New York time, all of TKWC’s women have been covered. Except Susan. She has her dad’s security detail. We were working while you were having your beauty sleep.’ She smirked.

  The twins. They never missed an opportunity to rib Zeb.

  ‘We can’t just stay away from our offices. We have businesses to run. People to see. I can’t stay in New York forever. Here,’ Mulan said stubbornly.

  ‘Ma’am, this is the safest place for you in the city,’ Bwana rumbled from behind them.

  Mulan craned her neck to look at him, and maybe it was his size—or that of Bear, who stood next to Bwana—or it could have been the confident looks on their faces…

  ‘You’ll protect us?’

  ‘With our lives,’ Chloe answered before Bwana could.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘That’s what we do.’

  ‘Commissioner Rolando rates them highly, Mulan. I spoke to him yesterday. Let’s go with Zeb’s plan for a few days. We can conduct our business from here.’

  Mulan nodded reluctantly. ‘I guess we can.’

  Meghan slapped her hand on her thigh. ‘Business. Let’s get down to it. We need to—’

  ‘Eliminate suspects,’ Beth cut in. ‘Banh needs to be interviewed again.’

  ‘Who’s Banh?’ Holly asked, puzzled.

  ‘Later,’ Beth spoke over her. ‘These acquisition companies need to be spoken to. Ruled out. The business angle is the easiest to check out.’

  ‘Two of those companies are right here. In New York. The Japanese one that was bidding for Shira’s Israeli company, and the Chinese one after her robotics firm. But why would they admit anything, if they were involved?’

  ‘They will,’ Beth replied confidently, ‘when we ask them. Yes, Bwana?’

  ‘Rog and I.’ Bwana lowered his hand. ‘We’ll ask Banh.’

  ‘Go,’ Beth replied swiftly. ‘Zeb?’

  ‘I’ll ask the Japanese one. Bear and Chloe can question the Chinese firm. Broker, Meghan, and you will be here.’

  * * *

  Zeb stood outside the concrete-and-glass building on Madison Avenue for a few moments. No one seemed to pay him any special attention. The building was a block away from the New York Society Library, and walking distance from the Metropolitan Museum of Art, where he had spent several hundred hours. Browsing. Back in the day when he’d had a wife and a son.

  The building was home to NLTC, the Nippon Logistics and Transport Corporation. It was a business conglomerate that was over a hundred years old, diversified into many domains. They were into computer manufacturing and software products; they ran shipping lines and also supplied products to nuclear power plants. The company had listed on the NYSE several years back and had moved its world headquarters to New York.

  Meghan had briefed Zeb on the company, its CEO, Masamitsu Enamoto, and several of its board members. NLTC had been the first to become aggressive when Shira had told them they weren’t front-runners for the Israeli company. Enamoto had upped his price and told her they wanted to buy the company at any cost.

  He had made veiled threats and had sneered at her gender. ‘Women shouldn’t be making such decisions,’ he had said.

  On an offbeat Japanese website, Meghan had found several posts on NLTC’s links to Japanese organized crime. Enamoto had been questioned several times in Tokyo, in relation to the suspicious death of a c
ompetitor. He had lawyered up and the case had never gone to court.

  Enamoto had refused any meeting requests from Meghan, which left Zeb with no option.

  ‘I’m here to meet Enamoto-san,’ he said, bowing to the diminutive Japanese woman behind the reception desk.

  She blinked at his use of Japanese. ‘Do you have an appointment…Carter-san?’ she asked after he presented his business card.

  ‘No.’ He smiled self-effacingly. ‘I am a big fan of Enamoto-san, and I wanted the privilege of meeting him.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Carter-san. He has a board meeting today and is not meeting anyone.’

  Behind the reception desk was a partition that partially covered a hallway that ran parallel to the elevators. Men and women in suits, all Japanese, passed, looking important, holding papers and briefcases in their hands.

  Zeb wore a tee, a thin jacket, jeans and sneakers. They were freshly laundered, but they weren’t business attire. Zeb knew the boardroom was on the same floor as the reception. The floor plans had been easy for Werner to acquire.

  He hung around, ignoring the receptionist’s pointed looks. A deliveryman arrived and took her attention, giving Zeb his break.

