“Michael Hardeman.”
“You’re skating on water.”
“When Fatima’s compound was raided the artifacts were discovered.”
“So, what, you owed Mike a favor?”
“You could say we both did, Mr. President.” Collinsworth didn’t appreciate Bouchard showboating when it was only the two of them. “Without him we never would’ve found Fatima.”
Bouchard rubbed his forehead. “What is it you always say?”
“Spoils of war.” Collinsworth stood defiant. “You gave me carte blanche to run the clandestine operation, and we brought you dead terrorists.”
“I don’t like being blindsided.”
“You’ve been kept in the dark because you’re the President of the United States who is running for re-election. Believe me, you don’t want to know what lines were crossed. I’m protecting you, as I have always done.”
“We both know what the Iraqis are asking.” Bouchard exhaled, calming down from the initial clash between friends. “It has nothing to do with lost artifacts.”
“We liberated their country.” Collinsworth switched his tone from target to advisor. “David, there is always a cost to war.”
The elevator doors opened, and Simon Adams joined them ready to get down to business. He greeted Randall while Bouchard grabbed another Coke.
“What do you know about Scottsdale?” Adams asked.
“The Feds were chasing a lead connected to the nightclub attack and it led them to a house there.” Collinsworth shot Bouchard a look to see if he should keep going. “I now know they were searching for Sarina Fatima.”
Adams pressed. “Do you have knowledge of how she ended up on our soil?”
“Mr. President, are you sure you want to hear this?”
“Randall, I need to know.” Bouchard answered. “It won’t leave this room.”
“She was offered asylum in return for leading us to her husband.” Collinsworth paused, allowing Bouchard and Adams a moment to take it in. “Before the Feds investigation, she was completely off the radar, under surveillance by one of my people. However, after the events of this morning, she has disappeared.”
“Who else knows about this?” Adams asked.
“Details of the investigation have been kept under wraps at the black site here in the city. Agent Kelley and Agent Vaughn are leading the operation.”
“Why haven’t they passed this along to their superiors?”
“I’m convinced there is a mole within the Bureau. As of a few hours ago, I have firsthand knowledge that Kelley and Vaughn are aware of this and are keeping a close circle until they figure out who is betraying us.”
Adams turned to Bouchard. “If this hits the press, we’re screwed.”
“What about the terrorists at the nightclub?” Bouchard asked.
“All have been identified as generals from Fatima’s militia. However, there is no clear indication how they entered the country.”
“Where are we with Akram Kasim?”
“I can only tell you what I know as an outsider,” Collinsworth warned. “But from what I’ve gathered, he is not cooperating.”
Bouchard grabbed a third Coke, sensing his re-election campaign treading water a thousand miles from shore. “Randall, is Sarina Fatima the mastermind behind these attacks?”
“I don’t believe so.”
“How can you be so sure?” Adams asked. “You don’t even know where she is.”
“The generals would never take orders from Sarina.” Collinsworth pointed out. He weighed his next words. “Especially when Abu Haji Fatima is alive.”
Bouchard slumped into a leather chair. “Randall, tell me that’s not true.”
“Mr. President, I’m afraid I can’t do that.” Collinsworth folded his arms. “But I will spare you the details.”
“Spare the details?” Adams argued. “Isn’t that what got us into this mess?”
“Simon, shut up,” Bouchard ordered. He asked Collinsworth, “Do we know where he is?”
“He was positively identified last night in Malibu.”
“Son of a — by who?”
“You’ll have to ask Agent Kelley or Agent Vaughn.” Collinsworth broke the news as rehearsed. “And I’m afraid, there is more.”
Adams couldn’t hold his tongue as he flailed his arms. “Holy—”
“Abu Haji Fatima has a sister who we have known about for many years. Our hope was that we would capture her at the compound the night of the raid. Unfortunately, she was not there.” Collinsworth slipped a copy of the photo with the four horsemen, Kasim, Fatima, and the woman, from his coat pocket and handed it to Bouchard. “We believed the woman in this photo was Sarina. However, in light of what has occurred, it is quite possible she is Fatima’s sister — Tama. Mr. President, it is the only image we have of her, so I cannot guarantee it as fact.”
