by Hunt, James
A wide smile tightened Owen’s unnaturally smooth skin, and he laughed, nodding in satisfaction. He only needed to pull one string, and everything else would fall into place. He leaned back, more relaxed now, and closed his eyes.
* * *
While Mocks caught Grant up with what happened after he was taken, it didn’t take long for Hickem to discover what Grant had already known after a thorough sweep of the house. The place was wiped clean.
“Not a single goddamn hair,” Hickem said, his voice thick with irritation. “Computers, security footage. Even if we manage to get a print somewhere, I don’t think it’ll give us a hit in the database. I haven’t seen a scrubbing this good since the cartels down in South America.” He turned to Grant, who was still sitting in the same chair in the living room after he saw Mocks. “But they don’t leave survivors. That’s where our boy slipped up. What do you know?”
Mocks sidled closer to Grant’s side and placed her arm on his shoulder. “Give him some breathing room. I’m sure there’s paperwork for you to fill out.”
“And it’s as tall as Mt. Olympus,” Hickem replied. “But I want to know what he knows. And I want it now.”
Grant remained seated. “Was there a child here?”
“Yeah,” Hickem said.
Grant shut his eyes, and exhaled. The old bastard was cocky. He looked outside to the forest beyond the compound’s concrete wall. The place was secluded, hard to find. “He’s smart, well organized, equipped, violent, and cunning.” Grant stood and weaved around the carnage of the dead Web members still on the floor.
“But what does he want?” Hickem asked. “What’s the man’s end game?”
Grant sifted through his conversations with the old man. He was rushed. Worried. And tired. He was nearing the end of his watch. Grant turned to Mocks. “Did you find out who he was working with on the inside?”
“Inside what?” Hickem asked.
Mocks fidgeted with her fingers. Grant knew she wanted to reach for her lighter. He wasn’t sure why she didn’t do it. “No, but whoever it is must be high in the chain of command.” She turned to Hickem. “We think there’s someone in the State Department working for the Web.”
“Christ!” Hickem said, his angered voice echoing to the high ceilings. “And you’re just telling me this now?” Hickem paced in a circle, muttering curses to himself. Finally, he paused and took a breath. “All right. I want you two debriefed back at my office. I want to know everything you know. Got it? I think I’ve earned it after our little field trip today.” He motioned toward the door. “Wait outside.”
Grant followed Mocks out front and looked back at the structure briefly. It was larger than he expected, more militaristic. He imagined Hickem’s men had a hell of a time trying to get inside.
Mocks stopped at the edge of the clearing and leaned against a tree. She finally reached for the lighter in her pocket but didn’t flick the flint.
“I’d kill for a cigarette right now,” Mocks said, turning toward Grant. “I gave them up in rehab. Every time I smoked one, it just made me want a hit of something stronger. I guess that’s just the way my brain works.” Mocks twirled the lighter in her fingers.
“What is it, Mocks?” Grant asked.
“I think the chief is being influenced to cover up Sam’s death. They want to make it look like a suicide.”
“What?” Grant asked. “That’s insane, Sam wasn’t—”
“I know.” Mocks paused, running her hands through her short brown hair. “Grant, I don’t know who we can trust. And right now, neither of us have a badge.”
Grant arched an eyebrow, this tidbit missing from their earlier talk.
“Captain put me on a leave of absence,” Mocks said. “Told me that I was too close to the case. It came from the Chief himself. Since the kids were found, they want this chapter closed. They don’t want to deal with The Web anymore.”
“I think it goes higher than the chief,” Grant said.
“Mayor?” Mocks asked.
“The mayor wouldn’t be able to get that kind of access to the State Department,” Grant answered. “It’d have to be someone from Congress. Maybe a senator.”
“Pierfoy?” Mocks asked, skeptically. “That’s a dirty bed to lie in, even by a politician’s standards.”
