The Friendly Confines

Chapter 1

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"Wrigley Field is the second-oldest stadium in professional baseball, after Fenway in Boston of course. Mr. Reese, did you know that before the ballpark was built this land was originally occupied by a late nineteenth-century seminary?"

John looked up at the iconic red and white sign that welcomed visitors and die-hard fans alike:

Wrigley Field
Home Of
Chicago Cubs

He had certainly not expected to be standing outside Chicago's famous ballpark today. But the Machine had a will of its own now, and this morning it had sent them here - and to the Cubs' celebrated right fielder.

"The ivy that covers the outfield wall is a combination of Boston Ivy and Japanese Bittersweet…"

It was a perfect summer day, hot and sunny but not too humid, and even though the game was still hours away a festive atmosphere already surrounded the park. Lifelong Cubs zealots as well as casual supporters were gleefully gathering for Fan Appreciation Day - with early revelers from the neighborhood bars joining the carefree crowd. He took a picture for a group of tourists posing by the statue of Ernie Banks.

"That magnificent scoreboard was added in 1937. It's actually manually operated by a scorekeeper who watches the game from inside of it and changes the numbered placards by hand."

Normally the billionaire was all business, but Harold's obvious pleasure at being near the venerable ballpark was touching and John was reluctant to interrupt him.

He watched a moment longer as another family - a young couple and their two exuberant sons - bounded past him and up to a vendor selling little teddy bears clad in Cubs jerseys. From their conversation it was apparent that this was the boys' first visit to the ballpark, and the children were beaming with excitement.

John stole a wistful glance at his partner. On several occasions he had suggested they take in a game together, and each time he had been gently rebuffed. In many ways they were closer now than they had ever been, and the rejection stung more than he let on. He turned his gaze back to the ballpark and tried to force the thought from his mind. They had long ago accepted each other just as they were, and if Harold did not want to share this simple pastime with him, he was sure that his friend had his reasons. It was time to get to work.

"What do we know about our new number?"

"Chen-Lin Liang, twenty-six. Despite the enormous popularity of baseball in his native Taiwan, he's one of only twenty-three Taiwanese players currently active in the Major League. He came up through the Cubs' farm system and was a rookie sensation five years ago. Since then he's averaged .313 and won four consecutive Gold Glove awards. He's been called the best at his position since Hank Aaron."

Harold paused and looked up at him.

"It would be severely disappointing if Mr. Liang were involved in something unsavory."

"Any obvious threats?"

"Several, actually. Chen just took out a restraining order against an overzealous fan, and recently gained sole guardianship of his five year old daughter after an exceptionally ugly custody battle with his ex-wife. And just last week he abruptly severed all ties with his longtime agent. No reason was ever publically disclosed, which perhaps makes Jimmy Lee the most interesting of our possible suspects."

A roar went up from the crowd gathered around Gate D as the team buses pulled up.

"Here comes our guy now, Finch."

A fresh round of cheers and applause greeted each player as they disembarked, waving to the enthusiastic fans. The appearance of Chen, however, sparked a near riot as the excited crowd surged forward for a closer look at the All-Star. Security quickly whisked the surprisingly slight young man inside, but not before John had maneuvered close enough to clone the ballplayer's phone.

He looked around uneasily. People were now streaming into the stadium at a steady pace, and by this afternoon both the ballpark and the surrounding Wrigleyville neighborhood would be jammed with fans, street mongers and media when the Cubs took on the rival Cardinals. The potential for collateral damage was enormous.

"Do we have eyes inside the park?"

"Come see for yourself, Mr. Reese."

Harold was intently watching a small laptop, and as he tapped a key the screen scrolled through images of the park from every angle covered by the Wrigley security cameras: the grandstands and bleachers, the upper and lower concourses - even the clubhouses - before finally stopping on the field itself where long lines of fans were patiently waiting for a meet-and-greet with their favorite players. The grounds were ringed by policemen and press.

"The area seems secure for now. I suggest we pay a visit to Mr. Liang's former agent."

