Blind Spot

by Dani Pettrey

  The guard ushered them into the lounge, and she could see Declan wanted to continue the conversation, but the door on the opposite side opened and another guard led a shackled Max Stallings in. His orange jumpsuit had 409 numbered in black, his head was shaved—not that he ever had more than a thin film of gray hair, but now he was completely bald. It made him look harder, though a crook like Max Stallings hardly fazed her.

  “Nice of you to pay me a visit, Agent Grey,” he said as he settled into his seat. Stallings shifted his gaze to Tanner and smiled. “And I never mind seeing someone like you, darling.”

  “I wish I could say the feeling was mutual,” she said, trying not to gag.

  “A tough one you got here.” Max chuckled.

  Was he implying he knew they were a couple now?

  It wouldn’t be impossible. Stallings had eyes everywhere, but Max knowing would probably freak Declan out. He’d want her safe, and she just prayed he didn’t pull back in any way now that it seemed Max knew.

  “You don’t know the half of it,” Declan said with pride.

  He was proud of her. Proud of her background. Proud of the changes she’d made and the chances she’d taken. He respected her and she loved him for it.

  “Now, let’s get to you, Max,” Declan said, leaning forward. “We’ve had a nice chat with one of your employees, if you can call them that. Servant comes to mind.”

  “Oh, blah, blah. If you’re here to lecture or give me some sob story about my people, I’m not interested.”

  “How about we chat about the fact you’re in business with Dr. Ebeid, smuggling not only drugs and refugees, but weapons and terrorists.”

  That got his attention. “I don’t know where you heard that, but—”

  “It’s true,” Tanner said, “and we all know it, so why not just cut to the chase? How long have you been in business with Dr. Ebeid?”

  He smiled, his crooked teeth showing. “You are a sight to look at, darling, but if you really think I’m going to tell you two anything about my supposed business dealings, you’re crazy.”

  “You cooperate and we can get a lighter sentence for you,” Declan said. “You don’t help and choose to be an accomplice, you’re going to be spending the next twenty to twenty-five in here. That’d make you, what? Seventy-five when you get out?”

  “I ain’t no accomplice. Ebeid does his dealings, I do mine.”

  “Using the same ship, with the same captain.”

  “The ships I use aren’t mine. They are run by the captain. He chooses what cargo to carry and deliver. I ain’t got no control over that.”

  “What about Ebeid visiting you at your Ashton building downtown?”

  “I don’t know nothing about that.”

  “Really? Because we have an eyewitness who says otherwise.”

  “Then he’s lying.”

  “Let’s put it this way,” Declan said, getting straight to the point. “We believe the terrorists Ebeid has brought over are going to attack soon.”

  “And you think that because . . .”

  “Because of Anajay Darmadi’s last words—‘The wrath is here.’”

  Max chuckled. “Well, that has an ominous ring to it.”

  “You find the possibility of a terrorist attack on U.S. soil amusing?”

  “No. Of course not.”

  “Well, if there is one and we know you are tied to Ebeid, you’ll be charged as an accomplice,” Declan said, before standing and turning to Tanner. “Let’s go. I’ve had enough of this scum.”

  Tanner stood to follow, but Max said, “Wait a minute.”

  Brilliant. Declan was brilliant in negotiations. He knew just the right buttons to press, and he did it so calmly.

  Declan turned. “Yes?”

  “What do you want to know?”

  Declan and Tanner retook their seats.

  “What does Ebeid have planned?” Declan asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Come on, Max. You’re going to have to do better than that.”

  “I seriously don’t know. I’ve never wanted to know.”

  “Why did Ebeid meet you in one of your apartment buildings?”

  “Because we have a joint asset in the captain and the ship we use. When you started investigating the Hiram and put Jackson in prison, it put us in a tough spot.”

  “Good.”

  “Well, not for us and our business. Since we’d shared the same ship and captain before, we decided to do so again.”

  “So you had to find a captain who’d be willing,” Tanner said.

