As he took the plate from Reiss, he glanced at Skye. “Would it be better if I sat with you and Spring?”
Skye gave him a quick headshake. “No. We’ll eat later. Thank you.”
“Anything else?” Reiss asked.
Sebastian shook his head, eating the eggs as he stood, his attention focused on the television as he watched five talking heads, presumably experts on private security contracting firms, being introduced by the anchor. The show flashed to an aerial view of buildings that were identified as Federal Correctional Institution-Mississippi.
A male reporter was standing outside the prison. “Two prisoners remain at large. Details, at this time, are still coming in. What we do know is that seven prisoners escaped four days ago. Two remain at large. Vincent Biondo and Richard Barrows.” Details followed about Biondo and the suspicion that, after he escaped, he killed one of the witnesses in his prosecution.
Skye joined Sebastian in the living room, standing close, facing the TV just as he was, her arms folded, her attention on the screen. She stood so close to him he could almost feel her body warmth.
A fresh wave of vanilla and almond aroma enveloped him, and his body responded with a flood of desire. Goddammit. He forced himself to stop thinking about sex with Skye, and to start thinking about her reaction to what the reporters were saying about her father. He gave her a sideways glance. Nothing there, except intense worry, both for what was on the screen and whether her sister was paying attention. He followed her eyes to a backward glance at Spring, who was focused on the table and, thankfully, not the television.
He ate the last bite of eggs. “Have you eaten?”
She shook her head. “Not hungry.”
Maybe she’d have an appetite later, after Minero’s interview. He made a mental note to tell Schilling he hadn’t seen Skye eat in the twenty-four hours that they’d been together. He doubted Spring could hear the television over whatever was playing on her earphones, but as Agent Reiss took away his empty plate, he lowered the volume a bit, Skye’s eyes falling on him as he did so.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
He had the irrational desire to tell her it was going to be all right, but the truth was, until he found her father and returned him to prison, he didn’t know how the hell anything could possibly be right.
She broke their eye contact first, as the reporter continued, “Richard Barrows is the more notorious of the escapees. He needs no introduction on this news network. Conspiracy theorists across the country are rejoicing at his escape. A rally is ongoing at the site of the former BY Laboratories.”
The video flashed to a scene of demonstrators in a parking lot, a large, empty slab for a building behind them. “The demonstrators are wearing baseball caps that are lined and covered with foil, a symbol that is universally associated with Barrows and his theory that technology can read brain waves.”
As the camera focused on a man with a foil-lined baseball cap, holding a sign that said, ‘#RichardBarrows’ and ‘#RichardBarrowsfreeforever,’ the reporter continued, “Yes, theories abound. Hashtag Richard Barrows and variations of it are now trending on social media outlets. One theory is that he was rescued by extraterrestrial life. Another is that the government staged his escape so that he can continue working on high-security data and protection efforts. Government officials are emphasizing that Barrows never worked on government contracts, and that his claims of excessive government surveillance are incorrect. In the nine o’clock hour we’re dedicating a segment exclusively to Barrows, the man, his work, and his claims—credible and incredible.”
Sebastian glanced at Skye. “You ever wear a cap like that?”
Her cheeks flushed an absolutely riveting shade of pink, matching the color of her sweater, which made him think, again, about her nipples. Damn. His one-track mind kept dragging him back to her breasts. It was only with willpower that he focused on her eyes, which revealed fear and anxiety and something else that was more troubling.
Hurt.
Dammit.
He wished he could take back the tease, but his words were out there, effectively delivering the same ridicule that was in the voice of the reporter. Without saying anything, she refocused on the television, her absolute silence in response to his jest more effective at making him feeling like an asshole that any words she could have said.
“I’m sure she took that well,” Ragno said, sarcasm flag flying high in her tone. “Now say you’re sorry.”
He almost followed Ragno’s instruction, but he had a much bigger thing to apologize for, and he didn’t want to dilute the effectiveness of that doozie. Instead of following Ragno’s advice, he clamped his mouth shut and focused on the television.
A headshot of Root appeared on the screen. The reporter continued, “And there may be more to the story of Barrows’ escape. A missing person’s report has been filed on Jennifer Root, the attorney who represented Barrows.” He paused. “So far, no connection has been established between Barrows’ escape and Root’s disappearance. This show’s focus is on private security contracting firms, how they operate, and why they’re given free rein. Frankly, the show’s focus is on how they’re able to create such a mess.”
Skye glanced at him and gave him a slight smile, which didn’t come close to making it to her eyes. “Seems like they’re taking pot shots at what’s near and dear to both of us this morning. Nice to not be alone for once.”
“Ragno,” Sebastian ripped his eyes from Skye as he refocused on the television screen. “We better already know everything they’re going to say.”
The camera flashed back to the prison where Barrows had been imprisoned. “Earlier this year, the Bureau of Prisons Committee, headed by Senator Robert McCollum, hired Black Raven Private Security Contractors to take over security at twenty federal prisons. This is the first contract of its kind, and there’s already been a glitch. A big glitch. We’ve tried to contact the committee members, including Senator McCollum himself. So far, no one has agreed to an interview. Peter,” the reporter said, referring to the anchor in the studio. “Tell us what we know about Black Raven.”
