The Chinese Consulate stood like a fortress amid the palm trees of Wilshire Boulevard, its imposing facade a blend of traditional architecture and modern security. As Carter pulled up to the main entrance, I felt my enhanced senses picking up details I'd never noticed in the movie—the subtle positioning of security cameras, the way the guards' hands rested near their weapons, and the tension that seemed to permeate the very air around the building.
"Impressive," Lee said, studying the building with professional interest. "Very different from Hong Kong consulate buildings."
"Yeah, well, this is LA," Carter replied, adjusting his tie. "Everything's bigger, flashier, and more paranoid than it needs to be."
I stepped out of the car, my muscles automatically assessing potential threats and escape routes. The enhanced awareness was becoming second nature, but it was also exhausting. Every shadow could hide an enemy, every window could conceal a sniper. The paranoia that came with my new abilities was like having a hyperactive security system installed in my brain.
"Gentlemen." A consulate official approached us, his English crisp and formal. "Consul Han is waiting for you in his office. Please follow me."
As we walked through the marble hallways, I found myself memorizing the layout despite already knowing it from the movie. The building was a maze of corridors and offices, with traditional Chinese artwork decorating the walls and the subtle scent of incense in the air. But underneath the cultural trappings, I could sense the security infrastructure—reinforced doors, pressure sensors, and what looked like bulletproof glass in strategic locations.
"Heavy security," I murmured to Lee as we followed our guide.
"Necessary in current climate," Lee replied quietly. "Many threats against Chinese officials abroad."
*More than you know,* I thought, remembering how the kidnapping had been an inside job facilitated by corruption at the highest levels.
Consul Han's office was spacious and elegant, with a large mahogany desk positioned to overlook the consulate grounds. The man himself stood behind it, his bearing dignified despite the obvious strain he was under. Even without knowing his situation, anyone could see that this was a father under tremendous pressure.
"Inspector Lee," Consul Han said, bowing slightly. "Thank you for coming. And Detectives Carter and Chen—the LAPD's assistance is much appreciated."
As we exchanged formal greetings, I studied Consul Han's face. In the movie, his anguish had been evident but controlled. In person, I could see the cracks in his composure—the slight tremor in his hands, the way his eyes kept darting to a framed photograph on his desk, and the tension in his shoulders that spoke of sleepless nights.
The photograph showed a young girl with bright eyes and a shy smile. Soo Yung. Even seeing her picture made my chest tight with the knowledge of what she was going through.
"Please, sit," Consul Han gestured to the chairs arranged in front of his desk. "I must be honest with you—I am not entirely comfortable with how this investigation is being handled."
Carter leaned forward, his detective instincts engaged. "What do you mean?"
"The FBI has assured me they are doing everything possible, but..." Han paused, choosing his words carefully. "They seem more interested in limiting information than sharing it. I fear my daughter's safety is being compromised by bureaucratic considerations."
Lee nodded sympathetically. "In Hong Kong, we have learned that the best investigations happen when all parties work together. Information should flow freely between agencies."
"Exactly!" Han's composure cracked slightly, revealing the desperate father beneath the diplomatic facade. "But Agent Johnson insists that too much coordination will compromise their operation. Meanwhile, my daughter remains in the hands of criminals."
I watched this exchange, knowing that Han's instincts were absolutely correct. The FBI's handling of the case was compromised from the start, designed to fail so that Juntao could achieve his larger goals. But I couldn't say that without revealing knowledge I shouldn't have.
"Consul Han," I said carefully, "what can you tell us about the security arrangements before the kidnapping? Were there any changes in routine, new personnel, anything unusual?"
Han's eyes sharpened as he looked at me. "You ask good questions, Detective Chen. Yes, there were several changes in the weeks before the incident. New security protocols suggested by our FBI liaisons. Changes to Soo Yung's school schedule. Even modifications to this building's access procedures."
*All designed to create vulnerabilities,* I realized. Juntao's people had been setting up the kidnapping for weeks, using their connections within the FBI to create opportunities.
