“We need some leverage. Otherwise I’ll never be able to get you out of here. What do you know about Ricci’s plans?”
“Honestly, man, I don’t know any details. Before they transferred me here, they talked about a major score. Ricci called it ‘La Festa.’ The Party. But I have no idea what that means. Ricci said it was going to make him so rich he could buy his own country. He’s got investors now, too. ‘Associates,’ is what Ricci called them.”
“Like who? People, countries, what?”
“I don’t know, for Christ’s sake. That’s why I’m here and not in some fancy spa in Europe. Because they don’t trust me. Maybe it’s because Ricci didn’t want me to know that some Americans had gotten involved.”
“What Americans? How do you know that? This is important, my friend.”
“Because right after you got busted and it went into the newspapers, we had some visitors in Urbino that I didn’t recognize. They spent all their time in the back office with Ricci and his Italian computer-science geniuses, and they came and went by a different entrance. When I was in the server room, working on the GPUs, the door opened, and I heard them speaking English, with American accents.”
“What did they look like?”
“There was one old guy, black suit, with spiky brown hair, bald spot. He looked like shit. A black guy came with him, with long dreadlocks.”
“Fuck me,” said Dunne. He exhaled and shook his head.
In that moment, Dunne felt a taste of what his wife Alicia had known, the mute, helpless sense of having once trusted someone who destroyed your happiness. Now it was his turn.
Howe saw Dunne’s ashen face.
“What’s wrong, man? Do you know those guys?”
Dunne took a deep breath and nodded.
“The two gentlemen you described are George Strafe and Adrian White.”
“Who the hell are they?”
“I worked with them at the CIA. They’re the ones who fucked me up.”
“Wow. I’m sorry, man. That is some very bad shit.”
* * *
Dunne closed his eyes for a moment and made himself a vow. He would find, expose, and destroy George Strafe. He put his hand awkwardly around Howe’s shoulder, then let it drop. They weren’t enemies anymore. Dunne had gone down a long road and found what he was looking for, even if it wasn’t what he expected. Now he needed to know the rest.
“Who else joined your group, Jason? Who was working with my CIA colleagues?”
“There was a smooth lawyer from London. Neat, compact, American, but not so much. I met him in Mayfair on my way here. He bought me my plane tickets and told me to shut up.”
“The London lawyer is named Tom Goldman,” Dunne said quietly.
“Whatever. And there was one other person. A woman. I never met her, but the lawyer and Ricci kept talking about her. They called her ‘La Patronessa.’ Like, the Boss. Does that make any sense to you?”
Dunne nodded. He felt a budding kinship with Howe, the man he had hated for so long.
“I saw that woman on a computer screen a few days ago. Her name is Adele Hecht. She was getting on a big yacht in Sardinia. The Cosmos, it was called. Ricci was on board. Probably Strafe, too. Goldman was the host.”
“A yacht, huh? That figures. Ricci was always talking about buying himself a big-ass boat, but he never had enough money. And now he’s got it. And you found it. Maybe you’re not as lame as I thought.”
“Maybe not. The question for now is how we get you out of here.”
“Can Junior help?” asked Howe, nodding toward Alton Chen, who was keeping his usual distance.
“Possibly. His father can do anything on this island. But we need to make it worthwhile. Maybe we can tip him about Ricci’s big party. Tell me something we can use as a tease.”
“I assume it involves financial markets. Something that turns everything upside down, so that the Consortium can profit.”
“What’s the ‘Consortium’?”
“That’s the name that Ricci gave to his partnership, when he began to draw these other people in.”
They were near the overhead expressway and the roar of the traffic. Dunne surveyed the landscape. Old Taipei, New Taipei, the factories and office blocks that embodied Taiwan’s two defining traits: Money and survival.
Dunne turned back toward Alton Chen.
“Alton, could you come here?” he called out. “Can you arrange for us to go see your dad?”
