“Well…” Zeus pressed gauze onto his forehead, glanced at Rix, saw that his hands still held the bottle of antiseptic, and prepared himself for another burning squirt. “We certainly don’t have any friendlies in or near the Protectors.”
“Agreed, and this is coming from the tip-top.”
Zeus shook his head, and not due to the fresh sting of alcohol that Rix was applying. “You’re fucking kidding me. Blaze?”
“Yes.”
Shutting the toilet lid, Zeus sat, and leaned his head back so Rix could assess the wound.
“A stitch or two will help a butterfly bandage,” Rix muttered, squinting at the cut.
“Fine.”
“Fine what?” Ragno asked.
“I’m talking to Rix. Go ahead. Stitch it.”
Rix shook his head, a worry line bisecting his brows. “Sir, this could result in a scar. I can do stitches okay in places where people don’t care about scars, but this is your forehead. I’m not a doctor. He’s downstairs, with Abe. I’ll see if I can get him up here before he heads to the hospital to assess Pitts’ injuries.”
“No.” Pitts, the driver who’d been injured, needed a Black Raven doctor more than Zeus. “Don’t delay him. A scar won’t kill me. Close it however you need to and bandage it,” Zeus said, his mind more focused on Ragno’s intel than his forehead. The man known as Blaze was the alleged mastermind behind the motorcycle gang’s network of alien smuggling, heroin dealing, and arms smuggling. He was also legendary for keeping members of the Protectors of Peace out of the orbit of law enforcement and out of prison. “Ragno, Blaze is probably just snitching on TRCR because they’ve encroached on his territory. Which gets me back to the point—we can’t trust a damn thing he says.”
“Agreed, but I think he’s worth talking to for Jigsaw, because from what Jigsaw is now pulling up on TRCR, they’re claiming affinity to Maximov. Plus, Jigsaw is fingering TRCR as a potential source of credible terrorist threats.”
“Them and about a thousand other homegrown criminal gangs,” Zeus said. “Not to mention the lone wolves Jigsaw is fingering.”
“Still, Blaze snitching to Department of Homeland Security is just too interesting to pass up,” Ragno said.
“I’m agreeing with Ragno,” Sebastian said.
“I’m always hopeful that a few more puzzle pieces on the table might lead Jigsaw to something,” Ragno added. “Problem is— Wait a second while I try to figure something out.”
He heard her fingers clicking on her keyboard. Rix made the first jab with the needle into his forehead. Zeus clenched his jaw as he felt the thread pull through his skin.
“Ah. Got it.” Ragno said. “By my estimate, in the last five years, we’ve caused a body count of eight members of the Protectors of Peace on Black Raven border jobs in South Texas and Mexican territories that are near the border.”
“Too bad it isn’t higher,” Zeus muttered.
“Sounds high to me, considering you want Blaze to talk to you,” Ragno said.
“Yeah, but I’m not sure eight is high enough to have Blaze’s respect,” Zeus said over Sebastian’s chuckle. “The Protectors killed two of ours, correct? From the Allied job?” The metals transport job had turned ugly once they’d crossed the client into Mexico. Hindsight told them that Black Raven never should have agreed to the job, but due diligence at the time hadn’t raised red flags.
“Yes. We’ve always attributed the kills to them, but there were multiple gangs on site. Mexican, American, and Colombian.”
“Arrange for me to talk to him.” Zeus glanced up at Rix, who had the needle poised for another jab into his forehead.
“Information from Blaze will cost us.” Ragno kept typing as she spoke.
“Jigsaw’s budget will cover it,” Sebastian said.
“Correct.” Ragno’s fingers picked up speed as she multitasked. “My worry is, Blaze won’t be asking for money. Not sure we want to be beholden to the Protectors of Peace.”
“Let’s decide when he asks,” Zeus said. “Depends on what kind of information Blaze offers. If anything.”
