Medusa

atrium lobby. He checked in at the reception desk, and said he had an appointment with Agent Caitlin Lyons. He was given a security badge with his name on it to wear. A young woman was assigned to guide him through the maze of buildings and corridors.

He heard a commotion that sounded like a gunfight at the O.K. Corral and knew that he was near the shooting range. The guide ushered him in and pointed to a row of booths.

“Number ten,” she said. “I’ll wait outside for you. Gets a little noisy in here. Take your time.”

Zavala nodded his thanks, and took some ear protectors from an attendant. Then he went over to a booth and stood behind a woman who was firing at a silhouette of a man. She stood with her pistol in both hands, slowly and methodically pumping bullets into the target, hitting it in spots that would have proved fatal had the bullets been perforating human flesh instead of paper.

Zavala had no desire to startle a trained FBI agent while she had a gun in her hand. He stood behind her patiently until she turned and saw him. She beckoned for him to step into the booth. She replaced the spent magazine with a full one, handed him the pistol, and pointed toward the target.

The Walther PPK was a favorite of Zavala’s, and the grip felt comfortable in his hand. He raised it to eye level, flicked the safety off, and let off six shots in rapid succession. Every squeeze of the trigger found the center circle of the bull’s-eye over the heart.

He flicked the safety back on and handed the gun back to the woman. She pressed a button that brought the target to the front of the booth. She stuck her finger through one of the holes Zavala’s bullets had made and said something he couldn’t hear. He removed his ear protectors, and she said it again.

“Show-off.”

She placed the pistol in a hip holster and pointed to her wristwatch. They made their way to the door, first dropping off their ear protectors. The guide was waiting in the hallway, but Caitlin said she would show Zavala to the lobby when their meeting was over.

“Let’s go for a walk,” she said.

They strolled along a shady path that was a world away from the sound of gunfire and the smell of cordite in the shooting range.

Caitlin Lyons was an attractive woman in her thirties, and if she hadn’t been wearing black, short-sleeved coveralls with a sidearm on her belt she could have passed for a member of Celtic Women, the musical ensemble. She had a peaches-and-cream complexion, and the brows over her remarkable blue-green eyes were high and arched. Her dark blond hair was tucked under a black baseball cap with FBI on the front.

“Not bad shooting, Joe. Ever think of joining the FBI?”

“As soon as they have a navy,” Zavala said.

Caitlin laughed. “You were very brave to come up to me when I had a gun in my hand.”

“Should I have been worried?”

“You know what they say about a woman scorned . . .”

Zavala winced. His dark good looks and unassuming manner made him popular with many women around Washington. He had gone out with Caitlin, but their budding romance was interrupted by a mission for the Special Assignments Team. He had not gotten back to her until now.

“Scorned is an ugly word, Cate. I was planning to get in touch with you after my last job.”

“How about abandoned, then? Jilted? Left in the lurch. Forsaken.” She saw the distress on his face. “Don’t worry, Joe,” she said with a smile, “I’m not angry at you for leaving me to run off on another NUMA mission. I’m a cop, I might have done the same. And I wasn’t looking for anything permanent anyhow. The FBI is as demanding as NUMA. Besides, if I need you, all I have to do is turn on the TV and I’ll see those Latin good looks. I watched the bathysphere dive. Very exciting.”

“The most exciting part was what you didn’t see.”

Caitlin gave him a quizzical look, and he pointed to a park bench alongside the walkway. They sat down, and Zavala told her about the attack on the bathysphere, Austin’s close call, and the connection to the Pyramid Trading Company. When he was done talking, she took his hand and squeezed it.

“You’re a cad and a bounder, Joe, but I would have been devastated if anything had happened to you.” She gave him a peck on the cheek. “Now, how can I be of help in solving an ocean crime? As you pointed out, I’m a landlubber.”

“You’re also an expert on Asian crime, which I’m not.” Zavala described the triangular mark Austin had discovered on the AUV’s blade and the connection between the underwater robot that attacked the bathysphere and the fishing company owned by Pyramid Trading.

She let out a low whistle.

“Pyramid. The baddest of the bad. You couldn’t have chosen a worse bunch to tangle with, if that’s the case. You and Kurt are damned lucky to be alive.”

“What do you know about Pyramid?”

“Let me give you some perspective,” Caitlin said. “My job is to keep Asian crime as far from U.S. shores as possible and to solve crimes when they do occur. It’s a losing battle. We’ve had Asian criminal enterprises in this country since the early 1900s, starting with the Chinese tongs.”

“Didn’t the tongs originate the term hatchet man?” Zavala asked.

“The hatchet men were the Chinese thugs who fought one another during the tong wars. The tongs started as social clubs but then became gangs. They are still thriving today as part of an international network that’s dominated by the big criminal organizations known as Triads. That’s why the triangle you described is so interesting.”

“In what way?”

“The term Triad was coined by the British, who saw that the Chinese symbol for secret society was a triangle.”

Zavala’s eyes narrowed.

“You’re right,” he said, “that is interesting.”

“The triangle symbolized the unity of heaven, earth, and man,” Caitlin said. “Pyramid uses it as a trademark for its legitimate enterprises. But it’s still involved with extortion, murder, prostitution, drugs, loan-sharking, and money laundering.”

“The tried and true,” Zavala said.

“It’s also got a worldwide network of gangs in every city. The names all start with Ghost: the Ghost Devils, the Ghost Shadows, the Ghost Dragons. You get the picture. They do the dirty work: intimidation, enforcement, murder. They’re ready to go at a moment’s notice.”

“What about the legal side?”

“The criminal stuff is the bedrock, but it has evolved into a nontraditional organization with foreign affiliates and legitimate businesses: manufacturing, real estate, movies, phamaceuticals. And, as you discovered, commercial fishing. Some of its divisions have gotten into trouble for producing contaminated, dangerous products.”

“Does the Pyramid leadership have a human face?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, it has three. The company is said to be run by a set of triplets.”

“That’s an unusual arrangement.”

“Not when you consider the extent of their empire. Pyramid is like a country unto itself. It has a huge treasury, an army of thugs at its command, and a diplomatic corps that interacts with the Chinese government, which traditionally has supported the Triads. It has gangs in every major country, including the U.S. It’s the biggest criminal organization in China, possibly in the world.”

“How do you fight something like that?” Zavala asked.

“With great difficulty. Asian criminal groups are smart, rich, multilingual, and flexible. Advances in travel and communications have allowed them to operate on a global scale. We can make life tough for their street gangs and nibble around the edges of their financial empire, but they’ve been impervious up to now.”

“What has changed?”

“They are up against the only enemy who could do them harm: the Chinese government. It’s trying to put Pyramid out of business.”

“Wait a second, didn’t you say the government supported the Triads?”