“No need.” Mark blushed. “I just did my job. What you and Martin did blows me away. You both risked your lives . . .” He looked at Vando and tilted his head. Then he began to smile. “You must be Vando.”
Vando crossed the room and shook Mark’s hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Sergeant. I’m glad you’re here. Time is of the essence and I hope you’ll join our campaign.” He stepped around Mark and closed the door.
Martin scrunched his eyes and looked at Mark. “Last night”—he rubbed his chin—“you were here when I woke from surgery. But you were in uniform then.”
“Thank you for signing the complaint, but unfortunately, you won’t need to testify against Dewer Rock.” Mark looked at his feet. “He’s been released, but his bodyguards have been charged.”
Eva’s knees buckled and Mark guided her into a chair. “Dewer Rock has no reason to come after you again, Eva. He seems to be above the law.”
“More reason to grow our group and become operational as soon as possible.” Vando grabbed a fresh cup and poured water for Eva. He tapped the shirt pocket above his heart. “I have a copy of the $40 million consultation fee the Council paid Simon Demo right here on my thumb drive, and we’ll send each member of our group a copy. Dewer will have to take us all out. And like Sergeant Ronzone”—he tipped his head toward Mark—“so aptly observed, Dewer is above the law. For now, anyway, until we find an uncorrupted legislative—”
“Wait a minute.” Mark crouched to Eva’s eye level. “You found proof of a $40 million payout to Simon Demolition?”
“That’s what alerted Mr. Rock that I hacked his drive.” Eva smirked and she rose and pushed the door to make sure it was closed. “That’s not all I found.” She dragged the chair closer to the head of Martin’s bed and motioned for Mark and Vando to cram closer. “I found a work order signed by Dewer Rock authorizing an elevator renovation project for the three World Trade Center buildings that collapsed on September 11,” she whispered. “And an invoice from a federally funded facility that delivered a hundred ten-gallon pails of liquid thermate to the Council.”
Vando took a deep breath and tucked his chin into his chest. After a minute he looked up, his eyes watery. “A Spade Elevator employee contacted me, months before the attacks, and insisted on talking in person. We set up a meeting, but it took me too much time to arrange air travel. When I finally arrived in New York, he never showed.”
“Eva, I have to set up protection for you. I had no idea you had that kind of evidence,” said Mark.
She shook her head. “I mailed the printouts to Richie. They’ll probably arrive in tomorrow’s mail.”
“The sergeant’s right, Eva. You need protection,” Martin said.
“The name’s Mark.” Mark’s eyes lit up and he paced beside the bed. “If we’re going to work together in what I’m thinking you all just hatched—some sort of a free-lance intelligence agency—we should be on a first name basis.” Mark threw back his shoulders and seemed to stand a little taller. “It’s the only option we have left, and it’s a good one. I’ll have to talk with Mel first, of course, but if I take early retirement I can start full time in a few weeks.”
“No, Mark.” Vando spoke softly. “You should finish out your career with the NYPD and protect your home turf. You’ll be a resource for us, like a confidential informant. And you can recruit more good men and women from the ranks. Grassroots, local PD, that’s the way to beat the globalists.”
Mark nodded. “Makes sense, Vando. We’ll build our own network. And I know two cops who will want to help right away. Tony is an explosives expert and Ozzam speaks three middle-eastern languages.”
Vando and Eva moved closer together and excitedly discussed databases and analytical products. Eva pulled a tiny loose-leaf memo book from her bag and began writing down all the hardware and resources they needed.
Taking a piece of loose-leaf from Eva, Vando turned to Mark. “Tell me more.”
Mark rattled off a list of talent they already had among the group. Vando took frantic notes stopping once in a while to suggest the best way to optimize their strongpoints.
“Excuse me!” Martin had pulled himself up to a sitting position, veins bulging from his neck. Everyone stopped chatting and stared at him.
How long had he been trying to get their attention? Eva stood and patted his pillow. “Please calm down, Martin.”
“I’m excited too, about this intelligence group,” he said, and waved his arms. “But what are we going to do to keep Eva safe?”
