Olivia turned back to her prisoner, his empty stare already waiting for her. She could feel control over the situation evaporating. But how to take it back? If she removed her staff, she was complying with the very thing he’d asked of her at the beginning. If she stopped the interrogation altogether and sent him back to his cell, they were at a dead end.
If she escalated to enhanced interrogation techniques, she was gambling, inviting a potential hostage situation involving her staff’s loved ones. Her staff would be compromised—a potential liability.
Unfortunately for her, Tibbs didn’t give her time to think of alternatives.
“As you know, Lindelof, the plan, once you had me good and intimidated, was to ask me a number of questions. One of those questions, you’ll remember, is if I knew anything about the sudden reappearance of Luka Sokolov and Noah Walker. Two ex-special forces vets whom The Cell previously investigated. As you also know, those investigations were closed after both men disappeared. Neither have been spotted for over two years now.
“Yet, now they’re here in Seattle. Within hours of me and my friends being taken into custody. It’s the sort of coincidence that makes you think, doesn’t it?”
Jonathan paused, as though he wanted to really give everyone time to think the question over. “Two extremely dangerous individuals who have avoided detection for years. Why do you think they suddenly made the mistake of letting you know they’re alive and right in your backyard? It is almost as though they wanted Agent Mulvaney to know exactly how close they are.”
A chilling silence swept the room, as Jonathan’s threats went from highly unlikely to almost certain. Even Lindelof had grown quiet, seeming to lack an immediate reply.
Finally, he seemed to remember who was supposed to be in charge. “You were safer when I didn’t take your threats seriously, Mr. Tibbs”
Jonathan sighed. “Part of being the bad guy, is showmanship. You save the best tricks for last. You’ll want to pay attention, Agent Lindelof, because this involves you. See, you aren’t a member of The Cell, you were brought in as a temporary outside consultant and your vetting wasn’t nearly as rigorous as the nice folks behind the glass that work here full time.”
Olivia braced herself, having a very intense certainty that her interrogator was no longer the bully in the room.
“See, your attachments aren’t much of a mystery. You’ve got a wife, Susan, a son and a daughter. Now, of course, your children don’t know about the problems you and your wife have been experiencing. That problem that just seems to keep getting worse. You keep telling her it’s the stress—the pressures of the job. But she doesn’t really know the details of what you do.
“But, imagine what she might feel if she found out just how easily you can rise to the occasion when—”
Lindelof exploded out of his seat, his features distorted in fury as he leaned over the table to throw a fist at Jonathan. Olivia was slow to react, shocked by how quickly Lindelof had lost control. She wasn’t alone, in fact the only one who wasn’t surprised was Jonathan. He seemed to see Lindelof coming before the man even moved—like he was watching a tortoise in slow motion.
With the slightest slip of his head, Lindelof’s fist missed the mark entirely. Having lunged and not connected, the agent had leaned too far over the table. He tried to catch himself with his free hand, but he had put his hand too close to Jonathan’s.
In a split second, Jonathan pulled Lindelof’s hand out from under him. As the man fell, there was a crack as Jonathan’s forehead snapped forward with the speed of a snake uncoiling.
She could hear the sickening crunch of cartilage over the audio system as a dazed Lindelof collapsed and slid off the table to the floor, his nose mangled and front teeth shattered.
Jonathan, relaxed, sitting back in his chair before cracking a few vertebrae in his neck. Then he went on talking as though nothing had interrupted him. “Which brings us to you, Olivia.”
He was raising his voice a bit to be heard over Lindelof’s whimpers. “Since the precarious situation your staff has found their loved ones in isn’t enough to get a private conversation . . . maybe everyone in that room needs to see how quickly you change your mind when it’s personal.”
She felt Rivers tense beside her, as though he were getting ready to move, but Olivia held up a hand to stop him. Her eyes narrowed, and she couldn’t deny a morbid curiosity as she waited for Jonathan to speak. Unlike the others, there was nothing Jonathan could throw at her. She didn’t believe he could hurt her, and she’d play chicken to find out if he knew her better than she knew herself.