“The Web has a lot of money,” Grant replied. “I’m willing to bet the old man funneled money into whatever federal coffers he could. Campaigns are expensive, and in return, their candidate turned a blind eye.” Grant thought more on it and furrowed his brow. “Pierfoy wanted me out of the detective unit after the Givens case. Told me he wanted to head a special drug unit.”
“So what do we do?” Mocks asked. “If the Senator really is the contact this guy has, then I don’t know of anyone else we can go to. The Chief isn’t going to risk sticking his neck out, not after taking my badge.”
“We can trust Hickem,” Grant said, turning back to the compound. “He’s brash, but he takes his work too seriously to be swayed by outside politics. And the way he’s pursued The Web, he’s caused them too much trouble.”
“So we have some guns on our side, but we need more than that,” Mocks said. “Who do we go to?”
“The ambassador,” Grant said. “But we need to take a closer look at the hard drive and see what else we can find. Maybe we can unearth the connection between the old man’s sudden need to speed his agenda along and what is on the computer. There’s obviously something on there he didn’t want us to see. We need to find it.”
7
Hickem’s field office transformed into a data center as Mocks passed the thumb drive to each of his agents, everyone making a copy. Grant circled the group as the information downloaded.
“We need to look for something beyond the obvious,” Grant said. “We know they have drugs, and guns, and women, and right now all of those pieces are moving. But we want the big fish. We want the man pulling the strings.”
Mocks removed the drive from the last computer. “Following the money will be a good indicator. Bank accounts and transactions happening stateside and offshore.”
“It’ll be large amounts,” Grant said. “This guy is looking forward to riding off into the sunset. We need to figure out where that sunset is falling.”
Hickem’s unit clustered their desks together. Everyone was assigned specific folders to search, and Grant borrowed a spare laptop to help.
Grant started with land property The Web owned, and then connected some of the purchases through offshore accounts. The Web had banks all over the world. Caymans, Swiss, China, South America, and a few private institutions within the United States where the cash flow was more moderate, hovering in the millions.
But the offshore accounts, that was where their real money was. In total, The Web’s cash tipped over half a million dollars, with a yearly revenue stream of the same amount. He followed the cash streams and found their main sources of revenue.
The largest source of income came from trafficking. They had thousands of locations around the Pacific, and it looked like they were starting to branch out into Eastern Europe. But their entire web of intricate and connected locals was more than any single agency could handle. This was a nation in and of itself, and their gospel had spread farther than what Hickem and the ambassador were aware of.
Smaller sources of income came from drugs and weapons smuggling in southeast Asia and along the U.S. West Coast and down into Mexico and Central America. The total money from these endeavors only made up a third of The Web’s total revenue, but it had grown significantly over the past five years, doubling their profits.
The Web was connected, they were flush with cash, and they were everywhere. Grant wasn’t looking at an organization, he was looking at a plague.
He returned to the property folder and drilled down further on their real estate. They owned all the land where they had operations for their brothels, each of them under a separate dummy corporation that Grant suspected was tied to a parent
company.
Grant scanned the different regions of The Web’s extended global network, and when he arrived at the Philippines, he noticed that large groups of islands in the southern portion of the country had been sectioned off. The description for each transaction simply read ‘under development.’
Grant returned to the bank accounts and searched for any corresponding withdrawals or deposits in the area and found that tens of millions of dollars had been dumped into the southern Philippine islands over the past three years. And all the receipts for the deposits were marked with the same ambiguity as the description of the land itself.
“I think I’ve got something,” Grant said.
Every head perked up, and Hickem was the first to hover over Grant’s shoulder, followed quickly by Mocks.
“What am I looking at?” Hickem asked.
“A string of islands in the southern Philippines,” Grant answered. “It’s been flagged by The Web, and I’m assuming it’s a stronghold of theirs.”
“It is,” Hickem replied. “They’ve been giving the Philippine government more trouble than they can handle. We’ve had reports of entire islands being taken by The Web. They’re smaller pieces of land, but the Philippine government doesn’t have the resources to get them back.”
