wheelchair, I will have you detained. Is that understood?”
“But she needs medical attention.”
“I will have a doctor here in ten minutes.” ***
Jake heard his name called from across the room. He stood, shrugged his shoulders at Tony and the Castello brothers, and made his way to the small office. The girl behind the counter had put away her accounting books for the day. It was obvious that something out of the ordinary was unfolding, and she wasn’t about to miss it over the cost of goods sold or an income statement.
“My name is Tom Foti. Please have a seat, Jake.”
The CBP office smelled putrid. The rotting scent of a confiscated durian invaded every corner of the room. Tom looked out the window over Jake’s head. The Chinese doctor, the girl in the wheelchair, and a freshly arrived physician on call at the main terminal huddled in the corner. C.F. Chang’s doctor watched as the physician on call, a doctor with a U.S. medical degree, checked Wei Ling’s pulse, respiration, and blood pressure.
Tom opened the folder he had brought with him. “Jake, do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”
“Please,” Jake said, the words coming out much more comfortably than he was feeling.
“Who is your favorite writer?”
“I’m sorry?” Jake asked, puzzled.
Tom checked his facts. “It says here you are an English Literature student. Is this not accurate?”
Jake looked at the Liaison Officer, his eyes wide. “It says what?”
“English Literature. American University.”
Jake looked at Tom Foti in his suit and glasses with the dark lenses sticking straight out, and wondered what in God’s name was going on. “I like Emerson.”
“Emerson?”
“Of course Shakespeare is the most influential writer in the history of the English language, but it’s basically unreadable to the average person. I like to read the thoughts of the great writers, not spend my time deciphering them.”
“I’m partial to Shakespeare, actually,” Tom said. “Classic Literature was my main area of study in school.”
There was silence as they measured each other.
“What else do you know?” Jake asked. “You’re the second person this month to have a file on me.”
“You must be busy.”
“I am now.”
“I would say so,” Tom added. “Born in Washington D.C., raised by your mother after your parents’s divorce. Currently working for your father, Peter Winthrop, at a company with the same name. A medical degree from Georgetown University.”
“A medical degree?” Jake asked.
“That’s what it says here. I even have a copy of your diploma.”
“Sir, I don’t have a medical degree.”
“You do today. And if that doctor out there starts asking questions about the girl in the wheelchair, just play along.”
“Play along?”
“I had the doctor brought in for procedural reasons. He is on our side. He’s American. But he may ask a few questions for show. If he does, say something that sounds medically viable. It makes a nice cover for the other ears in the room.” Tom motioned toward the CBP Officer and the future accountant.
“Who is the girl in the wheelchair?” Jake asked.
“The girl you came to take back to Washington.”
Jake’s mouth opened and he stared out the glass wall of the office, the pieces of the puzzle falling into place. The message at the hotel desk. The CBP Officer at the charter terminal. Jake was just along for the ride.
Tom let Jake zone out for a minute before continuing.
“Her name is Wei Ling. As I understand it, she is the reason you are here.” Tom Foti pushed the folder toward Jake, and the former summer help for Winthrop Enterprises flipped through the documents. They were perfect in their illegitimacy.
“So what do we do now?”
“We wait for the girl to tell us she wants to go to Washington. If she does, there is nothing to stop you from taking her with you.”
“And if she doesn’t?”
“Well, as much as I would like to help, that would be kidnapping.”
“So we wait.”
“We wait. The charter plane you came in on is fueled and standing by.” ***
Captain Talua stepped from his police cruiser in front of the general aviation terminal and looked at the license plates for the two rental cars and at the government issued tags on the white four-door. He tugged his pants a fraction higher on his waist and put on his swagger. It was a full house in the charter terminal, and Captain Talua was the last card in the deck.
“May I help you?” the young lady behind the counter asked, her mind trying to place the familiar face. A flash of his badge pried open her memory. The vertically challenged CBP officer and the State Department representative stepped to the counter, one standing on each side of the girl in her chair.
“Captain Talua,” the CBP Officer said with a smile. He knew the captain—all the CBP Officers did. Customs and Border Protection used the police facilities on occasion to hold uncooperative visa violators. “How are you today?”
“Not very well. Not very well at all,” the captain said, looking at the waiting room and the hodgepodge collection of characters. “Quite a scene at one of the factories this morning. One murder and one suspicious death.”
“Related?” Tom Foti asked, butting in. He assumed the captain of Saipan’s police force recognized him.
The pitfalls of assumption.
“And you are?”
“Tom Foti, Chief of the Liaison Office for the Commonwealth of the Northern Mariana Islands, Saipan.”
“The State Department.”
“Yes, sir. We met last year when the president of the Philippines was in town for the weekend.”
“Ah, yes. My apologies for not recognizing you,” the captain said, looking at Tom’s outfit as if that were the reason for his forgetfulness.
“Not at all. In your line of work, you meet a lot of people. You can’t possibly remember them all.”
“I guess I do,” the captain answered, liking the excuse Tom Foti offered better than the run-of-the-mill “premature senility” comment he was ready to use.
“What brings you down here, Captain?”
“I’m looking for someone,” Captain Talua said, glancing around the room. “A doctor who works at Chang Industries.”
Tom Foti smiled, his white teeth stretching to the corner of his mouth. “Well Captain, it looks like it’s your lucky day.”
Captain Talua squinted perceptively. A hint of disbelief on his face. “You’re kidding?”
“Right over there,” Tom answered, gleefully pointing toward the corner as the doctor looked up.
“And the girl. Is she from Chang Industries?”
“Yes.”
“I need to see her too. She might be a witness to a serious crime.”
“The girl is incapacitated and under my supervision and care,” Tom Foti said sternly. “She will not be questioned today, Captain. It’s not a point up for negotiation.”
“Mr. Foti, you have no jurisdiction over me.”
“Perhaps you can step into the office for a moment,” Tom said, still smiling. “We can discuss jurisdiction.”
The office door shut and the CBP Officer and girl at the counter were miffed for being cut out of the juicy part of the conversation.