Lindelof, struggling to get his bearings, finally pushed up to hands and knees.
“Last chance to clear the room, Olivia,” Jonathan said. “Your staff doesn’t have the pay grade to know about you.”
Bleeding profusely onto his suit and tie, Lindelof swayed clumsily as he rose to his feet. There was rage in his eyes, but he wasn’t was going to let a man in full restraints get the better of him a second time. Jonathan didn’t waste a glance at him as he took his first staggering step around the table.
He stared back at the glass—at Olivia. “Each step buys Lindelof a letter; hope I spell something interesting before he gets his hands on me.”
Lindelof paused, forced a cruel smile onto his face, perhaps failing to realize how ridiculous he looked without his front teeth, “Nothing you’re gonna—
“A . . . V . . . R—”
Her fists were slamming against the glass as though they had a mind of their own. She was panicking as she realized what Tibbs knew. “Rivers, get Lindelof out of there now!”
By then, Lindelof had a handful of Jonathan’s shirt collar. He looked up to see the glass wobbling back and forth as Olivia slammed away at it from the other side. His eagerness suddenly becoming disbelief as Rivers burst into the room and took hold of his arm.
“Agent, I need you to come with me, now!” Rivers said, forcibly pushing the bewildered Lindelof out of the room. Just before Rivers shut the door behind them, Lindelof chanced one last menacing glare at Jonathan.
He immediately regretted it, the soulless stare Jonathan had been wearing was gone. The smugness had returned. Jonathan leaned down over the table such that his fingers could tap the side of his head.
He smiled, and said, “Don’t forget the pencil and paper, bud,” just as the door closed on Lindelof.
Olivia watched Jonathan sit back in his chair, alone in the room again and looking as calm as the moment he’d been brought in. She was shaking. She had lost her composure in front of her subordinates.
“Everyone out, now!”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
OCT 15, 2005 | 3:30 PM | SEATTLE
PAIGE HAD BEGUN to worry about Evelyn. They couldn’t communicate openly—but she could see that their circumstances were bringing Jonathan’s mother to a slow boil.
Colonel Hamill’s box of donuts, and whatever lay beneath its paper lining, sat on the kitchen counter. They were both desperate for a look, but there was no longer any question they were being watched. As such, they behaved as though the box contained nothing other than pastries. But, being unable to discuss this made planning anything that required their mutual coordination difficult.
So, the strategy became simple enough to remain unspoken. Eat the donuts—all the donuts.
Whoever finished off the box could attempt some sleight of hand. Sneak out the envelope while breaking down the box for recycling. Course, two people eating a dozen donuts might not have been suspicious if they were offensive linemen, but Paige and Evelyn’s combined weight hardly broke two fifty.
Their stomachs were already threatening revolt by the time they had each put away three. Paige couldn’t help thinking how handy Hayden and Collin would have been about now. They needed a few more unwitting mouths. Which was why, the moment they heard a knock at the door, neither woman needed to discuss inviting in whoever was behind it for coffee and a donut.
“You expecting anyone
?” Evelyn asked.
Paige shook her head as she crossed the room, already wondering if inviting a Jehovah’s Witness in was too obvious. Technically, it wouldn’t be the first time; Collin let two in the house once.
The memory brought a bit of a smile to her lips. She’d come downstairs to find Hayden looking mortified, while Collin tried to keep a straight face and feign interest. What made it awkward, was that the two had been in the middle of their gospel reboot’s first edition. This meant that the Jehovah’s Witnesses were attempting to explain their faith whilst a large comic book style image of a haloed sperm wearing a cape approaching the Virgin Mary’s womb sat on display on the kitchen table.
Collin could be a real shit sometimes—then again, it had been a bad time for everyone in the house. Jonathan had just come home from his assault. She’d found it hard not to laugh. That said, it had also been the last time anyone knocked on their door asking if they had been saved.