The camera cut to a young, good-looking male anchor in the studio. “Black Raven is fifteen years old. Sebastian Connelly founded it. For a short time, he was a New Orleans police officer. He studied to become a lawyer as he ascended the ranks in the NOPD. Upon graduating from law school, he quit the police force and started Black Raven, providing bodyguard, security, and investigative services. His work was mostly local, and his company was small, with fewer than fifty employees, until September 11, 2001.”
The anchor looked into the camera with steady, practiced sincerity. “From Black Raven’s inception the company specialized in providing security services to oil companies, relationships Connelly developed due to his proximity to the oil fields of the Gulf of Mexico. Those oil companies have international holdings, and after September 11, 2001, the oil companies needed heightened security in the Middle East, which became the Wild West for men like Connelly. He struck gold by becoming a major player there.”
With a photograph of Sebastian appearing over his left shoulder, the studio anchor continued. “Connelly is smart, charismatic, skilled, and ruthless. He’s widely regarded as an expert at threat assessment and personal security. Black Raven is an exclusive outfit, providing security services to executives, celebrities, and wealthy people across the globe, and not just on-site protection and transport. Black Raven isn’t simply a bodyguard service. Their services include high-stakes protection, technology-driven investigations, design and installation of digital security systems, and off-site monitoring. The Bureau of Prisons was using them for security system installation. The prison break occurred during the conversion from the BOP security system to the Black Raven system.”
Skye glanced at Sebastian, “So your system wasn’t in place?”
“No,” he frowned, “We had about one day remaining on the installation.”
She held his gaze. “If it w
asn’t your system that failed, why are you taking this so personally?”
“When Black Raven is on the premises, we’re accountable. Which means I’m accountable.”
The reporter continued, “And now to our panel of experts.”
As the reporter introduced the five talking heads, each was pictured on the screen. Two were actually on Black Raven’s payroll, a fact that wasn’t obvious from public records. He recognized the other two and knew their backstory. The fifth so-called expert, introduced as Clint Whittaker, was an unknown. As the show progressed, Whittaker was the most vocal and the most argumentative.
One of the ‘experts’ who was actually on Black Raven’s payroll said, “Like most private security contracting firms, Black Raven’s methods are, at times, unconventional. But they fill gaps left by governmentally-sanctioned law enforcement forces.”
Another of ‘his’ experts nodded in agreement and said, “In these unconventional times, security firms need to use nonconventional methods.”
One of the less-friendly experts said, “Yes, but focus on this prison break. By all accounts, Black Raven botched the job.”
“Not true,” a friendlier expert said. “Black Raven was hired precisely to prevent this type of situation. Their security system wasn’t yet online. This isn’t their fault.”
“My sources indicate that Black Raven was on the premises when the prison break occurred. More important than that is what happened after,” Whittaker said, his loud, indignant voice breaking into the conversation, “which proves Black Raven’s manhunt capabilities are questionable, at best.”
Sebastian’s blood started a slow simmer as the verbal war continued. “Because they’ve been unable to find Biondo, a witness on Biondo’s prosecution has been killed. Yesterday there was a shoot-out in an Atlanta suburb, on a busy street. Preliminary reports suggest that it is related to the prison break. Connelly himself was on site after the shoot-out. If local or federal officials had been involved, perhaps the scene would have been contained better. Black Raven agents are not opposed to using lethal force-”
“Lethal force is sometimes necessary, and there’s a deputizing clause in Black Raven’s contracts that spells out that they have authority to use any type of force possessed by the contracting individual or governmental agency-”
“Even local officials use lethal force-”
One of the not-so-friendly experts managed to talk above the others. “But private security firms like Black Raven do so without regard to public safety. They’re not trained in public safety. They’re trained in protecting their clients at all cost, and there’s a big difference.”
Whittaker nodded with enthusiasm, almost yelling, “Call a spade a spade. Essentially, Black Raven is a band of unregulated hired guns. Many have been trained on taxpayer dollars, before Connelly wins them over with big salaries. U.S. citizens spend millions of dollars training special forces. Outfits like Black Raven cherry-pick the best, by offering lucrative paychecks and perks that go with high-living lifestyles. Action needs to be taken, and it needs to be taken now. Aside from the drain on our military and our tax dollars, these private security contractors are highly skilled, and they’re using their skills without any oversight except the pocket books of the people who hire them. They’ve got to be stopped. At the very least, it is time for regulation. The public cannot afford to be unaware of this issue. It is a matter of public safety. Black Raven makes millions of dollar a year off of government contracts. The prison security outsourcing contract is just the tip of the iceberg.”
“How much?” The reporter asked.
Whittaker said, “That’s a great question. I’m researching it now. My estimate tells me in the last fiscal year the number exceeded two hundred million.”
The fucking asshole was way underestimating the number. Sebastian doubted that mistake would be continued for much longer. He muttered, “Ragno. Profile Whittaker. Figure out who is paying him.” He paused, his blood slowing as a hunch developed. “And cross-reference him, and any of his contacts, to anything that’s turning up in the profiles that you’re pulling together on Jennifer Root, Zachary Young, and BY Laboratories. Only serious money buys that kind of hatred and I want to know who is funding him.”
