“Not all of us,” Stollen said.
Samantha locked eyes with Stollen. Eyes pregnant with unsaid words, he was studying her. Throughout the argument among the lawyers, the killer’s gaze—resting on her—had become less leering and lewd, than a look of cool, thoughtful, assessment.
As Brier paced a short path, back and forth, and gathered steam in his argument to Judge O’Connor, Stollen, lowering his voice, whispered to Sam, “I need to talk to you.”
Samantha bolted upright, standing, and blocking Brier. “Your Honor, Mr. Brier is grandstanding. Yes, Praptan was covered years earlier, but the record of that proceeding is incomplete. Any information that Mr. Stollen—”
The judge raised his hand. “No need to continue with argument, Ms. Fairfax. Mr. Brier, your objection is noted, but overruled. Proceed with your questions, Ms. Fairfax.”
“Wait,” Stollen said, his eyes riveted on her laptop screen, which was playing the drone footage. “Stop it there.”
She clicked on pause, and downtown Praptan, which now looked like buildings were growing out of a forest, froze on the screen. After a few seconds, he tore his eyes from the screen. “Replay it from the beginning.”
As Samantha pressed rewind, then play, she gave Stollen a few minutes to see the footage of the now-derelict, overgrown city that had once been his home. “Mr. Stollen, I have the reports that were prepared from your debriefing interviews in 2009. What I’d like to do is go over a few of the statements that you made.”
He nodded, his attention still focused on the video, which was now showing the University area. “I’d like to see the transcripts.”
“I don’t have those documents with me,” Samantha bluffed. She didn’t plan on telling Stollen she hadn’t seen the transcript. Nor would she tell him one didn’t exist.
Truth was, there was no transcript of the debriefing interviews in the record of the proceeding against Stollen. Samantha’s knowledge of what Stollen said in those interviews came from a summary that was in the record of presentence proceedings, and the summary had few helpful details.
Gabe, his voice deep and quiet, said through the audio-feed in her ear, “I’ve read everything that Stollen ever said. There is no transcript of the debriefing interview anywhere. Only a summary report of what was said in the interview.”
Her heart twisted, because there was no denying genetics. Gabe’s rich voice sounded…like Zeus.
God, please let him be all right. Let him find his little girl.
Focus.
Task at hand.
The summary report on Stollen’s debriefing that Samantha saw was compiled by the prosecutor who had conducted the 2009 interview. Brier and Stollen had both signed off on it. The lack of a transcript wasn’t unusual in a file that was seven years old, compiled before electronic records were the norm in the federal judicial system.
“Mr. Stollen, transcripts aren’t necessary. You either know places where Maximov might be, or you don’t.” She gestured with her chin to her laptop screen, which now showed the rusted and overgrown amusement park. “What you said in 2009 isn’t necessarily relevant to information you provide today.”
There was silence in the room as the video footage ended. Ice-blue eyes shifted back to her. “I didn’t know they didn’t find him.”
“Holy shit,” Gabe whispered.
Stunned, Samantha glanced at the television monitor. Judge O’Connor was leaning forward, his eyes intent on Stollen.
She managed, “You didn’t know?”
“All I know, Ms. Fairfax, is that I was offered a deal, I gave information, and I’ve never heard back. My term of imprisonment remains fixed at life. I never actually expected the government to keep their end of the bargain. After all, the United States was instrumental in destroying my country.”
“Mr. Brier—your lawyer—didn’t inform you that Maximov wasn’t found?” Judge O’Connor asked, with a frown.
“Over the last seven years, my lawyer,” Stollen glanced at Brier, his tone bitter, “has had one-sided phone conversations with me and has mailed me pleadings that have been filed in my appeals. Today is the first day I’ve seen him since that interview in 2009.”
“Then let me inform you.” Samantha leaned forward. “Andre Maximov was not apprehended when authorities searched Praptan in 2009.”
Tearing his glance from Brier, Stollen shook his head. “Did you say apprehended?”
“Yes. I said he was not apprehended. He remains at large. He, and the Maximov organization, are perpetrating criminal acts worldwide every day.”
