The Killing Hands (36 page)

“Seriously, De Luca. Think about it…Saito had been careful the other times, careful most of his life. He only ever did time once, even though he was linked to murders. He was too careful for something like this.” I point to the photos of Saito's girlfriend, covered in her own blood.

“So you're thinking someone else murdered the girlfriend?” De Luca still isn't convinced but at least he's considering it now. “But why?”

I shrug. “Don't know. I'm brainstorming here. The girlfriend's death was personal…some sort of punishment.”

“By who?”

“Could be one of the bosses. Maybe Saito stepped out of line. Or it could be related to his murder vics.” I take out photos of the three men Saito is suspected of killing from 1990 to 1993. “One of these guys.”

“Payback.” De Luca makes it a statement, not a question. I've piqued his interest.

“If that's the case we'd be looking at someone close to one of these three men. A professional acquaintance, maybe their boss or some other colleague, a family member or a friend. They suspect Saito, or maybe they know for sure he's the doer, so they take their own justice. They make him suffer…”

“They kill his girl.” De Luca completes the sentence.

“Yup.”

“I like it, Anderson. But I think we're talking a family member or friend, not a business acquaintance. Crime organizations like the Yakuza have unwritten codes of conduct.”

“And killing someone's girlfriend is overstepping the mark?”

“Usually. Don't get me wrong, it happens in extreme circumstances. But it's more likely to be personal than business.”

“Okay.” I look at the L.A. Yakuza files and the Asian Boyz files. “So we need to find someone in here who knew one of Saito's Tokyo victims.”

“You still got that Interpol contact?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I know we've got Saito's file, but maybe it's time to get more detailed info.”

I nod. “The full files on all the murder victims, info on the Yakuza in Tokyo around 1990, and anything else Interpol in Japan can dig up.”

“Yup.”

I make a quick call to Latoya Burges and pass on our latest request. Another waiting game. But in the meantime we've still got plenty of paperwork to keep us going.

De Luca takes a deep breath and blows it out. “Let's get to it.”

A
t nine o'clock on Wednesday night I get a call from Petrov.

“We need to meet. At the diner. See you there in half an hour.” The line goes dead.

Something's up.

I get out of my tracksuit and pull on some jeans, a black sweater, my shoulder holster and gun and my leather jacket. It'll take me only fifteen minutes to get to the diner, but I leave as soon as I'm dressed. I'd rather wait around there than here.

I'm the first to arrive and take a seat in the end booth. I order a coffee, thinking I might be in for a long night, and wait.

Five minutes later De Luca shows up. “Hi, Anderson.” His face is tense, with his brow furrowed and his jaw muscles working.

“You know what this is about?” I ask.

“Uh-huh.” He slides in opposite me. “Agent Young didn't report in this evening.”

“He ever missed a check-in before?”

“A couple times. No point checking in if it's going to blow your cover.”

“This time's different?”

He sighs. “Maybe not. It's just—” De Luca stops short and looks behind me. The waitress is within earshot. She asks De Luca what he wants and De Luca orders a coffee. Once she's out of range, De Luca leans in. “It's a combination of things this time—events that may have led to his discovery.”

“Such as?”

Again, De Luca's eyes are on something behind me. I turn around to see Brady on his way down to our booth. He looks different, not himself, but then I realize it's because he's wearing jeans and a denim jacket and I've never seen him in anything but a suit.

“Anderson, De Luca.” He gives us both nods.

The waitress arrives with De Luca's coffee and Brady orders one for himself plus an extra one for Petrov.

De Luca is silent so I prompt him. “Why are you worried this time?”

“First off there's still a question mark about whether Ken was supposed to harm or kill you guys. Moto confirmed the order as not to kill, but there's still doubt in Dan's mind. And now we've potentially siphoned information through to the leak. What if it came through and Dan asked one too many questions about the source? Our plan could have endangered him.”

“Dan's been undercover for a while, he knows how much he can push.”

Brady nods. “Anderson's right, De Luca. I'm sure he'll check in tomorrow.”

“That's the protocol?” I ask.

Petrov walks in and strides down to our booth. He slides in next to me, giving us all nods and a communal “Hey.”