The memory made her miss them all over again—she had to get them back.
Opening the door, she found a man standing on her porch. He was in his late forties and in surprisingly excellent shape. Dark skinned, hair so short it seemed he shaved it normally but hadn’t done so for a few days. His clothes seemed a bit casual for his age. Baggy camouflaged cargo pants, a loose button-up short sleeve shirt, and closed toe sandals. There was a duffel bag laying on the steps behind him, and she noticed a baggage claim tag on its handle.
“Hello,” Paige said. “May I help you?”
The man was nervous as he gave her a once over, his eyes flicking behind her to see Evelyn watching from the table. He seemed unprepared, as though he’d had to see who answered the door before he had a clue what he was going to say. When he spoke, his accent was heavy, and instantly familiar.
“I am sorry to disturb you,” he said, taking a photo from his shirt pocket and holding it out to her. “I’m looking for my daughter. Have you seen her?”
The picture looked as though it were taken on a high school photo day, but Paige recognized a young Rylee. At a loss for what to do, her eyes darted back and forth between the man, who was apparently Rylee’s father, and the picture, too many times to plead ignorance.
“Yaa . . . yes, I’ve met her,” Paige said.
Relief washed over the man’s face. “Oh, thank God.”
He put the photo away and held his hand out to her. “My name is Joao Silva. I’ve been very worried, was becoming a bit desperate to find anyone who had seen her.”
Paige stared back, dreading what she would soon have to tell a stranger, only to realize she had no idea what she even could tell him.
“Do you know where I might find her, or if she’ll be coming back here again?” Joao asked. “I don’t wish to impose. I know we’ve never met, but perhaps I could leave a message for her?”
Paige’s lip quivered a bit. The growing reluctance on her face quickly turning Joao’s hopefulness back to fear. “Um, Mr. Silva, you should probably come inside. I . . . I really don’t know where to begin.”
Evelyn had a cup of coffee, a plate filled with donuts, and a chair pulled out for Mr. Silva before Paige ever brought him inside. Once he’d been introduced, her face mirrored Paige’s. Neither woman was exactly sure what they were going to tell him.
As a mother desperate to find her son, Evelyn didn’t relish the thought of seeing another parent share her nightmare. At the same time, she didn’t know if she had it in her to keep him in the dark. If she did tell him, then Joao would be in the same danger as them.
In that moment Evelyn made a decision. Well, anger made a decision, she just decided to get out of its way.
Paige must have seen it on her face; she immediately gave the slightest cautionary shake of her head. With a heavy breath, Evelyn made a show of reining herself in. “I’m sorry, please excuse me a moment. I just . . . I need some air.”
Paige’s eyes followed her warily as she stood and walked out through the garage door.
“Mr. Silva, that had nothing to do with you, it’s been a stressful couple of days,” Paige said after Evelyn closed the door behind her.
He waved it away as he set down his bag. “No need to explain. I’m grateful you’re willing to let a stranger into your home. I don’t wish to be rude, but I’ve no idea why my daughter would travel so far without telling anyone. Were you friends?”
Paige shook her head. “No, Rylee, she . . . um . . . had some sort of relationship with my roommate.”
She nodded to the garage door. “Evelyn’s son, Jonathan. But neither of them ever explained why Rylee was staying with us. Your daughter and I didn’t talk much while she was here.”
Joao looked at her as though that couldn’t be all there was to tell. “But she was staying here? Sleeping here?” Joao asked. “When did she move on?”
“Um,” Paige cleared her throat. “Mr. Silva, do you mind if I ask how you knew to come here?”
A moment of reluctance played out on Joao’s face. He seemed to be considering how much to say. “Rylee left without telling anyone. Stopped answering her phone. By the time her mother and I were worried enough to contact the police, we had no idea where to tell them to look. We filed a missing person’s report. Nothing ever came of it.”
