Jigsaw (Black Raven Book 2)

by Stella Barcelona

  A pause.

  The disappearance of Barrows—aka Agent Cox—was beautiful news. Meant Cox had either escaped on his own or been extracted. And extraction meant that Ana was with Theresa, because the Black Raven priority order for the operation meant they weren’t rescuing Cox until Ana was secure.

  “I don’t know where they fucking are. They’re probably dead, numbnuts. Why you only had four men guarding a man who is worth twenty million dollars to us is against my fucking orders and beyond my comprehension. Get out and fucking-well find Barrows! At least we have the advantage. These people don’t know this area like we do.”

  Surprise, asshole. By now, we know this area—wherever the fuck we are—better than you can even dream. Start counting your breaths, motherfucker, because they’re numbered.

  Moderate relief from the brain fog, but no return of muscle control. Fuck. Zeus kept trying to work his fingers.

  “And let me get one thing through to you. Stop thinking of this in terms of dollars, because it now means way, way more. Like your fucking life. Understand?” The thud of DIC’s heavy footfalls indicated he was pacing. “We’re making a shitload out of delivering Barrows. But you fucked up, and I promise you will not live to see sunrise if you don’t find him.”

  A hard object pinged off Zeus’s cheekbone. It thudded to the ground next to him. The good news: he’d felt the phone bounce off him. Feeling was returning to his body with a vengeance. The better news: his brain was starting to fire on all synapses.

  Ready, Zeus opened his eyes.

  DIC walked over to him, black ski mask still firmly in place. Evidently DIC hadn’t unleashed enough frustration on his phone as he’d thrown it, because he stepped closer and kicked a pointy metal-tipped boot into Zeus’s side. When he bent to pick up his phone, his sky-blue eyes met Zeus’s gaze.

  “Well what do you know? Jesus has risen,” DIC said, kicking Zeus again, harder.

  “Hell,” Zeus laughed. “You really are a dickhead. It was a hell of a lot of work to get Barrows to you,” he added, chuckling between words. “And you fucking lost him? What kind of chicken-shit operation are you running? Sounds like you should start praying to the real Jesus, instead of mocking him.”

  Ana—Safe.

  Leon and Cox—Safe.

  Nothing else matters, at least not as much as this mission is concerned.

  It was a damn good thing he had that rosy viewpoint, because with his hands cuffed behind his back, and his legs immobilized, he couldn’t do a goddamn thing to help himself.

  DIC stared down at him, not rising to the mocking bait that Zeus had thrown to him. “Strap him down, roll the cameras, and cut off his fucking head. Then let’s get the fuck out of here. If they found Barrows, they’ll find this shithole too. We’ll leave a warning present. Jesus’s headless body, with no hope of a resurrection.”

  Bright light flooded the room. Or cave. Or tunnel. Whatever the fuck the dirt room was—he couldn’t tell. On the wall near his right, crude red letters on a white banner declared, We are Maximov.

  Squinting in the glare of the headlights, Zeus turned to DIC. “We know Maximov is dead.” By now, he was betting that Gabe was well into Praptan and had confirmed what Stollen had told Sam. “So who the hell has you pretending to fight on behalf of Maximov?”

  DIC merely glared at him.

  A flag was pinned under the banner, with the initials KKK, swastikas, a lone star, and barbwire. The flag itself was crimson red, while the logo was black. Ragno had mentioned this combination of symbols the other night—the logo of the TRCR.

  Intel from Blaze had been spot on.

  Cameras were pointed at the banner and flag. In between the cameras and the flag, there was a low, dark wooden table, outfitted with leather straps that looked thick enough to immobilize an angry bull. The table surface was dark, but lighter marks indicated where a blade had slashed into the wood.

  Fuck.

  One man, wearing head to toe black, his face covered in a black ski mask, unsheathed a machete. About twenty-seven inches of shiny metal glinted in the bright lights from the cameras.

  High carbon steel—Zeus presumed. Lightweight and efficient—he prayed.

  Hope that fucking thing is as sharp as it looks.

