Jerry had asked him to meet at a small café on 9th Avenue, close to the New York Division of the DEA (Drug Enforcement Administration).
Yuto Lennix was overcome with nostalgia as he passed by the front of the red brick Chelsea Market. He used to shop here often when he was still with the DEA.
He glanced to the other side of the street to see that a new Italian restaurant had opened. The exterior of the building next door had been repainted to a different colour.
After a ten-month absence, Yuto’s former neighbourhood looked the same at first glance, but hints of the unfamiliar showed here and there.
Yuto couldn’t help but feel the passage of time as he continued briskly walking through the Manhattan streets, which were starting to show the signs of autumn.
After a while, he arrived at the café. Yuto pushed the door open and walked into the antique-style establishment. Jerry was sitting at a table in the very back, reading the newspaper.
“Jerry, I’m sorry I’m late.”
As Yuto approached, his former colleague, Jerry Rodriguez, stood from his seat looking overcome with emotion. The two embraced without a moment’s hesitation, and shared in their joy of reunion.
“You’re looking good, Yuto.”
“You, too.”
When the waitress approached to take his order, Yuto ordered a cappuccino before taking a seat.
“Sorry for calling you up out of the blue like that,” Yuto apologized.
“Don’t worry about it. It was great to hear from you. I was worried about you the whole time, you know? I’m just relieved that we were able to meet up again like this,” Jerry said with a smile. Jerry was a friendly Puerto Rican, two years older than Yuto at age thirty. He was the closest friend to Yuto after Paul, his former partner.
“Oh, right. Here’s the name and address of the cemetery where Paul is buried. It’s in Flushing, so it’s not that far,” said Jerry.
“Thanks. I owe you one,” Yuto said as he looked down at the memo that was handed to him.
Yuto had decided to stop off at New York instead of going straight from Quantico to Washington, DC so he could visit Paul’s grave. When he had called Jerry to ask for the location, the man had insisted on meeting up while Yuto was in Manhattan, and Yuto hadn’t been able to bring himself to refuse.
“Yuto, you sure you don’t wanna come back to the DEA?”
“I’m sure. Thankfully I’ve already got a job lined up. I’ll make the best of my fresh start,” Yuto said, taking care to sound light-hearted. He had only told Jerry that he had a job offer in DC.
“Is that so? That’s too bad. Everyone was wishing you’d come back, you know.”
Yuto gave a vague smile and picked up the cappuccino as it arrived, bringing it to his lips.
“So what kind of company are you gonna be working for?”
Yuto paused for a moment. “A security company,” he said finally.
“I see,” Jerry said, seemingly unsuspicious.
It was out of convenience that Yuto had lied. If he told the truth, Jerry would no doubt demand to hear about his reasons and events leading up to his decision. Yuto’s unusual circumstances was not something he could explain in brief words.
“You look like you lost some weight,” Jerry remarked. “They gave you a hard time over there, didn’t they?”
Jerry’s gaze was sympathetic. Yuto didn’t enjoy being pitied, but it was natural for Jerry to behave that way. How else could one behave toward an innocent man who was imprisoned for a crime he didn’t commit?
“It was a valuable experience, to say the least. I’d never want to do it again, though,” Yuto said lightly, careful not to let the mood get too sombre.
“Hey, Yuto,” Jerry said, after a moment’s hesitation. “If you have a moment to spare, you should come say hello to the guys.”
“Sorry, but I’m in a rush,” Yuto responded shortly. Jerry lapsed into awkward silence as he sensed Yuto’s mood from his clipped words.
Yuto felt a twinge of guilt at trampling on Jerry’s effort to be nice, but he had no desire to see his old colleagues anymore.
This time last year, Yuto was still an investigator working at the DEA’s New York Division. But one day, his life had been turned upside down when his partner, Paul McLean, had been stabbed to death. Yuto had been arrested on suspicion of murder, and had been sentenced in court to fifteen years of imprisonment.
Although he had been released in the end when the real murderer was found, Yuto had permanently lost many things because of that case.
“Do you still hate everyone for what happened?”
Yuto looked out the window as if to avoid Jerry’s gaze.
“I know how angry you feel,” Jerry continued. “But something just came over everyone that time. Will you forgive them?”
“Jerry, I’m not holding a grudge toward anyone. I just want to put the past behind me, that’s all.”
The only people to visit him in prison were Jerry and his immediate supervisor. With numerous pieces of decisive evidence pointing the finger at him, the rest of his colleagues had believed that Yuto was the murderer. Not only that, one of his colleagues had even testified on the stand as a witness for the prosecution.
The colleague, a white man who had been close with Paul, testified that the night before the murder, Paul and Yuto had gotten into a fierce argument and had parted on bad terms. As if egged on by the prosecution’s leading questions, he had even said that Yuto was normally quiet, but was prone to unpredictable outbursts when he got angry. On the belief that Yuto was the murderer, the man had no doubt given his testimony in good faith, believing that he was helping obtain justice for Paul.
Paul, with his laidback and cheerful personality, was loved by everyone. In comparison, Yuto, who lacked interpersonal skills, had a relatively difficult time fitting in. Although Yuto was a good investigator in terms of number of arrests, his good track record was often a source of jealous spite for those around him. Yuto was also the only Japanese-American investigator. Racist sentiment was possibly one of the reasons for the resistance he faced.
Although Yuto despaired in his colleagues for not believing him, he told himself it was his own fault for failing to establish meaningful relationships, and did his best to forget about his colleagues.
That’s why it would do no good to see them now. He would only feel hollow seeing his former colleagues treading on eggshells as they congratulated him on his release and awkwardly telling him how happy they were to see him again.
“Jerry, will you tell everyone I said hi for me? From here on out, I’m going to try to find a new life for myself. I’ll take my lessons from the DEA and try my best out there,” he said with a smile. Jerry nodded slightly, his expression conflicted.
“Alright, I will. ―Get in touch once you find a place in DC, alright?”
Yuto told him he would, but he felt like he would probably never see Jerry again. Although he liked the man, seeing him would only remind him of the painful past.
After parting ways with Jerry in front of the café, Yuto got on the 1 Line of the subway and went up to Times Square, where he transferred onto the Flushing line, otherwise known as the 7, and got off at Flushing, Queens. From the station, he hailed a cab and told the driver the name of the cemetery.
It was closer than expected, and after about ten minutes, the cab pulled up at a cemetery filled with verdant greenery. Yuto asked the driver to wait there, and got out of the car holding a bouquet of flowers that he had bought.
The lush, rolling lawns were soothing to the eyes. The sun’s rays still beat down like summer, but the fresh breeze hinted at the coming autumn. Yuto narrowed his eyes at the bright afternoon sun and strode around the vast cemetery.
Eventually, he found Paul’s grave. Yuto had obviously been unable to attend Paul’s funeral, as he had been detained immediately after the man’s murder. Yuto had wished he could at least place some flowers on the grave of his partner with his own hands. Now, he was relieved to finally be blessed with that opportunity.
A small gravestone was embedded in the grass, with Paul’s name, year of birth, and year of death engraved in it. Yuto kneeled and ran his fingers over Paul’s name, suddenly feeling a hot surge of emotion choking him up.
There you are, Paul. I’ve looked for you.
It had been a short life of just thirty-two years. Grieving anew at a death that came much too soon, Yuto gently placed the bouquet on the ground.
“Sorry I’m late. Not to make excuses, but things were pretty crazy on my end, too. It’s nothing to laugh about. I nearly died, you know. Literally. My life has been a mess since you’ve been gone. Look at how much trouble I’ve had to go through – and I thought we were supposed to be partners in this, huh.”
Yuto spoke as if Paul was standing in front of him. This was his last conversation with him, and his moment of farewell in the truest sense of the word.
Sometimes, somewhere in his heart he believed a foolish illusion that Paul was still alive out there. Being unable to be with him in his last moments, unable to attend his funeral, and not to mention being accused of murdering Paul, it had probably made him unable to accept his friend’s death as reality.
