“I should report it.”
He shrugged. “Go ahead.” If others found a trace, Black Raven would get out, leaving no cyber footprint. They’d get right back in when the heat was off. It was Chinese checkers, twenty-first century style.
“Black Raven dodged a bullet last year with the senate subcommittee hearings after the Barrows incident.”
Yeah. You have no idea. And we came out more golden than ever. A fact you will not learn.
The Barrows case and explosive fallout had cast the national news spotlight on Black Raven, and the resulting senate subcommittee hearings had kept the lights on them. “There were no adverse findings.”
“Yes, but it could have gone the other way.”
“Didn’t, and wasn’t likely to.”
“Still, Black Raven is on the radar of many powerful people.”
“Yes, and they hire us. Constantly. On jobs like this—”
“You can’t deny you have detractors.” She underscored her comment with a slight smile.
What she was saying was true. For now, though, in the power offices in Washington, Black Raven’s supporters were outweighing and outnumbering the detractors. “In fact, we received accolades and commendations for how we handled the Barrows job. It’s been a boon to business, which we now have to turn down on a regular basis.”
Her eyes flashed with anger. Her cheeks became more flushed. “I never would’ve agreed to this, but for my grandfather’s insistence.”
With that statement, she folded her arms as she dropped one argument and took on another. If she had broken down over Moss’s violent death once she’d been alone, there was no sign of it. Her eyes weren’t red. She looked more irritated than grief-stricken.
“If by this, you mean Black Raven protection, it may be short-lived. Your grandfather wants you to resign.” Her cheeks and eyes burned with an instant flare of disagreement as he added, “I agree with that course of action. It is the only foolproof way to keep you safe.”
She squared her shoulders, unfolded her arms, glanced again at the flip phone that fit squarely in her palm, and shook her head. As her flush faded, she leveled a cool glance on him and pressed zero with her right index finger. She gave the Black Raven operator her grandfather’s name and number. After a moment’s pause, her eyes burning with steady resolve, she said, in a firm voice, “Samuel?”
She held the phone to her left ear, listened for a few minutes as she shot Zeus an arched-eyebrow glance. “Does this thing have a speaker?”
“Ask for it.”
Another flash of irritation waved through her eyes. “Someone’s listening now?”
“Yes.”
“Please enable the speaker function.” She paused, eyes on Zeus, feet firmly planted inside her bedroom, as though planning to end the conversation and shut the door in a matter of seconds. “Samuel?”
She held the phone in front of her, midway between the two of them. Samuel’s voice boomed through both rooms. “Are you listening to me? I said—”
“Yes, I’m listening. You’re on speaker and you don’t need to yell. Zeus is here. You two are echoing each other. I’m only going to say this once.” Her tone was calm and authoritative, but her green eyes flashed with determination as she drew a deep breath. “Resigning isn’t an option. And just so that you’re perfectly clear on this, Samuel, I made one request of you. Only one, in recent memory. You didn’t listen to me. After this phone conversation, which will be short, I’m no longer speaking to you. From here on out, if you wish to speak to me, go through Black Raven.”
“Fine. Zeus.” Dixon snapped both words out in a strong, powerful voice. He managed to sound exactly like what he was—both a frantic father-figure and a decisive, powerful businessman, who was used to having his every demand met. “Talk some sense into my granddaughter, would you please? She was one goddamn French fry away from being killed.” Zeus had given Dixon the details of the cyanide poisoning, and the man’s summation was accurate. “It is high time for her to give up this endeavor and return home.”
Zeus met her steely-eyed gaze. He should’ve done a videoconference from his iPad, so that Dixon could draw some of his granddaughter’s ire face to face. “I’m trying. Don’t think we’re going to move her.”
“I’m standing right here,” Sam reminded them. She held the phone in one hand, but her steady determined focus was all on Zeus. As though he was the damn reason why anything was wrong in her life. “I have an important job to do, now more than ever, and I refuse to be intimidated or controlled. I’m not an idiot. I’m well aware of the danger, nevertheless I will not resign, and I won’t leave. I received a phone call from President Cameron tonight. He personally underscored the importance of the job. I’ll be hyperaware, I’ll listen to Black Raven’s instructions, and I’ll watch my back. But no matter what either of you says, I’m not quitting.”
