Coit Tower (Abby Kane FBI Thriller - Chasing Chinatown Trilogy Book 3) Read online

“Make the call. Shred the note.” Without saying another word, Reilly opened his notebook and resumed writing.

  I stared at the number as I left his office. Who are you, and how can you help me? When I reached my desk, I made the call.

  “Yes?” said a male voice, followed by silence.

  There had been a time when the CIA switchboard was noted for answering their phones by simply repeating the number. That practice was long ago shelved, and now they at least said, “CIA.” But a simple “Yes” I wasn’t expecting, and I was thrown just a little by the starkness of the call.

  “This is Agent Abby Kane with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. I was told you could help me.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t recognize the number. Did Meredith fill you in?”

  “There is no Meredith. Would you like me to provide a DNA sample?”

  “I needed to be sure of your identity. Reilly speaks highly of you.”

  “I’m glad he conveyed that information.”

  “Meet me at two p.m. outside your building. There’s a hotdog cart.”

  “I know it.”

  “Look for the guy with three dogs.”

  Before I could answer, I heard a click, and the line went dead.

  Time passed slowly as I waited. I kept busy by once again looking over the information that Choi, my protégée, had forwarded to me. There wasn’t much. Mostly it was a few mentions of Sei in a couple of reports. Choi assured me that the girl I was talking about was the girl in those reports. The evidence was hearsay, but it was all I had. Sei wasn’t a POI, so the fact that she even made it into a report was surprising. The most useful of all the intel was an actual sighting of her in Shanghai by an officer as opposed to an eyewitness.

  At a quarter to, I locked my purse in the lower filing cabinet of my desk, threw my matching suit jacket on, and proceeded to the rendezvous point.

  One hotdog cart existed near my building, and it was near the southeast corner of the block. Just outside the south entrance of the building was a large open area. Roughly fifty feet of concrete expanse separated the front doors and the street. It wasn’t worker friendly, as there weren’t many places to sit, and tree coverage only existed along the curb.

  I slowed my steps as I scanned the area looking for a guy with three hotdogs. I didn’t see anyone matching that description. Well, I guess I’ll head over to the cart. I started in that direction, focused on the short man, Pepe, who had been serving up the grass-fed beef weenies for as long as I had worked for the FBI. A man in a suit stood in front of the cart, but I didn’t peg him as my contact; he wouldn’t be dressed that way.

  A short perimeter wall, maybe two feet tall, wrapped the corner of the block. People often sat there while eating lunch. I spotted a man dressed in jeans and a dark blue hoodie wearing a black skullcap and wrap-around Oakley shades. He was halfway through a hotdog. Even though I didn’t see two more, I had a feeling he was my guy.

  “You got one for me?” I asked as I approached him.

  He flashed a bright smile as he handed me a white paper bag. He was human. Inside were two more. I grabbed one of the silver-wrapped morsels and took a seat next to him.

  “Hope you like them loaded.”

  “Is there any other way to eat them?”

  He shoved the last bite into his mouth and brushed his hands while I started in on mine.

  “Sorry about the covert runaround. I just got back two weeks ago. My Jedi senses are still operating at field level.”

  “Does it ever stop?”

  “Not really,” he said with a chuckle. He stuck his hand out. “The name’s John Park.”

  “Nice to meet you. Reilly tells me you spent time in Asia.”

  “Almost all of my assignments take place there. I just completed an operation in Shanghai and am due a little R&R. I have family in San Francisco. The timing worked out for you.”

  I swallowed. “I’ll say.”

  He motioned to the bag between us with his eyes.

  “Go for it. I’m good with one.”

  He started in on the third dog. “This girl you’re asking about, I know a little about her. She’s not on the agency’s radar, but most of what I discover isn’t.”

  “Explains why I’m having trouble finding information on her. Do you want to know what I know?”