But now that he had been able to visit Paul’s final resting place, he finally felt the full weight of his death.
Paul was gone. Yuto was no longer a part of the DEA.
That day, Yuto drew a line separating himself from his past.
“In other words, it’s like a learner’s permit. Understand?” said Mark Heiden as he swept his light blond hair off his forehead in a preening motion. “Your position as special investigator at the FBI (Federal Bureau of Investigation) is limited only to this case.”
Yuto glanced at Heiden’s proportionate profile and nodded. “I see. So in other words, you’ll let me drive, but I won’t be able to choose the roads I take?”
“Correct. You were only able to become an investigator in the first place because you’re a necessary resource for the Corvus search. Otherwise, you would still have been a trainee. Your only job is to find Corvus. Go sticking your nose in other things, and I’ll take you off the case.”
Heiden stared coldly back at Yuto with his grey eyes, and resumed walking down the hall. Yuto followed behind, sticking a finger between his collar and the knot of his tie.
It was suffocating.
Yuto didn’t like suits or ties. Back in the DEA, he had constantly been in undercover operations, and had led a lifestyle that hardly required him to dress up. In his time off, he never wore a suit unless it was to special occasions. He had never liked clothes that were tight and constricting, but now that he was a stuffy FBI investigator, he supposed he had no choice but to get used to the uncomfortable suit as well.
Yuto had worked with the FBI on some occasions in his DEA days, and whenever that group of elites swooped into do what they did best – steal their cases – him and the rest of the DEA would often call them “suits” scornfully behind their backs. He felt conflicted, to say the least, to think that he had now joined those ranks of suits himself.
“What’s the plan after this? Do I have to do any more introductions?”
Yuto had just completed his training at the FBI Academy in Quantico two days ago. He had spent last night in New York, and had arrived at the FBI headquarters in DC an hour ago. After introducing himself to his fellow colleagues in the Counterterrorism Division as a pure formality, Heiden had dragged him around to various parts of the sprawling building to give his greetings to the top brass.
“Your introductions are finished. Let’s go back to my office and talk about what you’ll be doing next.”
Heiden, who was eight years older than Yuto at thirty-six, would be his immediate superior from now on. He exuded the aura of a stereotypical WASP who grew up in an affluent household. His sophisticated Italian suit looked like it had been tailored from premium fabric, and suited him well. Although his conceited manner was irritating, but at least he wasn’t wearing the tacky navy serge suit that practically screamed “FBI agent”.
Heiden’s handsome face was always plastered with a condescending sneer, as if to display his pridefulness. Yuto disliked men like Heiden, but he surmised that Heiden probably felt the same way about him. An inmate he had taken advantage of for an investigation had ended up becoming his subordinate – he was probably inwardly feeling dissatisfied. Yuto had heard that it was the decision of the upper ranks of the FBI to bring him in as an investigator.
Heiden brought Yuto back to his office and ordered another subordinate to bring them coffee. The young subordinate gave Yuto a pointed glance before leaving the room.
He was not the only one; there was a sense of animosity in the way all the other investigators looked at Yuto. He was faced with the reality that he was a persona non grata; nonetheless, he had expected this from the start, so he refused to let it bother him.
Even though he had been falsely accused, he was still an ex-convict-turned-FBI investigator. It was natural for him to face some pushback. Not to mention that regular FBI investigators were required to undergo four months of gruelling training at the Academy before being put on probation for over a year. Yuto had undergone a mere month of training as a formality before being sent out in the field on a case. It went without saying that his situation was the rarest of exceptions.
Heiden opened his desk drawer and took out a thick folder.
“This is a summary of the status so far on the serial bombing investigation. Dates and locations, casualties, types of bombs used, et cetera. This will give you an idea of what information we have at the moment. Give it a read.”
Starting last year, a series of indiscriminate bomb attacks had occurred across America, thought to be by the same perpetrator. Due to the lack of a manifesto, the media buzz frequently referred to it as the silent terror, and it was a despicable case that had thrown the public into the throes of anxiety and fear.
The bomb attack sites were spread broadly across state lines, including Utah, Arizona, Montana, Michigan, and Florida. There was no pattern in the locations, either, which included a supermarket, hospital, an office building, school, and train station.
By coincidence this year, the FBI had arrested a man thought to be connected to the series of attacks. The man confessed that he was a member of a certain cult, and that all the acts had been carried out on orders of the leader. However, on his way to being transported to the FBI headquarters, he had been shot and killed by an unknown sniper.
The man had left behind a few important words before taking his last breath: the members of the cult called their leader Corvus, after the Latin word for “crow”, and that Corvus was in hiding, posing as an inmate in Schelger Prison in California. He was giving orders to members from inside the prison, and was behind the string of bomb attacks.
Once the FBI became aware of this information, they approached Yuto, who had been convicted, with a special plea bargain. If Yuto was able to find Corvus in Schelger Prison, the FBI promised his release.
For Yuto, it was his single ray of hope. He didn’t want to serve fifteen years in prison for a crime he did not commit. Yuto took the deal without hesitation, and was transferred to Schelger Prison.
The clues he had about Corvus were as follows: he was around thirty years of age, was in prison for murder, had a history of undergoing comprehensive military training in the past, and had a large burn scar on his back. With just these meagre pieces of information to work on, Yuto searched tirelessly for Corvus within the walls.
Finally, he discovered that Nathan Clark, a model inmate who had treated him kindly, was actually Corvus.
Although Corvus ended up escaping his grasp, Yuto bargained with the FBI, using his past interaction with Corvus as a playing card. He demanded that they have him released in exchange for the information he had. The FBI, feeling pressure to prevent losing the upper hand to their rival organization, the CIA (Central Intelligence Agency), sought out evidence to prove Yuto’s innocence and freed him by legal means. They wanted to utilize Yuto for their investigation, since he was the only person to have had contact with the mysterious Corvus.
“How was your training at the Academy?” Heiden asked, sitting on the edge of his desk. Yuto, who had been flipping through the folder on the sofa, took a sip of coffee before shrugging.
“It felt nostalgic, being where it was. It reminded me of the hellish training I had to go through for the DEA long ago.”
“Right, the DEA Academy is in Quantico, too, isn’t it?”
There was a Marine Corps base in Quantico – or, rather, the town of Quantico was located inside the massive base. For this reason, the town exuded an intimidating air, and even had checkpoints at the entrance. The FBI and DEA Academies were located on this base, and new recruits underwent rigorous military-like training in order to become investigators.
“So I hear you were quite the model student. Top marks on all your tests – intelligence, physical ability, marksmanship. Good knowledge as an investigator. Your supervising instructor gave me a seal of approval, said you were ready to go into the field right away. Well, we already knew you were a good investigator from your track record at the DEA, anyway. You led the way in dealing a blow to the Recovada.”
The Recovada was a drug trafficking organization that Yuto had infiltrated in the past. It had ties to a massive drug cartel in Mexico, and smuggled large amounts of drugs into the US to sell. Until then, the DEA had been unable to get a coherent picture of the entire organization. Yuto and Paul had spent a year infiltrating deep into the organization, succeeding in pinpointing the leader. As a result, the leader and most of the top members were arrested, and the Recovada were pushed to the brink of collapse.
However, this ended up turning the fates of Yuto and Paul upside down. One of the leaders who had escaped arrest realized that Yuto and Paul were actually investigators that had tricked them. To exact revenge, the leader had murdered Paul and framed Yuto for the crime. Although the truth came to light later thanks to the FBI, things initially went according to the murderer’s plan because of the police’s botched investigation.
“…Are you sure the FBI didn’t know from the start that I wasn’t the one who murdered Paul?” Yuto said. Otherwise, there was no way they could have found the real murderer so conveniently the minute Yuto demanded his release.
“Of course not,” Heiden said, furrowing his brow in offense. “It was a result of our diligent investigation on the basis of your presumed innocence.”
