The Mystery of the Duped Detective
by Ron Katz
“What a beautiful day for a birthday lunch,” said Barb Silver, as she and her husband, Bernie, walked into the High Camp Lodge at the Tahoe Palisades ski resort.
“I suppose,” sighed Bernie. Referring to their partnership in the Silver Investigations detective agency, he added, “We’ve solved many mysteries together, so I don’t know why I can’t figure out how 70 sneaked up on me. That’s why I wanted just a quiet lunch up here for the two of us.”
“I have to agree that your detection skills are slipping a bit,” she said, as they opened the door leading to the 50-foot long wooden bar seemingly suspended in the cloudless sky over the dark blue of Lake Tahoe.
“Surprise!” cried out 50 of Bernie’s family members and close friends.
***
Gaiety ensued, mainly in the form of a roast of Bernie emceed by his forty-something son, Danny: “And now that we’ve heard about his every foible and faux pas, I hand the mike over to the man for whom age is only a number, my Dad.”
“I agree with Danny,” said Bernie taking the mike, “Age is only a number, a very depressing number…”
“Can’t hear you, Bernie,” said an elegantly dressed, older man in the front row.
“Is that because the mike isn’t working or because of your hearing, Sal?” Bernie asked.
“Now that you mention it,” responded Sal Perrini, a detective with whom Bernie and Barb had worked years before at the Alpha Insurance Company, “I can’t tell.”
Tapping the mike and hearing nothing, Bernie said, “The good news is that your hearing’s ok, Sal. The bad news is that this thing’s not working. Danny, can you obey the 11th Commandment—'The young shalt always help the old with technology'—and get this thing working again?”
“Try this, Dad,” said Danny, flicking the “on” switch.
“The young will always win the technological war,” observed Bernie into the mike. “But one nice thing about my new age is that I was 20 in the ‘70’s, and now I’m 70 in the ‘20’s. That’s a pretty good combo in my book, so I think I’ll just leave it at that and thank you all for joining what was supposed to be Barb’s and my quiet birthday celebration lunch.”
***
“Good catch on the mike, Sal,” said Bernie a few minutes later, as guests mingled. “It’s been a while.”
“Twenty years,” responded Sal. “I live in Brooklyn now.”
“What did you lose in Brooklyn?” said Barb, joining them.
“That’s where my grandkids live,” said Sal. “And you’d be surprised how much trendier Brooklyn is now than when we were coming up in the world.”
“No more ’dese,’ ‘dems’ and ‘dose’?” inquired Bernie.
“It’s all yuppies now,” said Sal, smoothing back his preternaturally dark hair with a large, wrinkled hand, “or Millennials, or whatever they’re calling them these days, even at the intersection of ‘toity-toid and toid.’ But, the good news is I’m still workin’.” He emphasized the remark by displaying an oversized pinkie ring set with a luminescent blue stone.
“Still chasing cheating spouses?” asked Barb, referring to how Sal made a living after he left Alpha.
“Movin’ up in the world,” Sal answered proudly. “My clients are foreign friendship associations now.”
“What are they?” asked Bernie.
“Organizations that bring together foreigners who have settled here. For example, the Shanghai Friendship Association helps out former residents of Shanghai now living in the U.S.”
“We still do a little work too,” said Bernie, “but nothing so big as a friendship association. In fact, most of our clients are downright unfriendly.”
Motioning toward the view, he added, “But, if any of your friendship associations have a problem around Lake Tahoe, give us a call. In addition to our place in Palo Alto, we have a ski condo up here now.”
“Will do,” said Sal, firmly shaking Bernie’s hand. “And let me know how that ’70 is the new 50’ thing works out for you.”
***
“Congratulations, Bernie,” said Ray Chen, the chair of Stanford’s computer science department, approaching Bernie as the party was breaking up. “Beautiful setting for a party.”