  “Not necessary,” he said, flattening the paper bag next to him and placing the half-eaten dog on it. He reached into the front pocket of his jeans and fiddled around before stopping and standing up. He shoved his hand back into his pocket and pulled out a USB hard drive. “Everything I know about her, including a few photos, is on this.”

  “You have photos?” I asked, rising to my feet and taking the mini hard drive from him. I was eager to get back to the office and look over the goods.

  He nodded. “I had been tracking a local judge. An informant told me he would be meeting with a high-ranking Triad member. Turns out I had bad intel. The meet was between your girl and the gang member. I snapped photos anyway.”

  “Did you—”

  “Everything I know is in the report. I hope it helps.” He sat back down and picked up the remaining half of his dog. At the same time, I dropped the hard drive and bent down to pick it up.

  From the corner of my eye, I saw Park’s hotdog hit the ground. When I looked up, he was slumped over to his side, and half his forehead was missing.

  Chapter 11

  I never heard the first gunshot.

  However, a second bullet whizzed by my face and hooked my attention, fast. I took another look at Park. There wasn’t anything I could do for him. Bleeding out wasn’t a concern; he was dead before he hit the ground.

  I dived over the perimeter wall just as another bullet struck it, spraying chips of concrete into the air, which rained down upon me. I brushed my hair out of my face and blinked a few specs of dust out of my eyes. All around me people sought cover in an area that was as sparse as they came. I poked my head up, and another bullet sent it back down.

  My ears told me that the shooter was using a sound suppressor, but still the pops were audible and, by my estimate, came from the west. My best guess was that he had holed up in the residential building at the other end of the block. I highly doubted he had hunkered down in one of the surrounding government buildings. If I were right, the sniper would be just over 300 yards away. He’s trained. He should have hit me.

  I had my weapon drawn, but it was no match for a high-powered rifle. Considering the timing between shots, it was bolt action. Had it been semiautomatic, I probably would have been lying next to Park. The shooter had fired four rounds, more than enough for him know he had compromised his position.

  I peeked over the wall again. No more shots. He was on the run. I leapt to my feet and used the cover of the young maple trees that lined the street to move forward. Other agents were filing out of the entrance of the federal building.

  “The shots came from that three-story building,” I called out, pointing. “We need to contain. I don’t think the shooter has made it out yet.”

  There were six of us advancing. Off in the distance, I heard the wail of sirens closing in on our position—only a matter of time before the area would be swarming with SFPD. This guy was toast.

  When we reached the building, three of us positioned ourselves outside the front entrance. The other three circled around toward the back. The front entrance was a security gate composed of eighteen-gauge welded steel bars running the length. A small area housing a bank of mailboxes provided a buffer to a windowed door. Aside from being buzzed in, there wasn’t a quick way to access the building.

  More agents appeared, Reilly being one of them. “What’s the situation?”

  “Sniper fire directed at Park and me came from this building. Park’s body is at the southeast side of the federal building. There was nothing I could do.”

  “Damn!” Reilly’s jawline tightened as he took a quick moment. “Is the shooter still inside?”

  “As far as
we know. There are three agents covering the back.”

  “Got it. Stay here. Do not breach the building.”

  Reilly assumed command and ordered the agents with him to set up a perimeter. He then met with the first units from the SFPD that had arrived on the scene. I knew he would work to lock down the surrounding blocks.

  “I’m circling the building,” I told the two agents next to me.

  “We were ordered to stay put,” said Walter Bennett, one of the agents with me.

  I looked back at him. “We need to be one hundred percent certain this guy hasn’t already slipped out.”

  “How do you plan to do that?”

  “I don’t know, but it beats standing here and doing nothing.” I kept my eyes trained on the roof as I moved alongside the front of the building. A typical metal fire escape clung to the front exterior like an ugly birthmark. “Keep an eye on that,” I shouted to the agents near the entrance.