Yuto looked down at Heiden’s feet, certain that the man was lying. The man’s black leather shoes were polished to a sheen, without a speck of dust on them. He probably did nothing more than order his subordinates around, and had never done any investigation on the ground himself.
“It was easy for us to narrow down the suspects, since you already had suspicions that it was someone from the Recovada. Besides, the FBI has been keeping an eye on this organization for a while. Our intelligence network isn’t too shoddy, huh?”
Heiden’s tone was coaxing, as if to say to Yuto, don’t throw a tantrum now.
Yuto would be lying if he said he had no qualms about working for an organization that had tried to use him. Nonetheless, regardless of the truth, he decided to set aside his personal feelings. If the FBI was going to use him, he would also use the FBI’s power to go after Corvus.
When Yuto nodded silently, Heiden gave a vacant smile of relief.
“What’s the profile like for the bomber?” Yuto asked as he flipped through the folder. The profilers at the FBI were top notch, and he was sure that some kind of analysis had already been done.
“We stopped profiling as soon as we found out that it wasn’t a single perpetrator. My subordinate is currently investigating domestic cult organizations, but unfortunately we haven’t been able to find any records, past or present, of any organization called White Heaven.”
White Heaven was the name of the militant cult that Corvus had previous led. However, right now they had no idea if the perpetrators committing terrorism on behalf of Corvus were surviving members of White Heaven.
“Maybe they changed their name and went underground? There’s no doubt that they existed. Two years ago, there was a standoff incident with White Heaven in South Carolina, and the army was called in.”
“About that,” said Heiden, looking nonplussed as he stroked his forehead. “I confirmed with the Pentagon, and they told me nothing of that nature had ever happened. So I used my own personal connections to put feelers out with people involved in the army. Apparently, the official stance is that that dispatch was an unofficial military order.”
“Does that mean the Pentagon doesn’t want the public to know about the existence of White Heaven?”
“If that’s true, then it’ll be quite the headache. If the military mobilized in secret, there’s a possibility of some political intentions behind it.”
Political intentions. It was the most troublesome kind of disruption for investigators working on the ground.
“Any new information while I was away at the Academy?” Yuto asked, trying to start afresh. He had asked in hopes that the investigation had moved forward thanks to the information he had given. However, Heiden’s answer only served to disappoint him.
“Unfortunately, none that I can speak of. We have no leads on where Corvus has gone disguised as Nathan Clark, wanted criminal. We collected some prints and hair from Corvus’ cell that was thought to belong to him, but there was no match in the FBI’s database. Then there’s Richard Corning, warden of Schelger Prison suspected of helping Corvus escape. He seems to have gone into hiding somewhere after the riot, because he’s been missing ever since.”
Corning would have had a close connection to Corvus, so catching him would have brought them a huge lead. That expectation made Yuto’s disappointment all the more pronounced.
“We also looked into the actual Nathan Clark’s background, the guy Corvus was impersonating. We didn’t find anything suspicious.”
Yuto sank deep into thought as he gazed at the photos of the bomb attack sites enclosed in the folder. The scales of the explosions varied widely. Some had ended with only a hole in the wall, while others had nearly destroyed half of the building. Most incidents had taken place in late at night or in the early morning, with few people, and the only saving grace was that it had resulted in a small number of casualties for the scale of the explosions.
“What do you think happened to the real Nathan?” Yuto looked up and asked. Heiden shook his head.
“Already killed, most likely. It would be too much trouble to have two identical people walking around.”
“I have a feeling Corvus didn’t choose Nathan at random to impersonate. He might have had some kind of connection with Corvus in the past.”
“On what grounds do you say that?”
“None. But Corvus isn’t the type of person to do things on the fly.”
Corvus had been deeply trusted by other inmates. Even Yuto, who had worked closely with him, had fallen hook, line, and sinker for the man’s act, and had felt a genuine respect and admiration for the man.
“I’m sure it’s far from easy to let it go, but you have to bear with it. Impatience won’t do you any good.”
“You have to be a model inmate and not let yourself get caught up in this poisonous atmosphere. You have to make an effort to get out of here the earliest you can.”
Nathan had always given him gentle encouragement. Every time he thought about Corvus, he couldn’t help but fleetingly envision the face of the Nathan he knew. Although he knew better in his head, he had a hard time reconciling Nathan’s image with that of a ruthless terrorist.
However, that was precisely what was terrifying about Corvus. He had the endurance and mental fortitude to stay in hiding in a prison for two years to escape the authorities. He had the cunning and acting skill to continue wearing the mask of a benevolent man, someone who was the bare opposite of his real character. This was not something that could be pulled off by the average person. Observing any facet of Corvus made it easy to understand that he was anything but normal.
Heiden cocked an eyebrow with an expression of mild surprise.
“You know him well. I guess it should be expected, given how you spent all those days buddying up with him inside the walls.”
Yuto ignored Heiden’s snide remark and tapped the folder with his finger.
“These serial bombings look random at first glance, but I think there’s a purpose behind them.”
“Tell me, what part of this case has any pattern? Everything is all over the place. He has no ideology or message. He’s doing it for amusement and for attention, getting society riled up to satisfy his desire to be seen,” Heiden spat bitterly. “Lennix, I have no patience for these types of people. Terrorists are unforgivable, whether they have a purpose or not. We’re going to do whatever it takes to arrest this Corvus bastard. No exceptions.”
Heiden seemed at first to be the type only concerned with promotions, but he apparently had a backbone as an investigator as well. Yuto felt a slight relief as he nodded. “You bet.”
“Oh, and one more thing. Your cellmate, Dick Burnford – or his impersonator, should I say. He was a contract agent for the CIA.”
Yuto was taken aback at the sudden mention of Dick’s name. He was careful not to let it show, but he felt his heart thudding.
“What about Dick?”
“Nothing. We don’t know anything about him. But apparently the real Dick Burnford died while serving his sentence in prison. I don’t know what the CIA did, but they made it so he was alive on paper and transferred him to Schelger Prison. Looks like that’s when they made the switch.”
It was not easy to switch someone’s identity. It was a brute-force manoeuvre that would have involved getting federal and judicial officials to cooperate.
“It looks like the CIA is plotting to assassinate Corvus. We can’t let that happen. If it was overseas, they’d be free to do whatever espionage or scheming they want, but this is on American soil. We can’t give them free rein.”
Heiden suddenly pulled up a corner of his mouth in a sneer. The man had an unpleasant smile, no matter how many times he saw it.
“We’ve got an undercover spy in CIA headquarters. He hasn’t been able to grasp many details of what’s going on internally – Corvus seems to be an important target for them, and they’ve got tight security on it. But what we know for sure is that they haven’t found Corvus’ exact location yet.”
This piece of information was more useful than any to Yuto.
“Lennix, whether it’s investigation, politics, or business, the person with the most intelligence has the advantage. Intelligence holds the key to everything.”
As Heiden spoke, a foreboding light akin to hatred flickered in his eyes. He had probably had a bitter experience of being beat out by the CIA.
The two organizations that were going after Corvus were locked in an opposing stance that had only been strengthened and cemented by the weight of their history. No matter how much networking they did by sending employees to each other’s organizations, or if they launched a joint organization together, it was probably not easy to alleviate the deep-seated discord that existed between the two.
The CIA was an intelligence agency working directly under the President of the United States, and was mainly in charge of intelligence collection and international manoeuvres. On the other hand, the FBI, as an agency of the Department of Justice, was a law enforcement agency that handled criminal investigations inside the country. The CIA commissioned spies while the FBI hunted them down. The destined opposition of these two organizations was not simply a territorial dispute; one could say that it had immense unseen influence on American history.
However, that didn’t matter. As much as he felt sympathy for Heiden, Yuto couldn’t care less about the dispute between the FBI and CIA.
Yuto’s work for the day was done once his discussion with Heiden wrapped up. After receiving his FBI badge, ID card, and gun, Yuto left the headquarters.
As soon as he stepped out onto the sidewalk, Yuto was approached by a young Asian woman holding a Japanese guide book.