Bouchard handed the photo to Adams. All three fell silent.
As Bouchard stared at the photo he mumbled, “She could be anyone.”
“Lying to the American people is grounds for impeachment,” Adams said in a lowered voice to Bouchard. “If Abu Haji Fatima resurrects from the dead for the world to see, your presidency—your legacy—is over.”
Bouchard turned his gaze to Collinsworth. “Make sure that doesn’t happen.”
FIFTY-SEVEN
BLACK SITE — LATER
Hours after Chase Hardeman and Dexter Thompson left the underground facility, Yasmin stared at a series of thumbnail images on her screen. She previewed each one until she found a match to the photo Laney carried with her — the one believed to show Tama Fatima wearing a hijab. Methodically, she clicked through the rest of the images in the folder. Halfway down, she paused a few seconds on an image that captured her attention. With her mouse, and a single keystroke, she wiped the photo from history.
Yasmin pushed her seat back, grabbed a report from a printer, then crossed the hub which buzzed with activity. Analysts scoured the dark web for shoestring leads. Agents searched through evidence gathered from Tanets, the garage, Wilkins’ truck, and now the Scottsdale house. So far, nothing solid on Abu Haji Fatima or his faceless sister. The LA black site was finding it more difficult to disguise their inquiries with other agencies and field offices, while keeping the narrative focused on the four horsemen and Akram Kasim.
Yasmin entered a conference room where Vaughn and Laney were in mid-conversation via video with another agent in Northern California.
“Twenty acres of open land. Four structures. High-voltage fences.” The agent’s attention turned toward Laney. “I gotta ask, rumor is you took down the suspects at the nightclub without backup?”
Laney shifted uncomfortably. “What about surveillance?”
“Main entry points,” he replied, his face reddened. “We’re using a motel a few miles up the road as home base.”
“I’ll be leaving within the hour. Eyes only until I get there.”
Vaughn interjected, “If anyone leaves the property let us know.”
“You really think there’s a suspect holed up there?”
Laney walked a tightrope. “We have credible evidence.”
“We’d appreciate it if you keep a lid on this for now,” Vaughn added.
“Of course,” the agent answered, excitement coming through his voice. “Agent Kelley, we’ll be ready for you.”
Vaughn disconnected the call. “Looks like you’re already a legend in the Bureau.”
Laney ignored him. “A high-voltage fence in that area is either to keep cattle in — or to keep people out.”
“We’ve got nothing to go on from the DNA.” Vaughn tossed the forensic report on his desk. “If Fatima isn’t the one hiding there, it’s definitely someone we need to talk to.”
Yasmin cleared her throat, unsure of whether they realized she’d been standing there. “We’ve identified the Scottsdale suspects.”
“Finally, some good news,” Vaughn said.
“Alexander Ivanov and Boris Sokolov.”
Yasmin handed him the reports. “Both have connections to the Vihkrov family.”
“Another twist to our pretzel.” Vaughn scanned the intelligence then handed it over to Laney. “What do you think it means?”
“Both were mercenaries.” Laney stared at the rap sheets. “Hired guns?”
“You let the Vihkrovs roam free because of Chase,” Vaughn warned. Tension in the room shot up like a rocket. “How could they not be involved?”
Laney asked Yasmin, “Anything from Chase’s hard drive?”
“Nothing we don’t already have in our system.” Yasmin nodded to the photo on Vaughn’s desk. “I did find a duplicate.”
Vaughn said to Laney, “We never should’ve taken our eyes off them.”
“Put them back in the crosshairs then,” she countered. “We owe the Vihkrovs nothing.”
He nodded approvingly. “Ready for another round?”
Laney picked up the photo from his desk. “It’s time we raised the stakes.”
Vaughn dialed an extension. “Bring Kasim to Level Two.”
“Distribute your report to the hub,” Laney said to Yasmin. “See if there’s any crossover between Fatima, Tama, the Russians, and Vihkrovs.”