He looked down then, one hand rubbing the stubble on his scalp. “I teach martial arts. One of my students, she helps find missing people—missing women in particular—for a living. I asked if she could help, and she tracked Rylee’s phone to this address. I didn’t ask how, it’s all witchcraft to me, but I was too grateful to care if it was entirely legal.”
Paige nodded sympathetically. “No need to explain yourself. Last few days, Evelyn and I are guilty of worse.”
Understandably, the comment got her a sideways glance. “Paige, if you know where I can find my daughter, I only want to bring her home safe. I assure you, I don’t care what business you or your roommates might be involved in.”
“Sorry Mr. Silva, I didn’t mean for you to think . . .” She sighed. “The thing is—”
Paige was cut off when the garage door flew open.
Evelyn, somewhat shaken, came back through the door. She strode in, slammed a small toolbox down on the table with one hand, and tossed a device trailing several severed wires onto the table with the other. “I’m done with this, I had to know.”
Paige stared at what was clearly a surveillance camera—though a far more sophisticated one than any she’d ever seen at RadioShack.
“Jesus, Evelyn, what did you do?”
The question was the rhetorical sort, the kind one finds themself asking aloud when a friend’s mother makes a rash decision with consequences for everyone in the room.
“I’m sorry—no, I’m not,” Evelyn said, “No more games.”
She stared dumbfoundedly at her and the camera for a few more seconds, then Paige sprang from her chair and ran to the window. She pulled the shades and stared out into the front yard—half expecting to see men in suits coming up the driveway.
“Mr. Silva,” Evelyn said, as she opened the toolbox and pulled out a screwdriver and held it out to him. “Would you assist me while Paige keeps an eye out. We need to see if there are more of these.”
At a loss, Rylee’s father accepted the screwdriver, but wore the face of a man who didn’t know what he’d gotten into the middle of.
“Um, what . . . what exactly is—”
“Check the ducts first,” Evelyn said, already pulling a chair from the table to use as a stepping stool to reach the kitchen vent. “I’ll explain, or at least I’ll try, as we go.”
Rivers returned to the observation room in time to see the last of the analysts hurry out.
“Get in here, he asked you to stay,” Olivia said. “And I need backup on this.”
He’d never seen Olivia rattled, but hearing her say she needed backup made him worry how much Tibbs had gotten to her. Not that he could blame her, Jonathan’s words couldn’t have targeted his fears more precisely if h
e’d told the man exactly what to say.
She stood at the glass staring at him. “What the hell just happened?”
He tried to detach from his fear, think things through. “Secondary protocol doesn’t explain this. His intel—would have taken us weeks to gather. He’s been here less than forty-eight hours and was isolated the entire time.”
“Something I don’t know, Rivers,” she snapped. The moment the words left her mouth he saw she regretted them. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s alright,” Rivers said. “I’m not exactly a pillar of calm either.”
She nodded gratefully. “Alright, I know what my gut is telling me. What about yours?”
Rivers drew in a long breath. “It’s telling me that if we call his bluff, he’ll do whatever he has to. It’s also telling me he doesn’t want to hurt anyone.”
“What makes you think that?” Olivia asked.
“He was very specific, pushing everyone’s buttons. But he changed his strategy when he got to you. He made it look as if he was playing chicken, but I don’t think he was. I think he was trying to show mercy.”
“Mercy?” Olivia asked. “What do you mean, mercy?”
“When he focused on you, he didn’t just tell the whole room what he had, he spelled out what he knew . . .”
Her head jerked toward him sharply, enough for Rivers to know it would be best if he not mention Tibbs’ spelling demonstration again.
“. . . All I’m saying is he seemed to know everyone in the room would be in danger if they knew what he did. So, he gave you the chance to stop him before it was too late.”
She took a long breath and considered before turning back to study Tibbs on the other side of the glass. “It doesn’t feel like we’re dealing with the man we’ve been watching for months. How is that possible?”
Rivers had already had that same thought, but he was more than reluctant to speak of it. Olivia read this off him with a glance. “Speak your mind, Rivers.”
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