“Excuse me, are you Japanese?” she asked in clumsy English.
Frankly, Yuto didn’t know how to answer this question when he was being asked by someone who was presumably Japanese. His nationality was American, and even in terms of blood, Yuto was not a pure Japanese. His deceased mother was half-Japanese and half-white, which made him quarter Japanese.
“I’m Japanese-American,” Yuto said.
“Um, can you speak Japanese?”
“A little.”
A look of relief came over the woman’s face. She had apparently gotten lost, and didn’t even know where she was. Yuto peered at the map that the woman was holding, and explained the local geography to her.
“We’re here. The White House will be straight down this street. Go one block up and turn left, and that’s where your hotel is.”
“Thank you. That was a great help.”
Washington, DC was a popular tourist destination. The main tourist spots, such as the White House, Lincoln Memorial, the Capitol, and Smithsonian Museum were concentrated in one district, which meant it attracted tourists not just from within the country but from the rest of the world as well. The FBI headquarters used to be one of those attractions, and pre-9/11 they had conducted tours inside the building that had people forming lines around the building.
Terrorism was unforgivable, no matter the reason. Although he didn’t know Corvus’ intent, he wanted to arrest the man at all costs before he perpetrated his next act. What he needed in order to do that was intelligence.
Intelligence holds the key to everything.
Heiden’s words flitted across his mind. “Intelligence, huh,” Yuto muttered under his breath as he started walking west down E Street. The White House was up ahead.
As he walked down the sidewalk, Yuto absently glanced up at the FBI headquarters building. It was a large building, named officially the J. Edgar Hoover Building, after the man who, at twenty-nine, was made the Director of the FBI, and reigned at his post for close to fifty years.
The former Director Hoover had served eight presidents and was said to have manipulated them freely. Although he was taunted as the master of blackmail, his most powerful weapon was the information he gained by wiretapping. However, the information itself wielded no power. Information only yielded value when coupled with the ability to analyze and put it to good use.
As a DEA investigator, Yuto spent many of his days neck-deep in gathering information about drug crimes and cases. At times, he impersonated a junkie to get close to drug dealers, or impersonated a dealer himself to infiltrate drug rings. The job was a dangerous one, but after accumulating some experience, the customs and mechanisms of the drug world came naturally to him.
However, none of his past experience would apply to this investigation. He was a fish out of water. That was why he had to be careful not to let any scrap of information, no matter how inconsequential, slip through his hands. He knew he had to wipe clean all preconceptions and fixed ideas to analyze the information carefully.
Could he do it? Could he produce results?
Although he was motivated, he was still fraught with a vague sense of anxiety. He felt like he had been cast alone on a boat onto the waters of the wide sea. Granted, he had felt anxious as well when he was admitted to Schelger Prison, but back then he had quickly made friends.
Matthew, with his lingering boyish innocence. Cheerful, caring, and chatty Micky. Soft-spoken Nathan, who was a comfort to be around. And Dick, his cellmate who, despite his cold attitude, had helped him countless times.
Yuto cleared his head of his intrusive thoughts and quickened his pace. There was no time to dawdle. He needed to find a place to live. He had cancelled his lease on his old apartment after his prison sentence was decided, which meant he was essentially homeless.
Since he was already walking, he decided to visit a few rental offices around the area, but was unable to find an apartment that met his conditions. He gave up after the fourth rental office and decided to return to his hotel, telling himself that there was no use rushing into something.
Yuto decided to get dinner at a small restaurant close to the hotel. After giving his order at his seat, he got up to grab a newspaper from the entrance.
As he stepped out on the passage, he brushed shoulders with a man who had been walking up from behind.
“Oh, sorry,” Yuto apologized hastily, and his heart skipped a beat when he turned around. He had bumped into a tall, white man.
“No worries,” the man smiled good-naturedly as he slipped past. Yuto returned to his seat after grabbing a copy of the Washington Post and sat down to read through it. His eyes were not following the words on the page, but was stealing glances at the man he had just bumped into. The man was sitting at a table in the back with another man, smiling as they engaged in conversation.
His shining blond hair and good looks reminded him of Dick. The man was handsome, but didn’t come close to Dick. Yuto folded the paper closed and sighed.
“Forget about me. It’s for your own good.”
Dick’s pained eyes lingered in his memories and made Yuto’s heart ache every time he recalled them.
Dick was a year older than Yuto at twenty-nine, and respected and feared by the other inmates. He had blue eyes that were like the glassy surface of a clear lake, and brilliant, shining blond hair.
Yuto’s first impression of Dick had been the worst. On his first day of prison, Dick had called him prey, and had even told him, “I’d rather not have to wipe your ass for you.”
Chagrined at Dick’s cold attitude, he had pushed back against the man at first, thinking he was a jerk. But as they gradually became closer, he found himself feeling a strong attraction to the man that mystified even himself. His gentle soul beneath the cold mask; his proud solitude that was heartbreaking to watch – the more he knew about Dick, the more he was enthralled.
The racial conflict between the blacks and Chicanos (Mexican-Americans) within the prison eventually developed into a full-blown riot. Amidst the chaos and confusion, Yuto had discovered the shocking truth that Nathan was in fact Corvus, and that Dick was an assassin sent by the CIA to kill him.
Corvus, having cast his mask aside, had nearly killed Yuto and Dick both, but they had escaped by a hair thanks to a gang of blacks entering the fray. Yuto and Dick had torn through the riot and fled into a food storage room, where Yuto had learned of Dick’s horrific past from the man’s own lips.
Dick had belonged to the Delta Force, the US Army’s anti-terrorism task force. One day, while on a mission, Corvus had massacred his friends and lover. To avenge them, Dick had signed a contract with the CIA to become an agent sent to assassinate Corvus.
Dick’s sole purpose in life had been to wipe Corvus off the face of this earth, but he had been unable to accomplish this desperate wish because Yuto had gotten in the way. Undeterred, Dick had taken advantage of the chaos during the suppression of the riot to make a break into the outside world to go after Corvus, who had also escaped.
Dick had asked him to come along, but Yuto had turned him down. Truthfully, he wished he could escape the prison with Dick and be free. However, he knew it wouldn’t be true freedom. He would have to live the rest of his life on the run, his reputation smeared as an escaped convict.
When the FBI offered him a position, Yuto had taken it without hesitation in hopes that going after the same man as Dick would somehow keep them connected, and that they might reunite someday.
He could recall the time they spent in that small, dirty storage room during the riot. It came back to him as if it happened yesterday.
Spurred on by their impending farewell, the two had blindly and desperately sought each other. They made love as if seeking each other’s vulnerable, genuine feelings free of appearances or lies; they shared in their mutual pain through the heat of their skin and the depth of their desire.
“I wish I could take you with me. I don’t want to let you go.”
Dick had spoken these words as they parted, and Yuto believed they reflected Dick’s honest feelings. He had no doubt that they were true, because he felt the same way. It pained him so much to be apart from Dick that he felt like his heart was being torn asunder.
They had been nothing but fellow inmates who spent a few months together living in the same cell. If they hadn’t slept together, perhaps he would have been able to dismiss Dick’s existence easily. But now they had crossed a line. They had shared the deep love that they held in their hearts. Although Yuto wasn’t gay, he had never felt such a strong love for someone else in his entire life.
He knew he could go on living pretending that he had forgotten about Dick. If he immersed himself in daily life and kept himself busy with work, the past would eventually seem like a distant memory. But he didn’t want to forget. He didn’t want Dick to become part of the past. He couldn’t stand to do nothing when he imagined Dick suffering, with his desire to kill Corvus the only thing keeping him alive.
Yuto believed that there was a greater meaning to the fact that FBI had headhunted him. The thread connecting him and Dick had not been cut yet. It was still intact. He had a feeling it was, and he wanted to believe it was, which was why he didn’t want to let this opportunity slip by. He wanted to do everything he could to follow that invisible thread, until it led him to Dick.
That’s why I’m going after Corvus, too, Dick.
