by Fiona Quinn
Lacey remembered that yesterday, Augustine had been wearing protective gloves when he alone had handled the rock. She wondered, as Deep went to scrub, if he had held the rock long enough for any toxins to have absorbed into his skin. And if he had, could they still be deadly?
Chapter Forty-Two
Deep
Thursday, Lunch
Lacey and Deep walked across the parking lot to the quaint bistro, which was placed oddly out in the middle of nowhere. Deep had chosen this particular restaurant because it would be darned hard for someone following them to blend and observe from anywhere around here. The building had been an old gas station. Converted into a Swiss chalet, it sat alone at the corner of two busy rural highways and was surrounded by winter fields, which stood empty and wide. Deep’s team had used this location on several occasions to pass or collect information. He was confident that he had chosen a safe place, and they could sit here for a while and come up with a plan.
“Who did Dr. Jones remind you of?” Deep asked as they reached the door.
Lacey looked up to catch his eye, and they both said, “Doc from Back to the Future,” at the same time. Then Lacey held her hand up for a high five.
Deep slapped her palm, then held on to her hand, lacing his fingers with hers. “What?” he asked. “Pop culture and high fives? Who are you?”
“Just learning to blend.” Lacey slowly skated her free hand out to show she could go with the flow.
The lunch crowd had already thinned by the time they stood in front of the hostess’s podium. Deep asked for their most private seating. With his hands resting possessively on Lacey’s shoulders, he winked at the waitress to let her know they wanted to be alone. He hoped that would keep her from popping in and out. He needed the waitress to bring their food and let them think. He needed to tell Lacey that time was up.
“That’s darned terrifying,” Lacey said as she picked at her food.
“Which part, exactly?” While Deep had ordered a big fat steak, Lacey had opted for the harvest salad, and that worried him. He couldn’t seem to convince her that carbs, fat, and protein were her friends in stressful situations. Her body needed something to run on besides roughage. She had countered that this was what she normally ate, and was still only able to maintain her weight with the benefit of weekday workouts with her kick-boxing trainer. Kick-boxing, that explained the moves he’d seen when she was battling Higgins at the door of the bar. He wondered if she took that up after the knife scene in her car.
This really wasn’t the right time for her to be worried about her figure, though. She didn’t see what he saw; she had been dropping weight since he’d grabbed her last Friday morning. Visibly shrinking. Fear burned an enormous number of calories. Trembling, nightmares, and worrying required a big bowl of Ben and Jerry’s or something with more calories than lettuce. He wondered if he could get her to eat some cheesecake if he ordered it for himself with two forks.
“I stuck my head over the steam of aerosolized palytoxin.” Lacey said.
He shook his head as if bewildered. “And lived to tell the tale.”
“While Radovan did not. Now that I have that information, so much of the scene at Radovan’s house on the day of my accident makes perfect sense.” Lacey held her napkin poised on her finger while she spoke, then dabbed at the corners of her lips before replacing it in her lap.
Somehow, that action completely charmed Deep. “Why don’t you tell me how you’re interpreting the scene with the new information?” Deep sent a searching gaze around the room to make sure they couldn’t be overheard, tucked as they were over here in the corner, away from the last of the diners. With his back to the wall and an exit through the kitchen nearby, Deep felt in control of the environment.
“Alright. I arrived at the house and the door was unlocked. It must have been unlocked when whoever went in to start the stone soup had been there. The men were dressed in gardeners’ jumpsuits, garden gloves, eye protection, and respirators, so their skin was covered and they were protected from any toxins in the air.”
“And they checked on the birds first thing, right?”
“‘Canaries in the coal mine.’ They must have been dead, showing that the toxicity levels were high enough to kill them. When I talked to the housekeeper, Agatha, she said the birds were missing.”
“If you think about it,” Deep said, “they couldn’t really leave the birds there, could they? The police might have seen two dead birds and thought that there was some kind of gas that killed Radovan instead of the heart attack. The bad guys couldn’t remove the birds and leave an empty cage because that would make the police wonder why there was an empty cage. Which also might lead the investigators to ask some questions and have them take a closer at the body. Order an autopsy, for example.”
Lacey nodded. “Not that that would help. You remember Dr. Jones said there are no toxicology tests to show palytoxin poisoning. Okay, let’s see — the birds were dead, and the one guy goes upstairs, confirms that Radovan is indeed dead. I know from hanging a painting up there that his bedroom is directly up the stairs, so the steam—well, the aerosolized toxins—wouldn’t have had far to travel from the kitchen. It’s basically a straight line if the doors are open. I was in the dining room feeling like my body was out of control from fear. But in reality, I had put my head over the rock soup and breathed in the toxins. The guy takes the rocks outside and puts them in the garden, because who in their right mind would want to travel with those rocks in the same car? Even if they were in the trunk?” Lacey took a sip of water. “And then I’m there all out of breath, heart jackhammering, and not really able to think or care about my decision making as I stand up and walk out the door.”