“So nice of you to join us,” said Bernie, “a reminder of my still-active professional life.” He was referring to a recent computerized chess mystery that he and Barb had solved for Stanford, saving the university the embarrassment of a lawsuit that could have cost millions. The Silvers had been recommended to Chen by another Stanford professor--Vladimir Osofsky, chair of the art history department--with whom they had worked on some cases involving art fraud and theft.
“I never even imagined meeting a private detective before I met you and Barb,” responded Chen, “and, if I had, I wouldn’t have imagined a 70-year-old.
“And,” he added with a rueful look, I think I might need your services again. Can you stop by my office next Tuesday at 2?”
“Can we play some computerized chess?” asked Barb, who had joined them. “Or at least have a soulful conversation with ChatGPT?”
“This problem is more like Chinese checkers, or, more precisely, Chinese hackers,” said Chen. “ChatGPT will be available to us, Barb, if need be, but, it’s still far inferior to feminine intuition.”
“Ok, we’ll be there,” said Bernie, “but keep in mind that we usually only work on cases where age is an edge. We made an exception for the chess case because you were referred to us by Professor Osofsky.”
Putting a hand on Bernie’s shoulder and using his other hand to make a sweeping gesture over the room full of Bernie’s friends and family, Chen responded: “Bernie, you should have realized by now that age is always an edge.”
***
The following Tuesday, while Chen was down the hall from his modernistic Stanford office getting coffee for them, Bernie noticed that Chen’s desktop computer was online. On a whim, he said out loud, “ChatGPT, please give me the history of western civilization.”
Much to his and Barb’s alarm, the printer started spitting out page after page of single-spaced type. Bernie sprang to the computer, agonizing over how to stop the process but not quite sure how.
When they heard Chen’s approaching footsteps, Barb quickly unplugged the computer and put in her purse what had been printed. Chen glanced at the dark computer screen when he entered, pursed his lips slightly but said nothing.
Instead, he got to the point of the meeting with a question: “Have either of you heard of Anming Hu, Gang Chen or Xiaoxing Xi?”
“They sound like names to me,” said Barb.
“Exactly,” said Chen. “These are respectable Chinese-American computer science scholars. They, and people like them, have been singled out by the U.S. Government simply because of who they are and what they do. These three men, for example, were wrongly accused by the U.S. government of spying for China. After years of expensive, spirit-breaking litigation, each of the scholars cleared his good name.”
“Great,” said Bernie. “Justice was done. So, why do you need us?”
“Because one of the distinguished members of my department, Professor Wang Shentu, was also accused of being a spy, which has now led to other complications. He’s a very distinguished scholar in the field of artificial intelligence, and, as chair of the Computer Science Department, I have funds to retain you to clear his good name.”
“Very nice of you to do that for Professor Shentu,” observed Bernie.
“Not really,” said Chen. “Who’s to say they wouldn’t come after me next?”
***
Chen picked up his desk phone and said “Please send in Professor Shentu.”
A moment later, a diminutive man in his 40’s, with thinning black hair, entered Chen’s office. He was wearing unpressed, tightly belted gray khakis and a tucked-in blue button-down dress shirt.
Chen motioned him to the couch in the corner of the office, where he sat, looking quite uncomfortable.
“Nice to meet you, Professor Shentu,” said Bernie. “Professor Chen says that you might need our help.”
“Yes, definitely,” said Shentu. My family came to this country to escape government terror and harassment, but I’m beginning to think that that might have been a mistake.”
“When did the problem start?” asked Barb.
“China has something called the ‘Thousand Talents’ program, which recruits researchers from around the globe. They made a generous offer to me to teach for a month at Beijing University last summer. I got permission from Ray to do that, did some teaching about research that had already been published, came home and thought nothing more about it.
“About a month later, some FBI agents showed up at my home. They showed me some of the PowerPoints I had used in China and implied that I had, perhaps inadvertently, disclosed some sensitive information which could get me in trouble.”
“Did you tell them you wanted to retain counsel before talking with them further?” asked Bernie.
“I should have done that,” responded Shentu, “but they offered me what I thought was an easier way out.”
“I bet they wanted you to do something for them,” said Barb.