Jerry had asked him to meet at a small café on 9th Avenue, close to the New York Division of the DEA (Drug Enforcement Administration).
Yuto Lennix was overcome with nostalgia as he passed by the front of the red brick Chelsea Market. He used to shop here often when he was still with the DEA.
He glanced to the other side of the street to see that a new Italian restaurant had opened. The exterior of the building next door had been repainted to a different colour.
After a ten-month absence, Yuto’s former neighbourhood looked the same at first glance, but hints of the unfamiliar showed here and there.
Yuto couldn’t help but feel the passage of time as he continued briskly walking through the Manhattan streets, which were starting to show the signs of autumn.
After a while, he arrived at the café. Yuto pushed the door open and walked into the antique-style establishment. Jerry was sitting at a table in the very back, reading the newspaper.
“Jerry, I’m sorry I’m late.”
As Yuto approached, his former colleague, Jerry Rodriguez, stood from his seat looking overcome with emotion. The two embraced without a moment’s hesitation, and shared in their joy of reunion.
“You’re looking good, Yuto.”
“You, too.”
When the waitress approached to take his order, Yuto ordered a cappuccino before taking a seat.
“Sorry for calling you up out of the blue like that,” Yuto apologized.
“Don’t worry about it. It was great to hear from you. I was worried about you the whole time, you know? I’m just relieved that we were able to meet up again like this,” Jerry said with a smile. Jerry was a friendly Puerto Rican, two years older than Yuto at age thirty. He was the closest friend to Yuto after Paul, his former partner.
“Oh, right. Here’s the name and address of the cemetery where Paul is buried. It’s in Flushing, so it’s not that far,” said Jerry.
“Thanks. I owe you one,” Yuto said as he looked down at the memo that was handed to him.
Yuto had decided to stop off at New York instead of going straight from Quantico to Washington, DC so he could visit Paul’s grave. When he had called Jerry to ask for the location, the man had insisted on meeting up while Yuto was in Manhattan, and Yuto hadn’t been able to bring himself to refuse.
“Yuto, you sure you don’t wanna come back to the DEA?”
“I’m sure. Thankfully I’ve already got a job lined up. I’ll make the best of my fresh start,” Yuto said, taking care to sound light-hearted. He had only told Jerry that he had a job offer in DC.
“Is that so? That’s too bad. Everyone was wishing you’d come back, you know.”
Yuto gave a vague smile and picked up the cappuccino as it arrived, bringing it to his lips.
“So what kind of company are you gonna be working for?”
Yuto paused for a moment. “A security company,” he said finally.
“I see,” Jerry said, seemingly unsuspicious.
It was out of convenience that Yuto had lied. If he told the truth, Jerry would no doubt demand to hear about his reasons and events leading up to his decision. Yuto’s unusual circumstances was not something he could explain in brief words.
“You look like you lost some weight,” Jerry remarked. “They gave you a hard time over there, didn’t they?”
Jerry’s gaze was sympathetic. Yuto didn’t enjoy being pitied, but it was natural for Jerry to behave that way. How else could one behave toward an innocent man who was imprisoned for a crime he didn’t commit?
“It was a valuable experience, to say the least. I’d never want to do it again, though,” Yuto said lightly, careful not to let the mood get too sombre.
“Hey, Yuto,” Jerry said, after a moment’s hesitation. “If you have a moment to spare, you should come say hello to the guys.”
“Sorry, but I’m in a rush,” Yuto responded shortly. Jerry lapsed into awkward silence as he sensed Yuto’s mood from his clipped words.
Yuto felt a twinge of guilt at trampling on Jerry’s effort to be nice, but he had no desire to see his old colleagues anymore.
This time last year, Yuto was still an investigator working at the DEA’s New York Division. But one day, his life had been turned upside down when his partner, Paul McLean, had been stabbed to death. Yuto had been arrested on suspicion of murder, and had been sentenced in court to fifteen years of imprisonment.
Although he had been released in the end when the real murderer was found, Yuto had permanently lost many things because of that case.
“Do you still hate everyone for what happened?”
Yuto looked out the window as if to avoid Jerry’s gaze.
“I know how angry you feel,” Jerry continued. “But something just came over everyone that time. Will you forgive them?”
“Jerry, I’m not holding a grudge toward anyone. I just want to put the past behind me, that’s all.”
The only people to visit him in prison were Jerry and his immediate supervisor. With numerous pieces of decisive evidence pointing the finger at him, the rest of his colleagues had believed that Yuto was the murderer. Not only that, one of his colleagues had even testified on the stand as a witness for the prosecution.
The colleague, a white man who had been close with Paul, testified that the night before the murder, Paul and Yuto had gotten into a fierce argument and had parted on bad terms. As if egged on by the prosecution’s leading questions, he had even said that Yuto was normally quiet, but was prone to unpredictable outbursts when he got angry. On the belief that Yuto was the murderer, the man had no doubt given his testimony in good faith, believing that he was helping obtain justice for Paul.
Paul, with his laidback and cheerful personality, was loved by everyone. In comparison, Yuto, who lacked interpersonal skills, had a relatively difficult time fitting in. Although Yuto was a good investigator in terms of number of arrests, his good track record was often a source of jealous spite for those around him. Yuto was also the only Japanese-American investigator. Racist sentiment was possibly one of the reasons for the resistance he faced.
Although Yuto despaired in his colleagues for not believing him, he told himself it was his own fault for failing to establish meaningful relationships, and did his best to forget about his colleagues.
That’s why it would do no good to see them now. He would only feel hollow seeing his former colleagues treading on eggshells as they congratulated him on his release and awkwardly telling him how happy they were to see him again.
“Jerry, will you tell everyone I said hi for me? From here on out, I’m going to try to find a new life for myself. I’ll take my lessons from the DEA and try my best out there,” he said with a smile. Jerry nodded slightly, his expression conflicted.
“Alright, I will. ―Get in touch once you find a place in DC, alright?”
Yuto told him he would, but he felt like he would probably never see Jerry again. Although he liked the man, seeing him would only remind him of the painful past.
After parting ways with Jerry in front of the café, Yuto got on the 1 Line of the subway and went up to Times Square, where he transferred onto the Flushing line, otherwise known as the 7, and got off at Flushing, Queens. From the station, he hailed a cab and told the driver the name of the cemetery.
It was closer than expected, and after about ten minutes, the cab pulled up at a cemetery filled with verdant greenery. Yuto asked the driver to wait there, and got out of the car holding a bouquet of flowers that he had bought.
The lush, rolling lawns were soothing to the eyes. The sun’s rays still beat down like summer, but the fresh breeze hinted at the coming autumn. Yuto narrowed his eyes at the bright afternoon sun and strode around the vast cemetery.
Eventually, he found Paul’s grave. Yuto had obviously been unable to attend Paul’s funeral, as he had been detained immediately after the man’s murder. Yuto had wished he could at least place some flowers on the grave of his partner with his own hands. Now, he was relieved to finally be blessed with that opportunity.
A small gravestone was embedded in the grass, with Paul’s name, year of birth, and year of death engraved in it. Yuto kneeled and ran his fingers over Paul’s name, suddenly feeling a hot surge of emotion choking him up.
There you are, Paul. I’ve looked for you.
It had been a short life of just thirty-two years. Grieving anew at a death that came much too soon, Yuto gently placed the bouquet on the ground.
“Sorry I’m late. Not to make excuses, but things were pretty crazy on my end, too. It’s nothing to laugh about. I nearly died, you know. Literally. My life has been a mess since you’ve been gone. Look at how much trouble I’ve had to go through – and I thought we were supposed to be partners in this, huh.”
Yuto spoke as if Paul was standing in front of him. This was his last conversation with him, and his moment of farewell in the truest sense of the word.
Sometimes, somewhere in his heart he believed a foolish illusion that Paul was still alive out there. Being unable to be with him in his last moments, unable to attend his funeral, and not to mention being accused of murdering Paul, it had probably made him unable to accept his friend’s death as reality.
