Smoke and Shadow (9 page)

“
So Trent killed
him after all?
”
Ria put her feet up on the table with a laugh. Nikki noticed
the tight, supple muscles flexing under her dark skin and the
intricate black tattoos swirling down the back of her
thigh.

“
Nope,
”
Baker
set down the empty glass.
“
Norman Tolbert died near Kennedy
Airport during a job Chu did for me.
”

Nikki shook her head in confusion.
“
Why did you send Chu to kill
Tolbert?
”

Baker threw his
head back and laughed.
“
I didn
’
t.
Tolbert was a victim of his own stubborn superiority complex. Chu
was working an executive protection op and had to clean up
Tolbert
’
s
mess.
”

Nikki wondered
how Baker could be so jolly discussing another
man
’
s murder, but
she didn
’
t want to
pursue the subject.
“
Do you always use Chu as a bodyguard?
”

“
No. Chu has a
more versatile skill set. He can do surveillance, threat analysis
and hostage rescue in addition to the straight forward protection
work.
”

“
Does he ignore
your orders too?
”
Rose pushed herself back into her chair an angry flourish.
Nikki wondered why she stayed in a conversation she clearly
hated.

Baker laughed
again, this time with more irony.
“
Let
’
s just say Chu has an inventive way
of completing his missions.
”

Book Three: Domestic
Disturbance

Fall 2011

Erich Maas existed within a strict
schedule of self-destruction.

It began every
day with an awkward and perfunctory kiss on the cheek of his
reluctant wife. Next, he shambled through the streets of Park
Slope, fighting against the waves of children racing to school and
the hipsters making their daily pilgrimage into Manhattan. Maas
didn't ride the train. He lingered at the independent coffee shop
long enough to inspire subconscious nervousness in the nannies and
stay at home parents. They clutched their children a little tighter
until he left. Maas never did or said anything in public to
threaten anyone, but his particular brand of disheveled
didn
’
t sit well,
even in the oasis of calculated casual Brooklyn. They could sense a
problem with Maas, even if he didn
’
t show any visible
signs.

Maas spent his
afternoons in regimented wandering. He visited the same little
bookstore every day, but never bought anything. He starred in the
windows of the high end real estate agencies, scanning all the
posted listings but never going in the office. He roamed up and
down the tree lined avenues with his hands in his pockets and his
head low. He didn
’
t make eye contact with anyone and he didn
’
t go anywhere. He just kept walking
in circles until he could claim his favorite seat at the local dive
bar.

His choice of
seating location didn
’
t have any tactical value. Maas sat with his back to the
front door, and too far away from the back door to use it as a
viable secondary escape.
Maas
didn
’
t appear to
know anything about personal security and if he did, he
didn
’
t care. His
version of escape came in a bottle. He drank a dark brown
doppelbock called Paulaner Salvator. The beer made the whole room
smell like chocolate malt when Maas drank by himself. He often got
to the bar first. By the time the after work crowd arrived, three
or four glasses stood empty on his table, circling him like
satellites. Maas wouldn
’
t leave the bar until he had at least six beers and his
consumption often ran into the double digits. Then he would stumble
back home in the dark to square off with Maria
Maas.

Hamilton Chu knew
everything about Maas
’
s pattern and preferences because he
’
d followed the stupid bastard every
day for three weeks. Chu shadowed Maas because the drunk once
designed satellite technology. For a brief moment, Erich Maas
defined satellite technology. He dropped out of Cornell as the next
big thing ten years ago. Wired magazine did a story on him soon
after, proclaiming him a revolutionary who would impact technology
as much as, if not more than, Alexander Graham Bell, Thomas Edison
and Steve Jobs. But his first major independent project failed in
spectacular fashion. Then, an attempted buyout of a competitor
crippled the financial health of his company. The final blow came
when the board of directors of the company he created bought him
out and sent him packing. Confidential sources said Erich Maas had
developed an explosive breakthrough in long range access
technology, but right now he couldn
’
t get a job installing cable boxes.
He represented a dangerous opportunity.

A
man in Maas
’
s
situation created a unique target in the world of industrial
espionage. While the tech industries of the West saw him as a
liability, countries with substandard satellite technology could
gain a tremendous advantage with Maas
’
s designs. China stood to gain the
most if they got their hands on Maas
’
s work. But high level satellite
technology fell under several national security regulations. The
NSA monitored all communications between foreign nationals and
experts at this level. Maas couldn
’
t work for, or even have contact
with, members of foreign governments without explicit clearance
from Homeland Security and Disney would start selling porn before
Maas got permission to work with Beijing. If the Chinese wanted
him, they had to recruit him in secret.

