Operation Barracuda (2005) (19 page)

“Oh, right. Eddie Wu, the Wizard of Work Visas. Illegal ones.”

Eddie laughed. “Something like that.”

“So what is this place, anyway?”

“It’s one of Ming’s many businesses. The Lucky Dragons back GyroTechnics financially but it’s a legitimate enterprise here in America. They employ top scientists from Hong Kong and China and the Lucky Dragons help to get them here. That’s my job.”

“You mean it’s a means by which scientists defect from China?”

“I guess you can say that. So far the authorities in China haven’t figured out where their physicists are going. That’s why GyroTechnics keeps moving around and changing its name. We stay ahead of the Americans that way, too.”

“So where’s the guidance system? I’ve been waiting for news about the final piece of Professor Jeinsen’s project for a long time.”

“Right. It’s done, ready to ship.”

“So what’s the problem? I thought I was to take it with me to Hong Kong.”

Eddie frowned and looked away. “Like I said, there are some complications.”

Mike didn’t feel like playing games. “What is it, little brother? What are these complications?”

“Ming. He’s canceled the sale of the device to the Shop.”

“What the hell for? Isn’t it what we’ve been working toward for the last three years?”

“Yes. But Ming is afraid the Shop is selling it to a general in China. General Tun. Have you heard of him?”

“Yeah. The guy that’s so dead set to attack Taiwan. Is
he
the Shop’s customer for all this stuff?”

“I think so. I don’t know for certain. Ming seems to think so. He’s ordered me not to ship it and await further instructions.”

“But . . . but that means we don’t get paid!” Mike said. Now he was truly alarmed, forgetting how weary he was. “This deal has to go through. I’m looking forward to my new life in Hong Kong!”

“You’re still going, don’t worry. You just won’t be carrying the guidance system with you.”

“That was my cover! I was supposed to be one of your scientists, delivering it from California. Shit, has all that changed?”

“It’s still being worked out, Mike. Don’t worry! We have a few days to work it out.”

Mike Wu was furious. He stood and shouted, “Damn Ming! He’s screwing with a machine that was working so well. The minute you start changing things is when you get caught. I say we go ahead and sell the thing to the Shop without Ming!”

Eddie looked at his brother in shock. “What are you saying? Are you mad?”

“Screw Ming! What has he really done for me? I sat there in Washington for three years, supplying the Lucky Dragons with Jeinsen’s stuff, with no payoff whatsoever. It was all on spec, to be paid in one huge lump sum when I arrive in Hong Kong with the guidance system. To hell with that! I’ve got my own connections with the Shop. I sold them information about Third Echelon’s agents last year. I can deal with them directly. Let’s you and me do that, get rich, and then go our own way. We don’t need to work for a Triad, Eddie. Not anymore.”

“Mike, you don’t know what you’re saying! Look, I’m sympathetic to how you feel. But we can’t go against the Lucky Dragons. We’d be dead men. Ming would come after us and he’d find us. He has the means to do it, too. You underestimate the guy.”

“Does Ming know what it’s like to be wanted by the Washington, D.C., police, the Oklahoma police, the FBI, the NSA, and probably the CIA, too? I have to get out of this country before they find me! I’m
really
a dead man if they do. Espionage against the United States government is one thing they don’t take too lightly. Not to mention the murder of government employees.”

Mike paced the room. “Eddie, if you’re not with me on this, I’m going to the Shop myself. I’ll tell them Ming has stopped the sale and if they can get here then I’ll sell the guidance system to them on my own. And I can ask a very high price. A few million dollars will go a long way toward protecting us from the Lucky Dragons.” He pointed to his sibling and said, “And
you
will back me up!”

Eddie looked at his older brother and rubbed his chin. “Maybe,” he said. “Let me think about it. I suggest we go back to my place so you can get some rest. We’ll talk about it tomorrow, all right? Let me find out what Ming has planned for you. Okay? We wait a day or two?”

Mike shook his head and slapped the wall. “Damn it, Eddie.” He took a deep breath and finally resigned himself to the situation. “All right. But let’s go now. I’m dead tired.”