But now that he had been able to visit Paul’s final resting place, he finally felt the full weight of his death.
Paul was gone. Yuto was no longer a part of the DEA.
That day, Yuto drew a line separating himself from his past.
“In other words, it’s like a learner’s permit. Understand?” said Mark Heiden as he swept his light blond hair off his forehead in a preening motion. “Your position as special investigator at the FBI (Federal Bureau of Investigation) is limited only to this case.”
Yuto glanced at Heiden’s proportionate profile and nodded. “I see. So in other words, you’ll let me drive, but I won’t be able to choose the roads I take?”
“Correct. You were only able to become an investigator in the first place because you’re a necessary resource for the Corvus search. Otherwise, you would still have been a trainee. Your only job is to find Corvus. Go sticking your nose in other things, and I’ll take you off the case.”
Heiden stared coldly back at Yuto with his grey eyes, and resumed walking down the hall. Yuto followed behind, sticking a finger between his collar and the knot of his tie.
It was suffocating.
Yuto didn’t like suits or ties. Back in the DEA, he had constantly been in undercover operations, and had led a lifestyle that hardly required him to dress up. In his time off, he never wore a suit unless it was to special occasions. He had never liked clothes that were tight and constricting, but now that he was a stuffy FBI investigator, he supposed he had no choice but to get used to the uncomfortable suit as well.
Yuto had worked with the FBI on some occasions in his DEA days, and whenever that group of elites swooped into do what they did best – steal their cases – him and the rest of the DEA would often call them “suits” scornfully behind their backs. He felt conflicted, to say the least, to think that he had now joined those ranks of suits himself.
“What’s the plan after this? Do I have to do any more introductions?”
Yuto had just completed his training at the FBI Academy in Quantico two days ago. He had spent last night in New York, and had arrived at the FBI headquarters in DC an hour ago. After introducing himself to his fellow colleagues in the Counterterrorism Division as a pure formality, Heiden had dragged him around to various parts of the sprawling building to give his greetings to the top brass.
“Your introductions are finished. Let’s go back to my office and talk about what you’ll be doing next.”
Heiden, who was eight years older than Yuto at thirty-six, would be his immediate superior from now on. He exuded the aura of a stereotypical WASP who grew up in an affluent household. His sophisticated Italian suit looked like it had been tailored from premium fabric, and suited him well. Although his conceited manner was irritating, but at least he wasn’t wearing the tacky navy serge suit that practically screamed “FBI agent”.
Heiden’s handsome face was always plastered with a condescending sneer, as if to display his pridefulness. Yuto disliked men like Heiden, but he surmised that Heiden probably felt the same way about him. An inmate he had taken advantage of for an investigation had ended up becoming his subordinate – he was probably inwardly feeling dissatisfied. Yuto had heard that it was the decision of the upper ranks of the FBI to bring him in as an investigator.
Heiden brought Yuto back to his office and ordered another subordinate to bring them coffee. The young subordinate gave Yuto a pointed glance before leaving the room.
He was not the only one; there was a sense of animosity in the way all the other investigators looked at Yuto. He was faced with the reality that he was a persona non grata; nonetheless, he had expected this from the start, so he refused to let it bother him.
Even though he had been falsely accused, he was still an ex-convict-turned-FBI investigator. It was natural for him to face some pushback. Not to mention that regular FBI investigators were required to undergo four months of gruelling training at the Academy before being put on probation for over a year. Yuto had undergone a mere month of training as a formality before being sent out in the field on a case. It went without saying that his situation was the rarest of exceptions.
Heiden opened his desk drawer and took out a thick folder.
“This is a summary of the status so far on the serial bombing investigation. Dates and locations, casualties, types of bombs used, et cetera. This will give you an idea of what information we have at the moment. Give it a read.”
Starting last year, a series of indiscriminate bomb attacks had occurred across America, thought to be by the same perpetrator. Due to the lack of a manifesto, the media buzz frequently referred to it as the silent terror, and it was a despicable case that had thrown the public into the throes of anxiety and fear.
The bomb attack sites were spread broadly across state lines, including Utah, Arizona, Montana, Michigan, and Florida. There was no pattern in the locations, either, which included a supermarket, hospital, an office building, school, and train station.
By coincidence this year, the FBI had arrested a man thought to be connected to the series of attacks. The man confessed that he was a member of a certain cult, and that all the acts had been carried out on orders of the leader. However, on his way to being transported to the FBI headquarters, he had been shot and killed by an unknown sniper.
The man had left behind a few important words before taking his last breath: the members of the cult called their leader Corvus, after the Latin word for “crow”, and that Corvus was in hiding, posing as an inmate in Schelger Prison in California. He was giving orders to members from inside the prison, and was behind the string of bomb attacks.
Once the FBI became aware of this information, they approached Yuto, who had been convicted, with a special plea bargain. If Yuto was able to find Corvus in Schelger Prison, the FBI promised his release.
For Yuto, it was his single ray of hope. He didn’t want to serve fifteen years in prison for a crime he did not commit. Yuto took the deal without hesitation, and was transferred to Schelger Prison.
The clues he had about Corvus were as follows: he was around thirty years of age, was in prison for murder, had a history of undergoing comprehensive military training in the past, and had a large burn scar on his back. With just these meagre pieces of information to work on, Yuto searched tirelessly for Corvus within the walls.
Finally, he discovered that Nathan Clark, a model inmate who had treated him kindly, was actually Corvus.
Although Corvus ended up escaping his grasp, Yuto bargained with the FBI, using his past interaction with Corvus as a playing card. He demanded that they have him released in exchange for the information he had. The FBI, feeling pressure to prevent losing the upper hand to their rival organization, the CIA (Central Intelligence Agency), sought out evidence to prove Yuto’s innocence and freed him by legal means. They wanted to utilize Yuto for their investigation, since he was the only person to have had contact with the mysterious Corvus.
“How was your training at the Academy?” Heiden asked, sitting on the edge of his desk. Yuto, who had been flipping through the folder on the sofa, took a sip of coffee before shrugging.
“It felt nostalgic, being where it was. It reminded me of the hellish training I had to go through for the DEA long ago.”
“Right, the DEA Academy is in Quantico, too, isn’t it?”
There was a Marine Corps base in Quantico – or, rather, the town of Quantico was located inside the massive base. For this reason, the town exuded an intimidating air, and even had checkpoints at the entrance. The FBI and DEA Academies were located on this base, and new recruits underwent rigorous military-like training in order to become investigators.
“So I hear you were quite the model student. Top marks on all your tests – intelligence, physical ability, marksmanship. Good knowledge as an investigator. Your supervising instructor gave me a seal of approval, said you were ready to go into the field right away. Well, we already knew you were a good investigator from your track record at the DEA, anyway. You led the way in dealing a blow to the Recovada.”
The Recovada was a drug trafficking organization that Yuto had infiltrated in the past. It had ties to a massive drug cartel in Mexico, and smuggled large amounts of drugs into the US to sell. Until then, the DEA had been unable to get a coherent picture of the entire organization. Yuto and Paul had spent a year infiltrating deep into the organization, succeeding in pinpointing the leader. As a result, the leader and most of the top members were arrested, and the Recovada were pushed to the brink of collapse.
However, this ended up turning the fates of Yuto and Paul upside down. One of the leaders who had escaped arrest realized that Yuto and Paul were actually investigators that had tricked them. To exact revenge, the leader had murdered Paul and framed Yuto for the crime. Although the truth came to light later thanks to the FBI, things initially went according to the murderer’s plan because of the police’s botched investigation.
“…Are you sure the FBI didn’t know from the start that I wasn’t the one who murdered Paul?” Yuto said. Otherwise, there was no way they could have found the real murderer so conveniently the minute Yuto demanded his release.
“Of course not,” Heiden said, furrowing his brow in offense. “It was a result of our diligent investigation on the basis of your presumed innocence.”
