The Sirani Connection

by Estelle Ryan

  “If it’s completely destroyed, how did you trace it?” This didn’t make sense to me.

  Ivan smiled when Francine pointed at him. “My team traced it to its last location, didn’t find it there, looked at the CCTV footage and followed a teenager who was carrying a laptop to the shopping mall. He works for a delivery service and said a man paid him three hundred euros to dump it in the mall.”

  “Shahab was one of the best the police had,” Daniel said from behind me. I twisted around. This was only the third time I’d seen him angry. “He would know how to take forensic countermeasures.”

  “Bastard.” Manny turned to Ivan. “Did your team find the five people Shahab used as guinea pigs for his poison?”

  Ivan nodded. “The ME had no problem pointing out the strange opioid deaths. These people had clearly died from an overdose, but they didn’t have any signs of prior use. And the ME noticed something peculiar in the toxicology report. He didn’t follow up on it, because then it just looked like a usual overdose. But now he’s running full tests on all of the victims.”

  “I like Ivan’s team,” Francine said. “They’re good. They immediately ran with the names and found that three of those victims had worked at or donated to women’s shelters. The other two were rather loud activists for women’s rights.”

  “He’s killing people helping women?” Bree’s levator labii superioris muscle raised her top lip in disgust. Vinnie swore and Bree nodded at him. “Sick, sick, sick.”

  “I also got an initial report back from the ME.” Ivan glanced up. “He’s still busy with the Zemans, but will rush their toxicology tests as soon as he gets them to his office. The report he gave me is for the hotel victim. He was definitely killed by an opioid analogue, but they haven’t seen this specific analogue yet. They’re trying to identify it, but the ME says it’s more powerful and deadly than carfentanyl.”

  “And carfentanyl is ten thousand times stronger than morphine. This is the drug Roxy said Doctor Jan wrote about in his journal.” Francine shook her head. “This has to stop.”

  Daniel walked around the sofa and placed a photo frame on the coffee table in the centre of the area. “I found this when I walked through the house.”

  Manny leaned forward and took it. A second later his eyes widened. “Holy Mother Mary and all the saints.”

  “What’s that?” Francine leaned in and gasped. “I knew it!”

  Manny turned the frame around for us to see. It was an enlargement of a Christmas photo. Radek and Marta were sitting at their dining room table laughing with two young people. It was easy to recognise Natálie as their daughter. She had all her mother’s features, but her father’s smile. Next to her with his arm around her was Jarda Zonyga, the man who’d died in the five-star hotel from the opioid weapon Doctor Novotný had created for Shahab.

  “Well, I’ll be.” Colin rested his elbows on his knees and looked at Francine. “What do you know?”

  “My Spidey sense was shouting at me, so I ran a check on everyone we’ve so far come across in the case. I wanted to see if anyone’s paths have intersected.” She turned her laptop for us to see the screen. “That’s when I came across this photo on Jarda’s social media. There’s only this one photo and she’s not clear in it, but I’m quite sure that the woman there is Natálie.”

  The photo had been taken at a house party. Everyone was standing around a living room with a glass of alcohol in their hands. This didn’t look like a house party for friends. Most people were too formally dressed and their body language was too controlled and even withdrawn to display the kind of comfort people showed when with friends.

  At the very left of the photo was a couple, the man smiling at the camera Jarda Zonyga. The woman was turned away and her long hair partially covered the side of her face. She was standing in Jarda’s arms, his one hand resting low on her back, the other on her waist. Her arms were around his neck. After seeing her in the Christmas photo, it was easy to identify her features. This was Natálie.

  “I got curious and started digging.” Francine turned her laptop back. “Natálie and Jarda were a couple for almost six years, but ended it on very good terms last year. I spoke to his partner, who said that Jarda and Natálie were best friends. When they realised that the romance in their relationship was completely gone and they only loved each other as friends, they were determined to keep their friendship and not ruin it. They used to speak to each other at least once a week.”