“We’re cross-referencing everything in this case,” Ragno said. “Problem is, these massive data searches take time. Especially since Young and BY Laboratories used encryption technology for most of their communications. Also, I’d imagine that any company that is paying Whittaker isn’t using their real name.”
“You can handle it,” Sebastian said.
“Of course I can,” she said.
Debates on the pros and cons of private security contracting firms weren’t new, yet he couldn’t stop watching this one. Until now, the hot-button debate hadn’t been on the radar of the average American. With the popular twenty-four hour news network seizing upon the story and dedicating so much time to it, Sebastian knew he was slipping into a new era.
Ready or not.
Whittaker said, “Connelly was implicated in a vigilante-style shoot-out last July, which resulted in the death of an FBI agent and a suspected kidnapper.”
“Suspected?” One of the Black Raven-friendly experts chimed in. “There was nothing suspected about it. The man had killed one woman, maimed another, and he was in the process of murdering a third, while extorting millions of dollars from her family. You need to get your facts straight.”
“It was an uncontrolled shoot-out on domestic soil, complete with hand grenades. I have the facts,” Whittaker yelled. “This was in the backyard of Americans. And last night’s shoot-out was outside of a shopping mall. Hundreds of rounds were fired from assault weapons. Four men died. As we sit here, the scene remains under investigation. So right now, headline news involves not only a prison break, but also questions regarding the company the government hired to keep the public safe from prisoners. Vigilante groups such as Black Raven are unregulated hired guns, and often, like now, they create havoc.”
“Vigilante group?” Sebastian said. “Vigilante? Great. That’s just fucking great.”
One of his experts chimed in, “You’re forgetting that they do a lot of good. Remember the oil summit last March? If private security firms hadn’t been providing protection there, the summit would have been a disaster, and the ramifications would have put the region in turmoil. To be blunt, turmoil there would have had impact on our prices at the pump.”
Ragno said, “Time for the conference call with Minero. After that you’ll have a helicopter transport to Raven One.”
As soon as he heard the words oil summit, he braced himself for the footage that was coming. “Give me about forty-five minutes after the conference call ends before I leave.”
“I’ll make the arrangements,” Ragno said. “If wheels are up at nine-thirty, you’ll be here and situated by eleven. The firestorm in the media has all of your partners wanting to talk to you. Insisting on talking to you, as a matter of fact. Several Ravens are here.”
“What’s Zeus’s status?”
“He’s still managing safe house forensics and dealing with local authorities on the shoot-out outside of the mall.”
“Has he found anything useful?”
“No. You would have heard,” Ragno paused. “Should I arrange a meeting of the partners this afternoon?”
“Let’s talk about that when I’m leaving Last Resort.”
Sebastian turned to Skye, whose eyes were glued to the televised image of him, captured on video as the oil summit became a bloodbath. He had hoisted his rifle of choice, a black M4 Carbine, and switched it to fully automatic. The camera captured him shooting to kill anyone who crossed his path, while he shielded his client. Beautiful. Fucking beautiful. It was a great recruiting tool, but not anything the average American needed to see while they had their morning coffee.
The report flashed to a studio anchor announcing breaking news at the sentencing of international terrorist, Stonefish. The scre
en flashed to an image of a crowded city street, cars parked haphazardly, some with police signals flashing, and a burned out, multi-story building, with flames and smoke shooting from two floors. According to the anchor, Stonefish was missing and presumed dead, as were two of the judges of the international tribunal.
“Ragno, you see this?”
“Yes,” she answered. “Let’s count it as a lucky break. We weren’t working security on any aspect of that tribunal, and now the media has something in addition to the prison break to focus on.”
“If this is luck, I’m screwed,” he said, “but I’ll take what I can get.” He turned to Skye, whose eyes were on him. In her expression he saw fear, worry, and questions. He sure as hell wished he had answers. “It’s time for you to talk to the marshals.”
Just leaving one room and going to another took time. Skye patiently spoke to Spring, before talking to Doctor Schilling. He heard Skye ask, “You’re okay to stay with her?”
Schilling nodded. “Of course. Until we find your father and return him to prison, you’re under our care. While you’re under the care of Black Raven, you and she are in my charge. Whether that means administering medical care or helping with cupcakes,” she shrugged, “it’s no different.”
A measure of relief filtered into Skye eyes. Her gaze encompassed both Sebastian and Schilling. “Thank you,” Skye said, “When Spring is ready to start putting the icing on the cupcakes, she might need help. She’ll ask if she does. Please don’t try to help, if she doesn’t ask for it.”
Schilling gave Sebastian a smile that matched the light in her brown eyes. “Looks like I picked the lucky straw for the day. I get to bake cupcakes. I’ll call another doctor. He’ll be there in a few minutes to stitch your arm.”
Sebastian guided Skye down the hall, past the open door to the room where he’d slept, to a conference room. He glanced at the bed and would have given his soul to be back in it with her, without the distractions of the day crashing around him like lava erupting from a volcano.
Shadows (Black Raven Book 1) Page 26