Yuto looked down at Heiden’s feet, certain that the man was lying. The man’s black leather shoes were polished to a sheen, without a speck of dust on them. He probably did nothing more than order his subordinates around, and had never done any investigation on the ground himself.
“It was easy for us to narrow down the suspects, since you already had suspicions that it was someone from the Recovada. Besides, the FBI has been keeping an eye on this organization for a while. Our intelligence network isn’t too shoddy, huh?”
Heiden’s tone was coaxing, as if to say to Yuto, don’t throw a tantrum now.
Yuto would be lying if he said he had no qualms about working for an organization that had tried to use him. Nonetheless, regardless of the truth, he decided to set aside his personal feelings. If the FBI was going to use him, he would also use the FBI’s power to go after Corvus.
When Yuto nodded silently, Heiden gave a vacant smile of relief.
“What’s the profile like for the bomber?” Yuto asked as he flipped through the folder. The profilers at the FBI were top notch, and he was sure that some kind of analysis had already been done.
“We stopped profiling as soon as we found out that it wasn’t a single perpetrator. My subordinate is currently investigating domestic cult organizations, but unfortunately we haven’t been able to find any records, past or present, of any organization called White Heaven.”
White Heaven was the name of the militant cult that Corvus had previous led. However, right now they had no idea if the perpetrators committing terrorism on behalf of Corvus were surviving members of White Heaven.
“Maybe they changed their name and went underground? There’s no doubt that they existed. Two years ago, there was a standoff incident with White Heaven in South Carolina, and the army was called in.”
“About that,” said Heiden, looking nonplussed as he stroked his forehead. “I confirmed with the Pentagon, and they told me nothing of that nature had ever happened. So I used my own personal connections to put feelers out with people involved in the army. Apparently, the official stance is that that dispatch was an unofficial military order.”
“Does that mean the Pentagon doesn’t want the public to know about the existence of White Heaven?”
“If that’s true, then it’ll be quite the headache. If the military mobilized in secret, there’s a possibility of some political intentions behind it.”
Political intentions. It was the most troublesome kind of disruption for investigators working on the ground.
“Any new information while I was away at the Academy?” Yuto asked, trying to start afresh. He had asked in hopes that the investigation had moved forward thanks to the information he had given. However, Heiden’s answer only served to disappoint him.
“Unfortunately, none that I can speak of. We have no leads on where Corvus has gone disguised as Nathan Clark, wanted criminal. We collected some prints and hair from Corvus’ cell that was thought to belong to him, but there was no match in the FBI’s database. Then there’s Richard Corning, warden of Schelger Prison suspected of helping Corvus escape. He seems to have gone into hiding somewhere after the riot, because he’s been missing ever since.”
Corning would have had a close connection to Corvus, so catching him would have brought them a huge lead. That expectation made Yuto’s disappointment all the more pronounced.
“We also looked into the actual Nathan Clark’s background, the guy Corvus was impersonating. We didn’t find anything suspicious.”
Yuto sank deep into thought as he gazed at the photos of the bomb attack sites enclosed in the folder. The scales of the explosions varied widely. Some had ended with only a hole in the wall, while others had nearly destroyed half of the building. Most incidents had taken place in late at night or in the early morning, with few people, and the only saving grace was that it had resulted in a small number of casualties for the scale of the explosions.
“What do you think happened to the real Nathan?” Yuto looked up and asked. Heiden shook his head.
“Already killed, most likely. It would be too much trouble to have two identical people walking around.”
“I have a feeling Corvus didn’t choose Nathan at random to impersonate. He might have had some kind of connection with Corvus in the past.”
“On what grounds do you say that?”
“None. But Corvus isn’t the type of person to do things on the fly.”
Corvus had been deeply trusted by other inmates. Even Yuto, who had worked closely with him, had fallen hook, line, and sinker for the man’s act, and had felt a genuine respect and admiration for the man.
“I’m sure it’s far from easy to let it go, but you have to bear with it. Impatience won’t do you any good.”
“You have to be a model inmate and not let yourself get caught up in this poisonous atmosphere. You have to make an effort to get out of here the earliest you can.”
Nathan had always given him gentle encouragement. Every time he thought about Corvus, he couldn’t help but fleetingly envision the face of the Nathan he knew. Although he knew better in his head, he had a hard time reconciling Nathan’s image with that of a ruthless terrorist.
However, that was precisely what was terrifying about Corvus. He had the endurance and mental fortitude to stay in hiding in a prison for two years to escape the authorities. He had the cunning and acting skill to continue wearing the mask of a benevolent man, someone who was the bare opposite of his real character. This was not something that could be pulled off by the average person. Observing any facet of Corvus made it easy to understand that he was anything but normal.
Heiden cocked an eyebrow with an expression of mild surprise.
“You know him well. I guess it should be expected, given how you spent all those days buddying up with him inside the walls.”
Yuto ignored Heiden’s snide remark and tapped the folder with his finger.
“These serial bombings look random at first glance, but I think there’s a purpose behind them.”
“Tell me, what part of this case has any pattern? Everything is all over the place. He has no ideology or message. He’s doing it for amusement and for attention, getting society riled up to satisfy his desire to be seen,” Heiden spat bitterly. “Lennix, I have no patience for these types of people. Terrorists are unforgivable, whether they have a purpose or not. We’re going to do whatever it takes to arrest this Corvus bastard. No exceptions.”
Heiden seemed at first to be the type only concerned with promotions, but he apparently had a backbone as an investigator as well. Yuto felt a slight relief as he nodded. “You bet.”
“Oh, and one more thing. Your cellmate, Dick Burnford – or his impersonator, should I say. He was a contract agent for the CIA.”
Yuto was taken aback at the sudden mention of Dick’s name. He was careful not to let it show, but he felt his heart thudding.
“What about Dick?”
“Nothing. We don’t know anything about him. But apparently the real Dick Burnford died while serving his sentence in prison. I don’t know what the CIA did, but they made it so he was alive on paper and transferred him to Schelger Prison. Looks like that’s when they made the switch.”
It was not easy to switch someone’s identity. It was a brute-force manoeuvre that would have involved getting federal and judicial officials to cooperate.
“It looks like the CIA is plotting to assassinate Corvus. We can’t let that happen. If it was overseas, they’d be free to do whatever espionage or scheming they want, but this is on American soil. We can’t give them free rein.”
Heiden suddenly pulled up a corner of his mouth in a sneer. The man had an unpleasant smile, no matter how many times he saw it.
“We’ve got an undercover spy in CIA headquarters. He hasn’t been able to grasp many details of what’s going on internally – Corvus seems to be an important target for them, and they’ve got tight security on it. But what we know for sure is that they haven’t found Corvus’ exact location yet.”
This piece of information was more useful than any to Yuto.
“Lennix, whether it’s investigation, politics, or business, the person with the most intelligence has the advantage. Intelligence holds the key to everything.”
As Heiden spoke, a foreboding light akin to hatred flickered in his eyes. He had probably had a bitter experience of being beat out by the CIA.
The two organizations that were going after Corvus were locked in an opposing stance that had only been strengthened and cemented by the weight of their history. No matter how much networking they did by sending employees to each other’s organizations, or if they launched a joint organization together, it was probably not easy to alleviate the deep-seated discord that existed between the two.
The CIA was an intelligence agency working directly under the President of the United States, and was mainly in charge of intelligence collection and international manoeuvres. On the other hand, the FBI, as an agency of the Department of Justice, was a law enforcement agency that handled criminal investigations inside the country. The CIA commissioned spies while the FBI hunted them down. The destined opposition of these two organizations was not simply a territorial dispute; one could say that it had immense unseen influence on American history.
However, that didn’t matter. As much as he felt sympathy for Heiden, Yuto couldn’t care less about the dispute between the FBI and CIA.
Yuto’s work for the day was done once his discussion with Heiden wrapped up. After receiving his FBI badge, ID card, and gun, Yuto left the headquarters.
As soon as he stepped out onto the sidewalk, Yuto was approached by a young Asian woman holding a Japanese guide book.
