Medusa

CHAPTER 23

THE FBI’S J. EDGAR HOOVER BUILDING HEADQUARTERS ON Pennsylvania Avenue is the antithesis of the bucolic, tree-shaded campus at Quantico. The hulking, seven-story structure was made of poured concrete, in the Brutalist architectural style made popular in the 1960s. The Hoover became even more fortresslike after the terrorist attack of 9/11. Tours for the public came to an end, and barriers were put up around the first floor.

Caitlin Lyons had called ahead, easing Zavala’s entry into the FBI’s inner sanctum. There was the visitor’s badge, and the pleasant guide, a serious young man this time, who miraculously managed to navigate the labyrinth of the corridors without having to resort to map or GPS.

The guide stopped in front of an unmarked door and knocked softly. A voice on the other side of the door said to come in. Zavala thanked the guide, and opened it.

Inside was an office slightly bigger than the gray metal table and chairs it contained. There was nothing on the walls except a black-and-white photo of the Great Wall of China.

A man sat behind the desk talking on the phone in Chinese. He waved Zavala to a chair, continued chatting a minute, then ended the conversation and set the receiver back in its cradle. Popping up like a jack-in-the-box, he shook Zavala’s hand as if trying to coax water from a reluctant pump, then settled back in his chair.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” he said. “I’m Charlie Yoo.” He flashed a friendly smile. “Please, no jokes about the last name. I’ve heard enough ‘Yoo-hoo’ and ‘How’s by Yoo’ around here to last a lifetime.”

Yoo was a pencil-thin man in his mid-thirties. He wore a stylishly cut shiny gray suit with a cobalt blue shirt and blue-and-red striped tie, a sartorial style more in keeping with a cocktail hour at the Willard Hotel than the bowels of the FBI, where conservative navy blue suits were the norm. Yoo spoke English with a New York accent, the sentences coming like bursts of photon energy.

“Nice to meet you, Agent Yoo. I’m Caitlin’s friend, Joe Zavala.”

“The man from NUMA . . . great organization, Joe. Please call me Charlie. Caitlin’s a fantastic woman and a terrific cop. She said you were looking into the Pyramid Triad.”

“That’s right. She thought you might be able to help.”

Yoo sat back in his chair and tented his fingers.

“Excuse me for asking, Joe, but NUMA is an underwater outfit, from what I’ve heard. Why would a guy from NUMA be interested in Chinese organized crime?”

“We wouldn’t be, ordinarily. But someone tried to sabotage a NUMA operation, and we have circumstantial evidence that the seafood subsidiary of Pyramid Trading may have been involved.”

Yoo hiked his eyebrows like Groucho Marx.

“Excuse me for being skeptical, Joe, but that doesn’t seem like Pyramid’s m.o. What’s your evidence?”

“Let me fill in the background. A few days ago, NUMA launched the Bathysphere 3, a replica of a historical diving bell, in waters off Bermuda. The dive was broadcast all over the world . . . You may have seen it on television . . .”

Yoo spread his hands apart, his empty palms signifying no. “I’ve been pretty busy, Joe. Haven’t watched much TV. Is this the op that Pyramid supposedly tried to sabotage?”

Zavala nodded.

“I designed the diving bell,” he said, “and Kurt Austin, my partner at NUMA, was the project leader. The most interesting part of the dive wasn’t transmitted because an underwater robot cut the bathysphere’s cable.”

“Whoa!” Yoo said, a wide grin on his boyish face. “An underwater robot. That’s pretty wild stuff, Joe.”

“I thought so at the time. When the cable let go, the sphere was buried a half mile down in muck.”

Yoo leaned forward across the desk. His grin had disappeared.

“You’re not kidding, are you? That’s an incredible story! How’d you get out of a situation like that?”

“Kurt made a rescue dive, and we were able to activate our flotation system. While we were on our way to the surface, the robot went after Austin. He beat the thing off of him and grabbed one of the pincers it had used to cut our cable. The pincer was stamped with a triangle identical to the Pyramid Trading logo.”

Yoo shook his head.

“You had me going there for a minute. Sorry, Joe, but the triangle is a pretty common symbol. It could mean anything.”

“I agree, Charlie, except for one thing. The robot is identical to one that Pyramid’s seafood division uses to inspect nets.”

“You know this for a fact?”

Zavala nodded.

“I know it for a fact, Charlie.”

Zavala reached in his pocket and extracted a folded copy of the magazine article about the Pyramid seafood division’s AUV, smoothing out the wrinkles on the desk. He put photos from Austin’s Hardsuit camera next to it. Yoo read the article and studied the photos.

“Wow!” Yoo said. “Okay, you win . . . Pyramid tried to sabotage your dive. But why?”

“Haven’t a clue. Which is why I went to see Caitlin. She said Pyramid Trading was the baddest of the bad when it came to Chinese Triads.”

“Pyramid is definitely a major player. But it’s one of hundreds of Triads based in cities around China. Did Caitlin tell you what I do?”

“She said you were a specialist in Chinese gangs around the world.”

“I’m more than a specialist, I’m a former gang member. I’m from Hong Kong originally. My parents moved my family to New York.”

“That accounts for the American accent,” Zavala said.

“Learned English on the sidewalks of Mulberry Street. That’s also where I joined the Ghost Shadows, one of the biggest gangs in the country.”

“Caitlin said the Ghost Shadows is a Pyramid gang.”

“That’s right. My family saw what was going on and moved back to China to keep me out of the gangs. Pop had a bicycle-repair shop, and he kept me so busy I was too tired to get into trouble. I kept my nose clean, went to college. Now I’m part of a special unit from the Ministry of Security.”

“How did you end up in Washington?” Zavala asked.

“Your guys needed my expertise. I’m over here for a few months sharing intel with the FBI. This is just a temporary office, as you’ve probably guessed.”

“Caitlin said that Pyramid was bucking the old traditions, consolidating its power, and that’s one of the reasons it’s in hot water with the Chinese government. That, and the safety scandals over contaminated products.”

“Caitlin’s the expert on the Triads,” Yoo said. “I’ll go along with what she says.”

“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.”