"No, you don't understand," she said. "Kirsten won't be home until tonight, and I was supposed to let myself in. But now I can't…"
She let the sentence trail off.
"Yes?" he said.
"Maybe I'd better start over." She looked upset. "I'm her sister Charlene, and I'm here visiting from the States. Did she mention my name to you, by any chance?"
He shook his head.
"Well, I suppose there wouldn't have been any need" she muttered to herself, rubbing her forehead.
"Yes?" the doorman said again. He was becoming increasingly baffled.
When she looked up at him, her large brown eyes were moist.
"You see, I have a key to her door… well I had a key to her door… but I think I may have lost it at the airport…."
"Yes?" he said for the third time, suddenly afraid she might burst into tears.
"Listen," she said agitatedly. "I don't quite know how to ask you this… it makes me feel so foolish.. but could you let me into her apartment? I haven't any idea where else to wait for her… she went to pick up our other sister, Anna… and isn't supposed to be home until very late, you see.. and I've got these bags…"
He gave her an uncomfortable look. "That against rules, miss. Okay if you want leave bags with me, but I not can—"
"Please, I'll show my passport if you need identification," she said at once, her voice trembling. She crouched over the bags she'd deposited on the vestibule's carpet, unzipped one of them, and began fumbling around inside it.
"Miss—"
The doorman cut himself short. Just as he'd feared, she had begun to sob. Tears spilling down her face, she bent there in front of him, pulling items out of the bag, dropping some of them in her distress, stuffing them hastily back into the bag and fishing out others….
"Wait, wait, my papers are in here somewhere… I'm so sorry… I just have to find them…."
The doorman looked at her, feeling sorry for her, thinking he couldn't just stand there and watch her cry.
"It okay, miss. It okay," he said finally, reaching for the intercom button. "I call superintendent, tell him let you in, no problem."
Noriko stood and wiped a hand across her eyes.
"Thanks, that's so kind," she said, sniffling. "Really, I don't know what I'd've done without you."
The driveway leading up to the encryption facility terminated in a parking area outside the main entrance, the left side of which was reserved for staff, the right for visitors. The men in the Cutlass swung into the visitors' section, found an empty slot, strode across the lot toward the flat cinder-block building, and approached the armed guard posted at the door.
"Detectives Lombardi and Samford?" he said, smiling pleasantly.
They both nodded.
"I was informed you gentlemen were on your way from the gate," he said, and gestured toward the walkthrough weapons-detector beside his station. "If you'd please leave your service weapons with me, and place any other metal articles you may have in the tray to your right, you can step through the scanners and come in."
"We're cops, and cops carry guns," the man who'd announced himself as Lombardi said. "It's in our regulations."
"Yes, and I apologize for the inconvenience. But a facility of this nature has to take added precautions, and most departments cooperate with them," the security man said. "If you'd prefer, I can call ahead to Mr. Turner… he's the supervisor you're going to see anyway… and request that he waive the requirement. I'm sure it wouldn't be much of a problem."
Lombardi shrugged.
"No need," he said. "Policy's policy."
The two men unholstered their firearms — both were carrying standard Glock nines — and turned them over to the guard, then deposited their coins and key chains in the tray and passed through the archway.
"Thanks for your cooperation," the guard said. He looked at his LCD display, gave the items in the tray a cursory glance, then held it out for the detectives to retrieve their property. "Follow the entry hall straight back, turn right, then cut another right at the end of that corridor. Supervisor's office will be the fourth door down. I'll have your weapons right here when you leave."
Lombardi stuffed his key chain into his pocket.
"Just hope we don't have to chase any armed robbers while we're here," he said, smiling a little.
The guard laughed. "Have no fear," he said. "This place is as safe as they come."
Nori slipped into the rear of the white company Land Rover parked in a shopping mall off Holland Road, three blocks up from Kirsten Chu's residence.
"Found what we wanted," she said. "And more."
"Any problems getting in and out?" Nimec asked from the front passenger seat.
"Nope. The doorman has a crush on me. He talked the super into giving me a key," she said. "Anyway, I've got a personal phone book with a number and address for a Lin and Anna Lung in Petaling Jay a."
"Where the hell's that?"
"Back over the causeway, lah. Outside KL." This from the driver, a Malay named Osmar Ali who was with the Sword detail at the ground station.
Nimec nodded.
"You sure you have the right party?" he asked Noriko.
"Pretty much," she said. "I also dug up an open mailing envelope with a return address that matches the one in the book. There were some photos of a couple and two kids inside it. And a letter starts with a 'Dear Sis.' "
"Okay." Nimec turned to look at Osmar. "Petaling Jaya… is it within driving distance?"
Osmar shrugged. "Can go, yes, but it a few hundred kilometers," he said in rough English. "Be faster we drive back to ground station, take helicopter."
Nimec thought in silence a moment. Then he reached for the cell phone resting in the molded-plastic cup-holder beside him.
"Better let me have that number, Nori," he said. "I want to see if anybody's home before we come knocking on their door."
The pair of men strode through the corridor after leaving their guns at the checkpoint, their eyes noting the button-sized lenses of surveillance cameras near the ceiling. Unlike commercially produced cameras, these miniature units were recessed behind the walls rather than mounted on visible brackets, and would have gone unnoticed by the average person.
They reached the T-juncture at the end of the hall, but instead of immediately turning right as instructed, paused to scan the doorways in both directions.
Midway down the corridor branching to their left was an office door marked SECURITY. The one who called himself Lombardi gave the other an almost imperceptible glance and they went over to it, walking side-by-side at an easy pace, nodding amiably to a woman who passed them going the opposite way.
Two plainclothes security men were sitting at a bank of closed-circuit monitors when the office door opened inward from the corridor. They were not surprised, having seen the approaching detectives on their screens, and assumed they wanted information.
"Can we help you gentlemen?" one of them said, swiveling to face the door.
The man called Lombardi entered, followed by his partner. They let the door close behind them.
"We're looking for the supervisor's office." He smiled, his hand casually tucked in his pants pocket. ' Thought it was supposed to be right around here somewhere."
"Took a wrong turn," the security man said. "When you leave this office, hang a right and—"
Lombardi's hand came out of his pocket holding his key ring. Before the security guards could register what was happening, he brought up its rectangular fob and quickly tugged back the attached chain with his free hand. This cocked the firing mechanism of the weapon, which was only three inches long and contained two.32-caliber bullets. He pointed it at the man facing him and pushed a button on its side.
The slug that coughed from the tiny gun's bore would have been lethal at twenty yards, and the shooter was a mere fraction of that distance from his target. It struck the guard in the middle of the forehead and killed him instantly, slamming him back into the panel of monitors.