  “Hmm.” Manny scratched his cheek. “If Shahab is targeting people who help women, why target Jarda?” He looked at Francine. “Did he donate to some women’s something?”

  “Nope. Nothing I found. And his partner said he didn’t know anything about Jarda’s personal finances. But it could be his connection to Natálie that painted a target on his back.” Francine’s laptop pinged. She looked at the screen and her eyes narrowed. “Slap a rainbow horn on my forehead and call me a unicorn.”

  Manny sighed. “What now?”

  “I’ve told you guys before that hackers often see themselves as artists. They like to sign their stuff. But not everyone does. Smart hackers won’t leave any trace that it was them, but that’s not always possible.”

  “Get to the point.” Manny tapped his index finger on the sofa between them. “Now.”

  “My point”—she rolled her eyes at Manny—“is that as humans we don’t realise when we form a habit. We don’t realise when our work becomes our signature. There is something very specific about certain hackers’ methods that makes it quite easy for me to tell whose work it is. I ran a program on the hacks of the police station and the house to compare the code. The person who hacked the police station is the same person who hacked this house. Shahab.”

  I still wasn’t completely comfortable with the supposition without concrete evidence, but I agreed about the improbability of this being someone else. “That means he also killed the Zemans.”

  “And so his list of victims grows.” Francine’s lips thinned.

  “If you are now able to identify his method of hacking—” I stopped when she gasped.

  “Oh, my God! Of course.” She bounced on the sofa. “I’m totally going to run a search for any other hacks he might be responsible for.”

  This day had started with a visit to Tomas Broz and had continued with numerous revelations. Bits of information we’d gathered that had seemed disconnected were becoming clearer in their connection to the case. Yet I felt as if there was an as of yet undiscovered element that linked all these loose pieces.

  One of those loose pieces was Bree. I studied her. She was quietly listening to us in a manner that I was becoming familiar with. “How did you know to find us here?”

  “Huh?” She looked at me and blinked, then swallowed when everyone turned to look at her.

  “Well?” Manny shifted to the edge of the sofa, scowling at Bree. “Answer her.”

  “And while you’re at it, tell us about your burner phone.” Francine’s innocent expression was blatantly false.

  “Research. That’s how I came here.” Bree looked at Francine then back at me. “And I use an untraceable phone because I’ve been an investigative journalist for many years and have learned not to trust anyone or anything. When it comes to technology, the police have shown themselves to be horribly disrespectful of my privacy. I have one phone that I use to make calls to respectable members of society. A phone that won’t be problematic if the police break into it.”

  “And you have another phone for your less kosher contacts.” Francine nodded. “That way you can protect your sources and also stay out of trouble.”

  “Not always successfully, I might add.”

  “How did you get here?” I wasn’t interested in her investigative methods. Not at the moment.

  “I heard you guys talking about a Shahab guy. You also mentioned Hatami the first time we met. So I did some digging.” She ignored Manny’s swearing. “It wasn’t hard to find out that he was part of the team that w
orked with you on a case last year. I have a friend at Interpol who told me that he’s been on the most wanted list for a year now.

  “So I got in touch with a colleague in Iran. And no, I’m not going to tell you anything about him. He’s Iranian and works for a state media outlet. He does everything the government demands of him. But in his private time, he sends to a select few internationally renowned journalists the information he gets from the many people who want the unofficial tyranny to stop.”

  “He uses the dark web?” Francine asked.

  Bree nodded. “That’s one of the great things about the dark web. It’s enabled him to shine light on a few terrible issues that the Iranian government doesn’t want the world to know about. Well, I asked him if he knew about a Shahab Hatami, who is now on the most wanted list. He came back to me almost immediately, but gave me very little. He said he would find out more and send it to me.

  “What he did tell me was that Shahab Hatami got extremely angry when he was overlooked for a promotion a bunch of years ago. The next week he started his drug-smuggling business. He stayed in law enforcement because that helped him to become very successful with his drug trade. But something happened seven years ago that broke him.