  One man untied his legs. He and three others, one at each elbow, and one at each thigh, lifted Zeus off the ground. He was still too weak from the drugs they’d given him to effectively fight them, but he had feeling now, and plenty of it. He drew his knees up to his chest and tried to turn sideways in an effort to resist them. He only managed to head-butt one of them with the side of his head and piss all of them off.

  Ineffective.

  They held him so that the cameras got a good view of his face, then threw him, face down, onto the table. Before he could move, they yanked his legs down so that he was kneeling on one side of it. A leather strap crossed over his lower back and his cuffed wrists, digging into exposed skin as they buckled it close. Another was tightened over his shoulders. The final leather swatch was slapped over his head and pulled tight, giving him a view only of the tabletop. He could turn his head slightly, but there wasn’t much of a point to that.

  I’d prefer a bullet in the head, but they sure as hell aren’t taking last requests. What the fuck is taking so long?

  Zeus shut his eyes, drew a deep breath, conjured an image of his daughter’s beautiful smile, and waited. His mind flashed to Sam, of the last time he’d touched his lips to hers. He grit his teeth together, braced himself for the first hacking slice into his neck, and drew another deep, ragged breath.

  Come on! Fucking get this over with.

  The earth rumbled. The ground at his knees started vibrating. Sounds of engines grew louder and louder, reverberating off the walls of the cave. Gunfire exploded—the fast pop, pop, pop of AKs in full auto mode. Turning his head slightly, as much as the head strap would allow, he watched the machete fall to the table, the blade coming within an inch of his nose before it fell flat. Men yelled, and the sounds of engines intermittently drowned out their yells.

  Someone loosened the straps that had pinned his legs down, then undid the other restraints. The second he was free, he jumped into a wobbly stand, turned, preparing to throw himself into a head butt if the guy wore a black ski mask.

  If the guy was a Black Raven agent, he was getting a fucking promotion.

  The man was neither. He had long blonde hair, blue eyes, and a tattoo of fire climbing up his neck and arms. He wore a snug white T-shirt and a white leather vest with a black peace sign, the emblem of the Protectors of Peace.

  Blaze.

  Not a Black Raven agent, but definitely no need for a head butt, because Zeus guessed that Blaze’s intel was the reason his head was still firmly on his neck. The mouth of the cave was twenty yards away. The cave was smoky, the air acrid with the scent of gunpowder. The bulk of the action was now outside and far into the interior of the cave, where Zeus guessed DIC and the others had run in an effort to save their asses. Two men were down at his feet. Dark red blood was pooling underneath them.

  If they weren’t dead yet, they would be soon, because there would be no help coming.

  “Damn glad to see you,” Zeus said as Blaze unlocked the handcuffs. Another round of gunfire rattled and an answering round exploded. Men yelled, and the earth vibrated with the revving of high-powered engines. “You do know we need to take as many of these people alive as we can?”

  “Understood,” Blaze nodded. “Interrogation first. After, though…”

  “Different story,” Zeus shook out his arms, then extended a hand to Blaze, glad he had enough strength to stand on his own and his hand wasn’t shaking. “We gave you our word. Whether we go through regular channels, or not. The TRCR now officially consists only of the walking dead.”

  The desert sand will run red with TRCR blood.

  A man riding an all-terrain motorcycle, his face covered in a bandanna and his body covered with sand, skidded to a halt at Zeus’s side
. He lifted his goggles and removed his bandanna. Zeus recognized Agent Brad Miles, lead agent from the El Paso airport contingency. “Sir, happy to see you.”

  “Ana?”

  “Fine. With her mother.”

  “Leon and Cox?”

  “Both fine.”

  Miles handed Zeus a Black Raven comm system. Zeus slipped the mic in his ear, fastened the watch on his wrist, and said, “Sebastian? Ragno?”

  “Damn glad to hear your voice,” Sebastian came through loud, clear, and relieved. “How the hell are you?”

  “Whatever drug they gave me is finally wearing off. I’m happy to report my head is still firmly attached.”

  “Jesus, Zeus. If you ever put us through a night like this again…” Ragno sniffed. “Awww. Dammit. Now I’m crying. And I never cry.”

  “Thanks, Ragno. I love you too.”