“Forgive me, Ms. Fairfax, for my lack of knowledge about current events. You see, I’ve been subject to seven years of solitary confinement. My only reading has been from the prison law library, which is out of date and deficient. With my prisoner designation, I haven’t had access to news of any kind for seven years. My lawyer”—he glanced sideways at Brier—“told me yesterday that this interview is being conducted in connection with a trial. Is that correct?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
“What are the issues that are being tried?”
She explained, quickly summarizing the four terrorist acts the ITT was examining and explaining that an issue the trial was considering was whether the terrorist cells were linked to Maximov and the Maximov-in-Exile organization.
When she was through, Stollen was silent. From the end of the table, McGavin’s breathing was heavy. Brier remained standing, his back against the wall, facing them.
“Crimes conducted in the name of Andre Maximov and his organization occur daily,” Samantha repeated. “It is an organization that has to be stopped, and to do that, we need Andre Maximov.”
Stollen shifted in his seat. His chains rattled in protest as he leaned forward on the table with all of his attention focused on Brier. “You’re fired.”
“Excuse me?” Brier asked.
“You heard me.” Turning to the monitor that showed Judge O’Connor, Stollen said, “And I do not want the prosecutor in this interview room, either. Just me and Ms. Fairfax. I want no one else to hear what I have to say.”
“Your Honor—”
“Don’t waste your breath, Mr. Brier. You will have an opportunity to explain yourself later, if needed.”
“No explanation needed, your Honor. My client…” He caught himself with a headshake. “Former client, if he really intends to fire me, is a pathological liar and an extremely convincing one. That fact is well established in the record. He is now manipulating—”
“Mr. Brier, exit the room.” Judge O’Connor was leaning forward, his eyes on Stollen. “Mr. Stollen, for this interview, you have the ability to fire your lawyer. You also do not need to have the prosecutor in the room. But my tolerance is stretched as far as it will be stretched, and unfortunately for you, this interview will not take place without my presence. Make this damn productive, or else this interview is terminated, and you can go back to your dark cell and live out the remainder of your days there. Brier and McGavin, leave the room. Now. The other parties who are in the courtroom with me are now exiting. Ms. Fairfax, would you bring a member of your security team into the room?”
After the requisite people movement occurred, Samantha nodded at Stollen. “Where can we find Andre Maximov?”
“Ms. Fairfax, take me to my island. Once I’m there, I will tell you where to find him. I’m not giving you any information while I’m in this prison.”
“The person you have to persuade is Judge O’Connor.” Samantha gestured with her chin to the television monitor.
Stollen turned to focus his attention on the monitor. “Once I have reached the island, once I walk on the beach and smell the fresh salt air, I will tell you and Ms. Fairfax precisely where to find Andre Maximov. Pardon my lack of trust, but this isn’t the first time I’ve tried to tell authorities where to find him. The real question is this: Why didn’t the authorities find him before? I certainly gave them a roadmap.”
“It could be that Maximov s
imply wasn’t using the hiding places with which you’re familiar, Mr. Stollen,” Samantha said.
“Impossible.”
Judge O’Connor leaned forward, getting closer to the monitor, giving the impression of eagerness to have a frank discussion. “Before we take you to the island, you must give us something to go on.”
Stollen glanced at Samantha, then focused on the judge. “If you actually look for him this time around, you will know that I’m telling the truth. You will find him precisely where I say he is, because I am not a pathological liar, and I know with certainty where he is.”
It was what she’d been hoping for when she’d requested the interview. Stollen’s cold certainty, though, begged a question to which there could only be one answer, and the answer meant the world had been duped. “How do you know with such certainty where he is?”
“It’s very simple.” Stollen’s smile sickened her. “Andre Maximov is dead.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Near Odessa, Texas
Tuesday, February 8
Maximov’s name sliced into Agent Martel’s torso sealed the deal on any speculation whether the kidnaping was related to the ITT trial.
Undeniably yes.
The instructions accompanying her body were explicit. At precisely 1915, Zeus, Barrows, and Theresa were to skydive to a remote location in the desert in the State of Chihuahua, Mexico. No firearms, no GPS trackers, no backup, no law enforcement.