 

 

JEFF
Kehoe could have sworn he had seen Mike Wu get out of the taxi that had stopped in front of GyroTechnics’ gate. The guy punched the call button and went inside before Kehoe could get a good look. The FBI agent wasn’t too worried, though. What went in eventually came out. As long as Kehoe stayed put in his car and kept his eye on the one road that led out of the facility, he’d be able to make a positive ID.

One of the L.A. field agents had spelled Kehoe overnight so that the FBI agent could get some sleep. Kehoe had resumed the stakeout outside of Wu’s apartment in Chinatown that morning. It wasn’t long before Wu emerged from the building and got into his BMW. Kehoe tracked Wu back to GyroTechnics to sit in the Lexus parked outside the compound, waiting for a sign that Mike Wu might have come into town. When the taxi pulled up to the gate and an Asian man got out, Kehoe was almost positive the fugitive had been located.

Kehoe called in to the FBI field office and told Nudelman what he suspected. He then waited for nearly two hours until Wu’s BMW finally appeared and left the premises. As the car passed, Kehoe got a good look at the two men in the car.

The driver was Eddie Wu, of course, and there was no doubt in Kehoe’s mind that the passenger was his brother Mike.

“Bingo,” Kehoe said to himself as he fired up the Lexus and followed the BMW at a safe distance.

“
SAM
, the Mercedes is moving down the West Kowloon Highway.”

Frances Coen’s words reverberate in my ear. I type a reply to her on my OPSAT: I’M RIDING IN A TAXI AND CAN’T SPEAK. COMMUNICATE BY OPSAT PLEASE.

It was simple to grab a taxi outside of the container port. They’re always hovering around the area, dropping off or picking up workers or shipping executives. I made an educated guess as to where the Russians’ Mercedes would be heading, so I told the cab driver to head south toward Kowloon.

I’m now able to pull up the satellite map on the OPSAT and track the Mercedes myself. I send a quick message to Coen, telling her I’ve got the car on my screen. She signs off and wishes me luck, adding that Colonel Lambert is pleased with the conversation I recorded between the Shop guys and the Lucky Dragons. I’ve succeeded in establishing the link between Professor Jeinsen and the Triad and, indirectly, Jeinsen’s connection to the Shop. Now it’s up to the suits in Washington to decide what to do next. I’m wondering if I’ll get to go home now, but another text message appears on the OPSAT: TRY TO FIND OUT WHAT THE SHOP IS UP TO IN HONG KONG. WHAT THE HELL IS OPERATION BARRACUDA? L.

Good question. Oh, well, I knew it was wishful thinking on my part, wanting to go home.

I wonder what Katia is doing.

The Mercedes gets off the highway at Tsim Sha Tsui, so I have the cab driver do the same. He asks me again in Chinese where I’m going—there might be a shortcut around the heavy street traffic. I tell him I know what I’m doing and to just follow my directions.

We catch up with the Russians near Harbour City. I can see the black Mercedes in front of us, pulling over near Ocean Terminal. I ask the driver to stop and wait a moment. Then Antipov and Herzog get out of the Mercedes and walk away. Their driver moves the Mercedes away from the curb and into traffic, presumably toward a parking garage. I decide to follow Abbott and Costello, since they’re a part of the Shop’s top brass.

I pay the cab driver and get out. I’m pretty good at tailing someone on foot. Practicing stealth when you’re alone in the dark is one thing; stealth when you’re on a crowded city street is completely different. You have to blend in, not look conspicuous, and be flexible with your pace of movement. It’s important to keep a steady distance between the prey and yourself but not appear to be rushing. Sometimes, if the prey stops, you have to pause and pretend to be interested in something while you wait for the quarry to move again. It’s pretty standard stuff. There are also antisurveillance moves you can make to ascertain that no one is following
you
. But when you’re doing the tailing, that can be difficult. I’m fairly confident that no one is behind me. As for the Russians, they’re pretty naïve. Any jerk could follow these guys. They seem to be paying no attention to what’s behind them. They don’t have a care in the world.