  At the end of the building was a walkway no wider than five feet that separated it from the adjacent building. Smooth stucco walls rose on either side. I kept my eyes fixed upward as I moved through the narrow passage. No way the shooter could climb down. I don’t even see a window. That was when I saw someone leap from one building to the next.

  “He’s on the rooftop,” I shouted, backing out of the walkway. I followed along the sidewalk and pointed. “He’s up on top, heading north.” I continued in that direction, stopping only to look down another narrow walkway. I caught sight of his left leg just as he cleared the gap. He wore camouflage pants. How clichéd.

  He had two more buildings he could traverse before running out of rooftops. At that point the shooter would have to loop back or work his way down. I passed the next and final walkway but didn’t see him. By then, Bennett had caught up. “Head down this pathway in case he loops back. I’ll cover the other side of the building.” I picked up the pace and headed for the end of the block. When I got there, I saw no fire escape, but I also had the sun beaming at an angle that affected my sightline with the rooftop. Where are you?

  I peeked back around the corner, looking for Bennett. He was out of sight in the walkway. “Bennett, he’s not here,” I called out. “Do you have eyes on him?”

  “Negative,” I heard him shout back.

  I moved along the building, wondering if he could cross over to the adjacent building to the west, but a lane between the buildings made it too far to jump. However, there was another fire escape, and my shooter was making his way down.

  We laid eyes on each other at the same time. His arm rose, and I dashed behind a dumpster just as he squeezed off a round. He had ditched the rifle for a handgun. I popped up and fired two rounds. The stairwell deflected both. I ducked back down, but there was no return fire. I peeked around the dumpster. Once again, I saw his weapon trained in my direction. A wild shot chipped the asphalt to the right of me.

  The magazine in my Glock 22 had thirteen rounds remaining—more than enough to get the job done. If I could catch him while he was descending the stairs away from me, I would have a clean shot when he made the turn and headed down the stairs that faced me.

  I took another look and saw his back. I trained the sights of my weapon, my arm steadied by the cover over the dumpster. There would be no discussion. No warning. No nothing. I had one objective.

  Three steps. Two steps. One step. Turn. Bam!

  The shooter’s body crumpled and rolled end over end down the stairwell until it came to rest on the platform, his gun falling to the pavement below and bouncing to a stop. He looked unconscious. Or dead. I had put two rounds into his chest—always enough to drop a man, not always enough to instantly kill him. I kept my gun trained on him as I walked over to the fire escape. A tickle of sweat ran down the side of my face, and I could feel a slight strain in my blouse as it stuck to my back. It wasn’t so much a sign that I was hot but more of an indication that I had just taken a life.

  The plat, plat sound caught my ear before my eyes noticed the red drops painting the asphalt directly under the shooter.

  Bennett arrived shortly after with a few other agents. “Kane, you all right?”

  “I am. He’s not.” I motioned upward with my head as I stepped away from the falling drops and holstered my weapon.

  One of the agents put a call in for medical support while I gave Bennett the lowdown of what had happened after we’d parted.

  “We got lucky on this one,” he said, resting both hands on his hips, his dark blue jacket pushed back.

  No, this was me being good at my job.

  “He almost got away.”

  Aren’t you glad I came to work today?

  Reilly arrived shortly after, and his forehead appeared very disappointed in me. “Did you not hear me earlier when I said to stay put?”

  “I heard you.”

  He shook his head and pulled me off to the side. “You disobey another direct order from me and I won’t hesitate to slap you with an insubordination write-up,” he said, his voice low and direct. “You hearing that?”

  “Understood.”

  As I brought Reilly up to speed, his eyes told me I had made the right call to look for our shooter. But I understood his frustration and reasoning. I had defied a direct order from him in front of other agents.

  Reilly raised his hand above his head, blocking out the sunlight, as he sought a better look at the body. A crowd of looky-loos had already gathered, and most had their phones out to document. Reilly glanced over at them. “It’s news before the news.” His eyes fell on me, but before he could get another word out, an object fell to the pavement near us—a smartphone.