Sam brushed past Zeus as she stepped through the doorway and into the living room. He tried not to smell the jasmine, rose, and natural musk that drifted from her body in a tease that had no business occurring, because it wasn’t intentional. Yet he couldn’t help breathing in, deeply, and relishing the scent as she crossed the room, her back to him. She hadn’t changed her nightly ritual of a hot shower, shampooing her hair, and applying body lotion in the same fragrance that she wore throughout the day. On other women, he knew the scent was Chanel No.5. On her, with her body warm from her shower and the heat of the hair dryer, the classic fragrance became something that couldn’t be bought at a department store. It morphed into an aphrodisiac that, combined with the sudden flood of memories of what it felt like to make love to her, brought blood-rushing arousal.
When she reached the dining table, she turned to him, eyes blazing with determination. “Save your breath, and stop trying to persuade me to quit. That isn’t happening.”
I’ve got the message. Loud and clear. Doubt your grandfather does, though.
“Honey,” Samuel said, “the reality is the ITT proceedings are nothing but an ill-conceived, and very dangerous, dog-and-pony show. No one would blame you if you resigned after what happened tonight.”
“Bullshit. My resignation would be the first thing thrown in my face by a judicial review committee when I get nominated for a federal judgeship.”
Zeus walked to where Sam stood and, picking up on the thread that Samuel had started, added, “The ITT is a hate party with a guest list that includes the usual jihadists, Islamic terrorist groups, Al Quaeda splinter groups, Maximovists. Ragno?”
“Yes?” She’d been monitoring the conversation, but had stayed silent.
“Get in on this.”
“Hello, Samuel,” she said, her voice now coming though the speakerphone, which Sam held in her left hand, elbow at her waist. “Samantha, I’m in charge of Zeus’s Denver-based analytical and data support for the duration of the job. If you need me, just ask for Ragno. Night or day.”
“You’re agreeing with Samuel and Zeus?” Sam asked.
“Yes,” Ragno answered.
“Answer is the same for all three of you,” Sam said, holding the phone so that she spoke directly into it. “I. Am. Not. Resigning.”
Impressive. She’s being triple-teamed and she isn’t flinching. That’s what I love—her rock-solid will. Unwavering determination. Courage to stand by her convictions. Gridlock focus on things most people wouldn’t give a rat’s ass about.
Whoa. Wait. Love?
Loved. Past tense. Remember? You blew it. Bad. In just about the worse way possible.
“Ragno,” Zeus said, trying to keep his mind on task, “who else is at the hate party?”
“The list is extensive. Right now I’m looking at a U.S. homegrown group called TRCR that so far has been flying under the radar. Intel indicates they’re experimenting with drones.” Sarcasm filtered into her voice. “Drones seem to be the next best thing to the pressure cooker bomb as foolproof methods of creating terror in urban situations.”
“TRCR. An acrony
m for what?” Dixon asked.
“Texas Rebels for Civil Rights. Intel has them in a compound in rural Texas, but we’re not certain if that’s their headquarters. North of El Paso. Could be a terrorist training school. Satellite images aren’t revealing much, though. Intel suggests approximately one thousand loyalists and they’re importing AK variants from China, selling them in the U.S. and elsewhere. Typically, they’re quiet. Off the cyber grid. But recently they started recruiting on the dark net. They’re calling for the ITT to stop. Their logo combines the initials KKK, swastikas, a lone star, and barbwire. Seems like their view of civil rights doesn’t quite match what our forefathers had in mind when they drafted the U.S. Constitution.”
“They’re new to me,” Dixon said.
“Where is the intel coming from?” Zeus asked, though he knew at least part of how Ragno had gotten it—Jigsaw—which he knew she wouldn’t mention.
“Department of Homeland Security. Tracking their source now. Unfortunately, DHS data on this is incomplete. I’m having to figure this out the old fashioned way—on the telephone, talking to the person who interviewed the source.”
