The second part of the plan kicked into play when Zho texted, Begin.
A researcher in Texas, who was really a Chinese spy, sent the first tweet a full day later. I-90 E bills may not be real. #fake #counterfeit.
Several other people, all part of the plan, put out similar messages within a few seconds of the first. The messages were reposted and several dummy Twitter accounts kept retweeting them at regular intervals.
By midday, the social media networks were frothing, and media channels were ecstatic that they had a headline-screaming story that could run for days. The U.S. Treasury was forced to break its silence and acknowledge that the container had four million dollars’ worth of currency. All of it was counterfeit.
They confirmed that the Secret Service – which was initially formed for investigating counterfeit currency, a remit that it still had – was investigating and more updates would follow. That was the only news conference they gave.
Meghan and Beth watched the events unfold in fascination, their investigation temporarily forgotten.
They had split the investigation into two strands. One was still focused on Cali and this time they were looking into security camera footage in the months leading to her disappearance.
If they found such footage, they could analyze who she met, whether she was being followed, who she spoke to. It was a challenging task even for Werner; the supercomputer was hooked into the relevant databases, but the problem was that very few organizations kept recordings that old.
The second strand searched for similar footage for Lian; the twins were trying to pin down her movements in New York, trying to trace which hotel she had stayed in. They were trying to find how Cain got hold of her.
‘Idiots,’ Beth shook her head in disgust when a TV reporter interviewed some of the money grabbers on the highway; those who were brazen enough to come forward and register their deep disappointment and anger that the bills were fake. It was as if they had been cheated out of their new found wealth.
The twins’ social media accounts were flooded with excited posts about the counterfeit currency; they had blocked several repetitive posters and had stopped checking their feeds. The froth would disappear in a day or two; the social media bubble didn’t last long.
Meghan played with her keyboard and idly looked up the Northlyn plant. Owned by an investment company whose officers were missing or not reachable. Typical set up. Ownership trail will lead to some offshore tax haven and disappear.
The managers at the plant had been arrested, but none of them had been forthcoming. She felt Beth kick her and saw her sister bob her head at the third occupant in their office.
Zeb was peering at his laptop, flicking through several images of men who appeared to be Chinese. He hadn’t glanced at the TV, hadn’t commented on the highway incident, and hadn’t even spoken to the twins.
He had been at his machine when the twins arrived that morning and hadn’t even thanked Beth when she had plunked a mug of coffee in front of him.
No idea what he’s up to, Meghan indicated. ‘Zeb? Hotshot?’ she called out.
‘Yeah?’
‘What’s that you’re looking at? Who’re those dudes?’
‘Not related to your investigation.’ He folded his machine, grabbed it, and walked out of the office with a wave.
Meghan turned to the sound of keys being pressed; it was Beth texting furiously. ‘Mark?’
‘Nope. Broker.’
Meghan leaned over her shoulder and read the burst of messages.
You know what the Wise One’s working on? He’s mighty secretive. Beth.
Only his Maker knows. Maybe not even him. Broker.
Meghan snickered and clapped her sister on her shoulder, ‘Broker knows. He just ain’t telling.’
‘Maybe it’s some Agency thing.’
‘Possible. Let’s get our butts to work on Cali and Lian.’
Zeb was hunting for the man who had pinged his inner radar. He had been looking into the 41S and the Triads initially, taking up where the sisters had left off in their investigation, and had delved deeper.
He had rejected the two Triad gangs early on after talking to a couple of moles in them that Broker and he had cultivated a long while back. They had such moles in several gangs in the city and often shared intel with various law enforcement agencies.
He focused on the 41S and looked up every known hood with the gang. He had followed several of them but not one had given off the same vibes.
He had then looked deeper into Peng Huang, and had asked Werner to go as far back as possible in the gangster’s life. Werner had obligingly returned several gigabytes of photographs, videos, news articles, and police reports.
He had read about Peng Huang’s story, of how he had formed the breakaway gang, he had pored through newspaper reports of arrests, and had scanned police reports. None of the men in Werner’s exhaustive dump felt like the ghost.