“I read about this,” Mocks said, leaning closer. “With the resources at their disposal, they can outspend the budget for the Philippine military.”
“They don’t receive any foreign aid from the U.S.?” Grant asked.
“They do,” Hickem said. “But what they do with that money, I’m not sure.”
“This is where he wants to go. This is why he wanted the laptop back so badly.” Grant swiveled around in his chair. “He kept talking about creating a place where he didn’t have to hide. Where he could be himself, openly.”
“If the U.S. government found out about this, they’d have a field day,” Hickem said. “Not to mention the press.”
“We need to call the ambassador,” Grant said. “Bring him in on this. He has the weight and clout we need right now to get this in the open. He’ll know who we can trust with the information.”
“Agreed,” Hickem said. “We’re going to need all the help we can get.”
A phone buzzed, and Mocks reached for her pocket in a knee-jerk reaction. When she stared at the screen and frowned, Grant knew something was wrong.
“What is it?” Grant asked.
“The number is blocked,” Mocks answered, slowly lifting the phone to her ear. “Hello?” Her face grew stoic, and she handed the phone to Grant.
“Who is it?” Grant asked, taking the phone from her hand.
“Senator Pierfoy.”
* * *
Ambassador Mujave, Grant, Mocks, Hickem, and Pierfoy were the only people present for the meeting. They met at Mujave’s home, in his study, behind closed doors, the entire wing of that section of the house vacant. No one could hear them. It was Pierfoy’s demand, which included a sweep of the room for any bugs. Once his people said it was clear, he spoke.
“You have to understand my motives,” Pierfoy said. “I thought I could do a lot of good once in office. To reach this level of power, you must shake hands with unsavory characters. Of course, now, looking back, I wish I’d done things differently.”
“You knew,” Mocks said, her mouth downturned, disgust on her face and disdain in her voice. “You fucking knew what they were doing to kids and women.”
“And I’m willing to face the consequences of my actions,” Pierfoy said, his back stiffening. “But I’m not willing to let my family pay for them.”
“So what does he want?” Grant asked. “In exchange for your family?”
“I created a piece of legislation,” Pierfoy answered. “It’s sandwiched in with more boring details, but the portion that benefits him deals with the United States budget on foreign aid. More specifically in the Philippines.”
Grant and Mocks exchanged a glance. Grant turned back to the senator. “And because he was a major contributor to your campaign, he threatened to blackmail you by going public if you didn’t.” Grant shook his head, betting that the old man had kept that one in his back pocket for a long time.
“Yes,” Pierfoy answered, leaning forward. “Please.” His eyes misted and his cheeks reddened. “My granddaughter…she’s only nine.”
“It’s a powerless feeling, isn’t it?” Mocks asked. “Unsure if your children or grandchildren will survive.”
Pierfoy snarled and wiped his eyes, turning away to reach inside his jacket for a tissue. “And what would you know about survival?”
“What’s his name?” Grant asked.
“Who?” Pierfoy asked.
“The man who funded your campaign,” Grant said. “The stateside leader of The Web. What. Is. His. Name?”
Pierfoy hesitated like he expected the question, but still hadn’t decided how to answer. After a pause, he settled on his answer. “Owen Callahan.”
“We’ll have to verify that,” Hickem said. “And because of the nature of this meeting, we’ll need to get a few things down on paper.”
“No,” Pierfoy said firmly. “Not until I have my family back.”
Mocks stepped into the neutral zone between the two parties. “You don’t have anything to negotiate with. You lost all credibility the moment you got into bed with that piece of slime.”
“And what would you know of all the things I’ve done?” Pierfoy said, becoming defensive. “I’ve passed more legislation for this state than any senator in history. I’ve funded and reformed the foster care system, I’ve added more money to the budget for children and families, I’ve promoted businesses to become more sustainable. I have given my life to public service, and I will not be lectured by a former drug addict!”