Young Chen approached, nodded, not quite a bow, and then retreated to make the phone call.
* * *
Dunne’s head was buzzing. He closed his eyes. He could almost touch the pieces of this puzzle. He thought of the ways he could eclipse the distance so that he could grasp it all, but he needed help. An access agent, he would once have called such a person, but that just meant someone who could get into a place that was otherwise closed.
“Hey, Jason,” he said. “Do you have friends who are still working with Ricci? People who would help you out, if you asked them?”
“Just one, really. You met him in Urbino. Jacob Rosenberg. He worked with me on Fallen Empire in the beginning. They trust him. He’s working on this ‘Party’ thing. Jake sends me encrypted texts sometimes. They’re paying him a lot of money now.”
“What does Jake do for the Consortium?”
“He writes code. And he does social engineering sometimes, to get information for an operation. He hangs out with people who know stuff and talk too much about it. Engineers, security people. They go to their favorite bar and they lose their minds. We call it a ‘watering-hole attack.’”
“The CIA calls it that, too, just so you know. What else does Jake do?”
“Last message I got, he was in New York, working on a deepfake they’re using for the show.”
“Can you can get in touch with him?”
“Yeah, sure. He thinks Ricci is an asshole. He just likes the money.”
“Would he help you, if you asked for it? Even if it was a little risky?”
“Yeah, man, I think so. He’s bored. Just don’t get him killed, but otherwise, sure. Everyone wants some lulz.”
“You stay in touch with Jake, okay? Just like before. Keep him on a string. That’s what you can do for me, in exchange for my getting you out of your permanent assignment to Taiwan.”
* * *
Alton returned after making the call to his father. It was all arranged, he said.
35 Taipei, Taiwan – June 2018
The patriarch sent an absurdly luxurious Mercedes Maybach limousine to pick up his son, Dunne, and Howe. The sedan cruised down Xinyi Road, past the headquarters of the big banks and manufacturing companies, toward the ungainly 101-story financial center known as Taipei 101 that rose from the western end of the avenue like a symbolic finger stuck in the eye of mainland China across the strait.
Chen’s building was a half mile away from the monumental tower. He was not a man to poke anyone in the eye. Alton scurried into his father’s office for a private chat when they arrived, and a few minutes later the old man welcomed them. He cast a skeptical eye toward Howe, with his shaved head and hippie clothes, but he was polite as ever. As they took their seats, a servant arrived with a pot of tea, scones, strawberry jam, and whipped cream.
Dunne didn’t waste time. His window of maneuver with Howe was closing. He opened his arms, palms out, in gentle supplication.
“I need to ask you another favor, Mr. Chen. You have already been so generous that I’m sorry to be knocking on your door again so soon. But I must ask, because it’s important.”
“You are welcome, esteemed Dunne. As we say, if you always give, you will always have. Alton tells me that you had a very busy morning with Mr. Howe. He says that you had a great deal to talk about. And privately, too, which means it was a serious conversation. Perhaps you will share it someday. But, please, tell me how I can help now.”
“Jason needs to go home to the United States, urgently. An important
business matter has come up. I’d like to help him get home as soon as possible.”
Chen put his finger to his lips. He closed his eyes for a moment.
“Perhaps his employer can make the arrangements,” said Chen. “Taipei Silicon Technology is a large and successful company. I’m sure they would want to assist one of their trusted employees.”
“Well, that’s the problem. The reason Jason needs to get home so quickly is that he has discovered a technical problem that could be very damaging if it isn’t fixed. He can’t tell his company yet, because it’s so sensitive, but he wants to protect all companies in Taiwan, and probably elsewhere, sir, because it’s one of these cyber issues. Malware.”
“Dangerous for all Taiwan?” That fixed Chen’s attention.
“Yes, sir. As I’m sure you know, Mr. Howe is an expert in these matters. And if you ask our mutual friend David Mazor, he will tell you that I am quite knowledgeable, as well. Not bragging, Mr. Chen, being honest.”
