“Sadistic? What do you mean?”
“There’s an iPad in the glove compartment,” Ragno told him, exasperation evident in her voice. “You could show her the video footage that you took while in the safe house, because she’s not taking your word for anything.”
He paused as he considered Ragno’s suggestion. Not a good idea. He’d have a hard enough time getting the images of Agent Lewis’s tortured body out of his mind, and he’d seen death in all shapes and forms. Those images, once seen, couldn’t be unseen. He didn’t want to do that to Skye.
“Mutilation,” he said. “Fingers gone. Castration.”
She gasped.
He glanced at her. For a second, their eyes locked. She’d gotten through their suck-ass day fine, without a breakdown or tears, thank God, but he’d made the right call not showing her the video. In her eyes there were already shitloads of worry and fear and stress. She didn’t need to see real life images of the depth of human depravity.
He dragged his eyes back to the road, as four black Range Rovers joined the convoy. Each SUV had two Black Raven agents in it. He breathed easier, knowing that eight of his own agents were now with him. Two of the state troopers peeled away. They now had five escort cars. “You’re safe now, Skye. I’ll make sure of it.”
She gave him a glance that said she wasn’t so sure. He didn’t argue. Instead, he said, “Ragno, talk to me. Any clue yet as to what went wrong with the safe house?”
“None. Marshals are doing internal checks for leaks. They’re moving at a slug’s pace. There’s too many drags on their attention right now—Biondo, Biondo’s witnesses, Barrows, media, and now the safe house. Minero’s deteriorated to reactionary mode. I’m not expecting much help from that direction.”
“Profile Minero. Find out if there is any way he is the leak.”
“I’m already on that.”
“Have you found Jennifer Root?” The lawyer had been the only outside contact that Skye had been allowed during the day, and Root had been told that Skye was going to the marshals’ safe house. When the safe house delivery went bad he had directed Ragno to track down Root.
“No. It’s like she…disappeared. There’s no telecommunication trace. One of her vehicles is parked at her office, another at her home. Agents are in her condo. She’s not there. They’re searching for clues as to her whereabouts. So far, nothing. It’s a little trickier to break into her law office. Stay tuned on that.”
To Skye, he said, “Tell me more about Jennifer Root.”
“Why?”
“She knew you were going to the safe house, which became a disaster.” Atlanta was behind them, and the interstate traffic had lightened. They were going a steady eighty-five. He tapped the car into cruise control, then stretched his legs. “Maybe there’s a link.”
“You think Jen is one of the bad guys? No. There’s absolutely no way.”
“I’m not saying she was involved. We have to pursue every possible lead. Because she contacted you today, she’s one.”
“Well.” As she shifted in her seat, ends of her hair that had fallen out of her ponytail tickled his arm, which was still elevated on her headrest. “You really have nothing.”
“Thank you for that assessment.” He glanced at her. Though her tone was more than a little cocky and argumentative, her eyes met his with a glance that was filled with worry and fear. He glanced into the rearview mirror, saw that Spring’s eyes were closed, and said, “Tell me about her. You called her Aunt Jen earlier today. Are you related?”
“Not by blood. By closeness. She was my mother’s best friend in college, she introduced my mom to my father, she was at every birthday party, every graduation, and she was with us,” she paused, “when mom died.”
Her tone changed when she said those last words. He paused, hoping like hell she wouldn’t start crying. Through reading medical reports, he knew that her mother’s death was a life-changing event for her, one that had prompted her to develop protective emotional armor that kept her detached from others. Later psychologists had concluded that her defense mechanism wasn’t working in her favor, but Sebastian was thankful for it, because one quick glance into dry eyes revealed that his strong woman wouldn’t disappoint him.
