“That’s it?” asked Hafner.
Jake glowered. “How about you? You got any ideas? You seem to be on top of things.”
Rachel Chang was beginning to understand the admonition she’d received from Jake’s last supervisor. “He’s great undercover; maybe the best we’ve got, but keep him away from people.” She’d laughed when she heard the warning but had come to realize the wisdom in it.
“Jake,” said Rachel, “if Park doesn’t have the money, he’ll need to reach out to those who do. We may be able to identify the broader scope of the conspiracy. Maybe he’ll seek the Supernotes for payment. The phones are lit up now. Let’s see where we stand in the morning. It’s been a long day for everyone. We could all use some rest.”
Before they parted, Jake handed the evidence envelope with the microchip to Rachel and said, “I know I’m supposed to give this to Trey, but since he’s not here, you should take it back to the office. There’s a lot on it that may mesh with what Bill is picking up on the phones.”
As he watched the transaction, Hafner couldn’t resist one last bureaucratic dig: “We really don’t want administrators testifying in court on chain-of-custody evidentiary issues.”
Jake stared at the ASAC for a long moment, but he had the self-discipline to say nothing. Instead he shook his head, got into the Range Rover, and drove out of the parking lot, headed for home.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
As the morning sun made its way over the tops of the mid-block high-rises, a metallic black 2013 GMC Yukon XL Denali turned right onto Wilshire Boulevard and two men jumped from the vehicle. They confronted a young Korean male, a minor player in Henry Yeong’s criminal enterprise, walking westbound. For a Sunday, the street was crowded with pedestrians and cars, but no one seemed to notice the abduction. One of the two who sprang from the black SUV jammed a semi-automatic into the back of the young Korean.
“Mr. Park needs to speak to you.”
The young man realized it would do no good to run, hoping he could talk his way out of a violent confrontation. He accompanied the two males a few feet to the back door of the vehicle. All three entered and the driver turned at the next corner. Driving only a few hundred feet, he turned again into an alley that paralleled Wilshire.
When the vehicle stopped, Park, who was in the front passenger seat, turned to confront the young man just snatched off the street in broad daylight. “Do you know why I need to speak with you?”
“No,” said the young Korean.
Park nodded. All five men exited the vehicle with the two heavies holding the frightened man by each arm.
Park repeated the question. “Do you know why I need to talk with you?”
“No,” said the young captive, fright pulsating through his body, raw, fear-induced beads of perspiration appearing on his forehead.
Park nodded and the biggest of his thugs slammed his fist into the man’s stomach. As the victim doubled over, Park repeated the question a third time.
The second gangster grabbed the victim by the hair and straightened him. Gasping for breath the man said in Korean, “I have no idea what you want.”
“I think you do,” said Park. “Where are my daughter and granddaughter?”
“I don’t know. I wasn’t part of it and I swear I’ve heard nothing. Please believe me,” replied the man meekly, struggling to breathe and to stand, his legs weakening as the two abductors propped him up for another assault.
The smaller of the two gangsters cracked the terrified man across the mouth with the barrel of the weapon and blood spattered on the front of Park’s pristine shirt.
Park looked down at his shirt, waving his hand toward the stain, and said, “This blood I can clean, but yours can never be replaced when it drains into the alley. Tell me where my daughter and granddaughter are.”
“You must believe me. I have no idea. I swear my boss was not behind the kidnapping. We do not know who took Jenny and the girl.”
“You are lying,” said Park in a gentle voice, shaking his head slowly. With that, the crime boss pulled from his waistband a North Korean Type 68, 7.62mm x 35 semi-automatic pistol equipped with a Maxim suppressor.
Park nodded to the smaller of his two accomplices, who proceeded to pull out his smartphone, press “video app” on the keypad, and point the tiny lens at the young man they had detained on the street just minutes before. The digital device, made in the Republic of Korea, recorded it alclass="underline"
An off-camera voice asking in Korean: “Where are Jenny and Gracie?”
The terrified, already bloodied face of a young man, replying: “I do not know! Please, do not kill me. I have a wife and two children.”
The off-camera voice saying: “Wrong answer.”
The camera moves slightly to show the barrel of the automatic weapon and the three-inch-long suppressor. Then there is a soft pop as the pistol fires a single round.
A bloody hole appears just above the nose of the young man. His eyes roll back and his face disappears at the bottom of the screen. There is a hole — and a gruesome red stain — on the wall behind where the young man was executed.
The off-camera voice says, “Leave him. I want everyone in our community to know that as many as necessary will die until Jenny and Gracie are free. The person who provides information leading to their safe return will receive one million dollars.”
At 6 a.m. Pacific Daylight Saving Time, the horrific “snuff video” was posted on YouTube. It immediately went viral — first on Korean-language websites and then globally. FBI Headquarters in Washington learned about it from the DoD/NSA Cyber Command at Fort Meade, Maryland. The Los Angeles Field Office received it from FBI HQ at 6:47. Though no one in Washington could identify the voice of the shooter, Jake Kruse would know exactly who it was.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Sleep rarely comes easily to an undercover agent. For Jake Kruse it never did. Even supposedly routine assignments came with their own brand of tension, the need to be constantly “on guard” and a nagging “what if” uncertainty about being exposed — caught in the open — with no cavalry riding to the rescue.
Jake’s key to survival and success was an innate ability to keep track of the “who am I?” question — and his skill at projecting that persona every waking minute, even while in church, which he would be missing this morning. He had to believe in himself and in the person he was portraying, and be so comfortable in his character that every response in every situation came naturally — and appear believable to the criminals he was deceiving.
Living two lives at once requires extraordinary self-confidence. It means never becoming complacent. The consummate undercover agent lives like a spy in enemy territory — and lives to tell the story. Jake Kruse knew he was very good at living by his wits. But he also went regularly to the range and practiced putting ten rounds into an eight-inch circle at twenty-five yards — just in case.
Despite a restless night’s sleep, Jake hopped out of bed when the alarm went off at six thirty. He grabbed his workout clothes and hit the trails. Running cleared his head but it also brought immediate goal-oriented satisfaction, something undercover work seldom did.
With UC assignments, significant accomplishments could be weeks, months, maybe even years down the road. On two particular assignments Jake never knew the final results, nor would he ever. On both occasions he was tasked with compromising foreign dignitaries working in the United States. Though much of his undercover work was secret, at least until the indictments were unsealed, on both of these missions he was required to sign nondisclosure agreements preventing him from ever discussing the targets or the nature of the assignment. He was successful both times in “neutralizing” the subjects.