“Exactly,” said Shentu. “I wish I’d had you advising me at that time, Mrs. Silver.
“Basically, they asked me to meet with someone whom they suspected of finding spies for China in the U.S. technology sector. They said they thought he’d offer me cash for cooperation, so they were basically using me as bait.”
“The whole thing sounded fantastical to me, but, sure enough, he did offer me money, and he was arrested. There was a trial, at which I testified, and he’s now serving a 20-year sentence for espionage.”
“So, what’s the problem?” asked Barb. “Presumably the FBI was happy with you.”
“They were, yes,” said Shentu ruefully. “The problem is that the Chinese government does not seem to be at all happy with me. Since the trial, I have been constantly followed by Chinese people whom I do not know.”
“Why don’t you ask the FBI for help?” inquired Bernie.
“I did. They offered the Witness Protection Program, which means I’d have to leave my life here and live, with another identity and another job, in some obscure place.”
“So, you want us to get the Chinese government to back off?” asked Barb.
Shentu hung his head. “I know that’s impossible…but Ray seems to have a lot of confidence in your unconventional approach to this kind of work.”
“Let us give it some thought,” said Bernie, putting his hand on Shentu’s arm. “It’s nice to have an assignment that can’t be done by artificial intelligence.”
“How much is your retainer?” asked Shentu.
“Professor Chen has offered to pay, but he gave us such an interesting and lucrative assignment last time,” said Barb, referring to their computerized chess investigation, “that we’ve put him on our ‘buy-one-get-one-free’ program.”
***
“Do you have any thoughts about helping Professor Shentu?” Barb asked Bernie. They were walking their rescue terrier, Snowball, to a small park near their Palo Alto home for their nightly rendezvous with some of their dog-loving neighbors, a ritual they referred to as “Yappy Hour.”
“I wish I did,” said Bernie, but Ray Chen has a knack of asking us to investigate things we don’t know about, like our last one on computerized chess.”
“True,” said Barb, “but we did solve that.”
“Not being encumbered by pre-conceived ideas can be helpful,” responded Bernie, “But there are limits, and Chinese computer spying rings might be one of them.”
His mobile phone rang at that moment. Looking at the caller ID, he answered: “What’s up, Sal? Did you lose that huge pinkie ring in Lake Tahoe?”
“No time for jokes, Bernie,” he said. “I’m in big trouble.”
“I’m here with Barb and Snowball,” Bernie said. “Let us sit down on this secluded park bench, and we can use our splitter so that both of us can hear you, in privacy, on our individual earphones. What’s that background noise?”
“I’m on the street outside my townhouse in Brooklyn,” Sal answered.
“That’s quite a racket,” interjected Barb. “Why don’t you go inside?”
“I would,” Sal said, “but apparently the FBI doesn’t like you to be around when they’re doing a search. I’m wondering if you guys would like an all-expense-paid trip to Park Slope,” referring to his upscale Brooklyn neighborhood.”
“Can you give us a hint what it’s about?” inquired Bernie.
“One of my clients has not been very straightforward with me,” was the cryptic response.
“How’s that?” asked Barb.
“Turns out my big client, the Shanghai Friendship Association is actually the government of China.”
“Why would the FBI care about that?” asked Bernie.
“Turns out I may have been doing some illegal spying without knowing it. I was unknowingly working for a foreign government, and it’s illegal for foreign governments to run spy operations on U.S. soil.”
Barb and Bernie looked at each other with widened eyes. “No need to send us airline tickets,” said Bernie. “We’ll help you out, if we can, as a professional courtesy.”
“And for old times’ sake,” added Barb. “Why don’t you meet us at the Peninsula Hotel in Manhattan tomorrow evening?”
“I’d rather not go to a hotel that has anything to do with China,” responded Sal. “Or, really, any hotel where it’s easy to be observed. I’ll arrange a nice Airbnb for you in Park Slope.”
***
“You did good, Sal,” said Bernie, as he and Barb greeted Sal at the door of the elegant brownstone he had gotten for them on Airbnb. I take back everything I ever said about Brooklyn.”
