Primal Deception

by Robin Mahle

  “This is it.” Neville exited and made his way into the corridor. “My office is right over here.”

  Will followed, still judging the man’s demeanor.

  “Go ahead and take a seat.” Neville closed the door and walked to a small bar cabinet. “Can I get you something to drink?”

  He watched as Neville began to pour himself one. “I’ll just take a water, if you’ve got it.”

  Neville looked at his glass and appeared embarrassed. “Yes, of course. I guess it’s a little early for the hard stuff. It’s just, you know, it’s been a difficult few weeks.”

  “I’m not judging.” Will held his hands up in surrender, except he was judging. He was taking stock of everything this man said and did.

  Neville walked to the chair where Will was already seated. “Here you go. You know, sometimes, this still feels very surreal to me.”

  “I’m sure it does. But as you know, we’re still in the middle of the investigation and I’d like to talk to you about your position here with Nova.” Will tossed back a gulp of his water.

  “I run cyber-security for the east coast region.”

  “And do you have any involvement in the infrastructure of Nova’s retail buildings?”

  “No. I just handle security for our accounting systems, databases, things of that nature. No, the security of the buildings is strictly left up to the architects and then each retailer who rents out space in the facilities.”

  “Were you aware that Owen Ballard with Argus Solutions was murdered two days ago, along with his wife?”

  “I did hear that. Home invasion, I gather.” Neville hung his head. “Terrible thing. After just losing another member of staff in the attack. It’s a damn shame.”

  Will regarded Neville with vigilance. He couldn’t admit knowledge of the emails with Ballard and so he would have to tread carefully. “That does seem to be the prevailing story, though it is still under investigation. However, I’d like to discuss your contract with Argus. I understand that was only recently established. What was it that they were hired to do for you?”

  “Assist with security measures for our systems. We subcontract much of that type of work and I manage them.”

  “Mr. Neville,” Will began. “From the FBI’s perspective, we’ve grown increasingly concerned about what’s happened to the staff at Argus Solutions. And we’d like to ask for your cooperation in answering questions about your relationship with Owen Ballard.”

  “It is unfortunate—what’s happened over there, but I’m afraid there isn’t much I can answer for you. Because of the attack, all of our outsourcing has been put on hold until further notice. Nova Investments is trying to put the pieces back together.”

  “I understand that. And that’s why we’ve requested authorization to review your communications with Argus; emails, phone calls—things of that nature.” Will noticed Neville twirling a pen in his hand. “We want to understand the relationship between your two organizations.”

  “I’ve just explained to you our relationship. Forgive my ignorance, but I don’t see what that has to do with investigating a terrorist attack on one of our malls. From what I’ve heard, you already have a group who has claimed responsibility.”

  “I’m limited on how much detail I can go into with you, Mr. Neville. Suffice it to say that there are things beyond which I can explain at the moment. And we have reasons for making this request. We aren’t closing the door on any leads right now.”

  Seemingly amused by the agent’s request, Neville smirked. “The authorization will have to come from David Hogan, not me. But if you want to spin your wheels, I guess that’s the FBI’s prerogative.”

  “I’m sorry, did I say something funny? You think any of what has happened in recent weeks is humorous in some way? Mr. Neville, your flippant tone strikes me as extremely insensitive. Is that what you wish your company to portray to the public?”

  Neville rose to his feet. “If that’s all, Agent Caison, I really have a very full day ahead of me.”

  Will began to walk toward the door. “I appreciate your time and I look forward to seeing you again soon.”

  Neville watched the agent disappear from view. He placed his index finger under the collar of his shirt and loosened his tie. His throat tightened from what felt like a noose around his neck. Caison had made it crystal clear the FBI knew something about Owen Ballard. Perhaps something they’d found in his home. Whatever it was, Neville was going to have to cover his tracks. Though unexpected and even a little tragic, Ballard’s death had brought a certain level of relief to him. Owen had been reconsidering his actions, which meant he might’ve revealed their agreement. Now he considered Owen’s death might not have been the result of a home invasion after all. The FBI’s interest was far too keen. “What was that son of a bitch hiding?”

