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foreign agents. He
didn ’ t find any
evidence of espionage, but what he did find out about Maas was
worse than any corporate spying.
     
    Maas lurched
towards the bar to pay his tab. Chu used the ritual to cover his
exit. Maas always drank first and paid later because he never knew
how much he might consume. Chu always paid for his drinks up front
so he could leave before Maas and not attract attention. The target
didn ’ t react to
the pattern. He didn ’ t seem to notice Chu going to the same bar two or three times
a week. Maybe the fact that Chu altered his appearance and timing
with each visit kept Maas from seeing the pattern. Maybe Maas was
too lost in his depression to notice the world around him. It could
have been a bit of both, but Chu didn ’ t take any chances. He slipped away
from the crowd inside the bar, weaved through the hipsters smoking
by the front door and walked in the direction of
Maas ’ s
brownstone.
     
    Chu passed
Stanley Kean at the corner near the bar. The tall, lanky man waited
at the bus stop, reading a worn out copy of the Communist
Manifesto. Kean didn ’ t look at Chu. Chu didn ’ t acknowledge Kean. When the bus
arrived, Kean put away his book and reached for his wallet. Chu
crossed the street. Maas left the bar and trudged in the direction
of his home. In the mirror of a closed artisanal bakery, Chu saw
Kean patting his body as if he ’ d misplaced his wallet. Kean
didn ’ t look at
Maas. Maas passed Kean without any sign of recognition. The bus
doors closed, leaving Kean on the corner behind Maas. By the time
the target crossed the street, Kean had fallen in behind him, using
a trio of giggling girls as a partial buffer between himself and
Maas. Chu went down a different street, comfortable
they ’ d completed
the surveillance transfer unnoticed.
     
    Chu took an
apparently random path back to their rented apartment. Every block
he walked and turn he took gave him an opportunity to detect or
evade anyone following him. Chu hadn ’ t seen any signs of a counter
surveillance team on Maas, but good teams avoided notice until they
decided to strike. Chu threaded his way through Park Slope alone,
hoping tonight would be different than all the other
nights.
     
    Their apartment
didn ’ t have a
direct line of sight to Maas ’ s brownstone, but the two spaces
were only separated by a short block of no more than two hundred
feet. Chu opened the front door and listened. A single set of
footsteps sped up the stairs. Chu guessed Kean arrived before him.
Chu stopped at the mailbox and pretended to check it. RSVP Security
took care of all the mail and bills for the space through a
fictitious talent agency, so he knew the box would be empty. But
the charade gave him cover to ambush anyone who might have followed
them. As Chu stood in the lobby, no one else entered the building.
So Chu closed the mailbox and made his way upstairs without
enthusiasm. He knew the next item on Erich Maas ’ s schedule. No matter how many times
he wished it might be different, the days always ended with Erich
and Maria together.
     
     

Chapter Two: The Same Team
     
    “ He ’ s at it
again. ”
     
    Kean stood in the
kitchen of the exposed brick apartment and poured
Cap ’ n Crunch into
a red Solo cup. He captured the image of a post frat bachelor and
most of the apartment maintained a similar illusion. Bottles of
Heineken and Cuervo competed with boxes of Oreos and bags of
Doritos for shelf space in the kitchen. A huge flat screen TV
dominated the living room, surrounded by mismatched pieces of black
furniture. A PS4 sat in the middle of the room with its accessories
strewn across the floor. Only the master bedroom failed to fit the
image of their cover. Chu forced himself into the makeshift
surveillance room without a word to Kean.
     
    Several
flat-screen computer monitors filled the otherwise dark room with a
cold white glow. Each screen revealed a room or hallway inside
Maas ’ s brownstone.
The