Counterfeit Lies

CHAPTER SIXTY

Jake turned into the alley where Trey and Brian were waiting in a Bureau car. He pulled alongside as Trey rolled down his window, shaking his head. “This is never going to work.”

Jake offered a confident smile and said, “Of course it will.”

“I’m not sure I can go along with this,” said Trey, hesitation in his voice. “There are too many moving parts.”

Jake’s extortionate smile continued. “Trey, do you remember yesterday morning when you told me about those top-secret matters?”

Trey looked puzzled. “Yeah.”

In a tone half serious Jake said, “Well, if you don’t go along I may have to tell Hafner about our conversation. Then we’ll both be doing background checks in Adak.”

Precisely at 7:45, Park picked up the prepaid cell phone and punched in the number Jake had written on the card. When Yeong answered, Park slowly read the words: “The round-eye will be at the Shanghai Hotel, room 212 at eight p.m. tonight. You can get even then but you must hurry. Don’t be late or you will miss him.”

When asked, Park repeated the name of the hotel and the room number.

Jake, Trey, and Brian walked down the alley, their vehicles parked on a side street just off Olympic. All were wearing worn, paint-splashed coveralls Jake picked up at a used clothing store. Jake and Brian were also carrying oversized, mismatched plastic toolboxes. As they approached the rear entrance of the Shanghai Hotel, Trey said, “What’s with you and the alleys? Why don’t you ever use the front door?”

Jake snapped, “Knock it off.”

“Whoa. Don’t tell me you’re having second thoughts.”

“No, but this is serious. We need to focus.”

“This isn’t serious. This is crazy. You are diving into the shallow end, my friend. If you want to call this thing off I’m behind you all the way. We phone up the cavalry now. I drop a dime on SWAT or just make a call to LAPD. Tell them we have a kidnapping in progress.”

Jake was focused as he opened the rear door. “This will work.”

“Yeah, just keep thinking that,” muttered Trey.

Jake paused before entering, then said, “Trey, we’re in the business of worst-case scenarios.”

“Oh, that’s comforting.” The sarcasm was evident.

The hallway smelled of stale sweat and the hotel had no shot of being mentioned in the AAA guidebook. Jake had been here before and knew his immediate destination.

“I did a couple of dope deals here several years ago,” said Jake to Brian, excited but apprehensive as to what was about to happen.

“I always thought of you as a Hyatt Regency type of guy,” said Trey.

Jake seemed to relax just a bit and smiled, saying, “I like to expand my acting horizons. Hate to be typecast as strictly a high-roller. I can work Beverly Hills or urban back alleys.”

The floor creaked with every few steps as they tried to lighten the footfalls.

In a near whisper Trey said, “I bet this place hasn’t seen any repairs since the Johnson administration.”

“Lyndon or Andrew?”

Jake found the door he was looking for and the three descended concrete steps into a dark, damp basement housing the power, electrical, and fire sprinkler systems, and an ancient HVAC air handler. The noise was a few decibels below deafening as every piece of equipment was badly in need of repairs.

Jake removed the coveralls and was now dressed as a semi-casual drug dealer, his shirttail out, hiding his Glock 19 on his right hip and a mini-Glock stuffed in the small of his back. He had three magazines, fully loaded, in his left hip pocket.

“This is never gonna work,” said Trey.

“Yeah, I heard you.”

“What?” Trey spoke just above the noise of the basement power system.

“Yeah, I heard you. It will work. It has to.”

Jake pulled out two black plastic cases from the toolbox he’d carried into the basement. He popped open the first one and removed a tiny transmitter. Holding it up to the light, he wanted to make sure he was installing it “sunny side up.” He then dropped his pants, getting a “you’ve got to be kidding me” look from Trey.

Jake blew his case agent a kiss and mouthed the words over the basement noise, “Don’t ask. Don’t tell.”

Allowing the transmitter to dangle at his ankle, he ran the microphone wire up his leg, near his crotch, placing the mike just above the belt line. As he rolled some tape around the wire on his leg, Trey smiled and said into Jake’s ear, “Sweetie, that’s gonna hurt when you pull it off. Shoulda shaved your legs before you decided to run with the big dogs.”

“Try this,” said Jake, handing the earpiece to Trey.

Jake walked to the far end of the basement and said, “Testing one, two, three.”

Trey shook his head. “It’s all static. I can’t hear a thing.”

Jake mouthed an expletive as he sat down, crossing his legs to get better access to the transmitter. He made some adjustments and again said, “Testing.”

Trey ripped at the earpiece. “That about blew out my eardrum.”

“Sorry, let me lower the volume. Too bad Hafner’s spook friend couldn’t lend us some of his equipment,” said Jake as he made the adjustment.

“Maybe if you would have cut them in they would have,” said Trey.

“Yeah right. How’s that?”

“Better,” said Trey.

“Good.”

Jake opened the second black plastic container and removed a small transmitter device, disguised to look like a butane lighter, and placed it inside his front shirt pocket. “Back up,” said Jake as he pulled up his pants and buckled his belt.

Grabbing the top shelf from the large toolbox, Jake tossed it aside.

When Trey looked in the oversized box he spotted bundles of currency, U.S. one-hundred-dollar bills. Trey picked up a bundle and began to examine it. “Is this what I think it is?”

“Need-to-know,” said Jake, taking off his shirt and double-stuffing ten bundles of the hundreds — one hundred thousand dollars — inside his waistband.

Both Trey and Brian gave him looks of confusion.

“Can I trust you to keep an eye on the rest of my retirement stash?” said Jake as he grabbed the bundle from Trey and threw it back into the toolbox.

“This stuff looks perfect,” said Trey.

“It almost is,” said Jake, buttoning his shirt, concealing the money and the two weapons he was now carrying.

It was ten minutes to eight. He called Park and learned the North Korean kingpin had to repeat the name of the hotel and the room number. Turning to Trey and Brian, Jake said, “It’s not Henry Yeong. He didn’t know anything about the hotel or the room number when Park called him. I’m not sure who or how many will be up there. The timing is important, so when you hear a commotion, set off everything. It should be straight-up at eight.”

Jake’s confident demeanor washed away most of their misgivings. Trey, out of friendship, and Brian, because of that Marine Corps Semper Fi thing, were ready to go with Jake into battle.