“Excuse me, are you Japanese?” she asked in clumsy English.
Frankly, Yuto didn’t know how to answer this question when he was being asked by someone who was presumably Japanese. His nationality was American, and even in terms of blood, Yuto was not a pure Japanese. His deceased mother was half-Japanese and half-white, which made him quarter Japanese.
“I’m Japanese-American,” Yuto said.
“Um, can you speak Japanese?”
“A little.”
A look of relief came over the woman’s face. She had apparently gotten lost, and didn’t even know where she was. Yuto peered at the map that the woman was holding, and explained the local geography to her.
“We’re here. The White House will be straight down this street. Go one block up and turn left, and that’s where your hotel is.”
“Thank you. That was a great help.”
Washington, DC was a popular tourist destination. The main tourist spots, such as the White House, Lincoln Memorial, the Capitol, and Smithsonian Museum were concentrated in one district, which meant it attracted tourists not just from within the country but from the rest of the world as well. The FBI headquarters used to be one of those attractions, and pre-9/11 they had conducted tours inside the building that had people forming lines around the building.
Terrorism was unforgivable, no matter the reason. Although he didn’t know Corvus’ intent, he wanted to arrest the man at all costs before he perpetrated his next act. What he needed in order to do that was intelligence.
Intelligence holds the key to everything.
Heiden’s words flitted across his mind. “Intelligence, huh,” Yuto muttered under his breath as he started walking west down E Street. The White House was up ahead.
As he walked down the sidewalk, Yuto absently glanced up at the FBI headquarters building. It was a large building, named officially the J. Edgar Hoover Building, after the man who, at twenty-nine, was made the Director of the FBI, and reigned at his post for close to fifty years.
The former Director Hoover had served eight presidents and was said to have manipulated them freely. Although he was taunted as the master of blackmail, his most powerful weapon was the information he gained by wiretapping. However, the information itself wielded no power. Information only yielded value when coupled with the ability to analyze and put it to good use.
As a DEA investigator, Yuto spent many of his days neck-deep in gathering information about drug crimes and cases. At times, he impersonated a junkie to get close to drug dealers, or impersonated a dealer himself to infiltrate drug rings. The job was a dangerous one, but after accumulating some experience, the customs and mechanisms of the drug world came naturally to him.
However, none of his past experience would apply to this investigation. He was a fish out of water. That was why he had to be careful not to let any scrap of information, no matter how inconsequential, slip through his hands. He knew he had to wipe clean all preconceptions and fixed ideas to analyze the information carefully.
Could he do it? Could he produce results?
Although he was motivated, he was still fraught with a vague sense of anxiety. He felt like he had been cast alone on a boat onto the waters of the wide sea. Granted, he had felt anxious as well when he was admitted to Schelger Prison, but back then he had quickly made friends.
Matthew, with his lingering boyish innocence. Cheerful, caring, and chatty Micky. Soft-spoken Nathan, who was a comfort to be around. And Dick, his cellmate who, despite his cold attitude, had helped him countless times.
Yuto cleared his head of his intrusive thoughts and quickened his pace. There was no time to dawdle. He needed to find a place to live. He had cancelled his lease on his old apartment after his prison sentence was decided, which meant he was essentially homeless.
Since he was already walking, he decided to visit a few rental offices around the area, but was unable to find an apartment that met his conditions. He gave up after the fourth rental office and decided to return to his hotel, telling himself that there was no use rushing into something.
Yuto decided to get dinner at a small restaurant close to the hotel. After giving his order at his seat, he got up to grab a newspaper from the entrance.
As he stepped out on the passage, he brushed shoulders with a man who had been walking up from behind.
“Oh, sorry,” Yuto apologized hastily, and his heart skipped a beat when he turned around. He had bumped into a tall, white man.
“No worries,” the man smiled good-naturedly as he slipped past. Yuto returned to his seat after grabbing a copy of the Washington Post and sat down to read through it. His eyes were not following the words on the page, but was stealing glances at the man he had just bumped into. The man was sitting at a table in the back with another man, smiling as they engaged in conversation.
His shining blond hair and good looks reminded him of Dick. The man was handsome, but didn’t come close to Dick. Yuto folded the paper closed and sighed.
“Forget about me. It’s for your own good.”
Dick’s pained eyes lingered in his memories and made Yuto’s heart ache every time he recalled them.
Dick was a year older than Yuto at twenty-nine, and respected and feared by the other inmates. He had blue eyes that were like the glassy surface of a clear lake, and brilliant, shining blond hair.
Yuto’s first impression of Dick had been the worst. On his first day of prison, Dick had called him prey, and had even told him, “I’d rather not have to wipe your ass for you.”
Chagrined at Dick’s cold attitude, he had pushed back against the man at first, thinking he was a jerk. But as they gradually became closer, he found himself feeling a strong attraction to the man that mystified even himself. His gentle soul beneath the cold mask; his proud solitude that was heartbreaking to watch – the more he knew about Dick, the more he was enthralled.
The racial conflict between the blacks and Chicanos (Mexican-Americans) within the prison eventually developed into a full-blown riot. Amidst the chaos and confusion, Yuto had discovered the shocking truth that Nathan was in fact Corvus, and that Dick was an assassin sent by the CIA to kill him.
Corvus, having cast his mask aside, had nearly killed Yuto and Dick both, but they had escaped by a hair thanks to a gang of blacks entering the fray. Yuto and Dick had torn through the riot and fled into a food storage room, where Yuto had learned of Dick’s horrific past from the man’s own lips.
Dick had belonged to the Delta Force, the US Army’s anti-terrorism task force. One day, while on a mission, Corvus had massacred his friends and lover. To avenge them, Dick had signed a contract with the CIA to become an agent sent to assassinate Corvus.
Dick’s sole purpose in life had been to wipe Corvus off the face of this earth, but he had been unable to accomplish this desperate wish because Yuto had gotten in the way. Undeterred, Dick had taken advantage of the chaos during the suppression of the riot to make a break into the outside world to go after Corvus, who had also escaped.
Dick had asked him to come along, but Yuto had turned him down. Truthfully, he wished he could escape the prison with Dick and be free. However, he knew it wouldn’t be true freedom. He would have to live the rest of his life on the run, his reputation smeared as an escaped convict.
When the FBI offered him a position, Yuto had taken it without hesitation in hopes that going after the same man as Dick would somehow keep them connected, and that they might reunite someday.
He could recall the time they spent in that small, dirty storage room during the riot. It came back to him as if it happened yesterday.
Spurred on by their impending farewell, the two had blindly and desperately sought each other. They made love as if seeking each other’s vulnerable, genuine feelings free of appearances or lies; they shared in their mutual pain through the heat of their skin and the depth of their desire.
“I wish I could take you with me. I don’t want to let you go.”
Dick had spoken these words as they parted, and Yuto believed they reflected Dick’s honest feelings. He had no doubt that they were true, because he felt the same way. It pained him so much to be apart from Dick that he felt like his heart was being torn asunder.
They had been nothing but fellow inmates who spent a few months together living in the same cell. If they hadn’t slept together, perhaps he would have been able to dismiss Dick’s existence easily. But now they had crossed a line. They had shared the deep love that they held in their hearts. Although Yuto wasn’t gay, he had never felt such a strong love for someone else in his entire life.
He knew he could go on living pretending that he had forgotten about Dick. If he immersed himself in daily life and kept himself busy with work, the past would eventually seem like a distant memory. But he didn’t want to forget. He didn’t want Dick to become part of the past. He couldn’t stand to do nothing when he imagined Dick suffering, with his desire to kill Corvus the only thing keeping him alive.
Yuto believed that there was a greater meaning to the fact that FBI had headhunted him. The thread connecting him and Dick had not been cut yet. It was still intact. He had a feeling it was, and he wanted to believe it was, which was why he didn’t want to let this opportunity slip by. He wanted to do everything he could to follow that invisible thread, until it led him to Dick.
That’s why I’m going after Corvus, too, Dick.
