Jeffery Deaver - Edge

“Um…”

I went on to explain, “But you see, there are different jurisdictions for a single crime. Jurisdiction can be geographic. Like if you commit mail fraud, you can be guilty of a crime in all the states you scammed people in, all fifty of them, maybe. Separate crimes in each one. Or jurisdiction can be the power of a governmental body. Murdering a federal agent, for instance, is both a federal crime and a state crime.”

“Oh.”

“This Jimmy Sun, he stole the victim’s checkbook in the District. The D.C. police can decide to drop that case. But he used the Internet to launder money.”

“Launder money?”

“He bought gold coins and presumably he sold them to get cash. That’s money laundering.”

“It is?”

“Yes. That’s my jurisdiction. It’s a federal offense and a serious one. Now, Stu, if you have any information about this Jimmy Sun, I advise you to tell me. Lying to a federal officer’s a crime too. And harboring a suspect could result in an obstruction charge. Those are very serious.”

“But if no one was hurt and the victim didn’t want to pursue it… I mean, what’s the problem?”

“The victim’s feelings are irrelevant.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“Well, Stu, let’s say I murder you.” He blinked. “You’re dead. You don’t have any feelings one way or the other. Right?”

“I guess not. I mean, no.”

“But that’s still a crime. Or say I’m a thug, okay? I steal your car but you’re afraid of me and don’t want to report it. But there are lots of witnesses who saw me. The police can still arrest me. You don’t testify but other people can. I go to jail.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“I’ve got an arrest warrant for Sun.” I tapped my jacket pocket.

“You do?”

“There were videos in the Post Boxes Plus store where he picked up the coins he’d bought. With the money from the forged check.”

“But-”

“How exactly do you know Jimmy? Be honest, Stu.”

The young man’s head was down again. “He’s my partner. My lover.”

“I see. He lives with you?”

“No. His parents are real traditional. They suspect but they don’t know.”

“You’d be doing him a favor to have him turn himself in. Homeland Security’s already started a file.”

“Homeland Security?”

“The terrorist issue.”

“Terrorist?” Stu appeared horrified.

“It’s looking like Sun stole the checkbook as part of an operation by the North Korean government to blackmail the victim-Eric Graham. He works for the Pentagon.”

“Oh, Jesus. No, no…”

“Is there anything that you’ve seen about Jimmy that would support that?”

“Of course not. He’s a great guy. He’s sweet. His family’s from South Korea!”

I smiled. “Well, terrorists can be very charming. There are a lot of operatives from the north in and around Seoul.”

“He’s not a terrorist,” Stu whispered.

“Well, that’s for the prosecutor and the courts to decide. It’s just my job to bring him in. Without hurting him, I hope. But…”

“Oh, Jesus.”

I leaned forward. “The profile of people like him is that he’s probably very dangerous. We have an assault team active in the area. They were ready to move into the store, if he’d been there. They’re pursuing other leads now.” I glanced at my watch, frowning. “I heard from one team twenty minutes ago. They think they might know where he is. The FBI’s authorized a lethal takedown if he doesn’t surrender immediately.”

The young man gasped.

I regarded the sallow face before me. “If you care about him, you should help us out. If it comes down to a fight, he could lose his life. Our tactical teams are trained to expect suicide bombings and other life-threatening behaviors.”

Stu began to cry, big drops of tears. His voice cracked. “It was all my idea, not Jimmy’s. He was just helping me out… Jesus, call them-those FBI people you were telling me about. Tell them he’s not dangerous.”

I frowned. “You need to explain yourself.”

“ I stole the checkbook, I opened the online pay account. It was me, not Jimmy. All he did was pick up the coins at the mailbox store.”

“I’m not following, I’m afraid.”

Stu wiped his face. “The man whose checkbook was stolen?”

“Eric Graham.”

“He’s… he’s my father.”

“So, you’re Stu Graham.”

He nodded. “Oh, I can’t believe how stupid I was. I… Oh, man, have I fucked this up. Please, call them!”

“Not until you explain everything.”

“It’s so stupid!”

“Tell me, Stu. The sooner we know the truth, the better it’ll be for Jimmy.”

He dabbed at his eyes. “Father’s kind of… he’s pretty tough. He always wanted me to go to his school, Princeton. He was a BMOC. Big Man on Campus, you know? He wanted me to be one too. But I hated it. I fit in here.” His hand lifted outward, meaning presumably DuPont Circle. “This is where I belong. I love Jimmy, our friends. I’m not the rah-rah Ivy League sort. But Father wouldn’t listen.”

“What’s this have to do with the forgery?”

“Because I’m a fucking coward.” He grabbed another napkin and wiped his nose. “I couldn’t tell Father I didn’t want to go back to college this fall. I’m afraid of him, Mom’s afraid of him. Everybody’s afraid of him. He was always saying things like, ‘You’re not going to be my third daughter, are you?’ I had to try out for the football team. I weigh a hundred and fifty-two pounds. Me on the football team? But he kept on me all the time. ‘Be a man. Do me proud. Follow in my footsteps.’ I couldn’t say no.”

“So you forged the check so he couldn’t pay tuition?”

“How pathetic is that?”

“You had Jimmy pick up the gold coins you bought.”

Stu nodded. “He didn’t do anything bad. Swear to God. He just helped me out. He’s got family in New Jersey. He’s there a lot. So we figured we’d have the coins shipped there, not to D.C.”

“And your father found out and withdrew the complaint.”

He nodded. “Oh, man, yeah, he found out.”

I imagined that had been one pyrotechnic confrontation.

“What’d you do with the money?”

“It wasn’t about the money.”

“I understand but I want to know what you did with it.”

“We kept a little, the rest we gave to an AIDS research fund and to Amnesty International. I hate it that my father makes weapons for a living. That’s what he does for the Pentagon. He’s so proud of it. So smug. I wanted his money to do something good.”

I said, “Give me the name of somebody at Amnesty who can confirm it.”

Stu looked through his BlackBerry and recited a name and number.

“Got that?” I asked.

He blinked again, frowning.

I said, “I’m not talking to you.”

In my earpiece Claire duBois said, “I’m calling now.”

I said to Stu, “We wait a minute.”

The man slumped, blew his nose again. He looked around the coffee shop and gave a faint laugh. “We come here all the time? Jimmy and me?”

I said nothing.

“You know what he was telling me just the other day?”

“What?”

“Korea, right, you’d think it was tea, tea, tea. Like China and Japan. But the last emperor of Korea, his name was Sunjong, the nineteen twenties, he loved the West and always had coffee at the palace. He and his father would sit around drinking coffee and talking about world affairs. Word got around and the citizens began to drink coffee. They liked to do what their emperor does. There’re more coffee drinkers in Korea than any other Asian country. They even have coffee shop hookers. Dabang girls, they’re called.”