“That’s enough,” Grant said, his voice calmer than the expression on his face. “Whatever you did, whatever good you thought you could bring, doesn’t negate the bad.”
Pierfoy petulantly turned his head away and crossed his arms. “And you would know all about that, wouldn’t you, Detective Grant?”
“No man is without sin,” Mujave said. “We must move forward.”
Grant exhaled, nodding. “We need to lure Owen out. Take him before he has a chance to escape again.” He turned to Pierfoy. “You’ll demand to see your family. A last request before you fly to Washington. You want confirmation that they’re alive, and you’ll want him to be there in person as a show of good faith. It’ll be at an airfield of our choosing.”
Pierfoy nodded. “If that’s the angle we go, then so be it. The moment I have my family, I’ll sign whatever documents you want.”
“And you will resign your post as Senator effective the moment your family has been returned,” Mujave said. “You will make a public statement about your deeds and be taken into custody by Agent Hickem.” He stood and crossed the room, shoving his face into Pierfoy’s. “And if I learn that you had anything to do with my own daughter’s disappearance, you will not be able to hide behind the law. Not from me.”
Pierfoy kept his head down, unable to meet Mujave’s gaze. Eventually, the ambassador turned away, leaving the room and slamming the door shut behind him.
“So you call Callahan, give him your demands, and then we set up a sting.” Hickem clapped his hands together and then rubbed them vigorously. “Easy-peasy.”
“Make the call,” Grant said. “Now.”
Pierfoy sheepishly reached for his phone and dialed the number. He walked to the corner of the room, but Grant moved close enough to ensure he heard every word. The senator followed the script, but when he chose the airfield, they hit a snag.
“No,” Pierfoy said, shakily holding his ground. “It will be under—” Color drained from his face. He trembled. His voice thickened with rage. “Don’t you dare touch her! Leave her alone! I said leave—”
A scream pierced through the phone’s speaker, a young girl’s scream, and Pierfoy pulled the phone from his ear and winced. Aft
er the scream vanished, he leaned back into the call.
“No! Don’t—” And then Pierfoy stopped, his body hunched over, and hung up the phone. He turned to Grant. “He demanded that we meet him at an airfield in the northwest portion of the state. It’s a private airfield.”
“His airfield,” Hickem said, snorting. “Did he give you coordinates?”
“He’ll text them to me.” Pierfoy’s voice was a whisper, his cheeks still white as a sheet.
“And he’ll be there?” Mocks said. “Callahan?”
Pierfoy nodded.
“We’ll confirm the airfield with satellite imagery,” Hickem said. “I can call a few favors over at NORAD. There’s an airman I know that owes me a favor.” He exited the office, leaving Grant, Mocks, and Pierfoy.
Pierfoy collapsed into the nearest chair and buried his face into his palms. Grant almost felt pity for the man, but the emotion was fleeting. Everyone reaped what they sowed, and time had a way of catching up with people.
“It’ll stay with you forever,” Grant said, and Pierfoy looked up. “You won’t be able to sleep, or eat, or enjoy anything again. It’ll follow you until your last days, which I don’t imagine will be very long once you get behind bars.”
“Grant,” Mocks said, grabbing hold of his arm and pulling him back. She kept her voice low. “We need to give a copy of that drive to Mujave. If something happens during the raid, we’ll need insurance. And he’s our best bet.”
Grant looked to Pierfoy, who had his eyes locked on the two of them, then quickly flitted away once he realized Grant saw him.
“All right,” Grant said. “We’ll make it a priority. We need to let Hickem know.” Grant started for the door with Mocks following behind, but when he reached for the handle, Pierfoy called out to him.
“He’s more terrifying than you know,” Pierfoy said. “You may have spent some time with him, but that doesn’t mean you really understand him. It doesn’t mean you haven’t seen him at his worst.”
