Qubit, page 3
“What about her?” asked Lock.
“Are you guys doing anything?”
Lock puzzled over Vicky’s apparent ability to participate in a dozen conversations at once. Yet another tip-maximizing skill. “Yeah. I’m taking her and Krista snowboarding.”
“That’s so sweet.”
Lock nodded and took another sip from his beer. “If I’m lucky, she’ll come over afterwards and we can rent a movie and order a pizza. She used to love that. But now…”
“She’s sixteen, Lock,” counseled Vicky. “That’s all. She’s just outgrown it.”
“She’s outgrown me.”
“Nah,” said Vicky. Lock looked up just as she winked at him and scampered away again.
“Two million dollars,” mused Kafka, cocking an eyebrow. “You could buy Sophie her own slope.”
Lock regarded his friend warily from the corner of his eyes. “You’re such an asshole.”
“Or maybe I just work for the FBI.”
Pioneer Wharf, Singapore
Saturday, January 20th
4:30 a.m. SGT (Singapore Time)
Katya put down the field glasses and wiped her brow. Her black Lycra tights felt constricting in the night’s thick, damp heat. She leaned back against a large shipping container, concealed in its shadow. After counting ten deep breaths, she peered cautiously from around the corner, raising her field glasses to her eyes.
Li Mun was speaking to a dozen men in black suits who stood around him in a semicircle. Behind them were four black Mercedes SUVs. Katya found Li Mun’s presence here puzzling. The day before, she’d noticed a spike in the chatter from Li Mun’s lieutenants. They never said much, and what they did say was nearly impossible to make sense of, even after months of listening in. But in her years in the field, she’d learned to infer a great deal through context. How many calls had been made? How far apart were they? Did the speakers sound tense? She knew something was happening tonight, even if she didn’t know what.
She’d picked up Li Mun’s cavalcade after they had crossed the bridge leaving the Li Estate on Sentosa Island. The use of a private wharf like this one would normally have suggested to Katya they were smuggling in young women. But there was no reason for Li Mun to concern himself with such a routine event.
Two more black Mercedes SUVs pulled up, and more men in black suits began spilling out of them. There was a strange tension in their movements, but Katya couldn’t quite identify what it was. Abruptly, she recognized the man who got out of the rearmost vehicle: Satish Rathod. Now it all started to make sense. The Rathods were a relatively small-time crime family, not nearly as influential as the Li Triad, and certainly not Triad. But they were players, nonetheless. Probably here to negotiate some sordid business arrangement.
The two men shook hands, encircled by what amounted to a platoon’s worth of nervous soldiers. In their midst, the two principals chatted easily, like old friends. Katya hadn’t bothered setting up mikes or cameras—the place was too wide open. She was probably too close as it was.
She leaned back against the shipping container and took another deep breath. This was something of a letdown. She’d been hoping for a breakthrough—perhaps a meeting with the trade minister, or at least the deputy minister. She considered just packing up and leaving. But then she thought of Ong Goh. Another trick that nearly a decade in the field had taught her—information was currency. Maybe she’d learn something that would be useful to the SPF. After all, they needed a warrant to do surveillance here. Whatever was happening, she was the only way they’d ever know about it. And although the CIA was on friendly terms with the SPF, and she was on good terms with her contact, Ong Goh, it never hurt to come bearing gifts.
She squatted down to fish around in a black canvas bag she’d brought with her. She pulled out a small black camera and then slowly peered around the corner again. She heard the rumble of a boat and then saw its outline as it approached the dock. The running lights were off. She heard voices calling out—they were guiding the vessel in. Everyone was now facing the shore, which meant there wasn’t much point in taking pictures because there were no faces. Still, she held the camera in position. They’d turn around eventually. She’d snap a few pictures proving the meeting between Li Mun and Satish Rathod had taken place, and then she’d split.