  He moved quickly to the hallway, past cubicles in which people hunched over computer screens and to the first glassed-in room.

  Too small. Maybe a meeting room. He went past more conference rooms and reached a pair of wooden doors. He paused, smiled at a passing woman and bowed at her, and pressed an ear against the door. Murmuring from within. He pushed the doors open without ceremony and walked inside.

  Six men sat around a polished teak table. All were in suits and wore muted ties. All had notepads and tablet computers in front of them. Enamoto sat at the head of the table, as befitted his position.

  He was surprisingly youthful, in his midforties. His black hair gleamed when it caught the light, and his face was smooth and unwrinkled. Maybe good living. Or a good surgeon.

  All six heads turned at Zeb’s entrance.

  ‘Who are you?’ one man asked in Japanese, and repeated the same question in English.

  Zeb didn’t answer. He walked around the table and went to Enamoto.

  ‘Enamoto-san?’ he asked.

  Masamitsu Enamoto nodded, bewildered.

  Zeb grabbed his hair and smashed his head on the table.

  Chapter 14

  Enamoto shrieked in agony and fell back in his chair when Zeb released him. His nose was bleeding, his lips were split, and his eyes were wide in panic. Blood dripped onto his pristine white shirt and turned it dark.

  A moment of shocked silence while Zeb ripped out the telephone on the table and threw it across the room. Then the reaction set in.

  The five other men shouted, two of them running around the table to grab Zeb. Both were in their fifties and reasonably fit for their age. One man came from his right, the other from his left.

  There wasn’t any coordination or planning in their approach. They were yelling. The rest of the men were trying the door. They found it was locked and started pounding it with their fists.

  Zeb ducked an incoming fist and thrust his palm against the first attacker’s chin. The assailant’s angry words choked off when he bit his own tongue. He howled and broke off his attack.

  The second man was cannier. He grabbed a chair and shoved it at Zeb. The chair rolled on its wheels, approaching Zeb fast. He stopped it easily and pushed it back at the attacker, who dived away but couldn’t escape Zeb’s jab to his chin.

  A third man pounced on Zeb from behind and got an arm around his neck. Zeb leaned forward, took the man’s weight on his back, and flung the man on the table in a judo move.

  ‘Sit down!’ he roared.

  Enamoto jerked as if electrocuted and his coworkers stopped in shock.

  ‘Sit down and nothing will happen to you,’ Zeb ordered. ‘I want to ask some questions.’

  ‘Who are you?’ Enamoto challenged, wincing as he spoke. ‘You can’t walk in and attack us.’

  ‘I just did.’ Zeb sat next to him and crossed his legs. He looked at the double doors, wondering why no one had banged on them. Surely, they would have heard the commotion.

  ‘It’s soundproof,’ one of Enamoto’s men offered reluctantly. ‘You can only hear if you put your ear to the doors. No one will dare to do that.’

  The men who had attacked Zeb rose and dusted themselves off. One of them looked around the room, searching for a weapon.

  ‘Sit down. I won’t tell you again. It will be far worse for you if you resist,’ Zeb told them coldly. Inwardly he was surprised at how quickly they had caved. Maybe they’re taking their cue from Enamoto.

  The Japanese CEO was dabbing his nose and lips with paper towels. Another man held a phone in front of him and turned on its camera to let Enamoto examine himself. He’s making a show. To buy time. To collect himself.

  ‘Do you know what you have done?’ Enamoto said softly, confirming Zeb’s thinking. ‘You have interrupted a board meeting of one of the largest companies in the world. You have physically attacked me and my board members. You are going to prison, whoever you are. For a very long time.’

  ‘Who are you? How dare you enter our office?’ a coworker hissed, taking courage from his CEO’s words.

  Zeb leaned forward and slapped Enamoto across the cheek, a heavy blow that rocked the CEO’s face. Enamoto almost fell out of his chair, cursing, and when he raised his face, his lips were split wider. The trickle of blood down his chin became bigger.

  Zeb looked around at the explosion of sound as the suits started shouting hoarsely, three of them rushing to their CEO’s aid.

  ‘Why did you kill Shira Levin?’

