Dunkin heard some crosstalk, then Jennifer came back on, saying, “Does your girlfriend have a phone?”
He looked at Nicole, and she held up an iPhone 10. He said, “Yeah, she’s got one. Why?”
“Pike says to turn off your phone and pull the battery. Make it dead. He thinks they’re tracking your phone.”
“Who? Who would do that?”
“Jesus, Dunkin, those are our questions. Just do it. Call Pike back on your girlfriend’s phone.”
Chapter 20
Sitting in his car, Chen watched the front door of the rental agency, waiting on the man inside to leave. It was now past 6 p.m., and the storefront sign said it was closing time.
He had initially sent in Zhi, trying a bit of simple social engineering. She’d told the man that she’d been retained to watch over Nicole’s cat while she was out of town, but that she hadn’t left the required medical paperwork should the animal need to be taken to a veterinarian. Zhi only had her home phone number, having lost her cell number, and wondered if the man would give it to her?
The answer wasn’t what they expected. Nicole hadn’t put down a pet deposit and wasn’t supposed to have a cat in the first place. The rental agent began to probe her connection to Nicole, asking Zhi how long she would be gone. He’d ended by pulling out a folder from the file cabinet, then dialing a number. He waited a beat, then hung up, saying, “It went to voice mail. I don’t know how great a friend you are—since you don’t even know her cell number—but you’ll need to remove that cat or it’ll cancel her lease.”
She’d left, entered the car with Chen, and said, “He wouldn’t give it to me, but I saw where the lease is stored. And I shimmed the door on the way out.”
Chen said, “Good, good,” and they’d begun to wait. At twelve minutes past six, the realtor left the office. Chen called his team and said, “He’s moving. Back lot. Get eyes on him.”
Forty-five seconds later he heard, “He’s in his car. Stand by,” then, “He’s rolling. He’s gone.”
A second man said, “I have eyes on the front door. You’re clear.”
Chen looked at Zhi and said, “Let’s go.”
They exited the car like they were just another resident at the apartment complex. No furtive looking around, no attempts to see if anyone was watching. Chen would leave that up to the team.
They went into an outside hallway, passing the first floor of rentals and stopping at the door of the leasing agency. It looked like a ground-floor apartment, the only indicator that it was not being a sign dictating hours of service.
Chen bent down and studied the lock, saying, “Bolt isn’t engaged. Just the doorknob lock.” Zhi reached into her jacket and pulled out a small device that looked like a miniature crowbar with a hook on the end. She bent down, found the shim she’d left in between the door and its frame, and slid it up until it contacted the lockset. She mated the tool to a receptacle for that purpose, then levered the device to the right, separating the door from the frame by about a quarter of an inch. Chen slipped another tool into the gap and popped the lock, the door swinging inward. He glanced back once, then entered. Zhi picked up the shim and followed, letting the door close again, locked.
Chen went to the window, glanced out, then called the team. “We’re in. Status?”
“You’re good. Nobody moving in the parking lot or on your floor.”
He flicked his head to Zhi and she went straight to the filing cabinet. She went to work on the cheap lock, sprung it, then began flipping folders, looking for a name.
Chen’s radio came alive. “Realtor is entering the parking lot. I say again, realtor is returning.”
Zhi looked up at Chen, then redoubled her efforts. Chen said, “How long do we have?”
“A minute on the outside to him reaching you. Maybe fifteen seconds before he sees you leave.”
He turned to Zhi. “Do you have it?”
Starting to frantically flip the folders, she said, “Not yet, not yet.”
He called the team. “Can you interdict?”
“Not here in the parking lot. Not without a scene. He’s got view of the door now. He’s on the way.”
Zhi held up a folder and said, “Got it!”
Chen said, “Give it to me.” She did, taking a position on the left side of the door, away from the direction it opened. Chen wrote down the phone number, shoved it back into the filing cabinet, then said, “Back room.”
The “office” was really just a converted single studio apartment, with a bedroom off the back that was now used as storage, complete with a television and a desk. They scrambled to it, closing the door just as they heard a key hit the lock out front.
The man entered, and Zhi flicked open her middle finger, like she was an American teenager insulting someone. The same finger she’d stroked his neck with earlier. The nail was longer than the others and trimmed to a point like a miniature dagger. She removed a plastic sheath, exposing a ceramic cap mated to the nail that had been sharpened as fine as a razor, giving her a half-inch weapon perfect for a carotid artery. Chen slowly shook his head, whispering, “No blood. No blood.”
They heard shuffling out front, then a muttered “What the hell?”
They heard the file cabinet drawers opening and closing, then the tromping of footsteps to them. The door was flung open, and Chen came face-to-face with the realtor. He said, “Who the hell are you?” and Zhi snatched his head by the hair, bending his neck backward until he was off balance, forcing him to throw himself down to the ground to prevent his neck from breaking.
He landed on his back, his eyes wild, his hands thrashing left and right, trying to connect with the person over him. Zhi jammed his head into his chest, exposing the vertebrae of his neck in the back, then swung her mini-crowbar, smashing his spine just below the base of his skull.
The man went limp, then his body succumbed to the death, his bowels soiling his pants. She dropped his head, checked for a pulse, then said, “He’s gone.”
Chen said, “Get him off the carpet. Get him off the carpet before he stains it.”
They rolled him onto the hardwood floor and Chen cursed, saying, “I told you no blood.”
She looked honestly confused, saying, “There wasn’t any blood.”
He ran a hand through his hair. “I meant no killing.”
Zhi took in the chastising, then said, “You should have been more precise. Do you have the number?”
A hand to his face, his fingers squeezing his temples, Chen said, “Yes.”
“Then let’s get it back under control.”
Chen nodded and clicked his radio, saying, “We’re going to need a cleanup in here. Park as close as you can. We’re bringing a body out.”
The team acknowledged, and Chen said, “Go find some paper towels or something. Wipe up your mess.”
She squinted her eyes and said, “Let me track the phone. Let them do the cleanup. I did the dirty work.”
He looked at her for a moment, then said, “Okay. Find that handset.”
She left him alone with the body. He crossed its legs and rolled the carcass onto its stomach, revolted at the stench. His men entered, and he stood, saying, “Figure out a way to get this guy out of here. If it means rolling him up in a carpet like an American gangster film, then so be it.”