Once the waitress has poured two more cups of coffee and departed De Luca continues. “His brief is to make contact as soon as possible after the scheduled meet. Maybe late tonight, maybe tomorrow…maybe the next day.” De Luca slurps down a large mouthful of coffee.

“I'm sure he's okay, Joe.” Petrov's voice is reassuring.

De Luca shakes his head. “I've got a bad feeling about this op. It's been the same ever since Saito got offed.” Some
times cops have to trust their gut instincts. De Luca knows Young, he knows the context, so if he's worried, I'm worried.

I bite my lip. “Can we extract him?”

“That's what we need to talk about.”

“I understand you're worried, De Luca, but it's early days.” Brady holds his hands around the warm mug of coffee. “We don't want to burn that bridge unnecessarily.”

“How long then, Brady?” De Luca's voice holds unchecked aggression.

“A sensible and reasonable amount of time.” Brady keeps his tone even yet forceful.

De Luca shakes his head. “That could be too late.”

“Can you initiate contact?” I ask.

De Luca is silent at first. “We have procedures in place, of course, but it's usually Young who initiates contact.”

“So what's the procedure for you initiating?” I ask, feeling like a bit of a peacekeeper.

“I send him a text. But with a new, untraceable SIM card to be on the safe side.”

“Okay…so let's do that.”

De Luca drums his fingers on the table. “What to put in the message? Young's mother has been sick recently, so if her condition changes I'm supposed to send a message that says ‘Call Mom.' And if I think his cover's blown, it's ‘Haven't seen you in ages.'”

“This is a little different.” Brady leans back.

“Yes.” De Luca is still hostile.

“How about ‘It feels like I haven't seen you in ages,'” Petrov suggests.

De Luca nods. “I've got a couple of spare SIM cards at my task force desk.”

Brady stands up. “Good luck. Let me know how it goes.” He leaves, his half-full coffee cup still steaming on the table.

“What an ass,” De Luca says as soon as Brady's out the door.

Petrov shrugs. “He's not that bad. People skills just aren't his forte.”

“I'll say.”

Petrov stands. “Come on, let's drop into the office.”

The three of us walk the couple of blocks to L.A.'s FBI field office, sign in and ride the elevator to the fifteenth floor. Except for Petrov and me making a few reassuring comments to De Luca, we're silent.

At his desk, De Luca hunts around for a locked money box and opens it up. Inside is about a hundred dollars in smaller notes, a couple of keys, a phone and a few SIM cards.

“Okay.” He takes the SIM card out of his phone and puts in one of the new ones. While he works the keypad, Petrov and I wait.

“Done.”

Petrov nods. “Now we wait.” He leans against the desk behind him.

“What if Young doesn't have his phone switched on? Or doesn't hear it?” I am worried about Young, but part of me agrees with Brady—he's deep undercover and there'll be times he can't check in.

“Young always has his cell on, and handy.” Sure enough, as if on cue, De Luca's phone gives a double beep.

“That's promising.” Petrov pushes himself fully upright.

“What does it say?” I ask, peering over De Luca's shoulder.

De Luca reads out the message.
“Yes. Feels like ages to me, too…too long. The info came through.”

“Is that code?” I ask.

“No. It's not code.” De Luca hunches over.

“So he can't get away and he's worried his cover's been blown?” Petrov confirms.

“Yes.”

“What about the info part?” I ask. “It must mean the information about Park Ling and Quon Liao.”

“Uh-huh.” De Luca takes a deep breath. “I wonder how easy it is for him to receive and send messages. Phone calls, even.”

“Well, obviously he's still got his phone on him. That's a good sign,” I say.

“But for how long?” De Luca starts pacing. “If I send another text right away, it might arouse even more suspicion. But if I wait, he might not be able to get the message or text me back.”

We're silent for a few beats.

“You have to text him, now.” I bite my lip. “Like you said, it might be the last chance.”

De Luca stops pacing and lets out another quick, sharp breath. “Okay. I'll say, ‘Maybe it's time to go home. Name the time and place.' That way if he wants out, we can extract him tonight, now.”

Petrov and I both nod, and then De Luca presses the send button.

Agent Dan Young never responds.

 

The next morning it's business as usual at the office, with most people oblivious to our predicament. Only De Luca, Petrov, Brady and I know that our agent in the Yakuza is in danger…maybe already dead. Although if Young's cover has been blown, then the leak probably knows all about his predicament.