  “As well as the customs guards you turned,” Declan added. “I’m guessing that was all you?”

  “How’d . . . ? Never mind. They aren’t important.”

  “Did you find a new captain and ship?”

  “Yes, but you already know that, don’t you?” Max said, his gaze narrowing.

  “We’re here to discuss what you know. Not what we know.”

  “Fine. Yes, we found a new captain and ship, but before I give up any more, I want your offer for a reduced sentence in writing.”

  “You know it doesn’t work like that,” Declan said.

  “Well, go work it however you have to and come back. I’m not talking without a statement that if I cooperate I won’t be charged as an accomplice and that I’ll get my sentence reduced.”

  “How long is it going to take to get the papers he’s asking for?” Tanner asked as they exited the prison.

  “Longer than I’d like.”

  Declan placed the call, and when he was finished, hung up. “Okay, now we wait. In the meantime, let’s not tip off Ebeid that we’re on to him. Let’s see what Max gives us first.”

  “What about Lennie?”

  “Same thing. If we question Lennie, he’ll get word to Max that we’ve still been poking around—and he could potentially tell Ebeid too.”

  “So what do we do now?”

  “Let’s head for the office. The customs agents are there. We can see what Barrows and Greer got out of the agents and go ahead and interview them again if we need to. Might even give us more leverage with Max if they admit he was the one who paid them to look the other way.”

  Tanner climbed on back of Declan’s Moto Guzzi and wrapped her arms around his waist.

  He wished they could put the entire case behind them and just take off for a long ride—hit the back roads and see where they ended up. He could use a day like that with Tanner. A day with just the two of them alone and away from the madness. But there was too much at stake. The safety of their country was hanging in the balance.

  38

  Jason and Griffin learned upon arrival in Kingston, Jamaica, that the cruise ship was already in port and the Markums had disembarked about a half hour earlier. They considered returning to the airport to see if anyone recognized Elizabeth and John from their picture or if the couple had booked a flight to Havana or perhaps Caracas, Venezuela, using the aliases provided to Griffin and Jason by the cruise captain. But since the Markums had avoided airports in the U.S., they decided to assume the couple would look for another escape route, most likely to Cuba. Most likely illegally.

  As they walked the docks, showing the Markums’ picture, Declan prayed he and Jason weren’t too late. They finally found a man who said his employee had left with the couple less than a half hour earlier.

  “Headed for Cuba?” Griffin asked.

  “Sí, señor.”

  “Any chance you have a boat that’s faster?”

  The man smiled widely, two of his bottom front teeth missing.

  Declan and Tanner entered the Bureau’s offices. He’d already spoken with Tim Barrows and got his and Greer’s take on the agents, but Declan wanted to interview them himself, and now he had the time to do so.

  Bob Matthews, head of the Maryland Port Authority, was waiting in the lobby to greet him. “Declan, good to see you again.” His gaze shifted to Tanner. “And Miss . . .”

  “Shaw,” she said, exte
nding a hand.

  “Right. You helped with the refugees on the Hiram,” Bob said.

  “Yes.”

  “You did a fine job.” He looked between Declan and her. “Are you working with the Bureau now?”

  “I am.”

  “Congratulations.”

  “Thanks.”

  Bob tapped the manila folders in his hand. “I can’t believe this. Can’t believe two of my customs agents were willing to look the other way.” He handed Declan the folders. “As soon as I heard, I pulled their personnel files for you.”

  “Thanks, Bob,” Declan said. “I appreciate it.”

  “Anything I can do to help.”

  Declan watched Bob walk away, his patent leathers tapping along the linoleum floors. He looked to Tanner. “You ready?”

  “Yep.”

  Declan opened the door to Gregory Pyle’s room first, and they stepped inside.

  “Gregory Pyle,” Declan said, skimming the man’s personnel file as he pulled up a seat. “I see you’ve been with the Port Authority for fifteen years. That’s a long time to throw away.”

  “My kid needed braces.”