Chapter Thirteen
Behind the closed door of his bedroom, after Rix was through, Zeus worked on agent repositioning. Agents who weren’t essential to Amicus team protection, for the moment, were tasked to the bombing aftermath on the Ile de la Cite. Their job was to provide assistance, keep their ears open, and report in. Once Black Raven medics took care of the minor injuries on the team and the Black Raven agents who’d been on-scene at the bomb blast, they’d provide assistance wherever needed. After agent logistics, he talked with Barrows about the best way to share information from the bounty hunt with the Amicus team.
Head wound treated, showered, and dressed in clean clothes, he stepped out of his bedroom into the sitting room that separated his room from Sam’s. Her door remained shut. Jenkins or Miles, both positioned at the door of their suite, would notify him if Sam left her room.
The first floor of the safe house had a formal sitting room in the front, where most of the agents worked when Sam, Abe, and Charles were in the house. There was also a kitchen and a dining room, a laundry room, and, in the rear of the house, a large library that spanned the width of the building. The second floor had bedrooms for Abe and Charles and their lead agents. All the remaining agents, when not on duty, were housed in a hotel down the street. Most of the time, the house was full of agents on the inside and watched by agents on the outside. After today, more agents from the States were on their way.
The library had large windows that would have overlooked a garden and the evening dusk, but the drapes were tightly drawn. There were two tables in the room and two seating areas. A fire crackled cheerfully in the large stone fireplace. A sideboard had bottles of water, a tray of fruit, and other snacks.
In front of the drapes, four large-screen television monitors stood on pedestals. Two monitors, tuned to news, showed repetitive loops covering the ITT bombing and aftermath. The image of him carrying Sam, with her head back and her eyes closed, her blonde hair draped over the arm of his dark overcoat, was part of that loop.
The other two screens focused on financial news channels. Repercussions of the bombing—a direct, lethal attack on the tribunal that was supposed to be stopping such attacks—were rippling through the economic sector. Worldwide financial markets were in turmoil. The blast had occurred at 1100 in New York. The Dow tumbled so badly, stop mechanisms were implemented, and the markets were closed for the remainder of the day. President Cameron was scheduled to address the nation in a few minutes.
It was now 1900 in Paris. Miami was six hours behind, so it was 1300 there, which meant it was almost time for the video call with Ana that Ragno was putting together for him. It was parent-teacher conference day at school; Ana only had a half-day of classes. Ragno had checked in with Vick, the Black Raven agent assigned as Ana’s nanny, and informed Zeus they were almost home. He loved talking to his daughter each day when she got home from school and any other chance he got.
As he waited, he worked at one table, with Agents Axel and Lambert on either side of him. The second long table was dedicated to the Amicus team.
Abe’s wound, a superficial shrapnel cut, had been stitched and bandaged. Charles hadn’t been injured. Abe and Charles were working on their laptops as they waited for Sam.
Zeus sipped black coffee and scrolled through his iPad, looking at information that had been provided by Black Raven Agent Michael Gabriel Hernandez. Zeus’s younger brother. The lead field agent in charge of the bounty hunt.
“Ragno?”
“Yes.”
“Gabe’s intel looks problematic. Not his conclusions, but where the conclusions are taking him.”
“Agreed. This is concerning, and you know I don’t often use that word when describing assignments for field agents.” She drew a deep breath. “It’s been less than 48 hours since he was put on task,” she said. “Perhaps Angel will come up with a safer option.”
�
�Let’s hope,” Zeus said, yet he didn’t have much. He’d never been able to break Ragno of the habit of calling his younger brother Gabe by the nickname she’d given him immediately upon his entry into the company. She’d developed a soft spot for his oversized little brother at first sight—just like everyone else who ever met him. Gabe reciprocated by taking everybody under his protective, meddling wings, with warm smiles and a disarming, innate joy that masked cunning instincts and a fight-to-the-death protectiveness.
“ITT Task Force is executing a search in Turkey tonight,” Ragno said. “We should know something by morning. After Turkey, there’s a lead in Syria. Top secret, by the way. Angel’s idea could all become moot if either of those lead to Maximov.”
“If Gabe thought the task force was going to be successful tonight, he’d have figured out a way to be there.”
“Agreed. He’s skipping Turkey, but working on getting in on the Syrian mission slated for tomorrow night.”