The perps claimed to have surveillance for a fifty-mile radius. No telecommunication devices were to be carried. No GPS transmitters of any kind—internal or external—were allowed. Every move they made would be under surveillance.
Upon arriving at the drop zone, Theresa would be reunited with Ana. No Black Raven vehicle or plane was to approach the drop zone to pick up mother and daughter until 2015. Ana’s life depended upon strict adherence to instructions.
Zeus didn’t have to be told twice. Strict adherence, though, was a matter of interpretation. How much he could deviate, without causing his daughter’s death, was a judgment call.
Intel told them the drop zone, DZ for short, was in a valley in a desolate, isolated area of the Chihuahuan desert. Miles away from any known road. Hills to the East. A canyon to the West. Caves, both natural and manmade from now-abandoned mining activities, peppered the area. In the near vicinity, there were tunnels to facilitate transporting illegal aliens, drugs, and weapons across the border. Ragno and her team were collecting intel on the tunnel system.
The manner of transmitting the message was foolproof. Not one clue came from Martel’s body or the life raft, which had been saturated with salty ocean water from rough seas where the raft had been dumped. Non-negotiability was firmly established by mode of transmission, because the perps sure as hell didn’t leave a return number.
Once they received the instructions, he and Sebastian, with assistance from an army of agents and analysts, had planned for any contingency. They scrambled and shifted their primary base of operations—manned by Sebastian—to an airport outside of Odessa, Texas. From there, they ran parallel scenarios. One—the perps kept the action in desolate areas of Mexico, or nearby. Another—the entire Mexican stop was a smokescreen.
They prepared for the eventuality that they’d have to move in another direction, fast.
Each scenario twisted with every variable Zeus, Sebastian, Ragno and their team leaders could devise. Given the operational experience of the agents, the variables were plentiful. Black Raven’s C-130J cargo plane was circling a route from El Paso, Texas, over the city of Ciudad, Juarez, and on to Chihuahua City, the capital of the State of Chihuahua, at 27,000 feet. The minute intel provided a clue as to where-the-fuck it should go, airborne hell would descend, mobilize, and unleash its fury. More agents assembled in Ciudad, Juarez, the Mexican city closest to the DZ.
“Zeus,” Sebastian said, “you’re watching the time?”
Zeus glanced at his watch. 1830. One hour and forty-five minutes before jump time. “Yeah. Each passing second.”
Twenty-three hours, twenty-five minutes post kidnapping.
It was fucking impossible to stay focused when he knew stats that came at him, randomly. Seventy-five percent of abducted children are murdered are dead within three hours of their abduction. Estimates were that at least twenty percent of children involved in nonfamily abductions were not found alive. Those facts, taken together, painted a bleak picture.
The perps knew a father would come. That was a given. But they must know he was coming anyway, because he’d gladly hand them his own life if there was any chance to save hers. But there was absolutely no reason to keep a child alive, when dead would be easier.
Fuck.
Zeus, his ex, Barrows, and fifty Black Raven agents had assembled at a small corporate airport outside of El Paso, Texas. The jump would take place from a Black Raven Cessna. He and Agent Sylvia Leon—a Black Raven agent impersonating Theresa, would tandem jump. In real life Theresa had no clue how to skydive. He had no clue whether the perps knew that fact, but they decided Agent Leon would stay in character from the beginning. In character meant tandem jumping. Agent Dennis Cox—the agent impersonating Barrows—would solo jump.
The remaining Black Raven agents who were operating out of the El Paso airport, and agents on standby at an airstrip in Ciudad, Juarez, would be ready to deploy. The agents had Cessnas, choppers, Range Rovers, all-terrain jeeps and motorcycles. They’d deploy when it was deemed safe, determined by when Ana was in the arms of Agent Leon—as Leon imitated Theresa—and on her way away from the perps. Away. In any fucking direction Agent Leon deemed safe.
Not necessarily on the timeline set by the perps.