“We’re sorry to hear you’re in trouble,” added Barb. “Why don’t you tell us about it?”
“I’m a little paranoid these days,” said Sal. “People not only seem to be following me; they seem to know where I’m headed and are there before I arrive.”
“Let me ask you,” said Barb, “whether you’ve clicked on any links in emails or texts that you have gotten from people or companies you don’t know.”
“I don’t do that,” said Sal.
Not even to unsubscribe from something?” asked Barb.
“Unsubscibe? Sure, I do that all the time because there’s so much spam.”
“Follow me,” said Bernie. He went into the bathroom and started filling the sink with water.”
“What’s up with that?” asked Sal.
“I suggest we drown your smartphone in here,” responded Bernie. “You’ve just fallen for the latest scam. Clicking ‘unsubscribe’ gives certain technological villains access to everything on your phone, including probably listening to what we’re saying now.”
“Most people think that the safest thing in the world to do is unsubscribe,” added Barb. “But not lately.”
Embarrassed, Sal reluctantly dropped his phone into the sink, which was now brimming with water.
“Since the bad guys probably know you were coming here,” said Barb, I suggest we head to someplace like a park to have our discussion, assuming there are parks around here.”
***
Silently Sal led them to the spacious, bucolic Prospect Park, all the time looking around to see if they were being followed. Although the park was not crowded on a weekday morning, he took them to a particularly obscure part of it, a cemetery established by the Quakers in the 19th century. “The ‘Friends Cemetery’ is what this is called,” Sal said, as they stood in front of a fountain.
“Well, we are friends,” said Bernie, looking around uncomfortably. “Not that we don’t like standing around a cemetery in the middle of Brooklyn, but perhaps you can fill us in as to why we’re here?”
“Well, I told you in Lake Tahoe that I had started representing foreign friendship associations. Good money, $5000 a day rather than my usual $250.”
“That was probably a red flag right there,” said Barb.
“I can’t disagree,” said Sal. “Another red flag I ignored was that the work was too easy, even for $250. My client asked me to check up on people who, he said, had incurred debts to members of the Shanghai Friendship Association when they were still in China. I was to stake out the suspects’ houses, photograph all who came and went, and, if possible, photograph the contents of their mailboxes.”
“What did your client look like?” inquired Barb.
“Dunno. Like many clients these days, everything was done online.”
“Then how do you know that it’s the government of China?” Barb continued.
“A very reliable source, the FBI agent who arrested me. I’m now out on bail.”
“I think we may be in over our heads, Sal,” said Bernie, “and I can’t think on an empty stomach. Is there a restaurant around here where we can clear our minds and continue this conversation?”
“You’re from Palo Alto,” responded Sal, “so I thought you might like one called Palo Santo, located on the ground floor of a brownstone not far from here.”
“Great,” said Bernie, “assuming that they have a bar sufficient to fortify us to challenge a country of 1.4 billion people.”
“Bottomless mimosas and sangrias,” said Sal, cheering up a bit. “After a few of those, 1.4 billion to 3 won’t seem like bad odds at all.”
***
“You’re right about Palo Santo,” said Barb as they sat down at a table. "The arched windows, exposed brick walls and plant-filled patio make us feel right at home.”
“If only we didn’t have to worry about keeping you out of the slammer,” Bernie added, “it would be perfect. Please fill us in.”
“Apparently,” said Sal, “I got caught up in a Chinese government program for keeping track of its citizens living outside of China. The Chinese government establishes harmless-seeming organizations like the Shanghai Friendship Association, and then these associations hire law-abiding private detectives like me to do their dirty work. Once I give them the information they need, the person who’s been under surveillance is ‘persuaded’ to go back to China and is never heard from again.”
“And who is the lucky person who got you caught?” inquired Barb.
“The very first person I surveilled, name of Wen Ouyang, a computer science professor at NYU.”
“Has he been offered the Federal Witness Protection Program to escape the clutches of the Shanghai Friendship Association?” asked Bernie.