Eva felt her cheeks heat. She’d gotten carried away and had forgotten that she was in a hospital room. Martin’s hospital room. The man who had taken a beating and a bullet for her. “Martin, I’ll be fine. Really.” She looked at him and patted his hand. “Mr. Rock only knows about the Simon Demo consultation printout. That was the third time I logged into his account on the same day. The earlier two times didn’t raise any flags. We can sit on that evidence until we find an honest court system to try him. He’ll never know until we present the evidence in court.” She stood and pressed the button to lower the bedframe. She fluffed his pillow and then patted it. “Lie back, please.” She looked at the door. “If Sandra sees you all riled, she’ll be upset.”
“We’ll find a safe place, or multiple places, to secure the evidence.” Mark sighed. “I have no idea when Dewer will be charged. We are deep in unknown territory here.”
Unknown territory. Eva sunk back into the chair. Mr. Rock hadn’t even been charged with her kidnapping. Her termination from the Council would be designated a resignation. Her positon at the Council was the reason she’d been granted a work visa. Suddenly the reality hit her. She covered her face with her hands. “I’ll be deported.”
Chapter 54
Richie slowed as he turned onto a dirt road and parked behind a weather-worn guard booth. He looked at the figure inside. “I don’t recognize him from here.” He got out of the car and a young dark-skinned man poked his head out of the booth. Nope. Not a clue. He was probably still in diapers when I lived here.
“I don’t have any visitors scheduled tonight,” he said. “I’ll double-check though.” He flipped on a light inside the booth.
“Don’t bother.” Richie walked up to the window. “I’m not listed on your clipboard.”
The young man took a cell phone out of his jacket pocket. “Your ride’s 5-0, and those white passengers aren’t looking to convert to an Islamic way of life, are they?”
Richie showed him his shield. He didn’t want to use his credentials, but this boy-guard gave him no choice. “I lived here before I joined the NYPD.”
The guard smiled and put the phone away. “You’re that detective. I heard all about you.”
“I’m Richie Carson.” He looked past the booth toward the deserted hillside. “Everything going okay, here? The FBI agent who covered this Jamaat is in the car. If there’s anything he should know about, now would be the time to talk to him.”
“Nah. Everything is cool. All that terrorist stuff is just a tall tale now.”
“Is Jamal home?”
The young man made a quick phone call. “He’s on his way. You can leave your sedan right where it is. It’ll never make it up the road anyway.”
A few moments later, the glare of headlights came around a bend in the hillside. A light-colored Chevy Blazer jerked to a stop at the booth. Jamal jumped from the driver’s door and hugged Richie. “I’ll drive you up. Tani can’t wait to see you. She’s heating up your favorite snack.” He waved at the sedan and shouted, “Come on!”
Mel and Art climbed into the back of the Blazer and Richie settled himself in the front passenger seat. Art had parked his suburban at 26 Federal Plaza, and they’d driven upstate together. Richie introduced Mel. Jamal said hello and then shook Art’s hand.
“It’s nice to see you again, Agent Henderson,” Jamal said.
“Same here.” Art scribbled on the back of his business card and handed it to Jamal. “I’ve been rea
ssigned, but if you ever want to share anything, I’m all ears.”
Jamal turned the card over. “Your private cell?”
“Yes.”
“So, I’d be talking to you, not the FBI?”
“That’s right.”
“Okay.” Jamal slid the card in his pocket, turned the Blazer around, and drove up the hill. He parked next to a rusty trailer.
A few minutes later they were sitting in the snug living room and Jamal’s wife passed around a tray of lemon-sized potato croquettes.
“Thank you, Tanesha.” Richie brought a croquette to his nose and sniffed. “Oh, how I’ve missed your batata vada.”
She smiled and handed out napkins. A baby cried and she excused herself.
“When did that happen, Jamal?” Richie asked in surprise.
Jamal shook his head, and said, “We’re watching Trisha’s baby for a few days. She’s down south caring for Malcolm’s sick mother. He works nights.” He beamed and smiled wide. “But Tani’s five months along.”