Sebastian, Ragno, and Zeus had thought hard about implanting a comm device in Zeus’s ear and the agents who were going to accompany him. Black Raven was testing devices that were no larger than a grain of rice. The problem? Even their most sophisticated comm devices were detectable by state-of-the-art scanners. Given how the perps had managed to detect and use Martel’s GPS chip to their advantage, they’d deemed it too risky to implant comm devices. Following the instructions they’d been given, GPS chips had been removed from Zeus, Leon, and Cox.
Every now and then a team leader stepped into the small conference room where he, Theresa, Agent Leon, Barrows, and Agent Cox were prepping. The utilitarian room, with out-of-date magazines and a basket of bagged snacks that no one felt like eating, carried the weight of each minute.
Sebastian was commanding operations from the Odessa hangar, where more agents were awaiting instructions. He was live on a video monitor that hung in the conference room. Sebastian kept everyone in the loop, his voice low, quiet, and constant. Ragno, from home base in Denver, was ever present on the audio-feed in Zeus’s ear.
Tearing his attention from a map of Eastern Mexico and West Texas he’d been studying on his laptop, and the stream of intel that Ragno was layering on the map, Zeus glanced at his ex. Theresa, in a chair next to him, had her knees drawn up. Her forehead rested on them and she was hugging them close. Her dark hair had mostly slipped out of a clip and fallen around her face. In the hours post-kidnaping, she’d gone through crying jags and anxious pacing. When she stopped blaming herself, she’d started blaming him.
He let his ex have her say. No need to stop her tirade, because he also blamed himself. For a million reasons. Most started with taking the Amicus team job for the wrong fucking reason—to be near a woman who made it clear he was best viewed in hindsight. Maybe if he’d spent more time thinking while on the job, rather than fucking, his daughter’s life wouldn’t be in jeopardy.
If it hasn’t already ended.
Thankfully, by midafternoon, Theresa had slipped into a quiet state, her ability to get through each long minute seemingly hanging on nothing but blind faith in Zeus’s assurances that their daughter would soon be in her arms.
Dear God, make it happen.
“Zeus.” Sebastian focused on him from the monitor, h
is expression no less intent than if he was standing next to him. “You did that thing Gabe and I suggested?”
“Not yet.”
Sebastian gave him an intense what the fuck are you waiting for look. “Think how much something like this would’ve mattered to you. I’m going to be real honest here.” His friend and partner lowered his voice, as though that would keep half of Black Raven from listening to him. “Tonight carries a great bit of risk. FUBAR is a possibility. You know that.”
Understatement. Fucked up beyond all repair—FUBAR. Reality was, the priority order for this rescue mission meant Zeus probably wouldn’t make it out alive.
Zeus understood why the bad guys wanted Barrows, because everyone did. Even if they didn’t have a need for Barrows’ cyber genius, the man was worth a fortune at a black-market auction, merely for what the man carried in his head. Though there was one niggling thought that Sebastian, Ragno, and Zeus had all voiced—why Barrows and why now?
It was a question to which they’d find an answer. Eventually.
He was willing to die to save his daughter. Yet he sure as fuck didn’t want to subject the agents who had volunteered to impersonate Theresa and Barrows to the same fate. Hence the priority order for the rescue:
Priority One: Ana.
Priority Two: Agent Leon—as she impersonated Theresa and rescued Ana.
Priority Three: Agent Cox—as he impersonated Barrows, Black Raven’s most valuable asset.
Priority Four: Zeus—Only after Ana, Leon, and Cox were safely returned to the Black Raven fold.
The priority was consistent with how they’d operate if they weren’t using doubles. A major flaw with using impersonators was that the perps could figure out the fakes. Zeus doubted it would happen with Leon—she’d transformed herself into a virtual double of dark-haired Theresa. Cox, an agent whose impersonation skills were part of his unique skill set, had, throughout the day, transformed himself into a man who bore an uncanny resemblance to Barrows. Yet there was no telling how much the perps knew about Barrows, who until his incarceration had been a public figure, making routine appearances on news shows.
Jigsaw (Black Raven Book 2) Page 38
