CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

Images

After pulling onto the freeway following the meeting with Trey, Jake punched Park’s number into his cell phone. The Korean crime kingpin answered on the first ring. “Mr. Park, it’s Jake. Have you heard anything?”

“No, Jake. My people have been looking since last night but have found nothing.”

“Have you spoken with Henry Yeong?”

“I called him and he denies any involvement.”

“Do you believe him?”

“I’m not sure. We are still inquiring with his soldiers. It has to be someone with knowledge of my enterprise. We are questioning many within our special part of the Korean community.”

He caught the full meaning of Park’s words. Most members of the large “Korean community” in Los Angeles were hardworking, law-abiding, legal immigrants who had nothing to do with the criminal underworld inhabited by the likes of Park and Yeong. Many were devout Christians and their heroes were people who made Hyundais, Kias, and LG phones, appliances, and flat-screen TVs. They didn’t admire or respect Korean criminals—but they knew enough to stay out of their way.

Jake paused. “I met Yeong through Tommy. Do you think it would make sense for me to approach him?”

“No. That won’t be necessary,” Park replied. “We will handle it. You have a much more valuable mission.”

Jake paused for a second. “Yes. I understand—the container. I spoke to my friend on the border. The delivery is set for around three tomorrow. The container is being processed through Customs today and will be released tomorrow late in the morning. Do you still want it delivered to Tommy’s warehouse?”

“Yes, Jake. Tommy ran the warehouse but I paid the bills. I have access.”

“I will meet you then at the warehouse tomorrow unless you need me sooner.”

“No, but thank you, Jake. I will see you tomorrow at three.”

“Everything will be set for your delivery, sir. Please let me know if there’s anything I can do before then.”

“I will, Jake, and thank you again. Your friendship at this time is much appreciated.”

Jake ended the call and when he turned up the volume on the CD player Charlie Daniels came blasting through the speakers. Since he was targeting an Asian crime syndicate, “Still in Saigon” seemed appropriate.

Jake could barely hear the ringtone above Charlie singing, “My younger brother calls me a killer and my daddy calls me a vet.”

He fumbled to turn down the music and grab the phone. By the fourth ring Jake had the phone in hand and noted the caller ID was blocked. He flipped on the internal recording device before answering.

“Yeah,” he said in a less than welcoming greeting.

“Jake?”

“Maybe, who’s this?” Still borderline nasty.

“Jake, it’s Charles Hafner, the ASAC.” Jake almost choked. Oh, that Charles Hafner, the ASAC guy. Glad I didn’t confuse you with the other Charles Hafner. Since he assumed he was in for a lecture on late-night decorum, he debated leaving the recording device on for OPR evidentiary purposes. Or maybe he would post the conversation on the FBI’s intranet to demonstrate the officiousness of L.A.’s latest contribution to the managerial hierarchy. He took the high road and decided against it.

“Hang on just a second. Let me shut this off. I wasn’t sure who was calling and I’m recording this.”

“Yes, please turn it off.”

Please. Jake sensed maybe he had the upper hand as he deactivated the recording device.

“Okay, it’s off. What’s up?” asked Jake casually, with no hint of respect.

“Sorry to bother you on a Sunday.”

“It’s okay. I’m working.”

“We may have a problem. Have you heard from Gabe Chong?”

“No, not at all. I don’t even have his contact information. We met during the powwow at the SCIF and our only connection on the street was the meeting at Yeong’s restaurant. It made no sense for us to exchange numbers, just in case one of us lost our phone or was compromised.”

“I understand.”

“Why are you asking?” said Jake, wondering whether this discussion should be taking place on a cell phone, but he thought better of bringing up the issue since Hafner initiated the call.

“Gabe is supposed to report twice a day—at nine and nine. He’s missed the last three check-ins. Wilson and his people have been unable to contact him.”

“Has he done this before?”

“Never.”

“That doesn’t sound good,” said Jake, appreciating the urgency in Hafner’s voice.

“Especially in light of the Secret Service losing their local source,” said Hafner.

“It might be related but we should be careful how much we say on the phone,” cautioned Jake.

“You’re right,” the ASAC conceded. “Should we meet somewhere to discuss this?”

“Have you told Trey or Rachel?”

“Not yet. I wanted to reach out to you directly in case you had any idea on Gabe’s whereabouts. The Agency wants us to put out a BOLO on him as though he’s a person of interest in an unrelated criminal case.”

“With his picture and bio data?” Jake asked. “That’s pretty high risk all around, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is,” Hafner replied. “But this is coming from Washington. There is a lot of pressure to get answers to their questions.”

“I don’t get it,” Jake said bluntly.

“Get what?”

“I don’t understand why we’re pushing this case at warp speed.”

Hafner paused a moment before responding, then said, “It’s very complicated. There are a lot of fingers in this pie. And as you said, it’s not stuff we should talk about on the phone. . . .”

“I got that,” the undercover agent said curtly. “But under the circumstances—with people getting killed and kidnapped, I think it’s best if I minimize contact with people on our side. Can you fill in Trey and Rachel on what you know? I have a regularly scheduled meet with Trey later today and he can pass the details on to me then.”

“That makes sense.”

“Give me a few hours to do some checking before you put out the BOLO on Gabe. I need to be careful, but I think it’s possible his disappearance may be somehow connected to Sonny’s murder and the incident at Park’s residence.”

“Please be careful. I’m tempted to pull you out but the mission is too important. Since we have our marching orders from back east, I’d hate to do anything without clearing it first with Headquarters,” said Hafner cautiously, recognizing the career-crushing impact a dead undercover agent could have on a blue-flame administrator.

“Yeah, I’d hate to get whacked. There’s always so much paperwork after the funeral,” said Jake, knowing the mere thought would cause Hafner to pop Pepcid the rest of the day.