  No one paid heed to Zeb’s question.

  ‘Why did you kill Shira Levin?’ he repeated, louder.

  Enamoto raised a hand to stop his men fussing around him. ‘What?’ he asked through thick lips.

  ‘Shira Levin. Why did you kill her?’

  Enamoto frowned and waved an approaching suit away angrily. ‘You are accusing me of killing her?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Enamoto sprang up in sudden rage, showering the table with a spray of blood. ‘You barge into our office. Attack me. And now you are accusing me of murder. Who are you!

  ‘Why did you murder her?’

  ‘I didn’t murder anyone! I’m a businessman, not a killer!’

  ‘So you hired assassins to kill her?’

  Enamoto bent low and showered Zeb’s face with spittle and blood. ‘I didn’t hire anyone! I’m clean! Hamada,’ he shouted at one of his men. ‘Call the police on your cell. Right now! Let’s get this man out.’

  Zeb removed his cell and tossed it at Enamoto. ‘Sit down. Make the call yourself.’

  Enamoto looked startled. He sank slowly into his seat and fingered Zeb’s phone.

  ‘Take it. Make the call yourself. I’m not going anywhere. You know the NYPD’s number, don’t you? Call the Commissioner. I have his direct number.’

  Zeb recited the number and when Enamoto didn’t react, he leaned across, retrieved his cell, and punched in Rolando’s number. He thrust the cell back at Enamoto who grabbed it in anger.

  ‘I will tell him. I will report you,’ he grated and put the cell to his ear.

  ‘Go ahead. But remember this. I will tell the Mossad that you murdered Shira Levin. I’m sure you know who Shira Levin’s father is. The Mossad, they don’t play nice. This’—he pointed at Enamoto’s face’—is gentlemanly stuff for them.

  ‘The Mossad aren’t gentle. Your body will be found one day. Since you killed Levin’s daughter, you won’t die quickly.’

  Rolando’s voice sounded on Zeb’s cell. ‘Hello? Zeb?’

  Enamoto dropped the phone like a hot poker and pushed it across to Zeb.

  ‘You want to report me to the NYPD?’

  ‘No, no,’ Enamoto backed off, his face pale. ‘Hang up. Please.’

  Zeb hung up and watched as the CEO wiped the sweat and blood o
ff his face.

  ‘I didn’t kill her. We don’t do that kind of business.’ He spoke rapidly after gulping from a glass of water that a suit brought him. ‘I was shocked. I wanted to offer condolences to her father, but didn’t think it would be appropriate.’

  ‘You threatened her. You wanted her company.’

  Enamoto’s hands trembled. ‘Yes, but I didn’t kill her. Please. You have to believe me.’

  ‘You have links to Japanese gangs. It would be easy for you to hire assassins. Some Japanese killers use swords, don’t they?’

  ‘I didn’t have her killed!’ Desperation laced Enamoto’s voice. ‘You can investigate me, but don’t tell the Mossad. I’m innocent!’

  Zeb believed him.

  * * *

  Bear and Chloe’s interrogation of Lee Chan Tseng, the CEO of SinoAmeriTech Corporation, was less dramatic. SinoAmeriTech, headquartered on Wall Street, manufactured intelligent robots in plants in Boston, Seattle, and China. Shira’s company was of interest to them because they had no presence in the elderly care market. Acquiring the TKWC Company would give them market share.

  Tseng confessed everything when Bear walked into a meeting the CEO was having with a customer. Behind Bear were a trail of distressed-looking employees, all of whom were imploring the strangers. Four employees, rugged-looking men, had tried to overpower Bear.

  Three of them had broken jaws. A fourth had a dislocated shoulder. The receptionist had called the NYPD and had shut all exits so that Bear and Chloe couldn’t escape.

  Bear had tossed out the client, a bespectacled Chinese man, and had shut the door to Tseng’s office. Chloe had drawn out her Glock and placed it in front of her.

  ‘You killed Shira Levin. Why?’

  Tseng’s eyes darted between the Glock and the door. His people were hammering on it and yelling from the outside.

  ‘Who are you?’ he asked nervously.

  She picked her gun and pointed it at him. ‘I asked first.’