“I was told by the FBI two days ago that he took the Witness Protection offer in a New York minute,” said Sal. “I didn’t know whether to believe them or not, but, when I passed by Ouyang’s apartment yesterday, I saw that a ‘For Rent’ sign was already up.”
“So, he can’t testify against you,” said Barb.
“I think they bring them back from the WPP for that,” said Sal.
“How did the FBI persuade him to leave his life behind for the anonymity of the WPP?” asked Bernie.
“According to my investigation,” said Sal, “he left his wife and children in China years ago, so they were probably not a factor in his decision. He did have a nice professorship, but that doesn’t mean much if you fear for your life.”
“Strange,” said Barb. “We know of a similar case at Stanford where the victim will do anything to avoid the WPP. Is there any clue you have that would locate Ouyang now? He may have helpful information.”
Sal looked exasperated. “The whole purpose of the WPP is to prevent detection. The best I can conjure up—based on the little research I’ve done into how the WPP works—is that all this is so recent that he’s probably still at what’s called a Witness Security Safesite and Orientation Center.”
“I don’t suppose your research revealed that Center’s address,” said Bernie.
“It’s not in the phone book, if that’s what you mean,” said Sal. “That is, if phone books still exist.”
“I know,” Barb said, “but it just occurred to me that we might have something better than the phone book. Do you have any pictures of Professor Ouyang, by any chance?”
“Loads of ‘em,” Sal responded.
“Please give us a few, and we just might have a longshot way to help you.”
“A longshot is better than what I have now,” said Sal, “which is no shot.”
“That,” Bernie said, gesturing at the waiter, “is why they invented the bottomless mimosa.”
***
After leaving the restaurant, Barb and Bernie said goodbye to Sal, promising to be in touch soon. They went back to their Airbnb and packed quickly in silence, fearing that their short time there with Sal’s bugged phone might have led to other bugs being placed while they’d been out.
They were also constrained on their ride to the airport and on the plane, lacking privacy. Finally, when they got home, Bernie asked what plan Barb had in mind for locating the NYU professor, Ouyang, and why she thought Ouyang could be helpful.
“I don’t know that he can be helpful,” she said, “but something about this situation just doesn’t compute. We’ve seen at first-hand how our Stanford computer scientist, Professor Shentu, reacted to the WPP. Understandably, he didn’t want to trade his wonderful life in an ivory tower in Palo Alto for anonymity in some obscure place. Why would Ouyang react so differently? The only way to find that out is to find Ouyang.”
“Right,” responded Bernie. “Too bad he’s being hidden by the U.S. government.”
“He’s not in his final hiding place yet,” said Barb. “They can’t have created a new identity and life for him in the one day he’s been gone. He has to be at that Safesite and Orientation Center.”
“At a hidden location,” Bernie added.
“Yes, but we know someone who might be able to lead us there," said Barb, "Professor Shentu of Stanford.”
“And how are we going to persuade him to do that?”
“I haven’t figured that out yet,” responded Barb, “but let’s talk to him again and see what comes of it. I think my half of the plan so far is quite elegant. I look forward to you supplying the second half, based on your 70 years of life experience.”
***
“So, you have a scheme to help Professor Shentu?” asked Ray Chen, who was meeting with Barb and Bernie in his Stanford office.
“May have a plan,” corrected Barb. “But we need to get some more information from him first. Did you ask him to join us?”
Chen buzzed his secretary, asking her to send in Professor Shentu, who looked as if he hadn’t slept since his last meeting with Barb and Bernie.
“I hope you can help me,” he said. “The harassment by China has gotten worse, including harassment of my elderly parents, who are still in China.”
“We want to help,” said Bernie, “but, since you don’t want to go into the Witness Protection Program, that puts my wife and me between the government of China and the FBI, a good way to get crushed”
“But we do have one possible lead,” continued Barb, handing Shentu the pictures of Professor Ouyang that Sal Perrini had given them. “Do you recognize this person?”