As soon as he thought that, he almost choked. Skye was strong. No denying that. But she wasn’t his, and he didn’t know what in fucking hell had inspired such a thought. He normally didn’t claim women as ‘his’, especially not women he was charged with protecting. Back to the task, he told himself. Finding Richard Barrows, which for the moment was reduced to driving, and figuring out what Skye knew about Jennifer Root. Fuck. Skye was right. He had nothing to go on. “I know she never married. Any significant relationships you know of?”
“Only that she was best friends with my mom and dad. She worked long, hard hours. We were her surrogate family. As far as I know, she was always my father’s lawyer. When my father and Zachary Young founded BY Laboratories in the nineties, she became corporate counsel, and when the company fell apart, she oversaw the team that handled Dad’s criminal defense.”
Something wasn’t right about the picture that Skye was painting. “With all that trust and closeness, she didn’t know where you and Spring were until today?”
“When federal agents started pursuing my father, and after Zachary died, he stopped trusting anyone. During the plea negotiations, Dad even stopped trusting Jen,” she paused.
“Why?”
“I’m not sure. After Zachary died, my father became even more paranoid than normal. All he told me was that he wanted Spring and me to have a clean break for a while, until things settled down. He told me not to contact Jen. I listened. Until today, when you handed me that phone, I hadn’t talked to her since I started living under the name of Chloe Stewart. Jen knew we were disappearing, but we didn’t tell her where we were going or who we were becoming.”
There had to be more. “Your father’s been in jail for just about eleven months, and she’s visited him four times. Records indicate that they met each time for an hour,” Sebastian said, repeating some of the intel that Ragno had provided earlier in the day. “Your father didn’t have to sit down and talk with her.”
“So?”
“It doesn’t sound like your father felt the need for a clean break from Root for himself, but rather only for you and Spring. Your father was in jail for tax fraud and evasion. His company was destroyed. I understand that he wanted you and Spring to be free from the media that hounded you guys before he went to jail, but to sever all contact from someone who was like a second mother to the two of you? Why would he want that?”
She drew a deep breath. “My father is brilliant enough to pioneer innovations in computer virus detection and design technology for micro-chip brain implants, yet he wore foil-lined hats when he went outside. Even that had a twist, though.” Her voice was hesitant. “He only did it when atmospheric pressure was at a certain level. The reality is that every time he came up with a brilliant innovation, he became paranoid about what the innovation could do in the wrong hands. He’s a genius, but his thought processes aren’t always logical.”
Ragno said, “That’s a candid assessment.”
“I need more of an answer,” Sebastian said, to both Ragno and Skye. “What was happening that made your father think that you needed a clean break from Root? There had to be something.”
“It wasn’t just Aunt Jen. It was the world, and that included Jen.”
“Why?”
He glanced at Skye, who gave him a blank expression and a shrug, indicating that she wasn’t giving more of an answer. Whether it was because she didn’t have one, or she just wasn’t telling it, he had no idea. “What made you listen to him when he told you to change your names and disappear?”
Instead of an answer, she gave him silence, a frown, a bit of fear, before forcing her features into a blank look.
As he focused again on the road, Ragno said, “In connection with debriefing interviews conducted i
n the tax fraud case, Barrows told investigators that he believed Young’s plane crash wasn’t an accident. He also told investigators Young’s family was murdered along with him. Intentionally.”
“Any basis in fact?”
“No,” Ragno said, “but it could explain Barrows’ paranoia regarding his daughters’ safety. It could also explain Skye’s concerns, and why she’s so desperate to get away.”
“Yes,” Sebastian said, “but Skye was running before I showed up, before she knew her father had escaped. She’s not saying why.”
“It would be easier if you just put Ragno on speaker,” Skye said tartly. “I could join in, instead of sitting here listening to your side of the conversation while you and Ragno talk about me.”
He glanced at her. “Would you tell us anything helpful?”
She shot him an irritated look.
Right. That’s what I thought. ‘Fuck no, buddy’. Sebastian shifted in the seat, stretching his legs, making himself as comfortable as he could for the remainder of the drive. “Ragno, construct a profile of Zachary Young in the year before his death.”
