by Diane Capri
The most severely damaged areas were cordoned off with yellow tape, the words “Do Not Cross” emblazoned in thick black font along its length.
Jess’s phone buzzed with an incoming message from Henry Morris. The agent in charge of the investigation, Remington, would meet with her for thirty minutes at noon.
She checked her watch. She had time to meet Marcia McAllister first. She texted her thanks back to Henry.
She walked across the main road to the bus stop. Marcia arrived a few minutes later, wearing jeans, a windbreaker, and a lime-green baseball cap emblazoned with the Chatham Cubs logo. She looked exhausted.
Furtively, she glanced across the road toward the Kelso Products plant, as if she was worried about being spotted.
“Hello,” Jess said, to capture her attention.
Marcia nodded. “Thanks for coming.”
“I thought Mrs. Cole was joining us.”
Marcia shook her head. “A pack of reporters are camped out at her house. Nicola can’t go anywhere. They hunt her down. She’s fraying at the seams, frankly. I’m worried about her almost as much as Alex.”
Jess glanced around. She saw no obvious amateur surveillance. If Marcia were being watched by the FBI or other professionals, neither she nor Nicola would ever see them.
“Let’s walk.” Marcia led them away from the police cruiser, turned left two blocks south, and found a park bench under a tree. She plopped down heavily. “Nicola wanted to be here. Really. But…well, let’s just say local emotions are running high.”
“Surely she’s not surprised. People died. Her son stands accused. The families are bound to be very upset.”
“But it’s her son. He didn’t do this. Nicola’s pretty upset, too, and nobody seems to care about that very much.” Marcia stopped to breathe and stared pointedly at Jess. “We know what that’s like.”
Jess nodded. “Tell me what I need to know about Alex Cole.”
“He’s been like a son to me. Especially since…” her voice trailed off, and she cleared her throat. Jess knew what she meant. Since her daughter went missing. “I watched Alex grow up. Elementary to high school. Even when he went off to college, he used to come back all the time. He has always been close to his parents.”
“Brothers and sisters?”
Marcia shook her head. “Only child. And his father died three years ago. Young. Heart attack.”
Jess grimaced. “So it’s just him and his mom now?”
“And this is killing her, Jess. She knows Alex didn’t do this.” Marcia nodded, glassy tears pooling in her eyes. “We both do. He couldn’t have blown up that plant. He would never do something like that. And he’s no terrorist, either. No matter what people say.”
“There’s a lot of evidence against him, Marcia,” Jess gentled her tone to confirm what Marcia had to know already.
Marcia’s eyes blazed, and she stuck her chin forward. “No way. Not Alex. He’s being set up, or these cops are incompetent. They’ve got the wrong guy. And the sooner they figure that out, the better.”
Jess understood Marcia’s loyalty. She nodded with sympathy. “Unfortunately, we will need more than your strong convictions, or his mother’s, to get the charges dropped.”
She didn’t say that the frame around Alex Cole was so tight, they’d need nothing less than the actual terrorists confessing on the record in an airtight smackdown to get Alex out of trouble here.
“He’s a kind soul, Jess. Completely non-violent. He doesn’t even eat meat because he can’t bear the slaughter of animals.” Marcia wiped her nose and shook her head vigorously as if the intensity of her denial would make all the difference.
Jess put a comforting hand on Marcia’s arm because nothing she could say would make any difference.
Marcia bowed her head and blinked away more glassy tears. “He became a scientist because he liked research, to conduct controlled experiments. He bought a big place outside of town to give him enough room for his work.”
“Did his work, these experiments, involve explosives?”
“Not at all.” Marcia shook her head, fast. “He liked to make things. Mostly computer-controlled things.”
“The FBI believes he had a lab where he made the explosives used in the bomb. Alex’s lab has been searched.” Jess patted her arm. “They found a lot of things that could easily be lethal in the right combinations.”
“He’s as normal as any kid, Jess. Nice girlfriend, good to his mother…” She seemed to run out of steam, bewildered, confused, and clearly frightened to death.