“Just so. David’s confidence in you was renewed to me overnight, by the way, in a private message. So, whatever you say, I am inclined to believe you. I don’t know your friend, Mr. Howe.” He nodded toward the mendicant hacker. “But if you say it’s urgent, well, you must have a reason.”
“Jason frequents a world where you and I don’t travel, Mr. Chen. In this hacker underground, he’s hearing about danger ahead. A malware problem that’s worse than anything we’ve seen. His friends are calling it ‘La Festa.’ The Party.”
“My goodness. What will it do?”
“I can’t say. I shouldn’t say. I’m asking you to trust me. And I give my promise that if we can’t stop this malware attack, I will give you advance notice so that you can take special precautions to protect your business from any harm. Would that be useful?”
“Oh, yes, quite useful. My friends have lost hundreds of millions because of these attacks in cyberspace. Making chips is the most profitable business in Taiwan, and if this industry were compromised, it would be catastrophic for us. Advance word of such an attack would be, well, sir, a lifesaver.”
“Here is what I need: Two tickets on the next flight from Taipei to San Francisco. And your help in getting Jason through security and onto the plane. I know that’s a lot to ask. But I promise you that your assistance will be repaid.”
Chen summoned his son and went through a list of things that he wanted Alton to check. The young man began making inquiries using his iPad. Dunne leaned toward Howe and spoke in his ear.
“Do you have your passport?” whispered Dunne.
“Sort of. It’s locked in a safe at my office, near the technology center out by the airport.”
Dunne nodded. “I’ll get into the safe, if you can get us in the door.”
Alton Chen stepped forward, displaying the tablet screen so the two Americans could see.
“You missed the eleven-thirty flight to San Francisco. The next one is at seven-fifty tonight. You need to be at the airport two hours early. My father says that I should accompany you all the way to the door of the airplane. We should leave for the airport in two hours, at most.”
“My stuff is ready to go at the Regent. Jason, how fast can you pack?”
“The packing is ten minutes. All I have is simple clothes like these. But I need my computer. And like I told Mr. Dunne, I need to stop at the office to get my passport. There’s security there.”
Edward Chen nodded. He folded his hands and closed his eyes. It was a good fifteen seconds before he opened them again, long enough for Dunne to worry that he was having second thoughts, but he was just letting the decision settle.
“I think you must leave now to get your things and go to the airport. Alton will accompany you, as he said, to make sure you don’t encounter any difficulties. If any problem arises, he will call me. And I will fix it.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Dunne.
Howe put his palms together in a Buddhist gesture of thanks and submission. The patriarch, puzzled, stared at him and then shook his hand.
* * *
Chen insisted they take the Maybach, for security. And there was also the intimidation factor. Nobody in Taiwan was going to trifle with someone traveling in a car that costs more than $200,000.
They stopped first at the Regent. The car waited downstairs while Dunne packed his suitcase. He felt sticky from the summer morning outside in the humid air, so he took a quick shower. The last item was his backpack, locked to the closet door. He hoisted it on his back and took the elevator down eighteen floors to the gaudy lobby. The clerk, who had seen the Maybach in the drive, was deferential.
They drove east toward Dadaocheng, in the old district of the city. The big car had trouble navigating the last few small streets before they reached Howe’s hutong and the old red-brick house with the inner courtyard.
Alton accompanied Howe. The cop was still standing guard in the porcelain shop. Alton spoke to him, but he already seemed to understand. Alton pressed a crisp thousand-New-Taiwan-dollar bill in his hand as he shook it. Howe descended from the balcony with a well-stuffed backpack, pairs of sandals and sneakers dangling from the drawstring, and a computer bag strapped over his shoulder.
* * *
The Maybach rolled east from the old quarter, crossing the Tamsui River and heading along the expressway toward the airport perched along the Taiwan Strait. After about thirty minutes, Alton told the driver to take an exit off the highway toward an industrial park that housed the headquarters of Taipei Silicon Technology.