Richie clapped him on the back. Jamal a father—awesome. He leaned back on the couch and imagined Eva with a belly. Where had that thought come from? But she would look adorable.
“What brings you here, Rich?”
“I have bad news. I wanted to tell you in person.”
Jamal folded his hands and looked at Richie.
He met Jamal’s gaze. “It’s Rashid.”
“How much worse can his life get? He has over twenty years left to serve.”
Richie took a deep breath and lowered his voice. “He died in prison last night.”
Jamal seemed to sink into the sofa cushions.
“I’m sorry.” Richie rubbed his forehead. “I think his death was my fault.”
“Your fault! How?”
“Rashid had evidence against a shadowy intelligence operation.”
“A what?”
“It’s complicated. I think”—he waved his hand to cover the whole room, including Mel and Art—“we’re pretty certain that an ultrasecret black ops unit murdered Rashid to keep him from talking to me.”
Jamal opened his mouth to speak. He shook his head and remained openmouthed and silent. Richie understood that it was a lot to grasp all at once.
“I’ll have to make his final arrangements.” Jamal slapped his knees and began to stand. “Thank you for coming all this way to tell me.”
“That’s not the only reason why we drove up here.” Richie put his hand on Jamal’s shoulder and lowered him back down to the sofa. “I need your help.”
Jamal raised an eyebrow. “Okay.”
“You can’t tell anyone. Not even Tanesha.” Richie licked his lips and swallowed. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
Mel reached into her shoulder bag. “Show him Rashid’s book.” She handed Richie Thinking and Destiny and the notepad he’d figured out the code on.
Richie stepped across the room and spread open the book on the kitchenette table. He sat and pulled out a chair for Jamal. “Rashid left me a coded message in this book.”
Jamal sat and flipped the pages. He shrugged. “Do you want me to read the book?”
“Your name is at the end of the message.” Richie pointed at the notepad. “See?”
Jamal looked, and his eyes grew wide. He read it again, closed his eyes, and sighed. He looked at Richie. “I remember when he said that to me. The Saturday before he was arrested he drove up here. He warned me never to take the al-Fuqra oath.” He took the book and held it firmly in his lap. “He told me to live here, in peace, and raise a family.”
“Why did he send me to you? What does his message mean?”
“His way of telling me that I should trust you with his stuff.” Jamal stood and placed his palms together and shook them. “I’ll be right back.”
Jamal went into the bedroom and returned with a yellowed cardboard shoebox knotted with twine. “Rashid asked me to keep this safe.”
He placed the box on the table in front of Richie.
Chapter 55
Richie looked at the shoebox and then at Jamal. “Did Rashid show you what’s inside?”
Jamal shook his head. “He asked me not to open it. He said the less I knew, the safer I’d be.”
Richie ran his fingertips across the top of the box and wrinkled his nose. He didn’t want to drag Jamal into unnecessary danger either. “Would you excuse us for a few minutes?”
Jamal nodded and went into the bedroom. Music sounded through the thin wall. Jamal must have turned on the radio so he and Tanesha couldn’t accidently overhear. Richie swallowed, glad that Jamal understood. He had no idea what was inside the box. It sure as heck wasn’t shoes.
He felt Mel’s fingers on his wrist and looked up. She and Art had joined him at the table. He was so focused on the box he hadn’t heard them approach.
“Go ahead, Rich,” she said. “Open it.” She squeezed his wrist.
Her cell phone beeped and she jumped. “It’s Mark.” She flipped open the phone. “Hey, hon.” Her eyes lit up and she pressed a button on the cell. “He’s got big news.” She set the phone on the table next to the box. “You’re on speaker, Mark.”
“Rich. Art. Are you alone with my girl?”
“Yep, it’s just us, Mark.” Richie untied the twine on the shoebox and it fell onto the tabletop. All he had to do now was lift the cover. He placed his hands on the table and gently flexed his palms. They were beginning to sting. He’d have to remember to change the dressing before they headed back home.
“Good. I’ve just left Eva’s apartment.”
