The Gaze of Caprice (The Caprice Trilogy Book 1) (82 page)

              “Ok,” said Gael, “I sent the target team because I knew Standing activated you.  When I got the word about the break in and the ambassador said it was someone who knew Keig, I opened your file.  Standing mentioned you as part of
Caprice
and said you were off grid.  I knew Standing had contacted you or how else would you know Keig was in custody?  No way you were in contact with him after
Caprice. 
I just couldn’t accuse Standing openly.  It doesn’t work like that.  I couldn’t go after her so I found the weakest link.  You can cry if you want but you know what we do.”  Mr. Li looked down at the floor.  It was a professional courtesy.  Looking at Gael, would have made it personal.  Between them, it was professional.

              “Why are you in bed with Standing?” asked Gael, “You were off grid.  Why come back and take risks for Keig?”

              “I owe him,” said Mr. Li.

              “How?” asked Gael, the pain increasing.

              “Did Standing tell you how
Caprice
operated?” asked Mr. Li, “About the red and yellow.”

              “Yeah,” said Gael.

              “Then you know Keig could have killed me anytime,” said Mr. Li, “He should have killed me after I killed another
Caprice
agent.”

              “Voloshyn,” said Gael.

              “Standing told you,” said Mr. Li, “Mason should have killed me then but he didn’t.  And he should have killed me when I walked away from
Caprice
.  He knew I was going to drop off grid.  I was the loosest of ends.  He really should have done it.  I thought he would.  And I was angry enough to be ok with it back then.  Not now.”  Mr. Li looked Gael in the eye.  It was personal.

              “I’m alive,” said Mr. Li, “
Caprice
was just waiting to die.  I owe Keig.”

              “A life?” said Gael.  Mr. Li nodded.

              “Go on and use it now,” said Gael, “Your sister isn’t a concern.  I ordered the target team, just me.  You give the Venezuelans their money back and they’ll give Keig back.  Go on and use it.”  Reagan aimed the barrel of the revolver at Gael’s head and put his finger on the trigger.  Gael closed his eye.  He heard the sound and felt the vibration of the warden moving closer toward him.  He opened his eyes.  Mr. Li put the revolver on the floor, below Gael’s head.  And walked away.

              “You bastard,” said Gael, “You motherfucker.  You fucker.”  Gael started to squirm like a worm.  He didn’t know if the idea was to tire himself to the point of passing out or to create enough pressure to break the chain or the balcony balusters.  The more he struggled the more exhausted he became.  His exhaustion put an end to his struggle.  His toes were freezing and his body began to shut down.  He felt hollow, lifeless.  He hung for over two hours but time was immeasurable. He faded in and out of consciousness.  It was so cold that he started to feel the cuts all over his body.  More and more he could feel the cuts.  He felt the wounds and then he felt the salt.  The pain was so bad it caused him to pass out for longer periods.  When he woke up the pain was gone for the first few seconds before slowly creeping back in force.  He hung in a stupor, neither alive nor dead.  He hung for two more hours before it was over. 

• • •

              Georgia rolled from her back to her side.  It wasn’t a night for sleeping.  She didn’t look at the clock but guessed she might have got in a good two hours.  It was only from complete exhaustion that she managed to sleep at all.  There were too many synapses firing in her brain for the deep kind of sleep she needed.  She did the only sensible thing.  She got out of bed and went to her computer.  There was a website for designer shoes saved in her history.  They had same day delivery.  Vanity was a cure-all.  She browsed everything from boots to high-heels, sorting her favorites into her cart.  She was practical.  She always thought before she bought.  She took her cigarettes and lighter to the balcony.  She never smoked inside.  Her self-taught moments were always on the balcony.  She finished one cigarette and decided on a second.  She had just lit her second cigarette when she heard her cell phone ring.  Her balcony and her cigarettes could be surrendered separately but not together.  She let the phone ring.  She smoked her cigarette down to a stub and gave it to the ashtray.  She went back inside and saw the missed call.  There was no numbered displayed just a strange mix of letters.  It was a missed call from the secured satellite.  She called back using the access code.  When the line picked up she spoke first.

              “Hello Ray,” she said.

              “I’ve found a solution to a mutual problem,” said Mr. Li.

              “Gael,” said Georgia.

              “Yes,” said Mr. Li, “That one.”

              “You might have solved only one problem,” said Georgia.

              “Is he not your mole?” said Mr. Li.

              “They don’t just come out of the ground Ray,” said Georgia, “I thought of something from yesterday.”

              “What?” said Mr. Li.

              “There’s a guy who took part in the vote,” said Georgia, “His mother’s from Venezuela.  He still has family there.”

              “You’re thinking him?” said Mr. Li.

              “I am,” said Georgia, “I’m not as sharp as I used to be, sorry for that.”

              “Mr. Barron admitted to targeting my sister,” said Mr. Li, “There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

              “I have a deal for Mason,” said Georgia, “The Venezuelans will do an even exchange, the money for Mason.  When can you have it?”

              “I don’t have it,” said Mr. Li.

              “Where is it?” asked Georgia.

              “With them,” said Mr. Li.

              “Since when?” said Georgia.

              “Always,” said Mr. Li.

              “You gave it back,” said Georgia.

              “I never took it,” said Mr. Li.

              “The Venezuelans still have the money,” said Georgia, “Then why do they think they don’t?”

              “There was nowhere for me to transfer that much money, even broken up” said Mr. Li, “There was nowhere to hide it, except their own account.”

              “The money’s still there.  Why can’t they find it?” said Georgia.

              “Do you remember
Open Gate
?” asked Mr. Li.

              “The project?” said Georgia, “It was Malaysia.  It was your last project.”