  ♦♦♦

  Aaron Hunter stood on the front porch of Lacy’s home. He looked over his shoulder multiple times, unable to shake the feeling he was begin watched. Too many years of walking the fence between right and wrong left him susceptible to paranoia. He knocked on her door.

  A moment later, Lacy answered, “Aaron, thanks for coming over.”

  “No problem.” A final glance behind him and Aaron walked inside.

  “I wasn’t sure if you’d eaten, so I asked Celeste to set out some food.”

  “Thanks, I haven’t had lunch yet.” He followed her into the kitchen. “How are you handling things?”

  “I feel like I’m trapped in a horrific nightmare, but thanks for asking. Grab a plate and let’s take a seat at the table and talk.” Still lacking a sufficient appetite, Lacy tossed a few finger foods onto her plate and returned to the table. “So what do you think?”

  Aaron picked up his sandwich but stopped short before taking a bite. “I think I can do it. I’ve been running a few scenarios and it’ll be dicey, but if this is what we need to do.”

  “And if you get caught? You remember what I said?”

  “I won’t.” He took a bite of the sandwich.

  “I think we have an ally,” Lacy began. “You remember me mentioning an agent by the name of Will Caison? He’s on the task force.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Something’s got him bothered about the fact that the State Department wants to issue a statement about the Army of Islam being responsible for the attack even with what they’ve got on Nova and Argus Solutions. The directive came down without the slightest consideration for any other possibility.”

  “How’s that going to help us, exactly? His involvement, I mean.”

  “We need someone on the inside who can talk to people. Find out why no one’s interested in looking into anything but this terrorist group. He thinks it has something do with the money from Beijing. No one wants to bring China into this.”

  “Probably just politics as usual,” Aaron replied.

  “Maybe.”

  Aaron wiped his mouth with the napkin. “Let’s get to work, then.” He unzipped his carrier bag and retrieved his laptop, placing it on the table. “First of all, we need to find out who sent the money to Ballard. The two million dollars from China.”

  “I don’t have a name, but we do have a wire transfer number that the bank in Panama turned over to the FBI as part of the records request.”

  “That’ll do.”

  Lacy handed him the paper. “It’s the one on the top.”

  “Got it.”

  His fingers typed at a frenzied pace, and she smiled with astonishment. “How have you managed to stay out of prison?”

  He stopped for a moment to convey a wry smile. “I’m just that good. You were that good once too. And Jay.”

  “No. Not like you, my friend.”

  “Hang on. I got something here.” Aaron stopped typing and studied the screen.

  “What is it?” Lacy leaned in closer.

  “This doesn’t make any sense.” Aaron pointed to the screen. “This deposit
, the two million dollars—it came from Beijing, but the payor is untraceable.”

  “Untraceable?”

  “Shit. They used a cryptocurrency.”

  Lacy had heard the term before and, in fact, this type of currency use was on the rise in the world of terrorism. “Like bitcoin or something similar?”

  “Exactly, and it’s very easy to make those types of deposits anonymously.”

  “But we know Owen received it?”

  “That’s right. They only made it anonymous on the payor’s end, not the payee.”

  “Which leaves us at square one again.”

  “Someone has done a very good job at covering their tracks.” Aaron stopped and looked at Lacy. “I’ll keep working on this to identify the source, but I think we need to let your Agent Caison know about this. This is a complex and sophisticated system that I’m not entirely sure I can handle on my own.

  ♦♦♦

  The private jet rolled to a stop on a secure airstrip in Beijing and Lei Jian walked onto the tarmac, flanked by personal guards. A sleek black Audi shadowed beneath a clouded sky awaited him only steps away and Jian entered the back seat.