Registering surprise, Shentu said, “Of course, this is Professor Wen Ouyang of NYU. How did you get these?”
“No matter how we got them,” said Bernie. “More importantly, how do you know him?”
“I told you at our last meeting that I was recruited into China’s ‘Thousand Talents’ program to teach in China last summer, which is when all my trouble started.”
“Let me guess,” said Barb. “Professor Ouyang is the person who recruited you.”
“Yes,” responded Shentu. “Is he part of the reason my life has turned into hell?”
“We can’t be sure,” said Bernie, “but recently he went into the Federal Witness Protection Program. Unlike you, he readily agreed to that, which struck my wife as odd.”
“Indeed,” continued Barb, “but now, if we connect that to what you just told us, it makes sense. He appears to be playing for China’s team. That’s why he recruited you, and that’s why he’s going into the WPP. There would be no better way to be in this country completely undetected.”
“Not only completely undetected,” added Bernie, “but protected by the U.S. government. Who knows what sort of espionage capers Ouyang could pull off from that position? He’s clever enough to have tricked the FBI into thinking he was a victim of China when, in fact, he was the opposite. I hesitate to think about the next trick he might have up his sleeve.”
“Assuming you’re correct,” interjected Ray Chen, “how does that help Professor Shentu get out of his jam?”
“Help us to find Ouyang so that we can use him as a chip to get China to back off their pursuit of Professor Shentu,” said Barb.
“And,” asked Professor Shentu somewhat tentatively, "how do I do that?”
“The first step,” said Bernie, “is you have to immediately get the FBI to put you into the Witness Protection Program.”
***
In their breakfast nook the next morning, Barb said “You seem to have lost a step at 70, my dear husband. Shentu is still resisting going into the WPP, and every minute counts, because Ouyang will soon be moved out of the WPP Orientation Center, wherever that is.”
“We still have a few days, I think,” said Bernie. “I couldn’t be too heavy-handed with Shentu because then I would lose his trust. But, I’m guessing that the Chinese will be helping us out.”
“How’s that?”
“I don’t think heavy-handedness bothers them much..”
The doorbell rang. “I wouldn’t be surprised if this is our solution,” said Bernie.
He opened the door and, before him, was an ashen Professor Shentu, holding a piece of paper in his hand. “This was pasted on my front door overnight,” said Shentu, giving the note, written in Chinese, to Bernie.
“Please come in,” said Bernie. “I don’t want you to translate this in the doorway, and Barb should hear it too.”
Returning to the kitchen, holding up the paper, he said to Barb, “This was taped on the professor’s door last night."
Professor Shentu then read the contents in a halting voice: "‘If you are willing to go back to the motherland, your wife and children will be safe.’”
Looking first at Bernie and then at Barb, Shentu said, his voice crackiing, “I am now willing to try your plan.”
“Call the FBI immediately,” said Barb, “Tell them about the note, tell them you want to enter the WPP immediately. Then, let us know when they’re picking you up, so we can follow you and find the location of this WPP Orientation Center.”
***
Bernie immediately got on the phone with Ray Chen, who showed up at their house one hour later, not his usual unflappable self.
“I’ve been the head of the computer science department too long,” he said as he stood in the entry hall. “Not used to snapping to when someone barks orders at me.”
“Sorry for the barking, Ray,” said Bernie. “But, minutes matter if we’re going to save your colleague. Do you have the things I asked for?”
“Yes,” said Chen, handing him a camera about one inch square and an envelope.
“This prototype of a camera is the smallest one our Stanford lab is developing, and it does have the capability of transmitting images over the internet.
“The envelope contains $2000 in twenties, which is my petty cash limit for departmental expenses. I’ll have to cancel that lunch I’d planned for my graduate advisees.”
“Most of them probably own multi-million-dollar start-up companies,” Bernie said, “so I wouldn’t feel too badly. Did you convey my instructions to Professor Shentu?"
“Yes,” responded Chen, “he will tell the authorities that he is a vegan.”