  “It must have fallen out of his pocket,” I said, walking over to it. The phone was encased in a heavy-duty yellow protector. The screen was cracked, but we could clearly see what was on it—the log-on page for the Chasing Chinatown game. The player was Team Militant.

  It had begun.

  Chapter 12

  “Those shots… they were intended for you,” Reilly said as his hand covered his mouth.

  I opened mine, but nothing came out. I didn’t know what to say. One of the players had actually taken up the mastermind’s offer. The hit on me had become a reality.

  While procedures had been put into place to ensure my safety, most of my coworkers, Reilly included, didn’t think one of those knuckleheads would actually come after an FBI agent. And yet twenty feet above me, warm blood dripped from a body.

  I guess I’d bought into the hype as well. I had always known it was a possibility but had wanted to believe that it wouldn’t happen. It was like having a hunch the tooth fairy wasn’t real and then being crushed when it proved to be true. Denial had overcome me. I didn’t want to accept the truth.

  If I had ever had a surreal moment, well, that was it.

  I knew there were people all around me; I could hear different voices. I even heard Reilly call out to Bennett, “I want a team analyzing the information on that phone pronto. Find out who this guy is.”

  But it felt far away, unbelievable, like Neverland.

  Is this really happening? Over and over the thought churned in my head. My head had dropped, and my gaze was lost when I felt pressure on my arm. “Maybe there’s only one idiot playing the game,” Reilly said. His voice was soft, calm, hopeful.

  I wanted to believe that this guy was the anomaly, but my gut disagreed. “Park was innocent,” I said. “He didn’t deserve to die.”

  “It’s not your fault, Abby.”

  “I remember dropping the USB drive. I bent down to get it. That’s when he was hit. He was behind me, sitting on the wall. My forehead was the target.”

  “Abby, we’ll do everything possible to protect you and your family.”

  My eyes shot back to Reilly. He already knew what I had been thinking.

  “Castro and Lin are good agents. Your family is safe, but I’ll put a few extra men on the detail until we can sort through what we’re up against.”

  The arrival
of CSI caught Reilly’s attention. “Look, Abby, I don’t think you should go home just yet. Team Militant might have other players. They probably don’t know about your family or where you live. We can’t compromise that.”

  I wanted to go home, but the agent in me agreed with Reilly. This wacko could have come after me at my home—it would have been to his advantage—but he didn’t. “I want the family moved to another location.”

  Reilly nodded. “Done.” He spun on his feet and disappeared into the chaos.

  All around me, a team of agents and police officers moved to secure the immediate area. No one in. No one out. We had to control the scene and determine whether our shooter had used a partner or acted alone. There could be others.

  An agent from the bureau approached me holding a bulletproof vest. “You should put this on.”

  Most of the agents I worked with, whether I knew them or not, were aware of my situation. I had been a little defensive at first with all the extra attention. I felt like the little sister the big brothers were looking out for. But still, I saw the silver lining: I had an army of federal agents watching my back.

  I thanked him and took the vest. I wore a simple paddle holster that day, so I removed my suit jacket and slipped the vest over me. I had a form-fitting jacket, so there was no chance of putting it back on. I carried it in the crook of my arm.

  As I secured the vest straps, a familiar voice drew my attention. I turned and saw Kang walking in my direction. The Civic Center didn’t fall under the Central Precinct’s jurisdiction. He had gone out of his way.

  “Abby, I came as soon as I heard. What the hell happened?”

  I looked up at the fire escape that now had a body tent secured around it. “Team Militant is what happened.”

  “You mean an actual player came after you?”

  I had to laugh, because even “Cautious Kang” hadn’t thought one of the teams would make a move on me. I relayed the day’s events to him. His furrowed brow and periodic nods only further reinforced the seriousness of the situation.

  “The first shot dropped a contact Reilly had put me in touch with, a CIA agent.”