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The modern Michigan Avenue office building was a prime piece of Chicago real estate - and Lee Sports Representation occupied the entire top floor. Jimmy Lee operated one of the largest sports agencies in the country and represented athletes from every major sport, including several well-known Brazilian soccer stars. Prized by his clients for the record-setting contracts he negotiated, he was privately maligned by team owners who loathed his aggressive methods.

Mr. Lee wasn't in but they were welcome to wait, and a thin, nervous secretary ushered them into the agent's spacious office.

The room was elegantly decorated in a clean, minimalist style which had the desired effect of showcasing the stunning view of Lake Michigan, but the bright sunlight glinting off the water contrasted with a subtle sense of tension that seemed to pervade the company. A photo of Lee taken at the NFL draft revealed a squat man with a thick neck and pocked complexion, fiftyish and - like Chen - Taiwanese. The only other hint of the agent's heritage was the intricately-etched ceremonial machete mounted on the wall behind his immense desk.

Harold immediately moved to Lee's computer, ghosting the company's software and copying files. John restlessly scanned the office. His eyes came to rest on a framed newspaper article displayed on an adjacent credenza and he picked it up for closer examination.

"Prominent Sports Agent Celebrates Political Victory," read the caption.

The accompanying photo showed a jovial Lee shaking hands with Chicago's mayor at a recent election. Jimmy Lee was the city's twenty-fifth ward alderman.

The agent-turned-politician entered the room with the commanding air of a man accustomed to deference. He was well groomed and impeccably dressed, but something about his demeanor suggested an attempt at refinement that was still a work-in-progress.

He was accompanied by two muscular, stone-faced bodyguards who silently and formally took up a vigil on either side of him.

"Thank you for your patience, gentlemen. How may I be of service?"

The always-prepared billionaire flashed impeccable credentials.

"Harold Crane, ESPN. This is my photographer John Rooney. We'd like to get a quote from you for our story about Chen-Lin Liang."

John looked away, fighting back a smile and wondering how Harold managed to say that with a straight face. He was far from his field of expertise, but still fairly confident that they looked nothing like sports reporters. And judging from the scrutiny they were receiving from Lee's bodyguards, the goons weren't buying it either.

But Lee himself was the epitome of professional politeness.

"Chen-Lin is an outstanding ballplayer and a dear friend. We've known each other for many years."

"And yet you no longer represent him."

"We had a philosophical difference over an endorsement contract. I negotiated a deal with a major cola company, but he preferred to support the new vitamin water." The agent shrugged. "It happens in this business. The soft drink deal would have been extremely lucrative for both of us, but in the end it was Chen's option. The decision to part company was also mutual, by the way."

Harold appeared to be considering this.

"That's quite an impressive security detail you have, Mr. Lee."

"You can't be too careful these days - especially now that I'm getting into politics. And I do like the message it sends. Isn't that right, Feng?"

He nodded towards the larger of the guards and didn't elaborate, but it was becoming clear that Jimmy Lee was not a man to be taken lightly.

His phone buzzed and John surreptitiously cloned it.

"Yes, what is it?"

He turned away from them slightly and as Lee held the phone to his ear John noticed the massive gold ring that adorned his right hand. Two enormous diamonds framed the black onyx inlay, and tiny dragons - with more diamonds for eyes - were sculpted into the sides.

"I hope I've been helpful gentlemen, but if we're finished here I really must take this call."

The bodyguards brusquely escorted them out of the office.

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"I still don't understand why we just didn't take a cab."

They were on one of Chicago's elevated "EL" trains that circled high above the downtown Loop, connecting it to the surrounding neighborhoods and nearby suburbs.

"It would take forever to get back to the ballpark through game-day traffic, Harold. Think of this as a ride on the wild side."

It was past the morning rush and their car was sparsely populated. John watched sympathetically as his partner stretched out his bad leg on the hard plastic seat. But he had more troubling concerns on his mind then the perils of public transportation.

"Finch, did you see Lee's ring?"

"The one with the tastelessly large diamonds? How could I miss it?"

"And did you notice the insignia? The triangle surrounding those Chinese characters?"

"Indeed I did. When enclosed by a triangle, the Hung represents the union of heaven, earth and man. It's the symbol of the Chinese Triad."