  Glancing around the cave, eyes stopping on the blade of the machete resting on the table just a few inches from where his head had been strapped, his hand itched for a firearm. As tempting as it was to get into the firefight, he had a daughter to hug, and work to do. His agents and the Protectors of Peace were more than capable of taking down the TRCR and conducting a forensic search for anything that could be a clue for Jigsaw.

  “Miles. There’s a dickhead here wearing steel-toe cowboy boots. He leads this faction, maybe the whole TRCR. Take him alive and interrogate.”

  Agent Miles nodded. “This network of caves is interconnected via tunnels. Hills surround us for about two miles. He couldn’t have travelled far. We’ll find him, sir.”

  Zeus gave Miles a hard look. “Tough guy. He’ll need persuasion. Do whatever.”

  Translation: Torture him to within an inch of his life.

  “No explanation necessary.”

  “When he starts praying, whether to Buddha, Mohammad, God or,” he paused, “especially Jesus, call me. I want to be the one to end him and I’ll damn well fly across the world to do it if necessary.” Zeus gave Miles a hard glance. “Have that machete handy when I arrive.”

  “Yes, sir. An ATV is waiting outside to take you to a rendezvous point with a chopper.”

  Zeus stepped out of the cave and into the chilly, pre-dawn air. A few yards of flat desert extended from the mouth of the cave and seemed to fall away into dark nothingness. Lights from the ATV that was waiting for him shone on tall cactus and scrub brush. As he slipped into the passenger seat, the driver nodded, then gassed it.

  “Sir, hold on. We’re five minutes away from our rendezvous with a chopper. I’ll try to avoid big bumps, but it’ll be rough going. I’ve got to avoid some of the larger growth.”

  A second ATV and two all-terrain motorcycles rode as escort. The horizon was a lighter blue than the rest of the night sky, but the sun hadn’t yet risen. As the ATV pulled away, his mind switched gears to the larger picture. “Ragno.”

  “Yes?”

  “Praptan? Gabe?” Not necessarily what he wanted to talk about, but duty took priority. Before Sam.

  “Angel and his team met gunfire on the way into Praptan. They were anticipating it. No casualties or serious injuries on our end. They extracted remains. We’re running DNA analysis now, but given the details now provided by Stollen and collected by Gabe,” Ragno said, “we’re assuming there will be confirmation. Jigsaw gives it almost 99.999 percent probability.”

  “Well, what do you know? Someone else really has been playing the Maximov card—and doing it damn well.”

  “Could it be the TRCR?”

  Zeus gripped the roll bar as the ATV went airborne and landed with a spine-jarring thud on the front wheels. “No. I heard a phone conversation. This outfit was being paid twenty million dollars to deliver Barrows. Someone else—with serious money—is pulling the strings.”

  “Yep. Samantha is trying to navigate a way out of the disarray that knowledge of Maximov’s death will cause in the ITT. After Gabe recovered the remains, she spent the better part an hour on a conference call with President Cameron and Judge O’Connor. President Cameron wants to avoid embarrassment at any cost. Samantha and Judge O’Connor anticipate that Brier will file a motion for a mistrial. Her job will be to defeat it. Samantha is interviewing Stollen now to see if he has more information that could lead to the apprehension of whomever is perpetuating the Maximov myth. After that she is immediately heading to London so she can do damage control in the trial.”

  Ana—safe.

  Sam—I’ll fight for another chance, because I’m alive.

  The rest? Details. A puzzle that I’ll damn well figure out. With the aid of Barrows and Jigsaw.

  Inhaling the cool desert air, Zeus relished the fresh scent of a better day that it carried. He loosened his grip on the roll bar as they reached flatter terrain. “Developments from Jigsaw?”

  “We’re inputting data gathered from the people and area where we extracted Agent Cox. Cell phones. Tablets. Laptops. Sim cards. IP addresses. Jigsaw is turning each puzzle piece sideways, upside down, and any which way, looking for a link to any of the perps in the ITT.”

  “Have we reached TRCR headquarters yet?”

  “We have a location, thanks to Blaze and some of the men we apprehended earlier. We’ve got a cyber forensic team and some serious firepower on approach. Once there, we’re doing a sweep of all devices.”

  “Any link so far between this event and Caller X?” Caller X, the person whose burner phone usage pattern indicated he had spoken with Duvall’s mother and David Thompson, the alleged perpetrator of the drone attacks on the Miami cruise ship.