  “Oh, yeah, I can see that’s a great reason to sell out your country,” Tanner said.

  “Sell out my country? What are you talking about?”

  “What exactly did you think you were letting into the country?” Declan asked, tapping the folder in his hand.

  “Drugs. Not like a few shipments were going to make much difference. We’ve got our fair share here already.”

  “Well, unfortunately, Mr. Pyle . . .” Declan dropped the file on the table. “You were also allowing in terrorists and weapons.”

  “No. That’s not right. Lennie said it was just drugs and some people.”

  “People?” Tanner said, leaning forward. “Slaves would be a more appropriate term.”

  “No. They were being rescued from impoverished countries and brought here for a better way of life.”

  “You really think Max Stallings provided them with a better way of life?”

  “Lennie said that was the deal.”

  “And you just believed him?”

  “No reason not to.”

  “Well, that’s the easy way,” Tanner said, not bothering to hide her disgust.

  “Look, I needed the money. I had no idea . . .”

  “Well, you can hope a judge buys that, but you’re responsible for what you let in,” Declan said. “And let me tell you—the prison time for human trafficking is bad enough, but aiding terrorism is far worse.”

  “Dude, that’s not fair. I had no idea.”

  “It doesn’t work that way. You neglected your duty, and now we’re dealing with the threat of a terrorist attack on U.S. soil.”

  Gregory raked a shaky hand through his thinning brown hair.

  “Tell us about this man with Lennie.” Tanner slid a picture of Lennie and Xavier Benjali across the table.

  “He came with Lennie once in a while. I never dealt directly with him.”

  Declan looked at Tanner quizzically.

  “So you’re saying he worked with Lennie Wilcox?” Declan asked.

  “Yeah. When he came it was with Lennie. I mean he drove his own storage truck, but they came together. This one . . .” He pointed at the picture. “He never spoke with me.”

  “What did he put in his storage truck?”

  “Several crates.”

  Weapons. They’d offloaded the terrorists in fast rafts, but the weapons would be too heavy, so Xavier came with Lennie to collect those at the terminal.

  “Were there any markings on the storage truck he drove?”

  “Nah. Just an unmarked white truck like Lennie drove.”

  So he probably used one of Max’s vehicles. Apparently Stallings and Ebeid were in deeper together than Max had let on.

  The crisp saltwater sprayed across the bow of the powerboat Juan had rented to Griffin and Jason for an ample sum of money. As he drove at top speed, Juan’s grin continued to widen. He was having fun as they sped over the waves, leaving a trail of wide-spreading ripples in their wake.

  An hour into their pursuit, which had Jason looking green, they finally spotted the yellow boat Juan’s employee had taken with the Markums.

  Juan opened the throttle to full capacity, and within minutes they closed in on the other boat.

  Sheer panic registered on the Markums’ faces when they recognized Griffin racing after them.

  Elizabeth hollered at the driver to speed up, but Juan ordered his employee to stop and the man did.

  Griffin and Jason boarded, guns aimed at the Markums, and produced handcuffs. John had his hand wrapped where his finger had been cut off, along with a long scratch up his forearm. He’d clearly taken the brunt of the difficult parts of the staging.

  Thank you, Lord, for letting us capture them just in time.

  39

  Parker called as Declan and Tanner headed back to continue questioning Max Stallings with the agreement he’d requested in hand. It’d taken long enough to get, but they’d finally received the agreement that would benefit both parties, and as much as Declan hated making a deal with Max Stallings, it was the lesser of two evils. To stop a terrorist attack, he’d work with the man.

  “Hey, Park. Please tell me you’ve got something?”

  “Well, it definitely looks promising.”

  “Oh?”

  “Got a significant hit off one of the fingerprints we lifted from Burke’s condo.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Stanley Stovall. Charges of larceny, racketeering, assault . . . I called Franco on the number you gave me, and according to him, it sounds like Stovall is Houston’s equivalent of Max Stallings.”

  “Is that right?”

