Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 91452 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91452 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
“I serve a cruel master,” I said jokingly.
“Oh, I know,” she agreed, arching an eyebrow. “Both you and Ronan. Now tell me, how long do we have you?”
“Couple of days. The delegation I’m covering leaves day after tomorrow.”
“I’ll take it,” she said, beaming. “Now sit down. Dinner is nearly ready. But drinks first. I opened a bottle of ouzo for the occasion.”
The woman was bewitchingly beautiful, I’d always thought so. As she left the room, I turned to Ronan. “How did you get her again?”
“I’m funny,” he reminded me indignantly. “I’ve been telling you that for years.”
Once Sara was back with the bottle, glasses, and a plate of olives and feta, she took a seat. “Always drink it with food,” she directed, shooting her husband a look.
“Why’re you looking at me like that?”
“You don’t take shots of ouzo,” she said, shaking her head in judgment.
“One time,” he protested.
Soon, we were laughing and reminiscing about ancient history, which carried over into dinner. I could see the dismay in Sara’s face when the topic shifted to work.
“You men. How is one to enjoy a meal if one is doing business at the same time?” To me, she said, “This is why you’re still single, Jared. You need to slow down to be snared.”
“My job only allows me time for false starts and cautious experimentation, I’m afraid,” I teased her.
After dinner, before dessert and coffee, I followed Ronan into his office while Sara put Owen to bed. Ronan closed the door, which was odd.
“Are you all right?” I asked him, worried. Suddenly, he didn’t look like himself.
He moved around his desk and unlocked a drawer. “I’ve put myself in the line of fire here, Jared,” he confessed, glancing up at me and then back down at what he was looking for. “I’ve gotten myself involved with the triads.”
“How involved?” I rasped, terrified over what he would say.
“Heavily.”
“Tell me more,” I barked at him. “Say more.”
“Fuck,” he yelled, then lowered his voice. “It started off small, working an asset to get what I needed, but it quickly evolved to illicit dealings.”
“What’s the CIA doing dealing with organized crime?”
“The group I’m investigating have been cooperating with Islamic groups in laundering and transmitting ransom money through their casinos, taking a percentage of the ransoms in exchange for their assistance.”
“What group?”
“The 14K,” he whispered.
I knew about them. We all did. The 14K was a Chinese black society “big fish” and one of Hong Kong’s most violent triads, responsible for most of the large-scale heroin and opium trafficking from China and Southeast Asia.
“How much are we talking about?”
“Hard to say. But at a conservative estimate, I’d say a hundred million dollars. Maybe more.”
“You can fund a lot of terror with a hundred million,” I said, trying to wrap my brain around the huge number.
“Yeah.”
“Sorry. Go on.”
“I got involved with a local asset at a gambling club while tracking down a lead. I allowed myself to get distracted.”
“Define distracted,” I said, girding myself for the answer.
“You know.”
“You had a sexual relationship with her,” I barely got out, horrified at the betrayal. How could he do that to Sara and Owen?
“It was a single encounter, a one-time indiscretion,” he stressed, using better words than slept with or banging. “But this girl, she’s a junior triad. And now they have footage of my transgression.”
“And they’ve been using it to control you.”
He hesitated. “Yes.”
“Jesus Christ, Ronan. Why the crisis of conscience? Why tell me?”
“The 14K staged a power play to take over their largest Belfast-based Chinese rival. That gang’s protection rackets alone give them a major foothold in Ireland. The triads are working a deal to traffic hundreds of women from China into Ireland through their network of newly acquired gang-controlled Chinese restaurants in Belfast. I leaked the intelligence reports to a contact in the Gardaí. He was apprehensive but agreed to take a look. He dug too deep. They found him dead a week ago in Cork. His throat had been cut ear to ear.”
The Garda Síochána, or the Gardaí, was the main police agency of the Republic of Ireland.
“Fuck,” I said, shaking, needing to sit down. “Triads, sex tapes, dead cops… I don’t see a lot of options on the table. Carolyn Gray is head of station here. You have to go to her. Come clean.”
“It’s not that easy.” He passed me pictures I didn’t want to see: pictures of Owen at his school, of Sara at an art gallery.
“They’re threatening your family?”
He nodded. “If I don’t play ball.”
“Does Sara know anything about this?”
“Good Lord, no,” Ronan replied, sounding frantic, and began to pace. “She’d leave me if she knew the danger I’ve put us in. I’m no victim. This is a bed of my own making. But will you help me?” he added hastily.
“You’ve certainly put the ink on your own death warrant with what you’re doing. These people are fucking ruthless. They have a near monopoly on the underworld, both black markets and the vice rackets. The triads own the police here. It’s highly likely you’re already being watched. I have people I trust at the embassy, but you’ll have to surrender yourself. It’s the only way out of this mess. It’s the only way to protect Sara and Owen.”