It was girls after all. The catcalls started even before she could see them. Perhaps they were a gift to cement some business deal? The first of them appeared at the front of the barge, alighting unsteadily on the dock with the help of several of the gangsters. Then a second and a third. Satish and his men were acting as though they’d never seen women before. Li Mun’s crew had actually withdrawn slightly. Curiously, they weren’t looking at the girls—
Gunfire flashed and cracked and the women screamed and nine men were thrown backward, falling to the ground. Katya’s arms fell to her sides before she remembered the camera. She brought it back up, focused, and held the button down. She took a round of photos and put the camera down again, watching with naked eyes. Li Mun’s men advanced, divvying up the slain and carefully firing one round into each of their skulls.
Kill shots. Take no chances.
And leave no traces. Weapons dangled from shoulder straps or disappeared into holsters. Keys were taken from pockets. Bodies were picked up and thrown aboard the barge that had brought the girls, who in turn were loaded into the newly orphaned SUVs. The motor of the barge fired up, grumbled a bit, and the ship drifted back into the darkness. The SUVs efficiently formed a parade of tail lights leading back out to the main highway.
Within ten minutes of the first shots, the wharf was empty.
Katya slid down behind her container and realized she wasn’t breathing. Calm down, she told herself. It was just another gangland execution. Li Mun had, for some reason, decided he’d had enough of Satish Rathod. No big deal, not her concern. But still, her hands were shaking. Even though she had some military training, spook fieldwork was mostly surveillance and relationships. She’d never witnessed anything this violent firsthand.
She looked at the camera and began flipping through the photos she’d taken, partly out of curiosity and partly just to calm herself. Neither Li Mun nor Satish Rathod’s faces were identifiable in a single photo. Satish, of course, had been on the ground by the time she’d starting taking pictures. Li Mun had quietly lumbered into the back of one of the SUVs, never once turning toward the camera. She wondered if perhaps he’d known she was there. She looked around nervously, but there was nothing but looming shipping containers and shadows upon shadows. She placed the camera back in the bag, hoisted it over her shoulder, and hurriedly disappeared into the darkness.
Tally Bar, Singapore
Saturday, January 20th
10:30 p.m. SGT (Singapore Time)
Katya worked her way through the crowd at the legendary Tally Bar and climbed up the spiral staircase to find Ong Goh at his usual table in the far corner. She sat down across from him and smiled. He always managed to look at her like she was the only woman on earth. She admired the Clark Gable mustache and the confident look in his eye and the impeccable way he dressed, with a cravat and neatly turned-out collar, his silver hair always slicked back—and his whiskey glass never empty. Ong Goh was truly a man from a bygone era.
“Hello, my darling,” he growled, his voice somehow cutting through the sound of the drum solo from Sing, Sing, Sing. “Will you marry me?”
“You’re already married.” Ordinarily, Katya would have merely tolerated the harassment, taking the high road in the name of some larger goal. She believed she had pretty thick skin. But coming from Ong Goh, it was somehow, if not charming, at least inoffensive.
“I’ll get divorced.”
“Ask me again when it comes through.”
“I will.”
A waiter appeared. Ong Goh ordered for her: “Whiskey sour for my beautiful companion.”
“Just a soda water with lime,” corrected Katya.
Ong Goh frowned. “How can I take advantage of you if you’re always sober.”
Katya smiled patronizingly. “I have some interesting news.”
“There are no words you can speak that would not be interesting, my darling Katya.”
“Right. Last night—well, I guess it was early this morning—Li Mun’s thugs shot and killed Satish Rathod and…eight of his men.”
“Not seven or nine?”
“No. Eight.”
“My, my. Where?”
“There’s a private wharf they use, west of the airport. They use it mostly for girls. But this time there was some kind of meet. Apparently, it didn’t go well.”
“Satish dead. And the little brother isn’t even in the business.”
“The little brother?”
“Vipul. Their father sent him off to Oxford. Sort of the runt of the family.”
“Hmm. So he’s like Michael Corleone.”
“A Godfather reference? Sure. Except his father’s already dead.”