“Absolutely,” Deep said. “It all fits into a nice neat little package once the idea of palytoxins is thrown in to the equation. Even the part where you felt so bruised at the hospital – though truthfully, that could well have been from the accident. It explains why the doctors held you longer to test why you weren’t properly oxygenated, and why they didn’t find anything abnormal in your system.”
“But why would anyone do that? Kill with palytoxins?” Lacey asked. “It seems there are simpler ways – a pillow over his head or something.”
“That’s the million-dollar question.” Deep’s phone vibrated in the Strike Force pattern. That meant it was Lynx, and that couldn’t be good. “Would you excuse me for a minute? I need to take this call.” Deep wiped his mouth, laid his napkin on his chair, and went outside to sit in his car.
“Deep?” Lynx’s voice came over the speaker.
“Oh, crap.”
“Yeah. I’m sorry. Titus Kane called me in for a briefing.”
“Okay. Tell me the story.”
“When Lacey first disappeared from the bar, the FBI hired Iniquus to find her.” Her voice was soft with concern and support. “The case was handed to Panther Force; the contact’s name is Higgins.”
“Yeah, I know the guy. He was the one at the bar that grabbed Lacey’s ankle.”
“Higgins along with his FBI task force and Panther Force were all out looking for her. When the woman’s body turned up, the case was put on hold pending identification of the victim. No point in the Panthers beating the woods for a girl that was already on ice. We both know it wasn’t Lacey. I wasn’t pulled into the inner circle yet, so I didn’t know any of this until thirty minutes ago.”
“If they turned the contract back on, they must have an identification. Is the deceased’s name Danika something?”
“Right. That’s right. Danika Zoric. She’s a naturalized American citizen who came to the US thirteen years ago at the age of twelve to live with relatives.”
“Titus’s crew is back on the hunt?” Deep asked, checking his mirrors, just in case.
“With no good trail, so General Elliot lent me to their team. And, of course, now I’m duty bound to move forward.”
“The FBI initiated the contract. Do you have a particular task force ass
igned? That would give me a lot of information.”
“FBI, joint task force. But get this, General Elliot got a call last night from John Green in the Eastern European office, CIA. He flagged the case – this is classified status orange.”
“What?”
“I know. Any ideas what that’s about?”
“Vaguely. My guess is this has to do with coral reefs. Is there a warrant out for Lacey’s arrest?”
“Nope. She’s wanted for her own protection. What’s this about coral reefs?”
Deep decided to ignore her last question and hold that information. “Who’s providing that protection? Are we? For how long?”
“Good questions. That wasn’t part of my brief. Not part of my need-to-know.”
“If Lacey and I walk into Iniquus, say we go to the interview room, so she can share some information – it’s still her choice, right? She could walk right on out?”
“That depends, Deep. If this is a matter of national security, which it well could be now that we know the CIA planted their flag, then they could hold her indefinitely with no access to a lawyer,” Lynx said. “National Defense Authorization Act.”
“What’s Iniquus’s position about handing over people under those circumstances?”
“You’ve got me,” Lynx said.
“This is really an extremely important point. I’ll come in and share what I know, which is quite a bit. But if Lacey is about to lose her choices about her life and her freedom, there is no way in hell I’m bringing her anywhere near that crap. They’ll slip her away, and she’ll go black. Can you check policy with General Elliot, please? And can you fax it to my car? I probably need this in writing rather than a he-said-she-said.”
“With a signature?” Lynx wasn’t being sarcastic; she was being thorough. Little details like this could make or break a case.
“Yes, please. I’d like to bring Lacey in so she can tell them what she knows. But that’s her decision. I’m not bringing her against her will. And since she hasn’t got a warrant out for her arrest, I can do anything I want to help her get wherever she wants to go.” Deep checked his watch. Lacey would be wondering what was going on.
“True. Is that the direction you’re thinking of going?” Lynx’s voice took on a sharpened edge of concern.
“It’s not up to me.”
“Deep, look, I’m going to go right now to talk to the general. He’s probably still in his office because I just left there. I’ll get you the information about Iniquus policy faxed to your car so you can make an informed decision. Whatever it is you decide to do, I’ll give you one hour beyond my faxed dispatch to show up here at Iniquus and take the reins. With or without Lacey, that’s on you. After that one hour, I’m going to have to spill. It’s my job. And it’s our duty.”
Yeah, time was definitely up.
Chapter Forty-Three
Steve
Thursday
“Steve, good, so we’re all here,” Monroe said. Higgins and Andersson had already taken the extra seats in Monroe’s small office.
Steve put his shoulder against the file cabinet and waited.
“Diving in then.” Monroe flipped open his file. “The autopsy report came back and confirms that the murder victim is Danika Zoric. That leaves Lacey Stuart in the wind.”
The next few sentences were lost on Steve as his body adjusted to the information. Monroe dropped that statement on the table like it was a pile of papers that needed to be filed away, but to Steve, it was the discovery of the light bulb. It was the Nobel Peace Prize. It was believing there really was a God who gave a shit about him, brought him a miracle, and laid it at his feet. The others might perceive this information like a data point that needed to be covered, but it was not. Lacey was alive. Steve breathed in the warmth of the thought. He let the colors flood his system. He reveled in the sensation of Atlas’s weight being lifted from his shoulders. Then, suddenly, his mind brought the moment of reprieve to a screeching halt. Wait, you don’t know that yet. No one said Lacey was alive. All he knew was that Danika was in the morgue, and Lacey was not. The miracle, which presented like a holographic ball, disappeared from the magician’s hand with a quick flourish.