“Assume Gabe will have to move forward with going into Praptan. Gear up the intel for a search. I want as much detail guiding his team as possible.” When hired for the bounty hunt, after Sam shut the door on him, Zeus had strategized with Sebastian and Ragno on how to proceed. Gabe had been the ideal candidate to lead the team, not only due to his tactical skills but because he was the type of field agent who naturally cultivated contacts. Some of the people with whom Gabe had become friends over the years were also on the joint task force of the ITT countries who were on the hunt for Maximov.
Gabe had been on a job in Afghanistan when output from Jigsaw started pointing to Chalinda. Samuel Dixon’s decision to hire Black Raven for the bounty hunt gave them a great cover for operations, because if their motives were questioned, they could finger Dixon’s project as the impetus and not Jigsaw.
Zeus pulled Gabe off the Afghanistan job, conferred with him about team members and logistics, and gave him the green light to mobilize quickly. Currently, Gabe and his team were operating out of a private airport in Germany, with analytical support on site and more provided by Ragno’s team in Denver.
Zeus followed the threads that led Gabe to believe that Maximov could be found in the ghost city of Praptan, Chalinda. If Maximov was easy to find, he would’ve been found by now. Gabe’s latest email indicated Praptan seemed like a leading contender by default. Maximov hadn’t been found in any other place and, in recent years, very few reputable teams had made searches there. So far, Zeus agreed with Gabe’s assessment of the intel. “Do we have intel from the other searches of Praptan?”
“Yes. But no one from the outside knows that city like Maximov and his people, and no one from the outside wants to stay there very long, due to radiation levels. I’m sending you recently taken drone footage of Praptan. It’s from high-level intel. Gabe has it, along with everything else I’m able to find that shows views of the area.”
Ragno’s email with the drone footage pinged on his iPad as Sam walked into the library with Jenkins at her side. Zeus gave his agent a nod. “Jenkins. Take an early dinner break.”
“By the way,” Ragno said in his earpiece. “Samantha just had one hell of a phone conversation with Judge O’Connor. He thought her questions to Duvall were going too far in exposing weaknesses in the case against Maximov.”
Sam’s examination of Duvall had been fascinating, and everyone in the courtroom had been focused on it. He’d bet she didn’t like being reined in by the judge. In a low voice, he asked, “Her reaction?”
“I’m paraphrasing. Something about integrity, evidence, and intellectual honesty. She very nicely, in a beautifully articulate and cool way, told the judge to fuck off and let her do her job. I love her.”
Great. That makes two of us.
Sam now wore tight black exercise leggings, a white sweatshirt with night-glow strips, and running shoes. Her still-damp hair, pulled into a tight ponytail, exposed her slender neck and firm jawline. Her laptop was in a shoulder bag, slung over one shoulder. She carried a pair of lightweight gloves, an exercise belt with lights for nighttime running, and a wool cap. The frightened, sick-to-her-stomach woman was gone. In her place was the cool, controlled leader of the Amicus team.
“She still hasn’t called her grandfather, by the way. Her silent treatment of him continues. Oh. One more thing,” Ragno said, tone low and fringed with an underlying concern, the tone she used when acknowledging that the job was both business and personal to Zeus. “When the team transitions to London this weekend, Senator Justin McDougall, aka her boyfriend, almost fiancé, is meeting her there for dinner. I’m monitoring the private line she uses with him, and it seems like they know it. Their conversations are almost shorthand. Samantha has requested that we coordinate logistics with the senator’s staff and security.”
“Fine,” Zeus said, though his gut twisted with the thought of having to bodyguard her while she was having dinner with her boyfriend. He put the thought out of his mind. Work was work was work. He was, first and foremost, a professional. “McDougall uses EDGE International for security. I had a conversation with them earlier about upping McDougall’s security, in light of the murder of Judge Devlin’s wife. I’ll coordinate with them for Sunday.”
“Just thought you’d want to know what is in st—”
“Understood.” Stop worrying about me.
Sam placed her laptop on the table where Abe and Charles sat, and tossed the running gear beside it.