“That brings me to another question.” Katya delved into her purse and pulled out the photos she’d printed from the video capture outside Li Mun’s home. “Is this Vipul, perhaps?”
Ong Goh put down his whiskey and examined the photos. Katya’s soda water arrived, and she took a sip. “Could be,” said Ong Goh. “I’d have to run it by someone to be sure. Can I keep these?”
“Sure. I have some others from the wharf last night, but they don’t show much except a bunch of guys in suits lying on the ground.”
“I can see that in the alley beside the hotel any night of the week.”
Katya smiled.
Ong Goh leaned back and took a long draught of whiskey. He stared at Katya. “In all seriousness, why won’t you run away with me?”
“What do you make of all this? Why is—what’s the brother’s name again?”
“Vipul. Don’t you know, I’m very unhappily married.”
“No, you’re not. Do you think Vipul made some kind of deal with Li Mun? Was it a power play? Did he arrange to have his brother killed?”
Ong Goh leaned forward and took Katya’s hand. “You mustn’t overthink these things, my love. The criminal mind is rarely complicated. Anyway, who cares? The Triad is our real concern.”
Katya withdrew her hand. “I know. I just thought it might be useful intel.”
“I’ll pass it on. Thank you. Do you have anything else?”
“Not this time. You?”
“Not much. As expected, our minister is planning to support the quota proposal.”
“That’s good.”
“That’s terrible.”
“Except that I have his cell conversations with Li Mun. So it proves Li Mun is influencing him.”
“It proves nothing. We have nothing to go after him with and nothing to show Triad influence. You know I can’t use your surveillance.”
“Not directly, no. You know better than I, this is how it always starts. A piece here and a piece there.”
“If it means dragging this case out so I can spend my evenings with you, I’m all for it.”
Katya smiled wearily. “Not quite what I meant.”
Chinese Garden, Singapore
Sunday, January 21st
5:30 a.m. SGT (Singapore Time)
Had anyone been surveilling Katya, they would have known that every morning she went for a long walk, all the way down to the Chinese Garden and then back. And every morning she’d meet with what they might guess was a retired gentleman who had a fondness for Panama hats, guayabera shirts, and perhaps attractive young women of ambiguous ethnicity. They would meet a little after sunrise on weekdays—perhaps thirty-minutes later on weekends—on a bridge near the twin pagodas overlooking Jurong Lake and have a chat. They were creatures of habit, it seemed, as they rarely missed a day. Perhaps they’d become friends, in time, meeting each morning like that. Maybe it was just knowing that the other was going to be there, looking forward to saying hello and hearing the latest news.
Or maybe…
ψ
This particular morning, as on most mornings, Haruo Quartan arrived before Katya. He leaned over the railing, appearing to stare out at the calm surface of the lake.
Katya walked to the apex of the bridge, taking her place next to him, and assuming the same posture. “Good morning, Haruo,” she said.
“Good morning, Katya. I hear Mr. Li has been a bad boy.”
“I saw it myself.”
Haruo paused. “What tipped you off?”
“Chatter.”
“Cell phones?”
“Yes.”
“They never learn.”
Katya smiled to herself. “I’d like to think perhaps it has something to do with listening patiently for nearly two years. Not to mention Hong Kong.”
“There’s that,” acknowledged Haruo.
Katya smiled again. “Thank you.”
“What’s he about?”
“Li Mun? I think it’s actually a coup happening in another family. Li Mun was just the trigger man.”
“Which family?”
Katya straightened up, leaving just a hand on the railing, and turned toward Haruo, who was still looking out over the lake. “Fairly small-time. The Rathods?”
Haruo made a slight humming sound.
Katya wondered if that meant he’d heard of them. “The younger brother, Vipul, got rid of the older one, Satish,” she added helpfully.
“For Li Mun to intervene…”
Katya was eager to show Haruo that she had explored all the implications. “Vipul must have conceded something.”