  “Yeah, and there’s more. Stovall also controls the docks down in Galveston. Franco said Vice and Customs have been trying to nail him for years on drug and human trafficking.”

  “Carlos Santali said the ship he signed on to after the Hiram also brought drugs and people to Galveston. Send over a picture of Stovall, and I’ll get the Marshals to run the image by Santali. See if he recognizes the man or any of his known associates.”

  “Will do. Franco seemed really keen to look into the guy.”

  “Maybe he’ll finally do his partner justice.”

  “We can hope. He said he’d keep us up to date.”

  “Great job, Parker.”

  “No problem. We’ve got about another hour left here at the apartment, and then we’re going to take the late flight home.”

  “See ya in the morning, then.”

  “You got it.”

  Declan brought Tanner up to speed as they made their way back to Max’s interrogation room.

  “I’ve got your paperwork right here,” he said, laying the agreement down in front of Max.

  Max took his sweet time reading over the paperwork but finally signed it.

  “Great,” Declan said, taking the papers back and sliding them into his folder. “Now, talk.”

  Max sat back and linked his arms across his chest. “What do you want to know?”

  “Ebeid. Where does he fit into all this? We know he’s smuggling terrorists and weapons, but how does it work?”

  “He arranges for his cargo. I arrange for mine. It comes in. Lennie goes to collect ours and provides the transportation for Ebeid’s man, Xavier, to retrieve his. I don’t ask what his cargo is and he doesn’t ask what mine is. It’s very simple.”

  “And you have no problem bringing terrorists into your own country?”

  Max shrugged.

  “As long as you make a profit, right?” Tanner said.

  Max didn’t respond, which was answer enough.

  “How long has your little arrangement gone on?” Declan asked.

  “A few years.”

  “Years?” Tanner said, shaking her head. Exactly what Carlos had said. How many terrorists had Ebeid smuggled into the country during that time?

  “
Any idea what the terrorists’ target is?” Declan asked.

  “Nah. Like I said, we kept it simple, but he did have me arrange two trawlers and two cars for him.”

  “Trawlers? What for?”

  Max held out his hands, palms up. “Again, I don’t ask.”

  “And the cars?”

  Max shrugged.

  “Why not just get his own cars?” Probably because he didn’t want them traced back to the cultural institute.

  “What do you think?” Max said.

  “What kind of cars?” he asked, gritting his teeth. It took all the restraint he could muster to remain steady, and to not lunge across the table and throttle the super smug Max Stallings. They were talking about a terrorist attack on U.S. soil. Didn’t he get that? What was wrong with men like him?

  “Black Toyota Camrys,” Max said.

  “Okay.” That was something helpful. “Do you know the location or the date the trawlers are scheduled for?”

  “Nah. I gave him the number for the guy I use. Left it at that. The less I know, the better.”

  “All right. Then write down the guy’s name and number.” Declan slid a pen and pad of paper to Max.

  Max scrawled down a first name and phone number.

  “First name only?” Declan asked.

  “That’s how we do things.”

  “I’ll bet it is.”

  A half hour of questions and answers later, Max was returned to his cell, and Declan and Tanner headed out of the prison.

  “Do you think he was telling the truth about everything?” Tanner asked, feeling like Max knew far more than he was saying.

  “Doubtful, but he gave us some good leads,” Declan said as they stepped out into the fresh air and crisp blue sky.

  “You think he knows the target?” she asked.

  “I doubt it,” he said as they strolled through the leaves blanketing the parking lot on the way to his new Suburban, which they’d picked up at the Bureau. “But it is clear he knew exactly what and who Ebeid was smuggling in.”

  Tanner exhaled as Declan opened the passenger side door for her. She turned to face him, shielding her eyes from the sun. “So how do we stop something when we have no idea when and where it’s taking place?”

  “We check on Stallings’ trawler connection. See if he can give us any information, and we go back through Burke’s notations. The answer is in there. I can feel it,” he said, shutting her in and moving around to the driver’s side.