The evidence against Alex Cole, what Jess was aware of, was solid. And there was a lot of it. Overwhelming, really. Pressing Marcia with those facts wouldn’t help much.
“Meet with Alex. Talk to him. Judge for yourself.” Marcia put her hands together and stared at them. “Remember when they found those Boston Marathon bombers? I could just see them as killers. When you find out who did this, it’ll be the same way. Alex isn’t like those guys. When you meet him, you’ll know what I mean.”
“I’ll try. That’s why I came here. But law enforcement agencies are experts these days. They know what they’re doing. They have vast resources.” Jess paused a moment for breath.
“Jess… I trust you. Meet Alex first. You’ll see.” Marcia looked up, her eyes pleading as loudly as her words. “Please?”
Jess patted Marcia’s shoulder awkwardly. “Of course, I’ll talk to him today. Maybe he’ll help me figure out what’s going on. But first, I’ve got an appointment with Ethan Remington.”
“He’s had it in for Alex right from the start.” Marcia’s lip curled, and her whole demeanor changed. She’d caught a glimpse of something across the street from the corner of her eye. “I’ve got to go. Be careful, Jess. I don’t know what’s going on here, but someone is trying awfully hard to pin this thing on Alex Cole. Whoever is doing this is dangerous. Watch your back.”
Marcia jumped up and dashed around the corner. Jess cocked her head and watched as two men emerged from the drugstore across the street and hoofed quickly in the same direction.
Jess hurried to the corner to warn Marcia, but she was already gone. And when Jess turned back toward the two men, they had already slipped into a black SUV parked at the corner.
She fished out her phone and snapped a quick photo of the license plate and the back of the SUV as it pulled away from the curb. She dialed Marcia, but her voicemail picked up.
Jess gnawed on the inside of her lip.
CHAPTER FIVE
Tuesday, August 16
10: 30 a.m. West Africa Time Zone (WAT)
Off the coast of Angola, Africa
Isabella bobbed on the swell. The yacht was half of a mile from the shore, and the seabed had yet to rise up enough to turn the gentle, near perfect sine waves into crashing foamy breakers.
Rafa Lopez stood on the third floor, the upper deck. The boat was long and low. Toward the front was the smaller of two sundecks. The upper edge of the wall around the sides of the yacht, technically the gunwale, rose toward the bow, all but shielding the sunbathers from the public eye.
At the stern was the bigger sundeck. Even with its array of soft furnishings and sun-loungers, fifty people could be comfortably accommodated. Two crew members were busy setting up a buffet alongside a bar lined with silver champagne buckets that glittered in the sun.
To the west, hidden in the glare of the morning sun, a boat approached. Even though an impressive speedboat itself, it was an inconsequential dot to the Isabella and the vastness of the ocean. The people inside, doubly so.
Alongside the yacht, steps had been lowered to the waterline. Lopez took the two flights of stairs down to the main deck and waited by the steps.
The speedboat came alongside, the pilot pulsing the engine to keep the two craft stationary relative to each other.
A crew member helped two guests from the speedboat onto the Isabella’s steps. The first guest was tall, her regal bearing accentuated by the vivid patterns
that shimmered on her long silk dress.
Thick black hair spiraled upward around her head and was held in place with multicolored wooden pins. Dark sunglasses hid her eyes.
Lopez held his hand out. “Welcome aboard Mrs. Neto.”
She took his hand, and stepped onto the boat. “Thank you, Mr. Lopez.” She smiled. “But let’s not be so formal, I am Ana.”
Lopez returned her smile. “And I am Rafa.”
The man behind her stepped onto the deck, a big grin on his face. “And if you forget my name, perhaps I shall have to throw you in prison.”
They all laughed. Lopez slapped him on the shoulder. “Forget you, General? I don’t think so.”
Lopez led the party to the rear deck. The crew raised the steps and secured the speedboat to the rear of the Isabella.
The buffet was prepared, and drinks were already in glasses on the bar, ice glinting in the sun.
