by Seeley James
Several vehicles raced into the park. Alan Sabel arrived first with Jaz and the Major. Agent Verges followed immediately behind them. Otis Blackwell and Emily Lunger fought for third.
“Where’s Jacob?” Pia asked a uniformed cop.
He said, “Jacob Stearne and his team were detained by officers responding to an armed invasion of a local private school.”
“They were trying to rescue me.”
He shrugged. “We know that now.”
Verges brought the Major and Alan through the police lines. While Alan wrapped her in a warm hug, the Major filled her in on the AG’s order to ignore the kidnapping.
“Pia,” Otis called from behind a line of cops. “Are you ready for that interview now?”
The officer nearest her shrugged when she glanced at him for permission. She waved the newsman over.
Otis pointed his camera with a strong light into her eyes. “How did Kazakh nationals kidnap a teenager?”
“They saw your report. You named the school, the place, and several players by name.”
“Don’t blame me,” Otis said. “It’s not my fault.”
“I’d appreciate it if you checked your story with me next time.”
“I tried.”
“I thought we were friends, Otis.”
“Friends communicate. Work with me.”
Pia huffed. “All right. Ask your questions.”
“Why didn’t the FBI handle this?”
“You’d have to ask the Attorney General.”
“Why are Kazakh nationals trying to kill you?”
“Let’s hope the police find out.”
“Would it be in retaliation for killing Marco Verratti?”
“If that’s the case, someone has me confused with Mr. Verratti’s killers.”
“Do you deny assaulting Verratti’s bodyguards moments before he was gunned down in Milan?”
“His associates tried to kill one of my agents. We went there to discuss—”
“Do you deny that Sabel agents used tranquilizers on Verratti’s men moments before they were shot to death?”
“Those are not connected—”
“Did Marco Verratti connect you to the mass graves on Borneo?”
“Where are these questions coming from, Otis?”
“Are the Kazakhs marauding around Montgomery County connected in any way to Jacob Stearne’s assault on a tribal leader in Malaysia, Borneo?”
Pia slapped the camera off Otis’s shoulder. “What is this? Who are your sources?”
The camera crashed to the ground. “Not you.”
“Your questions surprised me. I’m … I’m sorry.”
“You promised to call. I did a nice report on you. Mine was the only positive spin on the air. You never even said thank you.”
Pia stayed quiet.
He stooped to retrieve his camera. “News is a tough business. Why does Emily Lunger get all the inside scoops?”
Pia checked the lens. A visible crack crossed the center. She bent down next to him. “I’m sorry, Otis. I didn’t mean to break it.”
“This doesn’t belong to the station.”
“I’ll get you a new one.” Pia paused a moment. “Tell me who’s been contacting you.”
He looked up with fire in his eyes. “A newsman never reveals his sources.”
CHAPTER 24
Few things in life are as embarrassing as having sheriff’s deputies arrest you while you’re sneaking around a girl’s school in the dark. One thing that’s worse: seeing Emily Lunger waiting to pounce from behind the police tape.
I sent Miguel to cut her off while Carmen and I finished some work. We were twenty yards away when we heard her slap the big guy.
Jaz Jenkins stepped away from Alan Sabel’s side and angled to cut me off. “How could you let this happen?”
I paid him no attention. Jaz didn’t like my attitude and pushed me with all the power his inexperienced, untrained muscles could muster. I didn’t break stride.
“I’m talking to you.” He trotted in front of me, his expensive sport coat flapping open, his eyes blazing with anger. “Are you in charge of keeping Angel safe or not?”
I stopped and gave him my soldier stare. He cringed for a split second, then straightened up and lifted his chin. As pathetic as he was, Ms. Sabel had dissed him more than once. He deserved a little sympathy.
“While you were smoking dope,” I said, “partying with your frat brothers, and playing Grand Theft Auto between classes, I was in the ’Stan fighting for your right to get trashed. Now, get out of my way or I’ll snap your arm in half.”