  “I’m late,” Jian began. “We need to go now.”

  The driver pulled away and headed toward the Ministry of State Security.

  Jian reached for his cell phone. “My apologies. I was delayed but will be there very soon.” He paused. “Of course. It has been taken care of. Zài jiàn (goodbye).”

  The car drove beyond the known public location of the Ministry’s office near Tiananmen Square and continued on to the north end of Beijing to a clandestine site of the Ministry’s headquarters near Xiyuan.

  Lei Jian stepped out of the car and into the building that resembled a public school. “It is good to be home.” He made his way along the halls and toward his office. Once inside, he was joined by the man he’d spoken to in the car.

  “You have encrypted the data in question?” the man asked.

  “Shi (yes). Our problem has been taken care of and tracing the money back to us will be impossible.”

  The man nodded. “Then you will inform our US contact?”

  “Of course. Right away,” Jian replied.

  The gentlemen parted ways and Jian picked up his landline. “Put me through to the US State Department.”

  ♦♦♦

  Agent Caison eyed the front of Owen Ballard’s home through the passenger window of his car. The impressive architectural structure was still marred by yellow police tape and was an active crime scene that no one believed was tied to the attack, except Will and Lacy. He needed to get inside and poke around. Someone was working very hard to hide their tracks, but from what he knew of Owen Ballard, he had been a man in way over his head and it cost him his life along with many others.

  Will stepped onto the cobblestone driveway and began to walk around to the side of the enormous two-story luxury home. The windows were secured and the gate to the backyard was locked too. “Damn it.” The place had been abandoned, at least at the moment, and so Will hopped the gate. Landing hard on a Tonka truck, he turned his ankle. “Son of a bitch!” He kicked the steel-framed toy in frustration and soon hobbled toward the back of the home where a pair of French doors led into a large formal living space. He tried the lock, in the event it had been inadvertently left open. No such luck.

  He couldn’t be sure if an alarm had been set but doubted it since the owners were dead and who would’ve known the code? Then again, the mortgage lender was probably very interested in the home’s security and could’ve arranged it. Will would have to take his chances because time was running out. In a matter of days, it would be announced that the attack was confirmed to have been masterminded by the ISIS splinter group and all would be forgotten. And Will would be on his way back to Louisville.

  He removed his suit jacket and wrapped it around his hand. A sudden crash and one of the windowpanes in the French door came crashing down on to the wood floor inside. No alarm. He turned the lock and pushed the door open, stepping over the broken shards and into the living room. His initial impression was that the home felt cold. High coffered ceilings, white walls, scant furnishings. The place felt like a modern museum.

  Will continued inside and began to explore the ground floor. He didn’t expect to find anything down here and knew whatever Ballard was hiding would be in a safe or an office somewhere and that was what he needed to find.

  The study on the ground floor displayed books that he doubted Ballard had read. Classics like The Odyssey, The Count of Monte Cristo, and Will’s personal favorite, 1984. He rubbed a gloved finger over the top of the books and examined the thick dust that had deposited on the tip.

  No time to contemplate the hypocrisy of a dead man, Will needed to find something, and quickly. He moved toward the staircase and began making his way to the second floor toward the bedrooms. Will happened across the boy’s room first and the likely owner of the truck that nearly caused him to make a trip to the hospital. Upon glancing inside the room, he began to feel sorry for the young boy who’d lost his father. No matter what kind of man he was, he was still the kid’s dad.

  Will continued toward the master bedroom and pulled open the large double doors to reveal a grand bed, piled high with decorative pillows, a fireplace, and walls surrounded by beautiful artwork, the one blemish being the large crimson stain on the ivory-colored carpet.

  His first inclination was to check the closets for a hidden safe. But after several minutes of pulling aside Owen’s clothes and then his wife’s, he found no safe.

  Will stepped back out onto the landing outside the bedroom. “Where is it, you son of a bitch. I know you have one.” He stood with his arms folded and scanned the area.