“Sam,” Zeus asked, “your plan for the evening?”
“Work for an hour or so while news comes in regarding what happened today. At this point I’m not sure whether proceedings will be taking place tomorrow. Do you or Ragno know?”
“No word yet.”
“I just talked to Judge O’Connor.” She gave a slight frown. “Aside from a few shrapnel cuts, he’s fine. The other U.S. judges are as well. One of the marshals on Judge O’Connor’s security team was outside the car.” Her eyes flashed with pain. “He died upon arrival at the hospital. That is all I know. I have no word about personnel from the other countries. Do you?”
“Judge Calante suffered extensive injuries,” Zeus said. “That’s been reported on the news, and my agents on site have confirmed it. There are three fatalities from Calante’s security personnel.”
More pain flashed in her eyes. “The people in the crowd?”
He shook his head. “Don’t have statistics yet. Numerous injuries. My agents are telling me five deaths. Numbers are likely to change.”
Zeus eyed Sam’s exercise gear as she sat at the table with Abe and Charles. A vigorous five-plus-mile run through the streets of Paris, in the cold night, with Sam at his side, would be heaven. Another piece of Sam-related trivia that he’d tried to forget was that she was a fast, long-legged runner with a competitive streak. She’d always tried to outrun him. Once he’d let her, before he realized that she could pick up her pace to a six-minute sprint and finish stronger than she started. When he realized she really was capable of kicking his ass in a five-mile run, he stopped pulling back. She was a gracious loser of a race, but also a beautiful winner. Back then, he hadn’t known which version of her he liked better. He just liked being with her so much it had—hurt.
Fuck. Let it go. Now’s a different time. Stop thinking about what happened. Start thinking about what you’re going to make happen, while she’s planning dinner dates with her almost fiancé, or whatever the fuck he is to her.
Zeus wasn’t looking forward to telling her she couldn’t have her outdoor run. He knew she needed the stress relief, but it was too risky. He considered positioning for a moment, then sent a message to Miles, the agent in charge of logistics. Two treadmills. Put them on third floor, in the living room of Sam’s suite. Stat.
Sam sat at the table with Abe and Charles. Her voice was low, but with an authoritative tone. He listened with half an ear as he opened the file that Ragno had sent of the drone footage from Praptan. Sam was telling Abe and Charles they should go home, giving them advice that she woul
dn’t take herself.
On all the television screens around the room, President Cameron took the podium, and Zeus upped the volume. The speech was short, and to the point. “We will catch the perpetrators. We will determine who is at fault. We will stop these acts of terror.” The camera switched from the president to the pandemonium outside of the ITT proceedings, and included within the footage was the image of Zeus carrying Sam away from the scene. She was passed out and oblivious to the mayhem.
In the video footage, he glanced down at her, and looked up again. He hated that there was so much raw emotion on his face. Eyes deadly serious, he looked like a man who had been to hell, and promised the devil there’d be a rematch. His expression was one of steely determination, but there was also a softness to it, heartfelt concern for what he held in his arms, as every few steps he glanced down at her.
Observing her now, he saw that her eyes were riveted on the same screen.
Well, nothing to be done about what that video shows. Does she see what I see? How I’m looking at her like I’d rather die than see her hurt?
Without glancing at him, she took her attention off the television screen and opened her laptop.
Answer enough.
Zeus shifted in his chair and stretched his legs. “Ragno, start the Praptan video.”
“I’m watching with you,” Ragno said. “You’re looking at the once-bustling, once-modern downtown area of Praptan. The city itself was only two miles from the Chalinda Nuclear Power Plant. You can’t tell from this footage, but on April 17, 1986, the city was a beautiful, thriving metropolis. It was a jewel of a city and the capital of Chalinda, a leading powerhouse in the Soviet Union. Praptan was known for its museums, parks, and education system, until the incident. The nuclear meltdown is still the largest in nuclear history.”
Zeus studied the footage on his iPad. He’d seen photos of the ghost city of Praptan before, but this footage, taken on a bright, clear day, was stark and eerie, thanks to the close-up capabilities of drone technology.
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