Weecho: First Shots

Chapter 18 - Power Breakfast

“You picked the right spot,” Alexey said.

“What do you mean?” Weecho said, cradling his cell against his shoulder, eye out for cops while he drove with the last of the morning rush traffic heading into the city. He’d spent the rest of the night at the hospital, found out they wouldn’t be operating on his mother until this afternoon at the earliest. Meantime, the grunge band needed their van back. 

“Come by the house,” Alexey said. “You can see your own handiwork.” 

Alexey clicked off and Weecho worked his way downtown, dropped the van off and took the subway back up to 77th. Rang the bell on the iron gate to Alexey’s five-story town house. His houseman, Jeremy, answered the door, took Weecho up the curving marble staircase to the library, same soft light through the tall windows as when they were Skyping Aramis and Lynch. 

“Hello, Weecho,” Alexey said. He was finishing up breakfast at the computer table with Dara and Commissioner Burke. Waved his hand toward a sideboard of food. “Help yourself and come look.” 

He hadn’t eaten at the hospital, the smell of bacon and fresh baked bread making him realize how hungry he was. He started to fix himself a plate, but Dara came over and took it from him. 

“You sit down,” she said. “I’ll bring it over. What would you like in your coffee?” 

“Just black is fine, thanks.” 

Another woman in his life, like Juna last night and his mother, seeing to it he ate, like put some poundage on him. Him thinking his mother would have her work cut out now just to feed herself. 

Commissioner Burke looked him over as he pulled out a chair. 

“I understand you’re a swimmer,” Burke said. 

“Yes, sir. The survival stroke.” 

Burke did his imitation of a smile, pointed to one of the computer screens. “We’ve already got something from your night’s work. I didn’t want you to see it because of its sensitivity, but Alex said it was only fair you did.” 

Alexey nodded. “The key word is sensitivity. Nothing you’re about to see goes beyond this room. Understood?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“You’ll see why in a second.” He clicked the mouse. 

Dara set a plate piled with bacon, eggs and two sweet rolls in front of Weecho, coffee in a ceramic mug, and took a seat next to him.  

“This is a replay,” Alexey said. “They got an early start.” 

Weecho took a bite of eggs and watched the screen. 

He could see Yoon’s library where he’d hidden the bug, not too different looking from where the four of them were sitting right here. Most of the frame showed the conference table where he’d aimed the concealed lens. He knew the signal had been relayed from a surveillance van parked near the pier where Yoon’s yacht was tied up. 

The conference table had three place settings on it, Yoon at one, a man with his back to the camera at another. The third place was empty. Yoon stood up and looked offscreen. 

“Senator, good morning.” Yoon held out his hand. “You slept well?” 

Senator Patrick Hugh Gatchel, in a blue blazer and casual shirt, stepped into the frame and shook Yoon’s hand. Had spent the night aboard, it sounded like.  

“Very well, thank you,” Gatchel said. 

Yoon smiled. “I believe we had a successful evening.”