  Another door caught his eye and he proceeded along the short corridor to the area adjacent to the master bedroom. He opened the door and discovered it was a dressing room and it appeared to belong to his wife. Custom teak shelves were lined with expensive shoes and formal wear hung on cherry-stained rods.

  He turned to the left and spotted more shelves with shoes, but then he noticed a shadow from the lights above that appeared in contrast next to the shelves. A small recessed cabinet came into view and he pulled open the door. “Jackpot.”

  Will pressed the latch and hanging necklaces rattled as the door swung open. Inside revealed what he knew had to be here—a safe. Its combination was now the issue. He considered that the police had already been in the home and hadn’t found it. So no one knew it was there at all. This opened up some options for him to gain access. “Fuck it.” Will retrieved his gun, stood back, and fired on the lock.

  The door flew open and inside was what Will knew had to be there. Currency. Dollars, yen, perhaps left over from a visit to China. And most importantly, bank statements.

  With his phone in his hand, he dialed Lacy. “It’s Will. You mind if I stop by?”

  14

  A knock sounded on Lacy’s door and she began to rise from the sofa, briefly glancing at the kids as they played with their Legos. “I’ll be right back.”

  She opened the front door and there Aaron stood—tattered jeans, white t-shirt with a gaming logo, and flip-flops. “Thanks for coming on such short notice.” Lacy stepped aside. “Please come in.”

  “Anything you need, Lacy. I’m here.” With his hands in his front pockets, he walked through the foyer and peeked into the living room. “Hey, kiddos.”

  When neither turned to him, Lacy felt the need to explain. “Don’t take it personally. They’re not themselves right now. None of us are.”

  “I understand. You mentioned the FBI agent was coming over?”

  Lacy began to walk into the kitchen and headed toward the refrigerator. “Yes. He called earlier and was a little vague, but I imagine he must have some information for us. Can I get you something to drink?” She grabbed a Diet Coke.

  “Just a water, thanks.” He pulled out a seat at the kitchen ta
ble.

  “I don’t know what he’s got, but I thought you should be here too.” She sat down, placing the bottle in front of him. “It’s nice to have a friend around for support.”

  “You sound as though you’ve been abandoned.”

  “I feel like I have been. I don’t have a job to go to and my colleagues can’t engage with me during the investigation. Everyone at Jay’s office just feels sorry for me and between those two places, that was pretty much the extent of our—my life.”

  “I’m sorry, Lacy.” He began awkwardly peeling away the label on the bottle. “If I’d taken it more seriously—the stuff Jay and I found—maybe he’d still be here. I don’t think either of us had any idea the extent of this.”

  “No. I don’t think Jay knew what he’d stumbled on and certainly not that it might’ve had something to do with an impending terrorist attack. My gut is telling me Ballard was a part of it and Jay got trapped in the middle. Now we just need to find the proof.”

  Another knock sounded on the front door. “That must be Agent Caison. Excuse me.” Lacy pushed off the chair and opened the door. “Will, come in. I’m just talking with an old friend that I’d like to introduce you to.”

  “I didn’t mean to interrupt anything.” He followed her inside.

  “You’re not. This is Aaron Hunter. I asked him to stop by. Can I get you anything?”

  Will pulled up a seat at the table. “No thanks.” He kept his eyes on Aaron.

  “Aaron was the one who helped Jay the day of the attack.” She noted Will’s apprehension. “There’s nothing you can say to me that you can’t say to him.”

  Still appearing uncertain, Will retrieved the documents. “I was able to gain entry into Owen Ballard’s home.” He glanced at Lacy. “Don’t ask. And I found some information that identifies the payor of at least some of the deposits that went into Ballard’s account. Unfortunately, these were all I found. They were in a secure location, and again, don’t ask. The less you know, the better.” He turned the folder toward Lacy and pointed to a name. “Here. This is who authorized the earlier deposits.”