Yasmin grabbed the report and left the room. Back at her station, she distributed the intelligence to all analysts and agents within the black site. Leaning back in her seat, she stared down a corridor leading to the detention level.
A few minutes passed before Akram Kasim appeared with two security guards on each side. Orange jumpsuit. Handcuffed. Ankle chains. A hood over his head. Bandaged hand. He shuffled forward as the guards led him into an interrogation room. Yasmin swallowed hard. Beneath her desk she clenched her fists.
FIFTY-EIGHT
Laney waited in the corner while the guards cuffed Kasim’s wrists overhead to a metal anchor and his ankle chains were latched to a hook in the floor. During the first interrogation he was seated comfortably — until she plunged a pen into his hand. It was time to escalate the conversation.
Her mind flashed to the weeks she spent with the SEAL team down south. Even though it was banned, she experienced water torture firsthand, and it was frightening. Only one other off-the-books interrogation technique was worse than drowning. She prepared herself for what needed to be done.
Once the guards were gone, Vaughn switched off the cameras and stepped forward. He pulled the hood off Kasim’s head. The terrorist resumed the same posture as before — eyes straight ahead as if no one else was in the room.
“We know the Prodigal is alive and free.” Vaughn stood inches away from Kasim’s face. “Tell us where he is hiding, and we will help you avoid the death penalty.” Kasim’s blank stare continued. “You owe Abu Haji Fatima nothing. He’s left you here as his sacrifice.”
Laney stepped from the darkened corner. Kasim lifted his head and stared at the stitches on her face. She noticed his lips purse slightly, only to fade when she held the photo in front of him. She stared into his soulless eyes, wondering if she was willing to cross the line.
“The four horsemen are in paradise,” she said, infusing her voice with steel. “Now we have arrested the woman you love — Tama.” If she wasn’t looking for it, she would’ve missed Kasim’s eyes flaring for a split second. Adrenaline pumped through her veins as she kept the facade. “If you refuse to answer our questions, we will find the deepest, darkest hole and leave her there to rot.”
Vaughn rolled up his sleeves and picked up a metal rod. He flipped a switch on the rubber handle and a steady hum of electricity flowed through the device. Laney watched every move from Kasim, including how his eyes shifted to Vaughn. Electrocution wasn’t in the Bureau’s guidelines, but tonight they were writing a new playbook — one that was illegal stateside.
Holding the electric shocker in one hand, Vaughn waited for Laney to give the signal. Even after days on the hunt, with nothing but dead ends, a tidal wave of determination was ready to crash over their only suspect. With a slight nod, Vaughn poked the rod into Kasim’s side. His teeth clenched as he groaned in agony, writhing against his convulsing body. Seconds passed before Vaughn pulled the rod away, leaving Kasim breathing hard.
Torture wasn’t something she ever thought she’d do — until tonight.
“I warned you last time,” Laney said. “This will get much worse.”
“We know why you were at the nightclub,” Vaughn reiterated. “You’re a pawn in Fatima’s game. Don’t you see, he left you behind. You’re disposable.”
Kasim raised his head and spit at Vaughn, who struck back a second and third time. Jolts of electrical currents seared through Kasim’s bones and left him coughing up blood.
Laney’s stomach turned into knots, but there was no time to get squeamish. She held up her hand, signaling Vaughn to step back.
“Akram, no one is going to rescue you,” she said, a bit more on edge. “We hold the power. Answer our questions and this will stop. Don’t answer, and we’ll fry you from the inside out.”
“Let’s try this again,” Vaughn suggested. “What is the Red Venture Group?”
Kasim turned his gaze to Laney, blood dripping off his chin. “One of you.”
“We need a name.” Laney understood what he meant. Confirmation. “Now.”
“No name,” Kasim mumbled. “Show me Tama.”
“When is the next attack?” Vaughn countered, raising the rod and pointing it at Kasim. “Tell us where Fatima is, or we’ll keep going all night.”
Laney knew they’d blown it when he dropped his head and stared at the floor. He called their bluff — and the interrogation was over.