It wasn’t as sympathetic as I’d planned.
Jaz born-into-the-one-percent Jenkins backed up a step. I nodded a quick good evening to him and marched to my next admirer, Alan Sabel.
“If you have something to say—say it to the Major.” I pointed behind him.
Carmen kept pace with me as we passed his gaping mouth. Not one single employee in his battalions of butt-kissers had ever spoken to him like that before.
He’d get over it.
We found Ms. Sabel doing a TV interview. No wonder Emily was pissed. Miguel’s problem. Carmen and I passed them and marched straight to the deputy sheriff guarding the evidence.
“I need the perp’s phone.” I held out my hand. Confidence works better than bullshit.
Without thinking, the rookie leaned over the open trunk and picked up a plastic bag. “This one?”
I grabbed it and hauled it to where they held the two Kazakhs at the back of a squad car. The rookie trotted behind me, asking who I was. Too late. Possession is nine-tenths of the law. I grabbed the cuffed hands of the older-looking Kazakh before one of the officers stopped me.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting a look at his vacation photos.”
“You can’t do that. It would be self-incriminating. The detectives are getting a warrant.”
“Those rules apply to law enforcement officers. I’m a civilian. This guy was begging me to have a look at his camera roll. Right, Sergei? Alex? Dmitri? Whatever your name is?” Like most people in his situation, he nodded when I nodded because he had no idea what I was saying, but he knew I was smiling nicely. The cop shrugged. The evidence would never hold up in court, but I looked forward to his funeral, not his trial.
I forcibly swiped the Kazakh’s finger across the fingerprint reader and his phone blinked to life.
His camera roll had plenty of incriminating photos: the area where we were attacked on Glen Road; the fire station where they blocked the road; Sabel Gardens from a long distance; Sabel Gardens from the river banks; the soccer field where the fateful game was played; Betty Weir arriving at the soccer field in daylight; a coffee house where Sabel agents often congregate; and several others.
Their body odor told me more of a story. To confirm my suspicion, I spun the roll back to the beginning. There he was, wearing a black uniform and smiling in a jungle standing next to a man with a scarred eyebrow.
“Why take pictures?” Carmen asked. “He could’ve staked out this op without them.”
I checked the text messages and found a stream of foreign language texts along with the pictures. Carmen tried retyping the messages into her phone’s translator but the Cyrillic characters were impossible for us to get right. I ended up copying and pasting the texts into the same translator he’d used with me. It worked well enough to determine the strategy.
His name was Yuri and he was sending pictures to a person identified only as Menedzher, Russian for manager. It was a running stream of operational plans and approvals. Yuri led a squad of seven. They’d entered the US illegally by crossing Lake Erie and then drove to NYC. Their original mission was not spelled out. But the day I took the Pak Uban’s money, the Menedzher changed their orders to “get the vials and terminate Pia Sabel.” They’d arrived shortly thereafter and camped in the woods of Potomac while hatching their plans.
Carmen looked up. “Gotta be your b
uddy Mokin, right?”
I nodded and kept thinking. At the Maserati attack, Yuri stationed one up the road, another down the road, while he stayed across the road for containment. The four we’d caught attacked our car. They hadn’t counted on us rolling down the wooded slope. Yuri and two others ran off when it went sour. The texts turned toward a plan to ransom someone, anyone, close to Ms. Sabel in exchange for the vials of blood. They settled on Betty. Scattered throughout the texts were references to ‘the fountain’.
Carmen was looking over my shoulder. “Which fountain are they talking about?”
“The one that spouts information. Our leak is worse than we thought.”
“Why did they go to New York first?”
“They were after someone else. It had to be someone important to send seven guys.”
“There were seven guys in Milan for the Verratti hit.”
“Interesting connection.” I thought for a moment. “Why would Mokin kill Verratti?”
Carmen shrugged and stared at me with more questions than answers.