“It is good to have the chance to entertain you both.”
The general gestured to the Isabella. “When you said you had a boat, I didn’t think you meant a beautiful yacht like this.”
Lopez waved the compliment away. “A fortunate purchase during a downturn in the market.” He bowed his head forward and whispered the truth conspiratorially, “It was a steal.”
The general laughed. “With you, Rafa, I don’t doubt it.”
A deckhand in a crisp white uniform handed each person a glass.
Lopez gestured to a sun lounger. “Ana,” He swept his arm around in a great arc, “relax, enjoy the view while I show your husband my latest acquisition.”
She frowned. “Can’t I—”
“You want to see the engine room?”
She waved at the sea. “I’ll sit here and enjoy the view.”
She leaned back in the lounger and raised her glass. “Bye, bye.”
Lopez bowed his head and swept General Neto along the walkway around the side of the yacht.
“We aren’t required to view the engine room, are we?”
Lopez raised an eyebrow. “Unless you have an interest?”
Neto laughed.
“Then let us enjoy the foredeck for a few minutes.”
The foredeck was a quarter the size of the aft deck, but it too was laden with refreshments. Three large sofas were arranged around a massive television screen. Vanna Sánchez stood quietly in the back of the room.
Neto picked up a glass of clear liquid on ice. “Vodka?”
“The best, of course.”
Neto took a sip and nodded his approval. “What do you have on your mind, my friend?”
Lopez picked up a full glass and tilted it in a mock toast. “I need your help again.”
Neto offered a flat smile. “I warned you last time that things would not be so easy in the future.”
“I understand. But still, I find myself asking.”
Neto shifted his weight. “What this time?”
“Like last time.”
Neto stepped sideways, shaking his head. “That won’t be possible.”
Lopez arched his eyebrows and did not reply.
“Things have changed,” Neto said.
“Things always change.”
Neto grunted. “This change came with more oversight.”
“For you? One of the country’s most powerful generals?”
“For everyone in government. You read the papers, I know this is not a surprise to you.”
Lopez shrugged. “There was oversight before.”
“Not like this.”
“What is so different now?”
“They are cracking down. The UN has been pushing its pet phrase: waste, fraud, and abuse.”
“Pah. The American agenda.”
“It’s our government’s agenda now.”
Lopez gestured to Neto, “With us, the government does not lose money. I will be paying. Handsomely. And to you in particular.”
“There are new requirements. Throughout the services. Believe me, my friend, nothing is easy anymore.” Neto had drained his glass, and Vanna Sánchez replaced it with a full one without comment.
Lopez sighed. “These have been tumultuous times. You have done well.”
“I try.” He bowed his head.
“Reorganizations. Shifting loyalties. Changing priorities.” Lopez shrugged. “I understand.”
“There is always a need for a military, no matter who is in power or what is happening in the world.” Neto nodded.
Lopez raised his glass. “And we are lucky to have men like you.”
Neto glanced toward the aft deck. “I think we should rejoin my wife.”
“In a moment.” Lopez picked up a remote control. “I have something to show you.”
Neto shrugged. He drained his glass again. Vanna Sánchez dealt with the problem instantly.
The television screen burst to life. A grainy picture appeared with the sound muted. A luxury hotel suite. A naked couple frolicked in the hot tub.
Neto stared.
Lopez glanced toward Vanna. Her cobalt eyes watched everything simultaneously. She nodded. The video was ready. Lopez turned up the volume. Two voices could be heard. Deep, masculine murmurs followed by feminine giggling.
The girl emerged from the tub, naked, moving toward the bed. The man levered himself out of the water. He was also naked. Heavier, and slower, but his wife would recognize Neto instantly.
He wrapped his arms around the girl, and they rolled onto the bed.
Lopez froze the video while Neto’s face looked directly into the hidden camera.
Neto’s mouth clamped shut. His eyebrows drew into a deep frown.