***
Bernie was parked in a rental car on the part of the Stanford campus containing faculty housing. He was on the phone with Barb, who was parked at a nearby intersection, also in a rental car, the reasoning being that rentals would be harder for the FBI agents to trace if the agents became suspicious, especially because the rentals were arranged by Barb and Bernie’s son and daughter. The intersection where Barb was parked led, depending on whether one took a left or a right, to the two possible freeways the FBI car could be taking.
“How do we know they’re not putting him on a plane?” said Barb.
“I’m guessing that the WPP has one orientation center that relates to high-tech witnesses, and that it’s in the highest-tech state, California. Somewhere in California is where I think Shentu will be going, and probably that is where Ouyang is now. But, if Shentu and his escorts get on a plane, we’ll buy tickets on the same plane.
“Gotta hang up and take a picture of the black Suburban picking him up just now: California license VT307. I’ll follow them ‘til they get to the freeway and then you take over so that they don’t get suspicious of me. Then we can switch off taking the lead on the freeway, and, when they take an exit, you follow them. I’ll go one exit further and then backtrack to where they lead you.”
“Following the FBI,” she said. “Does this make any sense?”
“I’ll let you know tomorrow.”
***
They drove for about four hours, when the black Suburban took one of the exits to Bakersfield. Barb followed at a distance, and then peeled off near the airport when she saw them entering, just off a dusty road, the parking lot of a three-story, non-descript brick building that had a faded sign above the door that said "Geological Research Archive.”
“It figures that this would be the site of the WPP Orientation Center,” said Bernie, when he and Barb had reunited at a nearby diner. “Bakerfield’s obscure enough to escape notice but big enough, with 400,000 population, to have infrastructure. It’s a big oil-producing area, so a low-profile geological research archive, whatever that is, wouldn’t attract any attention.”
“Strange,” said Barb. “I didn’t notice any bars on the windows.”
“That’s easy,” responded Bernie. “This is part of the Witness Protection Program—people want to get in, not out. Security is very lax here for the people inside.”
“I take back what I said before about you losing a step at 70,” said Barb. “You’re still the man I married, and you’re on a roll. What’s next?”
“Well, we’re lucky that Bakersfield is not a hotbed of vegan cuisine. In fact, I just checked and there is only one vegan restaurant in town, appropriately named Pine Garden.”
“Are you hungry?”
“No,” responded Bernie, “but Professor Shentu is telling his minders that he’s vegan, so it’s likely they’ll be sending out for food—remember, the people inside this building are more like guests than prisoners.
“Assuming that they order the vegan food from the one vegan restaurant in town, that’s how we can arrange for this miniature camera to be smuggled into Shentu. I told him to look out for it.
“If he can get a picture of Professor Ouyang in this building, we should have the bargaining chip we need to trade Ouyang to the Chinese government in exchange for the Chinese no longer harassing Professor Shentu.”
“I’m not entirely sure how moist vegan food is,” said Barb, “and I hasten to add that I still think you’re on a roll, but I suggest we wrap that camera in some liquid-resistant plastic.
“Also, why doesn’t Shentu just use his smartphone to take the picture?”
“I’m sure that’s the first thing they took from him in the process of creating his new identity. He probably won’t get a new one ‘til he’s settled in the middle of nowhere.”
“Where to now?”
“Let’s buy some brown plastic wrap, and then, how about some tofu at the Pine Garden?” he asked, opening the envelope containing the $2000. “In case anyone is trying to monitor our movements, with this cash, we won’t need to be leaving a trail by using our credit card.”
***
The Pine Garden looked like it had previously been a diner, lightly re-decorated with some cheap Chinese landscape prints. After picking at their food, they drove around back, where there was a doorway leading into an alley containing two large trash bins.
“I’m guessing that this is where employees who smoke take their breaks,” said Bernie. “I was thinking you could approach the first likely looking worker that comes here and ask if he or she could put this small package under the food in one of the take-out cartons headed to The Geological Research Archive.”
“And how do I make this bizarre request sound credible?” she asked.
“Something like your nephew works at the Geological Research Archive, and you want to surprise him for his birthday.”