  “My contact said that rumours are that he lost someone close to him. It’s suggested that this event was the trigger that turned him into a psychopath. He carried on for a while, but some years after that he changed once again. He and his teammates were watching a travel documentary when he lost his mind. It took four of them to hold him down until he calmed enough to be sent home.”

  “What travel documentary?” Colin asked.

  “It was about Prague and the surrounding areas. The scene that made him lose his marbles was one with a lot of people on Charles Bridge. No one knew what he saw and he refused to say anything.”

  “You’re lying.”

  She huffed a laugh. “Man, I was about to correct myself. He didn’t say anything more about the documentary, but when his bosses pushed him about his behaviour, he just said it was about Chabahar.”

  “Stop!” Ivan jumped up and looked towards the front door where the hazmat team were packing up. He sat down again and lowered his voice. “Not here.”

  Manny stared at him. “Are you finally going to tell us what the hell you’ve been hiding?”

  Ivan nodded, concern pulling at his features. “But not here.”

  “Well, she said she’s hungry.” Vinnie pointed at Bree and took a step towards the patio doors. “And my Roxy is all alone in our hotel room still reading through Jan Novotný’s journal.”

  “Good idea.” Daniel got up. “We’ll meet you guys at the hotel.”

  I took my time studying Bree, Daniel, Manny and Ivan. Daniel didn’t appear to know what Ivan was about to share with us. And Manny’s superior rank in an international agency apparently hadn’t assisted him in gaining the needed information from Ivan’s bosses either. Bree only exhibited curiosity. She didn’t know.

  I got up. I needed to know what this information was. I needed to find out if this was the missing piece tying it all together.

  Chapter EIGHTEEN

  “SPEAK.” MANNY STORMED into the living area of our hotel accommodation and spun around. He looked at Ivan and pointed at a sofa. “Sit down and speak.”

  “Why don’t I make coffee first?” Vinnie walked to the kitchenette area and opened his arms when Roxy walked to him. “And kiss my Rox.”

  “Good idea.” Colin walked to a sofa. “Maybe we should all settle in first.”

  Manny grumbled, but also walked to the sofas. He didn’t wait until Vinnie finished making coffee. As soon as we were all seated he looked at Ivan. “So?”

  Ivan looked at Phillip, who had quietly placed a financial magazine on the sofa next to him. “Please know I mean no offence, but you shouldn’t be here.”

  “He bloody well should.” Manny slumped back in the sofa next to Francine. “He’s one of us. If you don’t tell him about Shahab and Chabahar, I will. Or Doc or Frey.”

  “What about her?” Ivan looked at Bree, who had taken a seat next to Phillip. She’d been quiet on the way here, observing. Ivan rubbed his scar as he studied her. “Do you trust her?”

  “Me? No.” Manny shrugged. “But everyone else seems to think she’s on the up and up.”

  “Can one be hurt and flattered at the same time?” Bree pushed her palm against her chest.

  Phillip was staring at her eye. “Are you okay?”

  “This? It will give me a scar and a cool story, so I’m really okay.” Even though her words were playful, her expression was sincere and gentle when she looked at Phillip.

  “I spoke to your brother’s supervisor.” Manny’s lips twitched when Bree gasped.

  “No!” Her mouth dropped open and she slammed both hands over her mouth, then spoke through her fingers. “Oh, man. Why did you have to go and do that? Here I thought we were getting on so well. Please tell me you didn’t speak to my brother.”

  “I did.” He looked at me. “I phoned around while you were out and the hazmat guys were all over the house. Her brother’s boss’ supervisor was my partner for two years when I was in Scotland Yard. He told me Gareth is a good sort.” He looked at Bree. “He also told me Gareth’s sister has shown amazing strength of character. Helped them a lot in a case two years ago. Your brother, on the other hand, told me that you’re never careful enough.”