  “Not that I’m aware of. Let me check,” Ragno said.

  The ATV rounded a small hill and arrived at a relatively flat clearing. A sleek, powerful Sikorsky waited, with engines running and rotors turning. The clearing was patrolled by Black Raven agents in ATVs. Zeus nodded goodbye to his driver, then ran to the chopper. He buckled up behind the co-pilot. Through the windshield, the horizon was turning lighter blue as they lifted off.

  “Sir,” the pilot turned to him with a welcoming grin. “We’ll be at the El Paso airstrip in twenty-seven minutes. You’ll see sunrise with your daughter.”

  “Great news.”

  “Zeus,” Ragno said, her voice back to her normal crisp, clear, and efficient tone. “Barrows just informed me there is no link between the TRCR and Caller X as of yet.” The plan had been for Barrows to return to Denver the moment Agent Cox stepped into the Cessna with Zeus for the ride to the DZ. By now, a little more than ten hours after Zeus had boarded the Cessna for the jump, Zeus had no doubt that Barrows and Ragno were in the office space they shared in Denver, directing the teams of analysts working under them with lightning speed and stealth-like precision.

  “How much more do we need before we can identify and find Caller X?”

  “From Duvall’s mother and the connection to Thompson, the alleged perpetrator of the drone attacks on the Miami cruise ship, we just need to determine who called TRCR,” she answered.

  “We should have that soon, even if it’s through interrogation.” Keeping his eyes on the horizon, Zeus forced himself to focus on business, when all he wanted to do was see Ana. “Cell phones would be better, though, correct?”

  “Absolutely,” Ragno answered. “If the TRCR job was instituted via burner phones, we can analyze whether there was parallel usage of co-existing digital devices. Once we get that, we can run an analysis for co-existing digital devices in the vicinity of the call from the burner phone, and conduct a worldwide search for current use of the devices.”

  “Barrows still hasn’t managed to do this for the earlier calls made by Caller X?”

  “Correct,” Ragno answered. “Jigsaw isn’t able to trace as far back historically as Barrows would like it to go. He is modifying the program, but for now, we can’t trace co-existing digital devices from the data we have relating to Duvall’s mother and the Miami cruise ship bombing. Those incidents occurred more than a year ago and there are problems with doing historical analysis t
hat far back and recreating the digital footprint of co-existing devices.”

  She paused for a moment, fingers clicking furiously at her keyboard. “Just pray these people weren’t smart enough to strip themselves of all other co-existing digital devices—laptops, tablets, regular phones, smart watches, etc. You know the drill. We’re looking for whether Caller X made calls from burner phones to the TRCR with co-existing digital devices operating at the time. Even something as tiny as a smart watch ping anywhere on the cyber grid in common with any of the other calls from burner phones, and Jigsaw will find him. It’s just a matter of time.”

  “Something we don’t have much of.” The helicopter flew west to east. Daylight was breaking on the far horizon, while overhead stars were fading into a navy blue sky.

  “We’re aware. Zeus. I’ve dropped Sebastian and anyone else listening in.” And she’d changed her tone to the gentle tone that she used when discussing his personal business. “Should I connect you to Sam? She asked me to break into the interview if there was news about you.” Ragno’s voice was in full friend mode—soft, concerned, and trying hard to guide him. “Would be better coming from you than me.”

  “No. I’ll talk to her later. Just let her know I’m fine.” What he had to tell her on a personal level would be better said in person. Not something he’d tell her when she was in the middle of an interview with a mass murderer.

  “Mistake, Zeus.”

  “Don’t think so.”

  “You should talk to her now, and keep talking to her. If you love her—”

  “If?” He chuckled.

  “Well, be as persistent as you’ve ever been about anything in life, and I know you—you’re nothing if not persistent. Before tonight, I agreed with Angel; I thought your efforts were wasted. But,” her tone became thoughtful, her words slow, “I’ve been the one to give her updates on your status on this interminably long night. She even broke down and called her grandfather when she learned you were missing. She’ll come around, Zeus. That woman loves you even more than she knows. In my opinion, now is the time to start fighting for her.”