"Who suggested these changes?" Carter asked, his suspicion clearly growing.
"Agent Johnson coordinated most of them. He said they were necessary updates based on new threat assessments."
Lee and Carter exchanged glances, both of them obviously thinking the same thing I was. But none of us could voice our suspicions directly—not yet.
"May we see the security footage from the day of the kidnapping?" Lee asked.
Han's expression darkened. "The FBI has confiscated all surveillance materials. They claim it's evidence in their investigation."
"Of course they have," Carter muttered under his breath.
I stood up and walked to the window, ostensibly looking out at the consulate grounds but actually trying to process the implications of what we'd just learned. In the movie, the corruption had seemed like a plot device. Experiencing it in real time, seeing how it affected real people like Consul Han, made it feel much more sinister.
"Consul Han," I said, turning back to face the room, "I know this is difficult, but can you think of anyone within the consulate who might have had access to Soo Yung's schedule and security arrangements?"
"You suspect an inside connection?" Han asked, his voice tight.
"It's a possibility we have to consider," I replied, trying to balance honesty with the need to guide the investigation without revealing too much.
Han was quiet for a long moment, clearly wrestling with the implications. "There are perhaps a dozen people who would have had such access. Staff members, security personnel, liaison officers..." He paused. "I do not wish to suspect my own people, but if it would help find Soo Yung..."
"We understand," Lee said gently. "Perhaps you could provide us with a list of those individuals?"
"Of course. Anything that might help."
As Han moved to his desk to prepare the list, Carter caught my eye and nodded toward the door. I understood—he wanted to talk privately.
"Consul Han, we'll step outside for a moment to coordinate our next steps," Carter said diplomatically.
In the hallway, Carter pulled Lee and me into a small alcove away from the main corridor.
"Okay, what the hell is going on here?" Carter whispered. "The FBI's running this case like they want it to fail."
"I was thinking the same thing," Lee agreed. "In Hong Kong, when agencies behave this way, it usually means corruption."
Carter looked at me. "Chen, you've been quiet. What's your read?"
This was the moment I'd been dreading—having to pretend to reach conclusions I'd already known while appearing to contribute meaningfully to the investigation.
"I think we need to be very careful," I said slowly. "If there is corruption involved, we don't know how high it goes or who we can trust."
"So what do we do?" Carter asked.
"We investigate independently," Lee suggested. "Share information among ourselves but keep our findings away from official channels until we know who can be trusted."
Carter grinned. "Now you're talking my language. Three-man operation, no federal oversight, no bureaucratic bullshit."
"It could be dangerous," I warned, which was certainly true. "If there are corrupt elements involved, they won't hesitate to eliminate threats to their operation."
"Let them try," Carter said with characteristic bravado. "I've been waiting my whole career for a case like this."
Lee nodded solemnly. "My daughter—" He stopped, then corrected himself. "Consul Han's daughter deserves better than the investigation she's receiving. If we can help her, we must try."
I felt a chill at Lee's slip of the tongue. In the movie, the revelation about Soo Yung being Lee's daughter had been a major plot point. But hearing it now, in this context, made the stakes feel much more personal.
"Then we're agreed," I said. "We work together, share information, and try to find Soo Yung before it's too late."
As we returned to Consul Han's office, I reflected on how different this version of events felt from the movie. The same basic elements were there—the kidnapping, the corruption, the unlikely partnership—but experiencing it from the inside made everything more complex and morally ambiguous.
In the movie, Carter and Lee had been heroes fighting clear villains. But sitting in that consulate office, looking at a father's desperate hope that someone would save his daughter, I realized that real heroism was messier and more uncertain than Hollywood had led me to believe.
And somewhere in the back of my mind, I could feel that darker current—the Mad Dog influence—whispering that sometimes the only way to save the innocent was to become something monstrous yourself.
The question was whether I would have the strength to resist that whisper when the time came to act.