I typed in the number to Sabel Security’s tech team and uploaded the bug that copied everything on the phone back to headquarters. Then I handed it back to the evidence cop while his detective was verbally assaulting him. They stopped arguing to glare at me.
I shrugged.
Ms. Sabel made her way to us clutching a blanket around her. When she was still a few yards out, I couldn’t hold back any longer.
I fully extended my arm, pointing my finger in her face. “You abandoned your post, soldier. When you did that, you endangered the operation, your team, and the victim. You gave Betty and the girls a great speech about teamwork over personal glory. You need to practice what you preach. I don’t care who the hell you are, or what company you own, I’m not going to work for someone who’s so selfish she’s willing to get me or my team killed. Am I clear?”
Ms. Sabel stopped, her eyes opened wide, her face drained. “Wha… But I—”
“I ordered Miguel to recon the hostage. You left your post to do it for him. That left our flank exposed. If they’d had one more Kazakh, we’d all be dead right now. This operation, like any other operation, is not about you, it’s about working as a team.”
“But, I—”
“There is no excuse. Your only remediation is to apologize to every member of the team for compromising their safety. AM I CLEAR?”
Mercury said, Oh, pure genius, dude. Berate her like a schoolgirl. Are you planning to retire on unemployment checks? Cause, that’s just not going to work for my lifestyle.
She straightened up, angry and proud. Before she could let loose the tirade she was building up, the Major came up to us. “He’s right, Pia. You owe them an apology.”
No one argued with the Major. Her voice and iron gaze didn’t allow room for it. Ms. Sabel’s defiant glare softened. I could see her thinking through the cloud of humiliation and realizing I was right. She set her boss persona aside and remembered her soccer persona, the athlete who thrived on teamwork.
“You’re right. I apologize.”
She turned to Carmen and repeated her apology with sincere contrition in her voice.
“Apology accepted,” Carmen said.
Ms. Sabel continued with the Major before she turned to look for Miguel. She took her medicine better than I expected. If I were her, I would’ve fired me.
I watched over Carmen’s shoulder as the detective introduced an interpreter to the Kazakhs.
“It was nice working with you,” Carmen said.
Absently, I said, “Not the first time she apologized to a team. She hogged the ball during the Women’s World Cup. The coach made her apologize.”
Carmen looked at Ms. Sabel, rapidly disappearing into the dark. “Tania survived calling her a ‘rich bitch’, maybe you’ll survive too.” Carmen regarded me. “But then, she likes Tania.”
The interpreter fell into an animated discussion with Yuri-the-Kazakh. Both of them gesticulated and shouted. Something about their conversation struck me as familiar and somehow important.
“She knows I’m right. If she doesn’t, I’ll…” I lost my train of thought.
Mercury said, Finally using your brain for something other than lying to women. Your mother would be so proud.
I said, What is it? Why is the interpreter making me think?
Mercury said, We don’t hand you shit on a platter, man. You have to put some effort into it.
“Thanks, asshole.”
Carmen smacked my arm. “Did you just call me an asshole?”
“Sorry. Thinking about something…”
I trotted over to the detective leaning against a car ten yards from the interpreter and Yuri.
“Hey, detective,” I said, “is he getting anything out of this guy?”
“Different culture,” he said without taking his eyes off Yuri. “They’re negotiating a price for the interpreter to lie to me.”
“You speak the language?”
“No,” he laughed. “I know criminal behavior. Check it out. My interpreter is trying to sell this clown on his ability to mislead us. He’s going to look over his shoulder at me in five seconds.”
The detective pulled a bored-dumb face. I waited. Six and a half seconds later, both Kazakhs glanced our way. Then Yuri agreed on the price with a nod and the conversation dropped to normal tones.
“What that dumbass doesn’t realize is, I’m recording every word they say and I’ll get a transcript in the morning.”
The scenario made my skin crawl.