As I expected, they make their way to the Star Ferry, on their way to Hong Kong Island. Once they’re aboard, I linger just long enough to meld into a crowd of Chinese and Caucasian businessmen swarming through the gate and onto the boat. Antipov and Herzog step into the lower-deck quarters and take seats on a bench next to the wall. They are deeply embroiled in conversation, oblivious to what’s around them. I position myself across the room, picking up a discarded newspaper to hide behind. I know it sounds cliché, but that’s what you do.

The ferry ride between Kowloon and Hong Kong is always pleasant. Despite the rather foul stench of the harbor, it’s a short, relaxing trip that could be quite enjoyable if I weren’t on the job. At one point, Antipov stands and points to something outside the window. Herzog looks and nods. Antipov resumes his seat and the two men are silent. Herzog shuts his eyes and slumps for the remaining few minutes of the journey.

Ashore, I follow the men off the ferry to the taxi stand. Damn. This is where it gets tricky. I hurry to get in line behind them, with a buffer of two parties between us, and keep my nose in the newspaper just in case one of them turns around. I note the number of the taxi they climb into and then wait as patiently as I can for my turn. When I finally get into a cab, I point to the Russians’ taxi up ahead, which is luckily stuck in traffic at the end of the block. The driver understands and nods his head. He throws the car into drive and screeches away from the curb. He makes an illegal move around the stalled cars in front of him, passing them in the oncoming traffic lane. So much for not attracting attention.

But the driver is good. As soon as traffic begins to move he slips into it, two car lengths behind the Russians. He takes it easy from then on, following the other cab with discretion.

We head west on Connaught Road until the Russians’ taxi pulls off onto Morrison Street. Eventually they reach Upper Lascar Row—“Cat Street”—and stop. I pay my driver and give him a huge tip, which he appreciates by showing me his rotten, discolored teeth.

The two Russians walk up Cat Street to a small antique shop. I stand across the road and watch as they enter the building. A sign above the door says it’s the Hong Kong-Russian Curios store. Interesting.

After a few minutes I cross the street and walk by the shop. I look through the window and see a Chinese man sitting at a desk in the back and polishing a small statue. The Russians are not in the store. There’s an Employees Only door next to the desk, and I must presume that they went through it to another area of the building. A basement, perhaps?

I note the sticker displayed in the window that informs potential burglars that Hong Kong Security Systems, Inc., protects the shop. I press my implant and ask Coen to get Grimsdottir to hack into the company’s records and come up with a security access code I can use. She acknowledges and then I go back across the street.

During the next half hour no one enters or exits the shop. I snap a couple of photos and then decide there’s nothing more to do now. Best to return after dark.

That’s when my job is more fun.

 

 

IT’S
just after midnight when I arrive at the antique shop dressed in full uniform. The first thing I do is circle the block and pop through the alley behind the store. There’s an expected employee exit but I also notice an unusual outline in the pavement on the ground next to the building. It’s almost as if someone had taken a stick and drawn a ten-foot-by-five-foot rectangle in the wet cement when it was first poured. Using my thermal vision, I notice there is heat beneath the outline—I can just make out thin slivers of light. Unlike most loading lifts that carry boxes to a shop basement, someone took great care to see that this one was hidden from view. Anyone without my training would never realize it’s there.

I go back around to the front of the shop and carefully peer through the display window. The place is dark except for a lamp that illuminates the desk and cash register in the back. The best bet is the alley door. I return to the back of the building and use my lock picks to unlock the door. The dead bolt gives me five minutes’ worth of trouble but eventually it gives and I’m inside.

The security keypad is immediately to my left. It’s blinking and beeping and I know I have fifteen or twenty seconds to punch in the code Anna Grimsdottir provided. As soon as I press the sequence of buttons, the system deactivates. Nice.

I’m in a storeroom full of boxes and dusty goods. Lots of crap that someone might call antiques. There’s a full bookshelf along one wall and a small bathroom with a door. But no staircase to a basement. There has to be another way down there.

I look inside the shop proper and find nothing out of the ordinary. The papers on the desk are invoices and such, neatly arranged and organized. I run my hand beneath the counter, searching for trick levers or buttons, but find none. Returning to the storeroom, I begin to examine the walls for telltale signs of secret doors. Again, my thermal vision comes in handy when I get to the bookshelf. Faint traces of light leak from the edges between two sets of cases. The access to the basement is behind them.