“The fact that the names of our two suspects filtered through to the Yakuza indicates the leak must be Agent Williams or Hana.” Petrov's comment is met with silence. It's no revelation, but it still stops us in our tracks.

“But how would that put Young in danger? How would it blow his cover?”

We're silent at first. Brady leans in, resting his arms on the table.

“Maybe something else blew his cover,” I suggest.

“Like what?” Petrov drums his fingers on the table.

“Is it possible someone's been eavesdropping on our conversations?” I move us on to another option. “Either physically or electronically?”

Brady stands up. “Let's organize a bug sweep. See what we get.” He pauses. “But it will have to be done out of hours, when our mole isn't around.”

“We should also check the diner, sir,” Petrov says.
“Given that's where most of our sensitive conversations took place.”

Brady gives a short nod. “I'll authorize the paperwork. Get it rolling.” He walks to the door and turns back with his hand on the knob. “We need to keep working this case. Find out who contracted our killer. If Young is in trouble, it might be related. Especially if the hit wasn't sanctioned by Moto.”

Petrov nods, slowly. “It's possible they don't know Young's DEA. Someone might be trying to clean up their own mess, and Young found out who the contract killer was or discovered who betrayed Moto in the organization.”

“And so this third person needs to get to Young before he talks.” I stand up, too, going with Petrov's theory. “Needs to cut him off from all communication, like his cell phone. Whoever put a contract on Saito would also need to make sure the news of his identity doesn't move up the hierarchy, to Moto.” I'm eager to get back to my desk and in contact with Interpol. Hopefully the information from Japan has come through overnight.

Petrov nods. “That's what I'm thinking.” He sighs. “That brings us back to Agents Williams or Kim. For the leak.”

We all pause, processing the implication.

“Yes.” Brady lingers at the door. “Let's get confirmation before we go to the regional bosses of the ATF or DEA, though.” With that, he exits.

De Luca rubs his eyes. “What a mess. And how are we going to confirm whether it's Williams or Hana if we can't reach Young?”

“I'll put a tail on both of them.” Petrov taps his pen on the paper. “See if either of them leads us to someone in Yakuza.”

After a moment of silence I make a move for the door. “De Luca, I'm going to contact Interpol. See if they've got anything yet.”

“I'm with you.” De Luca stands up. “I'll get us set up with the paperwork we already have in one of the meeting rooms.”

Back at my desk I check my e-mail, but when there's nothing new in my in-box I ring Latoya Burges at Interpol.

“Hey, Latoya. It's Sophie.”

“Hey. You're chasing your Japan info?”

“Yup.”

“I'm still sorting through my e-mails. Hold on a second.”

I wait while she scans her in-box. “Okay, I've got something from our Japan office. I'll forward it now.”

“Thanks, Latoya. You're the best.”

“Yo.” She hangs up and within less than a minute the e-mail arrives. It's a big file and I scan through all the different attachments. It includes full police and autopsy reports on all three murder victims, plus some historical reports on the Yakuza's activities in Tokyo. One's dated May 1990 and the other one June 1995. All useful information. I print everything out and look for De Luca. I find him in meeting room two.

We start with the crime-scene photos, even though some of them were in Saito's file already. When nothing hits us there, we move on to the surveillance shots. And that's when I see it.

“This guy looks familiar.” I point to a man standing with the person who would eventually become Saito's third Tokyo victim.

De Luca takes a closer look at the pic, which hasn't scanned well. Eventually he says, “It looks a bit like Jo Hoshi, Tomi Moto's bodyguard, but the age is all wrong.”

I study it once more, comparing it to our most recent pic of Jo Hoshi. “It really does look like him.”

There's a knock at the door and Hana enters. “You guys aren't going to believe this—we got a hit on the facial recognition software.”

“What? Our hit man's here?”

“Looks that way. The software came up with an eighty percent match, and our analyst reckons it's a definite match, bar bonier eyebrow structures and a bigger nose.”

“Facial disguises,” I say.

Hana nods. “That or recent plastic surgery.”

“What about the fingerprints and iris scans? And the name?”

“All different. Although the first name's the same as one of our marked guys.”

“So a totally new identity.”

“Yup.”

“When?”