              “Kuala Lumpur,” said Mr. Li, “Mason assigned me to a woman who worked at
Malpen
, a conglomerate that was forging US bills.  Diana worked there as a systems administrator.  She created a program that hid the accounting of the counterfeits on
Malpen
’s server.  It had high compression so it ran anonymous on the server.  A programmer wouldn’t just find it.  You had to know it was there.  She was the only one who knew about it.”

              “You used her program,” said Georgia.  Mr. Li went silent. 

              “I needed it,” said Mr. Li, “So she gave it to me.”

              “Why?” asked Georgia.

              “She had a friend,” said Mr. Li, “Her friend was the liaison between her and the gang that moved the fake bills.  Mason wanted to bring in the friend.  I told him Diana was more valuable.  He wasn’t listening.  So I had Diana give me her program and we went after the copy being used by the gang to hide their transactions with the fake bills.  With Diana, I had the program itself and the accounts of
Malpen
and the gang using the program to hide the counterfeits.  It was a closed circle of evidence.  It would have been everything Mason needed.  But
Malpen
was partially owned by the Malaysian government, so Mason wanted to leave
Malpen
out of it.  Diana was a cancer because she worked for
Malpen
.  The Agency agreed with the Secret Service not to bring the ax down on
Malpen
as a political favor to the Malaysian government.  The night we went after the last copy of the program…”

              “Was the night he gave you the yellow card,” said Georgia, “I remember the operation report.  It didn’t mention Diana though.”

              “No one was going to mention her,” said Mr. Li.  There was a long pause.

              “Can I ask for something?” said Mr. Li.

              “What’s that?” said Georgia.

              “The truth,” said Mr. Li.

              “You know how expensive that is,” said Georgia, “$308 billion should be enough though.  Go ahead.”

              “The night we went to get the program, three men showed up at the same time,” said Mr. Li, “It was at a fitness gym in the middle of the night.  Mason was watching me with
Caprice
.  Did he send those men?”

              “Truthfully,” said Georgia, “I don’t know.  There was nothing about that in the report.  The yellow card is in the report because the system that ran
Caprice
automatically recorded the yellow card signal.  Mason was required to give a reason for the yellow card in the report.  All he wrote was
insubordination
.  That’s typical though.”

              “You don’t know,” said Mr. Li.

              “No, Ray,” said Georgia, “I’m sorry I don’t.  But I’ll tell you what.  We’ll get Mason and you can ask him.  We’ll deal with the mole later.  We make Mason priority now.  What do you think?”

              “The program is simple,” said Mr. Li, “They need to log on as the administrator on
Costas & Yeager
’s server but instead of using their password they have to use the password that accesses the program.  They’ll have access to both systems.  Then they can do what they need to.”

              “What’s the password to access the program?” said Georgia.

              “All caps,” said Mr. Li, “D-I-A-N-A.”

              “Thank you,” said Georgia.

              “We’ll talk,” said Mr. Li.

• • •

              Mount Pleasant was a British Royal Air Force base that resembled a small British town.  But it was far from Britain.  It had the Queen’s English and the Union Jack but it was off the coast of South America in the Falkland Islands, a British Overseas Territory.  The base was in the middle of nowhere.  It was over sixty kilometers away from the capital city, Stanley.  The base was surrounded by the secretive terrain of rolling hills and preserved landscape.  A military operated
Boeing 707
flew directly from Venezuela and landed on the airstrip at Mount Pleasant, just after 10:00am.  Its cargo was unregistered.  A few Venezuelan government employees with light military escort were the plane’s only passengers.  There was also one American.  The passengers disembarked casually and two military guards stood with hands behind their back and pistols in their holsters at the bottom of the passenger stairs.  Three men in black suits walked down the stairs and shook hands with the base commander.  A chartered
LongRanger
helicopter rested on the opposite side of the tarmac recently arrived from Stanley.  Georgia stepped out from the helicopter leaving the pilot and a young American man inside.  She walked across the tarmac and greeted the three Venezuelan men in suits.  Inside the helicopter the pilot looked at his watch.  The young man in the helicopter saw the pilot eye his watch and did the same.  He looked out the window of the helicopter seeing Georgia exchange handshakes and words with the three Venezuelan men.  The helicopter engine was silent but the conversation was too far away to make sounds into words.  A man dressed in a white shirt and jeans emerged from the
Boeing
airplane and began to descend the passenger stairs.  His hair was dark and neatly combed parted down the center.  He was clean-shaven.  As he descended the stairs everyone standing on the tarmac watched.  Making it to the bottom of the steps, he could be seen shaking hands with Georgia.  He ignored the Venezuelans.  A few words were exchanged between Georgia and the man.  She pointed him to the helicopter sitting on the opposite side of the tarmac and he began to walk toward the helicopter.  The young man in the helicopter was instructed to open the door when one man approached the door solo and knocked three times.  Looking at his watch, he opened the door.

              “Label please,” said the young man.

              “Chessmaster,” said the man in jeans.

              “Thank you,” said the young man, “Name?”

              “Mason Keig,” said the man in jeans.  The young man looked at a photograph on his clipboard and looked back at the man labeled Chessmaster.

              “Welcome aboard,” said the young man, “I’m Evan Redding, field officer.”

              “Nice to meet you Evan,” said Mason.  Mason sat in the seat across from Evan.  Both looked out the window.  Although Mason was the senior officer, Evan looked more official with his clipboard and headset.  Both watched as Georgia conversed with the three Venezuelans in suits.  The British base commander joined the discussion for a brief moment before walking back across the tarmac.  Mason watched.  He waited.  Georgia stayed put, talking to the Venezuelans.