“Young’s plane crash was two years ago. You want a profile of events that took place up to three years ago?”
“Yes. Everything.” He was digging deep, he knew. But whether a man who had died two years prior to Barrows’ escape could have possibly done something that would help him find Barrows now was an interesting question. He wasn’t simply grasping at straws. He was clutching at thin air, and he was throwing a hell of a lot of manpower into the effort. Didn’t matter. What he’d known from the beginning, and what the interminably long day confirmed, was that it was going to take something more than a bloodhound to find Richard Barrows.
“Well, from the data we’ve already gathered in constructing the profile on Jennifer Root, we know one thing. Phone records, cell phone and office, establish that in the six months before he died, Root talked to Zachary Young more than she talked to Richard Barrows,” Ragno said.
“That’s interesting,” Sebastian said. “Might be meaningless, though. Young was the businessman behind the operation. Barrows was the creative genius. It makes sense the businessman would have communicated with the lawyer.”
“Well, the communications were at odd times, too. Not just business hours. Lawyers work 24/7 though, so it may not mean anything. The profile is harder to come by than normal, because most of her communications were encrypted, so we have to break the code.”
“Also compile a project list for BY Laboratories in the two years prior to Barrows’ incarceration. I’ve read enough of the debriefing transcripts to know he consistently referred to Shadow Technology-”
“We’ve worked on that. Like I told you earlier, our government sources indicate that no type of Shadow Technology created by Barrows is in use in any government databases and especially not in sensitive ones like PRISM.”
“Well, keep digging.”
“FYI. All of our data analysts are working practically around the clock now. Aside from the prison break, some Middle East projects are requiring attention. Short breaks are only for catnaps, food, and hygiene. ” Her tone was matter-of-fact. She wasn’t complaining. She was just stating facts that Sebastian needed to know. “My department is operating past peak capacity.”
“Remind me in an after-action-report. It’s time to up manpower,” he said. In the information age, his company needed the ability to secure massive volumes of data and process it. Taxing their resources wasn’t acceptable. “Can’t do anything about it now, except add to the work list. Here’s another project. Compile a list of parties who were interested in BY Laboratory’s products. Barrows was the brains behind the operation, but Young managed to get Barrows’ ideas sold. I want the profile of Young to be business and personal. I want to know who Young was dealing with and what the hell he was trying to sell. As far as prospective purchases of BY Laboratories products, do an assessment of the interested parties and any possible correlations with the safe house crime scene and anything else that happened today.” He paused. “How’s Pete?”
“Holding his own. In surgery.”
“Good. Play the press conference for me. Interrupt if there’s new news.”
Chapter Thirteen
Shattering Barrows’ kneecap and hammering steel pins underneath his toenails was entertaining, but the injuries didn’t produce the desired result. Barrows had a high threshold for pain, but even he had his breaking point. Finally, he’d passed out from the pain, and when he regained consciousness all he could do was mumble incoherently for hours after the morning’s interrogation session. The wounds required treatment.
‘Treatment’ was code in Trask’s world for readying the victim for the next round of torture. They had to feel well enough to fear what was going to happen to them. Without fear, there was no hope of cooperation. In Barrows’ case, there had to be another round, because Barrows wouldn’t deliver the fucking code. Couldn’t. Barrows had spent two days destroying data, and now he couldn’t put it back together.
Dunbar stood at Trask’s side in his office, their attention focused on monitors showing treatment room B, anticipating the reunion of Barrows and Jennifer Root. The safe-house operation had become a disaster, compliments of Sebastian Connelly. One day, hopefully soon, he was going to cut off Connelly’s dick and shove it down the man’s throat.
He’d have to wait for that thrill. For now, all he had was Jennifer Root to exert pressure on Barrows. Root wasn’t a sure shot like Skye and Spring would be, but it could work.