“What?” Richie looked at Mel. She shook her head and shrugged.
Art chuckled and took a seat next to him. He looked at him sideways, saying with his expression, “It’s Mark, stupid.” And he was right. If he could trust Mark with his life, he sure as heck could trust him with Eva.
“Eva’s apartment has become our unofficial headquarters.”
“Where’s Hope?” Mel asked.
“Eva and the guys and I had so much more to discuss, so your dad took her home with him for the night. He’s joined, too.”
“Whoa. What guys? At Eva’s—” Richie felt heat rise in his neck and cheeks. He couldn’t help the jealous instinct. “In her apartment?”
“My dad is joining? What are you talking about?” Mel asked.
“That’s the big news.”
“Mark, what news?” Art waved his arms at the phone.
“It’s secret and it’s already taking form. The chiefs joined too, and they’re spearheading it. Between all of us, we have such a diverse pool of talent and intelligence sources. We’re going to be so damn effective! All we need now is a name and a secretary. You know, someone we can trust to do the admin crap. That way, we’ll be freed up to do the footwork—”
“Yes!” Richie slapped the tabletop so hard the phone jumped and fell onto the floor. Mark could only be this excited over a way to continue combating Dewer Rock, and if what he thought was right, it was an awesome plan.
“Are you guys okay? What happened?”
“I knocked you onto the floor. Mark, I can’t believe you set this all up!” Richie snatched the phone and placed it next to the box. “Sounds fantastic!”
“Not me. Credit Eva and Vando—they’re the masterminds behind all this.”
Richie was silent. His Eva, what a girl! He scratched his head. Ideas were flowing all over his brain as if a damn had burst. “The Counter Shadow Intelligence Network Agency.”
“I like it.” Mark’s voice bellowed from the tabletop. “It’s perfect.”
“Perfect for what?” Art’s eyes widened, and he clasped his hands together and rocked them up and down. “What are you talking about?”
Mel tapped Art’s hands and gently unclenched them. “The name for our private intelligence agency, I think.” She smiled at the phone on the table, as if it were Mark in the flesh. “I hope.”
“Yes. Yes. Yes.” Mark sounded drunk with excitement. �
�A brand-new way to expose and foil false-flag attacks.”
Richie’s head was spinning. He was already troubleshooting anything and everything to ensure their intelligence agency would run smoothly, beginning with the name. “How about the Counter SIN Agency, for short?”
“Sure,” Mark said. “I like the sound of it.”
“Nancy Newman needs a job that doesn’t require an elevator,” Richie said. “And she already proved that she knows how to be discreet.”
Mark’s voice came over the phone speaker. “Get your butts back home. We have plans to make.”
Mel grabbed the phone, spoke privately for a moment, and hung up smiling. Richie stood and hugged her and fist-bumped Art.
“We go on fighting.” Richie choked on the words. He sat back down and lowered his chin, overwhelmed with emotion. He took a few deep breaths and raised his head.
Mel settled into the chair opposite him and tapped her fingernails on the table. “Let’s get this over with,” she said.
Richie removed the box top and peeked inside. He reached in and removed a pile of photos wrapped with a rubber band. As soon as he placed the pile on the table, the rubber snapped. The top photo was a long shot of the Moving Systems warehouse. The next snapshot showed the street alongside the brick wall—enough of the sign was visible to identify the building. There were vans and a limousine parked on the street.
Richie slid the photos across the table to Art. “This is definitely Moving System’s warehouse.”
Art looked at the snapshots and flipped them over. He pumped his fist. “Excellent! Each photo is date stamped. I’ll take shots of the same angles when we get back to the city to establish authenticity. Just in case the place closes, or changes are made to the outside.” He passed the photos to Mel.
Richie nodded but hadn’t heard what Art said. He had spread out the last three snapshots on the table. They showed two vans and a limousine, a Rolls Royce, parked in the street alongside the warehouse. He placed his hands on his lap, under the table, so the trembling wouldn’t show.
The Council House (The Impoverished Book 3) Page 24