It has to be someone high up in the gang, maybe Peng Huang’s right hand man, Zeb thought as he crossed his hands behind his head and rocked in his chair. Someone so good that he hasn’t surfaced in any police report. A true ghost.
He let his mind roam and free-associate; Chinese gang, Chinese girl, Chinese spying, high technology research. The Chinese angle was so obvious that it was impossible to ignore. Yet, that has proved to be a dead end. Lian wasn’t a spy.
So why’s the ghost following the twins? Revenge?
He crashed his feet to the floor and rose abruptly. It was early morning, rush hour yet to start. It was when he did his best thinking, when alone in the office with the subdued sounds of the city in the background. Free association wasn’t working at the moment. Maybe a run would help.
On cue, Beth appeared at the door, Meghan behind her, hopping from one foot to another. ‘You joining us? Or are you too old?’ the older sister smirked.
The three went for a morning run whenever Zeb was in the city and followed up with an exercise drill that he’d taught them. The drill was a mix of freestyle martial arts moves and core strength workouts that he’d customized for them.
A light rain was falling by the time they got to Central Park and upped their speed. Zeb led initially, and then the twins. They usually went ahead, letting him run at his pace, knowing that he liked his solitude.
There were a few cyclists, a few other runners, fellow fitness enthusiasts nodding at each other in greeting. Zeb moved to the side to let a bunch of people overtake him; it wasn’t about speed for him.
A hooded runner approached him and ran past him, and for a moment Zeb admired the way the runner’s arms and legs flowed, and then he was past and Zeb was in his own world.
He went into his grey zone, conscious of all that was happening around him, distant from his surroundings at the same time.
He ran his ten miles and slowed and searched for the twins. There they were, all by themselves, near a bench. Some men stopped to look at them, a couple whistled. The sisters didn’t look up, didn’t respond, and Zeb felt warmth seep through him at their lack of reaction, at their discipline.
He went through his own routine, more elaborate than that of the twins; strikes and blocks, kicks and parries, feints and thrust, slow, fast, fast, fast, till his limbs seemed to move like a blur. He was aware of someone clapping, people drifting, and then the beast roused.
Zho didn’t know why he was observing Carter and the women; he just was.
He had returned from Northlyn and had been satisfied by the social media storm he had initiated. He knew Peng Huang was pleased too, as were the shadowy puppet masters in China.
Zho had returned to his stakeout on Columbus Avenue as if drawn by a magnet, and when the three people had stepped out, he had instinctively followed them. He was conveniently dressed in his gym gear - hoodie, tracks, running shoes – and he followed them without thought.
He hung back on the first lap and changed direction on the second. He wanted to see Carter up close, wanted to see his eyes.
Carter didn’t meet his eyes. The man seemed to run as if lost in himself, other people on the track falling away from him, giving way to him.
A tingle ran through Zho as he recognized the way Carter ran; it was how he himself moved.
He leaned against a bench and stretched his legs as Carter and the women went through their workouts. He recognized most of Carter’s moves, Muay Thai, Silat, Wing Chun, many others. Carter, like himself, seemed to adopt various moves from different styles.
Maybe it was his body motion as he removed his right leg from the bench and extended his left, that caught Carter’s attention.
Suddenly Carter was looking straight at him.
He’s the one! Zeb knew instinctively, recognizing the way his body reacted, flooded with awareness, at the other man’s presence.
The ghost’s hoodie had slipped off his face giving a glimpse of lean cheeks, clean shaven, short black hair, dark eyes that seemed to be electric.
He’s Chinese, too.
The man was as tall as Zeb, his movements as languid, as he withdrew his leg and straightened, and walked away without a backward glance.
‘You know him?’ Meghan joined him and followed his gaze. ‘I spotted him a few times today.’
‘Never seen him before,’ Zeb replied, his eyes still on the receding figure.
‘You reacted as if you’d met him before.’
‘I’m sure I will meet him.’