“She also said that the front man for Pyramid is a guy named Wen Lo.”
There was a slight tick, a second, when Yoo seemed to pause before answering.
“As I said,” he began, “Caitlin knows more about the Triads. I’m familiar with organization and strong-arm stuff at the street level, but others can tell you about the leaders.”
Yoo talked about gang ritual and power structure for another five minutes before glancing at his watch.
“Sorry to cut you short, Joe, I’ve got an appointment to keep.”
“No problem,” Zavala said. He rose from his chair. “Thanks very much for your time, Charlie. You’ve been a great help.”
They shook hands, and Yoo called the security desk. They were standing out in the hallway when the guide arrived minutes later to take Zavala in tow.
Yoo flashed a smile.
“You’ve stirred up my curiosity about this thing with your robot stuff. Let me poke around and see if I can come up with anything else.”
Yoo jotted down Zavala’s cell-phone number and wished him good luck. He went back into his office and locked the door. He sat behind his desk, stone-faced, as he punched in a number on his cell. The cell’s signal flashed around the world several times, passing through a series of filters and detours, until it was untraceable.
“Report, number thirty-nine,” a gruff voice said.
“He just left,” Yoo said.
“What does he know?”
“Far too much for comfort.”
Yoo relayed the gist of his conversation with Zavala.
“This is a fortunate happenstance,” the voice said. “Zavala is small fish. Use him as bait. I want you to take Austin alive and bring him to me.”
“I’ll get on it immediately,” Yoo said.
“Sooner,” the voice said.
ZAVALA WAS in his Corvette on the way back to NUMA headquarters when his cell phone buzzed. It was Charlie Yoo.
“Hi, Joe, long time no talk. Look, I’ve got something for you on the Pyramid Triad.”
“That was fast,” Zavala said with genuine surprise. He had thought Yoo to be something of a lightweight when it came to police work.
“We lucked out. It’s like pulling teeth with the guys at the Bureau. They’ll pick your brains until there’s nothing left, but I’m a foreigner so they still don’t quite trust me. Anyhow, there’s been an ongoing surveillance of a gang-connected alien-smuggling operation. After I told them about our little chat, they invited us to sit in. Might give you a chance to talk to some of the other Asian crime specialists. You could be in for some excitement if they make a bust.”
“When and where?” Zavala asked.
“Later tonight, on the other side of the river. You interested? Your partner Austin is invited too, if he’s not busy.”
“I’ll ask him and get back to you.”
Zavala hung up and made a quick call to Austin and told him about Yoo’s invitation.
“I’m expecting a call from Sandecker in a few minutes,” Austin said. “I have no idea what the old sea fox has up his sleeve. I’ll have to catch up with you later.”
“Call me when you shake loose. And don’t let Sandecker keep you too long.”
“Not a chance, pal,” Austin said, and, in words that would come back to haunt him later, added, “Hell, Joe, I wouldn’t want you to have all the fun.”
CHAPTER 24
THE SECOND HAPPY HOUR IN THE DOLLAR BAR WAS A REPEAT of the first gabfest. The vacuous chitchat around the table ground on Gamay’s nerves, but she had to admit that the Gibson was perfect and that the dinner that followed was superb, featuring freshly caught shrimp in a savory jambalaya.
Mayhew waited politely until dessert was served before he made his announcement.
“Dooley will pick you up promptly at nine-fifteen tomorrow morning,” he said. “You can leave right after breakfast. It’s been a pleasure to have you as our guest, Dr. Trout. We’ll be sad to see you go.”
Mayhew’s broad grin seemed at odds with his dismay over Gamay’s impending departure. She wondered how long he would maintain his smiley face if she insisted on staying another night.
“And I will be sad to leave,” Gamay said in a performance worthy of Ethel Barrymore. “Thank you for having me, and allowing me to see the wonderful work that you and your staff are doing here in this slice of paradise.”
Mayhew was too caught up in the moment to pick up on her veiled sarcasm. At his suggestion, they moved out onto the patio for a nightcap and to watch the sunset.
The scientists gathered in knots, keeping their voices low. Occasionally, Gamay heard a scientific term spoken, suggesting they were talking among themselves about their research.
By nine o’clock, all the staff people had gone to their cabins, leaving Gamay alone. She waited another half hour until everyone had settled in, then followed the shell path to Song Lee’s cabin. The windows were dark.
Gamay climbed onto the small porch and knocked softly at first, then harder. There was no answer.
She was surprised to find the door unlocked. She went inside and switched on the lights. It only took a few seconds to see that the cabin was unoccupied. There was no sign that Lee had eaten dinner alone there. Gamay switched the lights off, and hurried along the path to the waterfront. Lee’s kayak was not in the boat shed.
Gamay pondered what she should do. She could wake up Dr. Mayhew and the rest of the staff, but, given the penchant for oysterlike secrecy on the island, it was likely she’d be cut out of the action.
Impulsively, Gamay lifted the second kayak from its rack and set it on the beach.
Then she had another thought, and dashed back to the boathouse to grab Dooley’s night vision goggles. She slipped them over her head, shoved the kayak in the water, got in, and paddled furiously.
She followed the perimeter of the island and headed out into the bay. The stranded cabin cruiser was greenish and grainy through the goggles. She paddled directly to it to get her bearings, then turned in to the funnel-shaped cove Dooley had shown her earlier that day.
The mangroves squeezed in on both sides. At the narrowest part of the cove, she found the post that marked the break in the mangroves. She paddled to shore, got out of the kayak, and was pulling it up onto the beach when she stumbled over Song Lee’s rucksack, which was lying in the sand.
Gamay glanced around and saw something gleaming in the grass. It was Lee’s kayak.
Gamay struck off inland, following the winding path through the thicket of trees, carrying her wooden kayak paddle in one hand. The path emerged from the trees into the open, meandering through cactus and scrub. The whisper of the waves washing the beach provided a backdrop to the insect chorus.
With the aid of the night vision goggles, Gamay moved quickly along the path. She paused where it broke out onto the beach and looked around. Two sets of footprints led off down the beach. Taking up the hunt like a hound on a scent, she followed the prints around a bend. She was trotting now, slowing only when she saw a yellow glow in the distance. There was a house up ahead, partially hidden by trees and bushes. She moved closer and saw that the light was spilling through a screen door and window.
She crept up to the house and put her back to the wall a few feet from the window. She could hear a man and a woman speaking excitedly in Chinese, their voices starting out low and then getting louder. The man now sounded angry, the woman hysterical.
Gamay edged up to the window, pushed the goggles up on her forehead, and peered through the glass panes at a sparsely furnished room illuminated with gas camp lanterns.
Song Lee was sitting at a kitchen table across from a brutish-looking Asian man who was dressed in shorts and T-shirt. An automatic weapon lay on the counter next to the stove. The man had apparently just run through his reserve of patience. He brought his hand back and slapped Lee across the face. The blow knocked her off her chair to the floor.
The man turned away from Lee to get his weapon, a big mistake on his part. She got to her knees and plucked a steak knife from a rack that was within arm’s reach. There was a flash of blade as she plunged it into the man’s thigh, then pulled it free. Letting out a scream of pain, he dropped the gun to the floor and grabbed his bleeding leg.