Great. More information for Jigsaw.
Walking around the table to where Sam stood, he watched her place a stem of purple grapes on a plate without breaking one off. With her eyes leveled on him, he said, “It has become impossible to keep up with the faces of the threat. New groups appear every day. When they make an appearance, like the TRCR, they do so with a solid set of followers, a bankroll, an agenda, and an impressive cadre of weapons. Someone, somewhere, is bankrolling these groups. No one has figured out who, though everyone blames Maximov. Until the real culprit is identified, any attempt to stop these small cells—like the ITT proceedings—will be a minefield.”
“Now tell me something I don’t know,” Sam said, holding the phone at chest level, shoulders square.
“You shouldn’t be walking through it,” Zeus answered. “That’s what you obviously don’t know. Your presence here isn’t necessary.”
“Like I said, not an option,” Sam retorted, shifting her attention to the plate. She pulled a few grapes off the stem with her left hand.
Zeus watched her toy with the grapes. Was her hand trembling? Maybe. She didn’t eat them. Instead, she removed a few from the stem and pushed them to the side of the plate, making a neat pile.
“Ragno, any link between the TRCR and Maximov?” Zeus used the shorthand name for Maximov-in-Exile, the group that for years had been the culprit behind terrorist acts around the world in retribution for the destruction of Praptan, Chalinda caused by the 1986 meltdown at the Chalinda Nuclear Power Plant. Given the established nature of the organization, and the considerable wealth attributed to it, Maximov-in-Exile was the strongest contender for bankrolling the startup terrorist groups and pop-up cells that were currently wreaking havoc around the world.
“Some of their recruiting on the dark net suggests an affiliation with Maximov,” Ragno said. “But there is no affirmative link between the two groups.”
Sam pulled three more grapes off the stem. He was right. There was a slight tremble in her left hand. The stress of the night had gotten to her, even though she was doing a damn good job of not revealing it.
“Wait. Isn’t it an established fact that Maximov is funding most of these startup groups?” Dixon asked.
Zeus answered, “That might be reality, but as far as we know, it hasn’t been established. There aren’t money trails to follow. At least none that anyone has been able to detect.”
“That is one issue we’re analyzing in this ITT proceeding.” Sam used a fork to lift thin slices of ham and two slices of bread onto the plate with the grapes. With the utensil in her hand, the trembling was more evident.
“Oh, come on,” Dixon asserted. “The U.S. government has seized millions upon millions of dollars belonging to Maximov and his group, and forensic analysts have long opined it’s just the tip of the iceberg for the organization.”
“Well, it’s suspected that Maximov is the culprit, but so far no one has proven he’s the power behind the blossoming groups. And frankly, no one has even proven that the money that was seized belongs to Maximov. As you know, no one has been able to find Maximov, despite the bounty that’s been on his head for years now,” Zeus said. “The last time anyone saw Maximov in person was during the 2006 raid at Belmarsh. When he escaped.”
“Goddamn Brits,” Dixon said. “They should have relinquished custody of the bastard to us. His ass would be rotting in solitary confinement in a supermax, and the world would be a better place.”
Zeus watched as Sam slipped the phone to the table.
“Aside from the difficulty of having to rely on evidence, and getting four countries to agree to anything, the ITT proceedings have a really big problem. Operating in the face of terrorist acts. Acts.” Dixon’s voice was clearly audible through the speaker function. “Not threats.”
“Your grandfather’s assessment is one hundred percent accurate,” Zeus said. She ignored him as she spread a neat, thin layer of mayonnaise on each slice of bread, and assembled her sandwich. He continued, “The bombing and poisoning tonight revealed vulnerability in the proceedings. There is blood in the water. Terrorist acts will be ramping up.”
“#IAMMAXIMOV and #MAXIMOVINEXILE are trending worldwide right now,” Ragno added. “Believe it or not. Maximov and his organizations are cult heroes.”
Sandwich apparently forgotten, Sam looked up, meeting his glance with eyes that flashed with anger. “Seriously? As though Maximov is a war hero. Do these people even understand what Maximov has done?” She stood straighter. The light in her eyes intensified.