“All will die,” he seethed.
Vaughn swiped the rod across Kasim’s back, leaving it pressed against his body twice as long as before. In a matter of seconds, Kasim slumped forward, unconscious, being held up by his cuffed wrists.
Outside of the room, they debriefed.
“Whoever is behind the Red Venture Group is one of us,” Laney exhaled as she tried to steady her shaking hands. “Confirms what we’ve been thinking.”
“One of us — does he mean government agency or an American?” Vaughn rolled his sleeves down as if nothing in the room happened. “We blew it by pushing him too fast toward Tama.”
“He’d only believe it if he saw her — which is impossible.”
“It was worth a shot.” Vaughn wiped sweat from his forehead. “We’ll leave him in there for a while.”
“Russell, what if he doesn’t break?”
“We’ll make him realize it’s over.” Vaughn checked his watch. “Transport will be here in fifteen. You better get to street level.”
“If you take another shot at him, you’ll need more than your bag of tricks.”
“I’ll think of something,” Vaughn replied. “We good?”
“Yeah, not a word to anyone.”
Laney left Vaughn pacing through the hub. Alone, she rode the elevator and stepped out into the empty warehouse, dreading the flight. She was frustrated by the lack of progress with Kasim. Crossing the line hadn’t worked. With Fatima and Tama on the loose, stopping another attack in time seemed impossible. Everything they’d found so far were only edges of a puzzle, but the center was a big black hole with no pieces fitting into place. Who is the Red Venture Group? Waiting at the entrance, the question lingered as she flipped her collar and dug her hands deep into her pockets. She had never been a big believer of conspiracies, but as the clock ticked and the web of mystery weaved another layer, she was ready to surrender to it if it led to answers. She closed her eyes, wishing to step back in time, and allowed the soothing rain to bring her a moment of peace as it drenched the Southland.
In the distance, a white light emerged from the clouds.
FIFTY-NINE
GRAND CAYMAN
A British/Cayman flag waved amid a tropical breeze signifying the British Overseas Territory in the western Caribbean Sea. On the island, Cayman National Bank was the Everest amongst the fifth-largest
banking centers in the world and was also an offshore haven for the Vihkrov fortune.
Hidden behind dark glasses, Elena walked between a row of palm trees toward the blue-and-white building carrying a metal attaché case. Climbing the steps she was met by Devan Foster, Branch Manager of Cayman National Bank, who greeted her in a signature Brit accent.
“Good morning, Ms. Vihkrov. Smooth flight I hope.”
“Yes, thank you.” Elena always admired her cordiality. “Devan, I appreciate you accommodating my last-minute request.”
“A pleasure. Actually, the timing is perfect. Follow me, please.”
Elena followed Devan through an immaculate lobby, with simple marble floors and expensive paintings, into the private halls where only the most confidential clients kept their treasures. After being buzzed through several security doors, Devan motioned Elena into a room with a single table before excusing herself. A few minutes later Devan returned, wheeling in two oversized lock boxes on a cart.
Two boxes?
“We were given instructions to present this to you upon your arrival.” Devan set a key on top of the second box. “I will be in my office. Please stop by before you depart to sign the transfer documents.”
When Elena was alone, she stared hard at the two boxes before removing a key from her pocket and opening the first one. Inside, gold bars were stacked halfway to the top, as well as a neat stack of wrapped hundred dollar bills. It was one of dozens of lock boxes belonging to the Vihkrovs secured in the vault. She opened the attaché case and transferred two dozen more bars and ten million in cash.
Her curiosity piqued with the second box as she picked up the key, inserted it into the lock, then turned until it unlatched. Slowly, she opened the lid and peered inside. More hundred dollar bills were neatly stacked, at least twenty million in cash, maybe more. Set atop the cash was a memory stick. Elena plugged the stick into her cell and a video file loaded on screen.
Press play.
Michael Hardeman appeared on her mobile screen in front of a similar background to the room where she stood. A lump lodged in her throat as he spoke. Seeing his face flooded her with memories.
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