John gazed out the window apprehensively. The Taiwanese branch of the Triad was violent, brutal and cruel - even by organized crime standards. Ruthlessly disciplined and efficient, their weapon of choice was the meat cleaver, and they were well known for using body parts to send their messages. He had first encountered the Triad during his time with the CIA when another agent - a friend of his - had been sent to infiltrate the United Bamboo syndicate. Most of the man's body was never recovered. The exception was his feet, which were returned severed and mutilated as a warning to anyone else who might dare trespass in their territory. John flinched at the memory. There was little doubt the man had still been alive when his feet were hacked off his body.

He turned back to his partner, suddenly wishing that Harold was safely home in the library - with Bear for good measure. When he finally spoke, the billionaire looked troubled as well.

"The Triad was responsible for a major game-fixing scandal in Taiwanese baseball a few years ago - the latest of many such events I'm afraid."

It grew louder in the car as the train picked up speed, and John leaned in to hear over the din.

"Baseball is the national sport of Taiwan and this latest scandal nearly destroyed it there. It was a huge national embarrassment and the Taiwanese government cracked down with a very public campaign to eradicate organized crime from professional sports. The Triad lost millions of dollars and their control over the game. Perhaps with Mr. Liang's high profile they see an opportunity to establish some influence over American sports and regain some of their lost profits."

Harold shifted uncomfortably on the hard seat before continuing.

"The players in Taiwan earn considerably less than they do in this country and their cooperation was often obtained through simple bribery. Here - where baseball salaries are often astronomical - the Triad may be resorting to more dire means of persuasion."

"And now Lee's an alderman as well."

"Organized crime is deeply connected to the political sector in Taiwan. It's not at all uncommon for members of criminal groups to hold elected office. There's even a name for that specific type of corruption. The Taiwanese call it Black Gold."

Huddled in conversation at the far end of the car, they were a moment late in noticing the two bodyguards from Lee's office slip onto the train at its latest stop. The larger of the goons - the one Lee had called Feng - held them at gunpoint while the smaller man brandished his weapon at the other passengers, motioning them out of the train. This was a brazen daylight assault and - John realized - a Triad declaration of war.

The attack came quickly but the former agent was already on his feet, forcing the mobsters back and away from Harold. The first blows confirmed his suspicion that these men were professional soldiers, expertly trained in martial arts and hand-to-hand combat. But for the moment, at least, he was holding his own against the pair of them.

Then the smaller thug gave him an opening and John took it, grabbing the man's arm and pulling him forward. He pounded down on the goon's chest above his heart then rammed his fist upwards under the man's chin, snapping his head back. The guard fell to the ground unconscious.

He spun to face the other mobster but Feng threw him back against the railcar's sliding doors with such force that they abruptly retracted. A rush of wind and the clatter of the train racing along the tracks filled the car. The impact of the collision propelled John forward but the thug was ready for him, smashing down on his head with both fists and driving his face painfully into the corrugated steel of the floor. For a moment he lay there dazed.

Feng kicked him towards the open door until his lower body slipped out of the train and gravity took over to finish the job.

John felt his hands slide over the shallow door tracks and he dug in with his fingers, trying not to look down as the wind whipped his body sideways threatening to dislodge his fragile grip. He reached up with his right hand and grabbed the railing that ran parallel to the door, but the forceful gales hammered his body, thwarting his efforts to climb back in.

He managed to pull himself high enough to peer inside the car, and with the rushing wind blocking out all other sounds the scene before him seemed like some nightmarish silent movie.

Harold was kneeling in front of the door, terror etched into every millimeter of his face, shouting something indecipherable and reaching out his hand - while Feng stood just a few feet behind him with his gun pointed at Harold's head.

His hand was already beginning to slip, and John knew in that moment there was one final thing he could do for his partner. He removed his left hand from the track and in one smooth movement swung his arm around to his back and pulled out his gun. With his last bit of strength he held the weapon still for the second it took to shoot Harold's assailant cleanly through the head. But the recoil blew him backward and he lost his hold on the railing.

He watched the horror spread over Harold's face as he began falling toward the street below…

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A/N: The next chapter is coming soon, I promise. Please let me know what you think so far. Your reviews and comments are always greatly appreciated!