  Bree put her hands on top of her hat, pressing it lower on her head. “I’m never, ever, ever going to hear the end of this.”

  “I don’t care.” Manny looked at Ivan. “Everyone here has been vetted by me. You’ve been vetted by Daniel. Now tell us what the bloody hell is going on.”

  Ivan rubbed his eyes, then looked at Manny. “For the record, my bosses ordered me not to tell you. Not even with everything going on and not even after the house episode.”

  “Oh, leave those snivelling milksops to me.” Manny lifted his chin and waited.

  Ivan inhaled deeply. “Seven years ago, there was a bombing in Iran.”

  “Chabahar,” Colin said softly.

  “Yes.” Ivan rubbed his scar.

  I narrowed my eyes as a suspicion took place in my mind. “Is this where you got your injury?”

  He jerked his hands apart. He glanced again at Bree, then came to a decision as he looked at me. “No one knew we were there. My team had been in Turkey for a training exchange when we got the call. The US had received intelligence that a series of bombs were planned to go off in the Chabahar port. They were planning to destroy at least seven ships with their cargo—all from western countries.”

  “Who are ‘they’?” Daniel asked.

  “To this day we don’t know. It could’ve been any of the extremist terrorist factions in the area, but the fact remains that we were too late for one of those bombs.” He looked down at the scar on his hand, his eyes unfocused as if he was lost in a memory. “The US had only one SEAL team in the area to find and disarm the bombs. My team was closest of all the other allied teams, so we were deployed.

  “We got eight bombs, more than originally thought, but were too late for the one in the shopping mall. We only heard of that at the last minute. The SEALs and our team rushed to the shopping mall, found the bomb and took it out of the crowded shopping centre to the parking area. We managed to get it quite far away from the shoppers, but seventeen civilians were still injured, as well as three SEALS and two on my team. One SEAL was critical.”

  “Fatalities?” Manny asked.

  “One woman.”

  “You’re lying.” I didn’t understand why he would.

  “Technically, I’m not.” He rubbed his scar. “Sahar Hatami died that day.”

  “What the fuck!” Vinnie stormed over from the kitchenette. “Hatami as in Shahab Hatami?”

  “Yes. She was Shahab’s wife.”

  “No way!” Francine looked from her laptop to her tablet to Ivan. “We’ve been looking into Shahab for the last year and
not once heard as much as a whisper that he was married.”

  “Because he’d requested it to be considered top-secret information.”

  “Why?”

  “Because of the nature of his work in the Criminal Investigation Police of NAJA—the police force of Iran—Shahab requested all the information about his family be redacted in all documents. He didn’t want anyone to ever be able to use them against him.”

  “Like he used Patrik against Doctor Jan?” Francine’s voice rose a pitch. “That sack of... scum.”

  It was quiet for three seconds. Vinnie returned to the kitchenette to prepare lunch.

  Then Manny swore. “She’s here, isn’t she?”

  “Yes.”

  “That must be what Shahab saw in the travel documentary.” Bree looked at Ivan. “Is that possible? Oh, wait. No. Before you answer that, first tell us what happened to her and why she’s here.”

  “Sahar married Shahab just after he joined the police. He was determined to be an officer of integrity and help his country become better at dealing with the West. He was a devoted Muslim, but not radical at all. He wanted the West to know that most Muslims were people like everyone else. Not terrorists.”

  “He must’ve been psychologically very volatile to have lost his marbles when he didn’t get promoted.” Bree thought about this for a second. She jerked, her hands balling into fists. “He beat her, didn’t he? That’s why she escaped.”

  “Only one of the reasons.” Ivan sat back in the sofa. “Shahab started his illegal dealings and yes, he was physically abusive. That went hand in hand with emotional abuse that had Sahar considering suicide many times. But then she read about an NGO that helped women like her.”

  “Helped them how?” Roxy was sitting on one of the barstools by the kitchenette counter.