Park spotted the large bouquet of fresh-cut flowers sitting on the coffee table and offered an inquisitive glance.
“The flowers arrived about an hour ago. The card is addressed to you. I was afraid to open it,” said his wife, handing the card to Park.
Park tore open the envelope and removed the card. He read the card once, closed it, and opened it again, rereading the message. “It is from the kidnappers. I must make a call.”
“May I see it?” asked Jake.
Park nodded, handing the card to Jake, who grabbed it, not worrying about its evidentiary value, and read the contents. The note was in English, which the FBI agent thought strange if the kidnappers were Korean: We know you have the money. Call us immediately.
Jake noted the phone number — undoubtedly a throwaway cell phone.
As Park picked up the phone, preparing to call the number on the card, Jake shouted, “Wait!”
Both guards jumped, startled by the outburst and prepared to protect their boss.
“What?” asked Park, seemingly confused as he looked at Jake.
He shook his head purposefully. “You better not use your home phone.”
“Why?”
Jake handed Park his cell phone, activating the discreet consensual recording button. “The police know who you are and that you were robbed the other day. They may have tapped your phones hoping you’ll identify who killed Tommy.”
Park nodded. “You are wise. I do not want them to know about the kidnapping.”
“Exactly,” said Jake with a look of confident reassurance. “Call the number using my phone.”
Park smiled and said, “Thank you,” in a moment of genuine gratitude.
“Ask for proof,” said Jake.
“Proof of what?”
“Proof of life. Ask to speak to Jenny. Be strong. Refuse to give into their demands unless they can prove Jenny and Gracie are alive,” said Jake with conviction and authority.
“You sound as if you have handled such a situation before.” It was a statement, not an accusation.
Jake shrugged and offered a comforting smile, hoping he hadn’t overplayed his hand. “Some people think I watch too much television. In Hollywood they always ask for proof of life.”
Park walked toward the French doors leading to the garden and punched in the phone number listed in the message. Both guards followed him onto the patio as he made the call.
Jake sat on the couch next to Soo Min, comforting the older woman, knowing he could play back the call when he departed the residence. “It’s going to be okay. We’ll get Jenny and Gracie back.”
Park’s wife said nothing, realizing her husband’s chosen profession continued to destroy the only life she knew and the family she loved.
Jake could make out pieces of the conversation as both he and Soo Min focused on Park. The crime boss talked for several minutes, all in English, which again surprised Jake — reinforcing his conclusion the kidnappers were not a rival Korean gang. After a brief minute of cajoling, Jake heard Park say, “Are you okay?” There was a pause. “And Gracie?” Then Park responded, “It’s going to be okay. I will bring you both home.”
When the kidnappers came back to the phone Park said, “I will get you your money but if you harm either of them you will never live to spend the ransom.” Park paused, listening to their response, then said, “Laugh if you want but I have not succeeded in this country on kindness alone.”
With that the call ended. Park returned slowly from the patio, his guards following closely, and handed the phone to Jake.
Park thought for an extended moment before he asked, “Will you make the drop this evening?”
“Absolutely.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
Jake had the window down, allowing the breeze to cool his face. His mind was spinning, as he planned how to navigate his next move. He knew Park and the kidnappers were both adversaries. And his own FBI would become an obstacle in another five hours. If he disclosed his plan, especially his intention to safely recover Jenny and Gracie, Hafner and the Bureau hierarchy would balk.
Logistically it was a nightmare. Legally it was questionable. No matter how you sliced it the chances of any rescue were slim. But attempting to convince Park to seek law enforcement assistance was futile and a SWAT entry made no sense; the deaths of Jenny and Gracie would be almost guaranteed.
Jake put his cell phone on speaker and played back the call Park placed to the kidnappers. Otis Redding was singing in the background and the voice was a distinct Middle Eastern accent; a strange combination. “The girls will not be hurt if you comply. Bring three million dollars to the Shanghai Hotel, room 212, at eight p.m. Do not be stupid. And whoever you send with the money, make sure he comes alone; otherwise your daughter and granddaughter die.”
When Park demanded to speak to Jenny, she managed to say only a couple of words before the phone was yanked from her mouth. She begged for help, tears in her voice.
Jake replayed the recording, seeking more answers before calling Trey.
“Check indices and tell me everything we’ve got on the Shanghai Hotel,” said Jake.
“The what?”
Jake repeated himself, then added, “If it’s the same place I’m thinking, it’s a whorehouse.”
“Were you a patron or was this part of an official investigation?” asked Trey, not expecting an answer as he accessed the computer on his desk to search FBI records. “Got it. Yeah, it’s on Olympic near Hoover in the Mid-Wilshire District.”
“That’s the one.”
“You frequent the place?”
“No, but I did a dope deal there three years ago. It’s a three-story building with girls running in and out all day. It’s perfect for what I want to do.”
“Do I want to know?”
“You are part of the plan… idiots!”
“Are you calling me an idiot?”
“No, them. I love it when their IQs are double digits below mine. Now we just have to play all the interests.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
Jake pulled into the parking lot of a strip mall just north of the 10 Freeway, a few miles from Park’s residence. He cruised slowly toward the lone empty parking space in front of the liquor store. Noting the five men congregating in front, he tapped his back as he exited the car, ensuring his Glock was securely nestled in the waistband. His biggest fear wasn’t death; it was embarrassment.
He didn’t want to get caught in the middle of an armed robbery, not having his weapon, and somehow the police and media learning an unarmed FBI agent failed to thwart a felony in progress. His destination was not the liquor store but the nondescript phone store next to it. Jake weaved his way past the men sharing a forty-ouncer hidden in a not-so-discreet brown paper bag. He smiled confidently, not wanting to be confrontational, but remembered the words of Marine General James Mattis preparing us for combat in Iraq: “Be polite, be professional, but have a plan to kill everyone you meet.”
Jake was the only customer in the phone store, and the long-haired, pimply-faced teenager sitting behind the counter looked up from his iPad to greet a potential commissioned sale. “Can I help you?”
“I sure hope so,” said Jake, acting confused by the many phones offered on the wall display.
“You’ve come to the right place. We’ve got all your cellular phone needs. You’re actually in luck. The owner is running a special on the iPhone 5 and with a three-year service contract you get an automatic free upgrade each year on your contract anniversary.”
Jake smiled. The kid was good and pushing hard for a sale, but the undercover agent was going to be a huge disappointment. “Look, I’m in a hurry and just want the cheapest prepaid phone you have in your inventory. It’s for my grandmother so she can put it in her car in case of an emergency.”