The monitors in Trask’s private office revealed the treatment room that was on the floor beneath them. Bright, florescent light illuminated the treatment room. White linens covered Root’s ass and her legs, leaving her back exposed. Eyes closed, she lay face down on a pillow. Her shoulder length, chestnut brown hair covered half her face. Root was attractive for a middle-aged woman, but her dark brown eyes typically gave away the fact that there wasn’t anything soft or feminine about her. Trask knew and appreciated her, because she was like him. She was a barracuda of a lawyer, who’d rather eat her young for breakfast than have a glass of wine with friends. Chardonnay? Not something she drank. Like Trask, she preferred to sip the heady elixir that came with squeezing the resistance out of anyone that dared to challenge her.
Trask’s intel on Root had told him that in the rare moments when she wasn’t working, she exercised and pampered herself with massages and spa visits. Because so much of her life had been spent in offices and courtrooms and not in the sun, her skin, particularly the soft skin of her back, was smooth and creamy. There had been no massage for Root this afternoon. The space between her shoulders and her waist was crisscrossed with bleeding cuts and purplish-black bruises. Glistening ointment covered her wounds. In the white expanse of the treatment room, with light bouncing off white tiles and stainless steel, Root’s wounds and her dark hair were the only splash of color.
The camera revealed an assistant in light-green medical scrubs as he wheeled Barrows into the examining room, then promptly left.
Trask lifted his cell phone and dialed the audio-visual room. “Give me a close-up on Barrows.”
As the camera panned in, Barrows’ eyes revealed the fatigue and misery that came with being a broken man. He wore a loosely-tied hospital gown. His face and arms were blistered with burns from the sizzling water that had rained on him in the earlier interrogation session. His shattered knee was bandaged, but not repaired. Despite his own sorry condition, Barrows gasped as he looked at his lawyer and best friend. He tried to stand, but instead he fell back awkwardly, grimacing in pain. He hadn’t yet mastered the art of walking with only one operable knee.
Multi-angle cameras, concealed in lighting hardware and invisible to the occupants of the exam room, caught the drama perfectly as it played out on the monitors in Trask’s office. He’d wanted to give them a few minutes together, alone, thinking that the surprise reunion, and her wounds, might prompt Barrows into revealing someth
ing useful.
Trask watched the monitors for several irritatingly long minutes as Barrows tried to breathe through his pain and collect himself. Finally, Barrows wheeled himself to Root’s bedside and gently touched her shoulder. “Jennifer.”
Root opened her eyes. She whimpered. Her eyes widened when she saw Barrows. She attempted to sit up, but collapsed onto the bed. Finally, she struggled up on an elbow, moaning as she did. She dragged the top sheet up, covering her breasts and most of her body. For a few long minutes, her eyes had the unfocused look of someone whose awareness hadn’t caught up with the fact that she was awake. She stared at Barrows and shook her head in confusion.
Trask stepped closer to the monitors, riveted by the interaction between his two captives.
“Oh, dear God,” she said. Her gaze became sharper as she took a quick visual survey of the room. She squinted against the bright lights, as she looked at Barrows siting beside her. Her focused gaze revealed that her brain was, as usual, firing with no-nonsense, analytical thoughts. “We’re in hell.”
Trask glanced at Dunbar and chuckled. He’d orchestrated the reunion of Root and the client who had made her well known and wealthy. He hadn’t expected Root to be overly effusive in concern for Barrows, but her lack of immediate concern for the physical condition of her client was downright comical.
Eyes back on the monitor, he folded his arms and watched the drama.
“He says he has Skye and Spring,” Barrows whispered, as if he knew someone was listening.
Into his phone, Trask said, “Increase volume. Make focus on the close-up on Barrows sharper.”
He held his breath as he waited for the adjustment on focus. Nice. He could see each fluid-filled blister on the man’s high cheekbones, and the stark terror in his rheumy blue eyes.
Shadows (Black Raven Book 1) Page 20