I looked up the mass grave reports on my phone and tried to understand what was bothering me. All the dead were from the Melanau tribe, same as Kaya. I called Bujang, my old translator, and asked him why the Kazakhs had killed only Melanau. He said he was a Dayak and didn’t know much about them. I clicked off.
Carmen tapped my shoulder. “What is it?”
“I blew it back on Borneo.”
Mercury said, No shit, brotha. I told you to cut that guy’s fingers off if you wanted answers. But no. Candy-assed, limp-dicked, sheltered little punks like you don’t have the stomach for it. I don’t know why I waste my time on you. You’re not man enough to clean my sandals.
Miguel came running. “Jacob, the lab at NIH’s been destroyed. Dr. Carlton’s in intensive care.”
CHAPTER 25
The Jefferson Hotel’s wine steward decanted the wine and set the glasses on the cherry coffee table in front of Violet Windsor and Ed Cummings. The two sat opposite each other on facing sofas. Violet dismissed the steward and waited until the suite’s door closed before she spoke.
“Have you come up with a deployment plan?”
Cummings swirled the wine in his glass before answering. “I’m a fund manager, not an operations guy. Have Velox do it.”
“I’m not going to spend another minute speaking to that filthy cur. It’s time you got off your ass and did something.” She rose and crossed to the window. “You think he’ll actually kill Sabel?”
“I’m not comfortable with that plan. It’s a terrible idea and you should pull the plug—”
“How are you going to get Cummings Capital back on track with her breathing down our necks? Are you going to wait for the last investor to pull out of your funds before you wake up?” She leaned her back to the wall. “You need astronomical returns more than I.”
“Cummings Capital isn’t that bad.”
“Then why didn’t you buy out the Chinese when I asked you to?” Violet swirled the wine in her glass and took a sip. “I hate having to suck up to Chen.”
“Then don’t.”
“He owns more than half my shares, Ed. If he dumps them on the market, I’m finished.”
“What else does he have on you?”
Violet glowered. “Why do you care about Pia Sabel all of a sudden?”
“I just don’t condone…” He shrugged.
“Oh my god, you want Alan Sabel to invest in your fund.” She leaned forward and g
lared while he stared at his wine. “Is that what this is all about?”
“Think of the possibilities, Violet. Get him to invest and ten of his billionaire buddies will follow him—”
“His little golden girl will see through you in a second. She’ll trace the evidence back to you and you’ll be finished.” Violet sighed and finished her wine in a gulp. “Do you think Kasey can handle her?”
“He seemed anxious to get started. But it’ll bring a lot more scrutiny, especially if they still have the vials.”
“I’ll worry about the vials. You worry about deployment. The minute Velox recovers Element 42, I want it deployed. I need you to handle that part tonight. Do you hear me?”
“What do you expect me to do, hire day laborers from Home Depot?”
“I don’t give a damn. Just get it done.”
Her phone rang. She held a hand to Cummings and answered. “Prince, thank you for returning my call. It’s good to hear—”
“Why are you so interested in Pia all of a sudden?” Prince asked.
“I care about her, the same as anyone. Since she wouldn’t remember me, as you pointed out, I thought I’d ask you.”
Reflected in the window, she saw Cummings waving to get her attention and ignored him.
“Luckily, she’s safe and so is the girl.”
“Oh, Tania is healthy again?” Violet asked.
“Who?”
“The girl who was sick. Tania Cooper.”
“Oh, her. No, she’s still sick. They sent a vial of her blood to NIH. They think she has the same thing as the people on Borneo. I was talking about the other girl—” Prince muted his phone for a few seconds. “Look, I have to go.”
When she clicked off, Cummings turned up the TV.
“That fucking bitch!” Violet screamed. “Now there are four vials. Goddamn it!”
Cummings craned over his shoulder to scowl at her. “Keep it down.”
“Did you hear me?” she said. Cummings stared at the TV. “Turn that thing off! I can’t think.”
“It’s about Pia Sabel,” he said.
“Did someone finally kill her?”
“She rescued a kidnapped teenager.”