Lopez nodded to the image. “She was pretty. Very pretty. So young. She looked older, perhaps, but she was not even sixteen. Any man would have been tempted, don’t you think?”
The general didn’t make eye contact, but beads of sweat glistened on his forehead.
Lopez saw Vanna’s smirk from the corner of his eye.
“There is a paper trail to consider, General. The hotel’s records.” Lopez felt the warmth of Vanna’s satisfaction behind him. “Not booked in your name of course, but it is your handwriting on the room service receipts and in the spa, among other things.”
Neto slumped into his seat.
“Your credit card, too.” Lopez smiled. “That is, one of the credit cards you use for such activities.”
Neto’s anger burned as cold as the vodka he tossed down his throat. “You set me up.”
Lopez shrugged and waved for another refill of Neto’s vodka. “What we must decide, is what you do now.”
“You are a treacherous—”
“But let me show you the end before we decide.” Lopez pushed the remote to the last few seconds of the recording. This time, he did not glance toward Vanna to witness her satisfaction.
The girl was alone in the room. Still naked. Splayed on her back across the bed. Mouth open in a silent scream. A man’s necktie knotted tightly around her neck. Dead eyes stared at the ceiling, unseeing, from her grotesquely mottled face.
Neto’s eyes bulged. His nostrils flared. “What did you do?!”
“General, you’re confused. It was not me in the room with young Sophia.” Lopez shrugged. The statement was true enough. “We all make mistakes.”
Neto glowered. “But you know I did not do this. Sophia was alive when I left her. I swear!”
“Suicide. Such a dreadful end to your distinguished career.” Lopez offered a sympathetic smile that didn’t reach his icy stare as he shook his head slowly. “Everyone will feel sorry for your wife, of course. Do not worry. She is beautiful. She’ll find another husband quickly enough.”
Neto sighed, his head hung down. “I cannot provide an aircraft like last time. I cannot maneuver the bureaucracy as I could just months ago. Everything has changed.” He looked at Lopez. “You must believe me.”
“Oh, I do believe you.”
Neto frowned. “What, then?”
“I don’t need a singl
e aircraft. I require five pilots.”
Neto inched back, shaking his head. “Impossible.”
“Your best.”
A long pause. Neto swirled the ice around his empty glass.
“Don’t worry,” Lopez said. “There will be no side effects this time.”
“Side effects?” Neto’s eyes widened. “Side effects? People died. Hundreds of people, Lopez.”
Lopez pressed play, and the video started again. Neto in the hot tub. Neto on the bed with the girl. Neto placing his necktie around her beautiful throat. Neto closed his eyes and whispered. “Please.”
Lopez stopped the video. “Experienced pilots. Transports. Antonov 12s.”
Neto frowned. “We don’t have Antonov 12s.”
“Your pilots will travel with my men. Experienced men.” Lopez cocked his head. “Some may have worked for your government before.”
Neto did not reply.
Lopez grunted. “You will be well rewarded. As always.”
Neto glanced at the television where the sex continued, and back at Lopez.
Lopez shrugged. “Our business is done, general. We have had our differences, resolved them, and now we can move on.”
Neto lowered his gaze.
Lopez slid a square of paper across the table. “The airbase. I am sure you’re familiar with it.”
Neto picked up the paper, frown lines on his forehead deepened and his eyebrows pressed hard over his broad nose. “You expect me to sacrifice my men to the forces of another country?”
“It’s your choice, General.” Lopez shrugged. He pressed the volume. The video’s sound resumed. “We can find another supplier after you’re dead if you’d prefer.”
CHAPTER SIX
Tuesday, August 16
12:25 p.m. CDT
Chatham, Iowa
Jess had rushed to her meeting only to be stashed in a conference room at the Chatham Police Department for twenty minutes waiting for the FBI Special Agent in Charge of the bombing case.
Ethan Remington finally arrived, without apology or explanation. Strike one. Basic courtesy was the price of admission to her cooperation and respect. She was predisposed to trust this guy because Henry Morris seemed to like him. But Remington was off to a bad start.