“A great deal, I would imagine. This is Singapore, after all.”
Katya was silent. Haruo apparently wasn’t impressed by her analysis. This is Singapore. Murder was rare in the island city-state. Of course, that was partly because it was so easy to get rid of the bodies. The murder of Satish and his men would very likely never show up in the official statistics.
“The younger brother is up to something. Li must realize it too.”
Katya took a different angle. Haruo was always telling her to stay focused. She wanted to make sure he knew that she had. “Given our mission here…”
“You’re probably right.”
They were silent for a few moments. Sometimes, there just weren’t any new developments worth talking about. Katya prepared to say good-bye.
But apparently it was okay for Haruo to get distracted. “What do we know about the younger brother?”
“Not much. Ong Goh is going to send me the SPF profile. Western education. Oxford. Was not directly involved in the family business.”
“You see the problem?”
Katya did not. What had she missed? She waited for Haruo to continue.
“In medieval Europe, the nobility sent the younger sons into the clergy. Today, gangsters send their younger sons to Oxford and Harvard.”
Katya desperately wanted to see the connection.
Haruo’s mind continued down whatever rabbit hole it had fallen into. “The father, then, he’s passed on?”
“Yes,” confirmed Katya, recalling Ong Goh’s observation from the night before, and wondering what had inspired Haruo’s guess.
Haruo made a low humming sound. “Let’s set up on Vipul.”
“I don’t understand.” Katya stared intently at Haruo as if she might be able to see into his mind and learn the secrets of how it worked.
“There’s nothing to understand, Katya. That’s exactly the problem.”
She turned back toward the lake and stared at a family of turtles swimming past, feeling stupid.
“Katya. You’re looking for connections. Sometimes you have to look for disconnections.” Quartan paused. “I’m not talking about the whole works. Just the basics. A radio scanner. A few cameras. Just to have it. Just in case.”
“Okay.”
“Anything else?”
“Ong Goh proposed to me again.”
“I wish you both the best.”
Katya laughed in spite of her frustration. “I didn’t accept!”
“Ah. Well, you should. He’s a fine old cadger.”
“He’s married!”
“To a fine woman, in fact. Until tomorrow?”
“Good-bye, Haruo.”
“Good-bye, Katya.”
3
* * *
Little India, Singapore
Sunday, January 21st
9:00 a.m. SGT (Singapore Time)
Vipul wiped a bead of sweat from his brow as he scanned the faces of the family’s lieutenants, seven of whom had recently been promoted. The chairs at the tables were all occupied, and there were still another dozen men standing. They were all packed into the back room of Desi, a restaurant whose real purpose was to launder money and give them a place to meet discretely. It was hot and dank, and the smell of sweat and curry made Vipul’s eyes water.
Anand’s imposing figure loomed over his own, even though Vipul was standing as tall as he could. He never stopped being impressed by Anand’s stature. Everything about him was oversized: his bald head, his broad shoulders, his ring-clad, claw-like hands. His eyes always seemed to be narrowed and his jaw clenched. “Everybody’s here,” he whispered to Vipul.
Vipul had no way of knowing. The faces looked familiar, but that was all. His father had sometimes brought him along to meetings not much different than this one. “Watch and learn,” he’d growl, “but say nothing.” Sometimes he would go to the office of his brother, om shanti, to engage in another round of their interminable arguments…and someone would interrupt, waved in by his brother, striding into the office past him like he wasn’t there, leaning forward to whisper something into his brother’s ear. And then there were the family gatherings, where he’d see them lurking in the back, mere shadows consorting at the fringes of the laughter and conversation, occassionally exchanging whispers with each other or his father or his brother. So he had a uneasy familiarity with them, but that was all.
Thank goodness for Anand. Or, rather, for his father’s foresight in asking Anand to take Vipul under his wing. His father had known this day would come. And Anand had embraced the role, just as his father had known he would. Anand understood what his father was trying to do. But the rest of the organization saw Vipul as a threat.