The room spun around him, and Steve gripped the handle on the file cabinet, accidentally pulling out the drawer as he lost his balance, toppling himself over. Higgins reached out to right him.
“Sorry,” Steve said. “I thought it was locked.”
“. . . eighteen hundred hours, just two hours before the arts reception begins.” Monroe said.
“Would you repeat that?” Steve asked. “I zoned for a second there.”
“We have a powwow, you and I, at Iniquus Headquarters at eighteen hundred hours.” Monroe raised his eyebrows.
“Got it. Any word from them on Lacey Stuart?” Steve asked.
“Panther Force is the Iniquus group assigned to find her, and they’re the ones who called the meeting to give us an update. So I assume we’ll get our intel then. Everything’s coming to a head. Let’s do a quick round robin and find out where we are. Andersson?”
Andersson sat with her feet perfectly parallel and touching, and her hands one over the other on her knees; she was self-contained. “I’m happy to report that we have successfully removed the original paintings from Reagan International Airport’s baggage department. They were packaged, brought in-house, and are being catalogued as evidence. The original oils were replaced in their tubes with our own fakes and are headed to London, Paris, and Brussels. The three women will be flagged as they deplane and placed under agent surveillance. All three have connecting flights to Slovakia. We anticipate that they will be returning Saturday evening with the children.”
“What about the gallery show?” Monroe asked.
“The artists’ agents should be arriving tomorrow throughout the day,” Andersson continued. “The counterfeit paintings were put in place at the annex gallery this morning in preparation for tomorrow’s cocktail party.”
Monroe stuck a pen in his mouth, holding it like one of the cigarettes he’d given up some five years ago. “And they plan to destroy them how?”
Andersson shifted her tailbones uncomfortably. “We haven’t been able to ascertain that yet.”
“What’s the plan, then?”
Higgins jumped in. “We have video surveillance on the annex. Once they’ve put out the lights Friday evening, we’ll go in and gather the fakes. Our warrants are already signed. We’ll patrol the interior with K9 to see if there are any explosives in place. Other than that, it’s a watch and wait scenario. If any family members show up on Saturday, they’ll be arrested at the annex. We have to wait until the Zoric women and children are in the air, though, so we know they won’t be alerted to the situation. We need them back in America to make their arrests. We think these three women are the most likely to turn state’s evidence. And we need that badly.”
“Once they’re in the air . . .?” Monroe asked.
“We round up the family,” Higgins said. “We’re monitoring phone calls and locations on all the players. It should be a clean sweep.”
Monroe rocked back and forth in his chair, making the springs squeak. “From human trafficking, then. We’ve been working on a master list of names and locations where the children are housed and the johns who we believe use the services. We think we have all the children in the Zoric ring accounted for. With Pavle heading to jail and out of the picture, if the kids get sold, they might slip through our fingers. Our evidence is, unfortunately, mostly circumstantial. While rounding everyone up right now definitely isn’t optimal to making the charges against the adults stick, it is what it is.”
“If we can get the children to cooperate,” Higgins said, “we’ll have strong cases.”
“The chances of that are absolutely nil if the Zorics have threatened those kids, saying their families back in Slovakia would be hurt,” Monroe countered. “So, no guarantees. That’s the way it stands for human trafficking.” Monroe turned
to look at Steve. “Finley, terror?”
“We don’t know how Radovan died. Lacey Stuart is our only chance at gathering the information Dr. Nadeer has requested.” Steve spoke as if he were a marionette with someone else pulling the strings that animated his mouth. “Our hope, too, is that once Pavle Zoric and his family are gathered up from the arts con, their family will no longer be able to provide money from America to fund terrorist activity overseas and will no longer pose a direct terrorist threat here in America.” Steve nodded toward Andersson. “My take on all this is that it comes down to the arts sting to stop all the other crimes. I hope to hell the Arts Task Force can pull this off and make those charges stick.”
Chapter Forty-Four
Deep
Thursday, Lunch
Deep waited until Lacey had eaten the last bite of the cheesecake without mentioning what was going on. He knew that as soon as he told her what Lynx had said, she’d stop eating. He didn’t want her passing out, like she did when she found out about her uncle’s perversions. Deep had no plan of action, anyway, until he knew what Iniquus’s position was. He’d never worked on a case where the person he was saving wasn’t grateful and the bad guy wasn’t killed or jailed. This was sort of like limbo, where it was the good guy—well, gal—that might get the bad guy’s outcome.
He paid the bill with cash, and they walked toward the car.
“You’ve been awfully quiet since you came back from your phone call. Do you want to tell me what’s happening?”
“Absolutely. I’m expecting a critical communication, then I’ll share the information with you.”
“This must be from Lynx,” Lacey observed matter-of-factly, walking a quick-step to keep up with Deep’s longer stride.