A guard station blocked the entrance to the complex. Howe showed his company badge. The guard checked his watch list, and then approached to ask some questions, but Alton Chen had already sprung from the front passenger seat of the car, handed the guard his card, and talked to him rapidly in Chinese. Chen walked to the guardhouse with the security officer and spoke over the phone to his boss. The metal gate pulled up, the stanchions were lowered, and the Maybach cruised to the front entrance drive.
Flapping in the breeze by the front door was the Republic of China flag, a white sun in the corner of a field of red.
The chief security officers were standing inside the door. Alton had a conversation, but they evidently had already received approval from someone. There were no more phone calls, and Alton beckoned for Howe and Dunne to come inside. Dunne unlocked his backpack, which was beside him on the rear seat of the limousine, and removed a small kit of tools, which he put in his jacket pocket. He and Howe were escorted to the elevator.
They rode to the seventh floor, accompanied by a security officer with a TST logo on his uniform. Howe’s badge buzzed him through the door of his office; his workspace with the safe was in a rear office. He led Dunne toward this last redoubt. The security officer followed.
“We need a little privacy here,” said Dunne.
Alton turned to the security man and spoke in rapid Chinese. This drew a sharp response; Alton tried again, more gently, but the man wouldn’t budge. His instructions were to accompany the two Americans.
“A little problem,” said Alton, then adding, “No problem.”
He took out his mobile phone and called his father. Alton explained that they had run into difficulty at Taipei Silicon. Edward Chen’s eruption was so loud that even Dunne and Howe could hear him through the speaker.
Alton passed the phone to the security chief, who got an earful from the patriarch. He trembled slightly as he handed the phone back to Alton, bowed, and left the room.
* * *
Howe led Dunne into the back room and opened the closet where the safe was anchored. It was a standard gray model with a big black dial lock.
“Shit,” muttered Dunne. “They must want to keep you here.”
Dunne took his kit from his jacket and removed an array of tools. He had a small drill and a tiny piece of plastic explosive, but he prayed he wouldn’t need those extreme tools, which would cause problems for Edward Chen and his dutiful son.
Dunne put on the plastic glo
ves that were folded inside the kit. He attached a small electronic monitor and amplifier to the face of the dial, plugged in a pair of noise-canceling earbuds, and then began feeling his way around the dial, listening for the sound of the wheel pack and the contact points where each of the four wheels would line up.
Dunne had cracked dozens of safes in his career. He had liked to tell colleagues that he knew the feel of a safe the way he knew his wife’s body. As that recollection flew through his mind, it sickened him, that he had ever thought or said something so crude.
This lock didn’t give up its secrets easily: Dunne turned up the amplifier and attached a meter that registered changes he might not hear. He removed some graph paper from his kit, to record precisely the contact areas for each wheel. He got the click of the first wheel that way, and the next three were easier. There was the sweet moment in the end, where the contact points of all the wheels lined up and the pin fell through and with a turn of the bolt the locked clicked open.
Howe removed his passport. There was a wad of cash inside the safe, too, wrapped in rubber bands, but Dunne said to leave it. He put his tools back in the kit, closed the safe carefully, quickly wiped the room of fingerprints, and then pushed Howe toward the door. Alton was outside waiting. He looked enormously relieved that they were finished.
Dunne got back in the limousine, returned his lock-picking tools to his pack, and closed his eyes. The Maybach rolled toward the gate and powered back onto the expressway.
“Shit, man. You’re good,” said Howe.
Dunne didn’t open his eyes.
They reached the airport a few minutes later. Alton took them to the VIP departure area, walked them through passport control and customs. The authorities had been alerted. They were elaborately polite and seemed barely to look at the documents that Dunne and Howe presented. Chen escorted them to the gate as he had promised.
The Paladin Page 22