“And you think the worker will fall for that and comply?”
“That’s when you hand over the $1000, which we hope will erase all doubts about your dubious proposal.”
It did.
***
The Chinese consulate in San Francisco was a large white building on Laguna Street, flying the Chinese flag. Barb and Bernie approached the receptionist, an attractive young woman in an elegant, silk dress with subtle Chinese patterns.
“We would like to see the Consul-General,” said Barb.
“Do you have an appointment?” asked the receptionist, with practiced disinterest.
“No,” said Barb, handing her a picture of Professor Ouyang in the Geological Research Archive. “But I think he will want to discuss this picture with us.”
The receptionist took the picture with her to a door with a coded lock behind her, let herself in, and returned 5 minutes later. “Consul-General Lee will see you now.”
***
The next week, Barb and Bernie were guests at a celebratory feast at Professor Shentu’s home on the Stanford campus.
“I don’t know how to thank you,” said Professor Shentu, lifting a glass of Baijiu, the Chinese national drink.
“You provided the key information,” said Barb. “When you recognized Professor Ouyang as the person who recruited you into the ‘Thousand Talents’ program, we realized that he was not a victim of China, but rather a Chinese ally, a wolf in sheep’s clothing.”
“With your piece of the puzzle,” Bernie added, "the Chinese gambit became clear: make Ouyang look like a victim so that he can disappear, with U.S. Government assistance, into the Witness Protection Program. From the WPP he could carry out espionage with impunity, completely under the radar.
“Your courage in following him into the WPP made all the difference. Once you transmitted that picture of him in the Safesite Orientation Center, a/k/a the Geological Research Archive, the Chinese government was all too happy to get him back to China in exchange for no longer threatening and harassing you.”
“It’s all very humbling,” interjected Ray Chen, also a guest at the party. “Any time I’m tempted to disrespect the low-tech methods you use to solve crimes, I will think of the brilliance of that miniature camera at the bottom of a take-out carton full of tofu.”
***
The following Sunday morning, Bernie answered his front door and saw Sal Perrini standing there, grinning. Beyond Sal, he saw a new Porsche Panamera parked in front of their house.
“Nice rental car, Sal,” Bernie said. “To what do we owe the honor of your presence?”
“It’s not a rental car, Bernie. It’s a belated birthday present for you. And the reason I’m here is to celebrate, thanks to you and Barb, being a free man.”
“By all means, come in,” said Bernie. “Barb,” he called up the stairs to her, “please come down. We have a guest bearing gifts.”
Sal gave Barb a hug when she came down and handed her a bottle of Dom Perignon and a dozen roses. “How sweet,” she said. “Let’s open this, enjoy it by the pool and catch up. I’m guessing that a lot has happened since we said good-bye to you in Park Slope.”
“You’re right about a lot of water over the dam since I last saw you,” said Sal. “I had pretty much hit bottom then. I admit—and you know from your own experience—that private eyes sometimes move into gray areas—but spying for a foreign government isn’t one of them for me, and being arrested by the FBI put me into a real tailspin.”
“I can’t say we’re surprised to see you,” said Bernie. “Once, courtesy of us, you offered the evidence to the FBI that Professor Ouyang wasn’t a victim of the Chinese government but rather one of its agents, you were redeemed: you went from being a suspect Chinese government spy to someone who helped the FBI stop an undercover agent whom it was putting even further undercover in the Witness Protection Program.”
“You definitely pulled my chestnuts out of the fire,” Sal said. “I went from being under arrest to receiving this.” He handed Barb a piece of parchment paper headed by the FBI seal and containing fancy script.
“’Certificate of Merit,’” she read, “’in recognition of Salvatore Perrini providing material help to the Federal Bureau of Investigation in the solution of a major crime.’ Signed by the Director of the FBI.”
“Impressive,” said Bernie. “I bet you never got one of these for chasing down a cheating spouse.”
“True,” said Sal. “But that line of work is a lot safer.”
***
Copyright Ron Katz 2023
