When Henry Yeong and his two bodyguards left the restaurant by the alley entrance, Gabe was immediately conflicted. The information he already had in his head and hopefully recorded on the hidden device was of vital importance, but there might be even more here in Yeong’s criminal compound. He hesitated not because he lacked a search warrant; he simply wanted to ensure he could safely and quickly maneuver inside the building. Constitutional niceties were someone else’s concern. He was a spy, not a cop, and he didn’t have the time to determine if he was pushing the needle of a moral compass a few degrees off true north. He was, after all, gathering intelligence, seeking information about activities that posed a risk to U.S. security, not preparing a case for prosecution.
Gabe’s fear was getting caught and having to explain to Yeong or one of his thugs why he was snooping around the premises. To provide added security he locked the back door before heading to the dining room.
Gabe placated his desire to get to Wilson by telling himself Yeong’s order to close up the place alone was a degree of confidence in Gabe’s loyalty not previously acknowledged. If Henry Yeong suspected Gabe of working for the government or involvement in Cho’s death, the Korean crime boss would never have allowed him unfettered access to the business. Gabe knew nothing more about Sonny’s death than the others and was increasingly confident he had not been tainted by whatever suspicions the Koreans had about Cho.
In that, Gabe was dead wrong.
During many visits to the restaurant, the undercover CIA officer had repeatedly looked for security devices, cameras, or other such surveillance. He’d found none. And since he previously accompanied others on the closing procedures Gabe was familiar with the duties, even to the point of knowing how to set the alarm near the back door. He double-bolted the front door, lowered the shades, and turned out the lights in the dining area.
Before heading to the kitchen he did a hasty perusal of the hostess stand, opening the drawers and giving a quick read of a tattered reservation book. Nothing stood out as being of value or even mildly informative. Most of the notations were written in Korean, and since he was fluent it didn’t create a problem once he was able to decipher the sloppy handwriting. The restaurant enjoyed minimal success and served more as a cover for Yeong’s criminal activities. He could survive an IRS audit, but his lifestyle wasn’t based solely on the income from those in the neighborhood seeking a Korean food fix.
This was Gabe’s first time alone in the restaurant and he assumed any information of value was in Yeong’s office upstairs, even though the man spent little time there. Figuring the crime boss would conceal evidence of his criminal activities where he felt most comfortable, Gabe wanted to concentrate his efforts in the upstairs room where Yeong had delivered the two kilograms of methamphetamines to Jake two days earlier.
Though the small office didn’t appear to be a place where a ton of secrets were likely to be stored, Gabe didn’t want to miss the chance to surreptitiously explore. He hoped the walls might have hidden compartments holding the intelligence nuggets he was hoping to gather. After a search of Yeong’s desk he would begin examining the office walls, floor, and ceiling.
As he headed up the stairs to do a hasty search of Yeong’s office, there was a loud banging at the back door. Gabe jumped as his stomach took a quick somersault. He assumed it was one of the homeless who frequented the alley asking for handouts as the evening crowd waned. He hoped the nighttime solicitor would move on.
There was a brief pause in the heavy knocking before it started again. This time it was accompanied by someone calling his name, “Gabe.”
He didn’t recognize the male voice and Gabe moved closer to the door.
“Gabe!” More banging.
“Yeah, what do you want?” said Gabe in a commanding voice, irritated his search had been interrupted before it even began.
“Gabe, open up. I need your help.”
When Gabe relented and opened the door, Kareem was standing there with a heavy-duty lug nut wrench in his right hand.
Gabe nodded from behind the closed screen door. “Yeah.”
“Sorry to bother you, man. I just saw Yeong leave and he said to ask you for help. My battery is dead and I need a jump.”
“Why are you here?”
“I was partying down the street and parked in the alley. I guess I left my lights on,” said the bartender with enough sincerity to be believed.
“Yeah, I can help you,” said Gabe with some reluctance. “Do you have jumper cables?”
“Yeah, I got a pair.”
“What’s with the wrench?”
“Hey, it’s dangerous out here. I don’t have a gat but thought if some homeless dude wanted my wallet this provided the answer.” Kareem waved the wrench like a weapon.
“Where are you parked?”
“On the other side of the alley.”
Gabe opened the screen door and stepped out into the alley. As they crossed toward the car, Kareem imperceptibly fell behind a step and before Gabe realized it the wrench came crashing down across the top of his head. He collapsed immediately, blood streaming from a large gash.
Kareem wasn’t interested in sparing Gabe further injury, quickly dragging him behind the Honda Pilot and then opening the hatch. Before throwing Gabe’s limp body into the back, Kareem wrapped the CIA operative’s hands and feet with duct tape, taped his mouth, and covered the rear cargo area with blankets to soak up the blood still flowing from the head wound.
Grabbing the hose used to wash out the trash bins, Kareem flooded the immediate area and watched the fresh blood in the alley flow down the drain. He laid the hose on the ground, allowing the water to continue running, and raced to the rear door of the restaurant, where he turned off the lights, set the alarm, and locked the door.
With the alley clean, at least of Gabe’s blood, Kareem shut off the hose, got into the Honda, and drove less than a mile to his next destination.