Dammit.
Like dark storm clouds on the horizon, her resolve was building. But when she looked at her plate of food, her hands still trembled. She shook her head, as though willing the fear out of her. Reaching for a glass of water, she lifted it, and became pale as she raised it toward her lips. The glass thudded when she placed it on the table next to her phone, without drinking any of it.
Son of a bitch.
She had all the motivation in the world to continue the job that she’d started, but she was too damn afraid to eat or drink. It was a fact that would have given her grandfather a fucking heart attack and a fact that he knew was royally pissing her off. Though she was just as vulnerable as anyone, Sam didn’t like to appear weak in any way. He had figured that out about her before, and assumed that was why she hadn’t acted hurt when he told her goodbye.
She drew a deep breath as she picked a few pieces of ham off the sandwich. Watching closely, he bet none of the morsels would make it to her mouth. She had every reason to be afraid. The scene with Moss had been brutal, but if she stayed, there could be more scenes like that one. More close calls. She’d never make it through the next month if her recovery time wasn’t shorter.
“Ragno. Zeus,” Sam said. “This new American group—TRCR—you mentioned they talk of drone attacks. Is your intel establishing a link between them and the cruise ship bombing in Miami? Or any of the other bombings the ITT is looking at?”
Damn.
The sandwich was now pulled apart, and not one morsel of anything had made it to her mouth. Food and water on a dining table inspired handshaking terror, but her question proved that she had the tenacity to use Black Raven for intel. Zeus bit back a smile of admiration.
“Sam, you’re the one with the overview of the ITT evidence,” Zeus said. “Why don’t you give us the answer to that question?”
She didn’t respond. Ragno and Dixon waited in silence.
“As a matter of fact,” Zeus pressed on, “at this point, of the four of us, only you know how the proceedings are faring internally. Will the result of the ITT proceedings be worth the effort and risk that you’re pouring into it?”
He studied her gaze. Steady. Solid. Nothing.
Not giving one damn thing away.
“Your silence is answer enough, sweetheart,” Dixon sai
d, his tone serious and firm, yet placating. “The ITT proceeding was a great idea for the politicians, but it will ultimately be a waste of time. For every person who might be convicted in these proceedings, hundreds more will rise up and take their places. I can’t have you risking your life for this.”
Sam gave a hard headshake. “My life, my decision. At a minimum, the proceedings will set new precedent for handling those convicted of terrorist acts.”
“Ideally, yes. But that assumes success,” Dixon said. “And also assumes that the proceedings result in some kind of a verdict, which assumes that the proceedings aren’t bombed, that everyone associated with the proceedings—including you—isn’t killed. Too many assumptions. A hell of a lot can go wrong in thirty days. Right, Zeus?”
“That’s right. An ungodly amount can go wrong. Surely you don’t want me to list the possibilities? ITT proceedings are a galactic-style clusterfuck, in an era where terrorists have morphed into super-villains. There’s just no way to anticipate where the threat will come from next, except to know it can come from all sides, at all times.” He leveled his gaze on Sam. “Even in the French fries.”
She folded her arms with the phone poised on her shoulder. “I repeat. Resigning is not an option.”
Dixon harrumphed, his anger and frustration evident. “Dammit, Samantha. Why don’t you ever listen to reason?”
“Your reasons aren’t my reason. I’m serious about this, Samuel. Back. Off. I’ve told you before, I don’t want you interfering in my life. You obviously haven’t gotten that message.” She glared at Zeus as though he was a standin for her meddling grandfather. “And I don’t want you interfering in my professional life. I don’t want your help, your guidance, or your opinion. I mean it. I said earlier I’m not talking to you any longer, and if Zeus weren’t standing in front of me, I’d sure as hell expand on all the reasons why. I mean it. You have no idea how outraged I am. If you try to control my professional decisions…” She drew a deep breath. “I promise I will cut you out of my life. I’ve told you a million times, I don’t want or need your money, nor do I want your love if you can’t rein in your desire to control me.”
Jigsaw (Black Raven Book 2) Page 7