So Chu watched
and waited for any sign of Chinese operatives trying to make
contact with or pass messages to Erich Maas. When he first got the
assignment, Chu assumed Maas went through his daily ritual as part
of his tradecraft. The daily strolls could be part of a complex
pattern designed to avoid or expose surveillance. The visits to the
coffee shop offered a chance for covert conversation. The wandering
in the streets gave Maas the chance to hide and pick up packages at
designated dead drops. Even the pilgrimages to the bar might just
be a cover for his Chinese handler to meet Maas and exchange
information. Chu looked for any sign of Maas
’
s connection to foreign agents. He
didn
’
t find any
evidence of espionage, but what he did find out about Maas was
worse than any corporate spying.

Maas lurched
towards the bar to pay his tab. Chu used the ritual to cover his
exit. Maas always drank first and paid later because he never knew
how much he might consume. Chu always paid for his drinks up front
so he could leave before Maas and not attract attention. The target
didn
’
t react to
the pattern. He didn
’
t seem to notice Chu going to the same bar two or three times
a week. Maybe the fact that Chu altered his appearance and timing
with each visit kept Maas from seeing the pattern. Maybe Maas was
too lost in his depression to notice the world around him. It could
have been a bit of both, but Chu didn
’
t take any chances. He slipped away
from the crowd inside the bar, weaved through the hipsters smoking
by the front door and walked in the direction of
Maas
’
s
brownstone.

Chu passed
Stanley Kean at the corner near the bar. The tall, lanky man waited
at the bus stop, reading a worn out copy of the Communist
Manifesto. Kean didn
’
t look at Chu. Chu didn
’
t acknowledge Kean. When the bus
arrived, Kean put away his book and reached for his wallet. Chu
crossed the street. Maas left the bar and trudged in the direction
of his home. In the mirror of a closed artisanal bakery, Chu saw
Kean patting his body as if he
’
d misplaced his wallet. Kean
didn
’
t look at
Maas. Maas passed Kean without any sign of recognition. The bus
doors closed, leaving Kean on the corner behind Maas. By the time
the target crossed the street, Kean had fallen in behind him, using
a trio of giggling girls as a partial buffer between himself and
Maas. Chu went down a different street, comfortable
they
’
d completed
the surveillance transfer unnoticed.

Chu took an
apparently random path back to their rented apartment. Every block
he walked and turn he took gave him an opportunity to detect or
evade anyone following him. Chu hadn
’
t seen any signs of a counter
surveillance team on Maas, but good teams avoided notice until they
decided to strike. Chu threaded his way through Park Slope alone,
hoping tonight would be different than all the other
nights.

Their apartment
didn
’
t have a
direct line of sight to Maas
’
s brownstone, but the two spaces
were only separated by a short block of no more than two hundred
feet. Chu opened the front door and listened. A single set of
footsteps sped up the stairs. Chu guessed Kean arrived before him.
Chu stopped at the mailbox and pretended to check it. RSVP Security
took care of all the mail and bills for the space through a
fictitious talent agency, so he knew the box would be empty. But
the charade gave him cover to ambush anyone who might have followed
them. As Chu stood in the lobby, no one else entered the building.
So Chu closed the mailbox and made his way upstairs without
enthusiasm. He knew the next item on Erich Maas
’
s schedule. No matter how many times
he wished it might be different, the days always ended with Erich
and Maria together.

“
He
’
s at it
again.
”

Kean stood in the
kitchen of the exposed brick apartment and poured
Cap
’
n Crunch into
a red Solo cup. He captured the image of a post frat bachelor and
most of the apartment maintained a similar illusion. Bottles of
Heineken and Cuervo competed with boxes of Oreos and bags of
Doritos for shelf space in the kitchen. A huge flat screen TV
dominated the living room, surrounded by mismatched pieces of black
furniture. A PS4 sat in the middle of the room with its accessories
strewn across the floor. Only the master bedroom failed to fit the
image of their cover. Chu forced himself into the makeshift
surveillance room without a word to Kean.

Several
flat-screen computer monitors filled the otherwise dark room with a
cold white glow. Each screen revealed a room or hallway inside
Maas
’
s brownstone.
The squat, flabby shape of Ganesh Privti perched in the center of
the video hub. His wide frame blocked out much of the light from
his machines. He took off his bulky headphones when Chu came up
beside him, but he never looked away from his
screens.

“
The subject is
conforming to standard behavior patterns. There
isn
’
t anything
substantial to report.
”

Chu
didn
’
t respond to
the unspoken invitation to go away. He leaned over
Privti
’
s shoulder,
trying to find Maas on one of the screens. He found Erich and Maria
in the basement. The pinhole camera over their heads gave Chu and
Privti a clear view of the action.

“
You call that
normal, Neshi?
”

Maas grabbed a
fist full of his wife
’
s hair in one hand and her throat in the other. He had her
bent backwards over the washing machine, barking angry words Chu
couldn
’
t hear
through Privti
’
s
headphones. Maria held up her hands in surrender, trying to beg her
way out of the argument. Chu didn
’
t need to hear the audio. He could
imagine what she said. The words were part of his
identity.