“And Recreation Group gets off scot-free?”
“They have to enter into an NPA. The DOJ will be able to monitor them going forward, but yeah, they’re getting off pretty easy.”
She decided there was no reason to share what Clive had told her privately. He couldn’t see continuing to work at the company after all the trouble he’d brought to their doorstep. So he was planning to resign as soon as the ink was dry on the agreements with the government.
“Okay. Why don’t you go pour yourself a glass of wine or something?”
She wrinkled her nose. “I want to get an early start in the morning. I don’t really feel like having a drink.”
“Then get a glass of water or a mug of tea. Or, I don’t know, warm milk?”
“Why?”
“Look, just leave so I can check some things without you looking over my shoulder and committing about sixty-two national security offenses.”
She laughed and leaned over for a kiss. “I’ll check on the kids while you do your secret agent man routine.”
As she left the office, his fingers flew over the keys, bringing his laptop back to life.
She peeked into the playroom. The movie was still playing, but in the ten minutes that had passed, the popcorn had been devoured, and Finn and Fiona were now sound asleep. Fiona was snugged into her sleeping bag with Mocha curled up near her feet, dreaming canine dreams. Finn’s sleeping bag was twisted around his knees. His upper body was angled toward his sister, and he had his right arm thrown across her chest. His head rested in the crook of her neck.
Sasha gently extracted his arm and repositioned him with his head on his pillow. He murmured in his sleep and rolled onto his side. It was, she knew, a temporary measure at best. Slumbering Finn was a heat-seeking missile. Most nights, when the pair slept in their separate beds, he’d cuddle up with Mocha. Once in a great while, even Java would deign to let the boy hug him to his chest like a stuffed animal all night long.
She smoothed his hair back from his forehead and kissed him lightly. Then she pulled the sleeping bag up over Fiona’s shoulders and gave her a kiss as well. Unless Connelly struck gold, she’d be gone before they woke in the morning, well on her way to West Virginia to track down her wayward client.
She turned out the light and then lingered in the doorway to drink in the sight of the peacefully sleeping twins by the glow of the nightlight.
Leo’s fingers flew over the keyboard as he poked around the digital corners of Clive Bloch’s life.
When he heard Sasha’s light footsteps padding across the hall from the playroom, he committed the information to memory, closed the program, and shut down his laptop.
When she entered the room, he’d already swiveled his chair around to face the doorway.
“They’re both sound asleep. Is it safe to come in?”
“Yeah, come on in. I don’t have much to report, though. I’ve checked the electronic records for most of the hospitals, prisons, and police stations between here and that ski resort, and, as far as I can tell, he hasn’t been involved in anything that would cause him to go missing. His credit cards and cell phone haven’t been used. His passport hasn’t been scanned at any borders. He’s just in the wind.”
She stared at him. “You checked all that in the time it took me to turn off the movie and kiss the kids good night?”
He leaned back. “The magic of technology.”
“So you didn’t find anything?”
“It’s kind of a stretch.”
“What is?”
“Did Bloch ever mention a woman named Aliviyah Amini?”
She made her adorable scrunched-up thinking face. “No. I don’t recognize the name. Who is she?”
“I’m not sure, but her name pops up in relation to his address in West Virginia. Could have been a former resident or a roommate or something.”
“Yeah, it’s probably nothing.”
“Maybe.” He rocked back in the chair and considered how much to share. “The thing is, that cabin of his is in Pocahontas County, which, along with neighboring Nicholas County, has been designated as a HIDTA.”
“And what’s a HIDTA?”
“HIDTA stands for High Intensity Drug Trafficking Area, which means those two counties are part of a big—and, by big, I mean massive—Drug Enforcement Administration operation.”
“Okay?”
“Pretty much every law enforcement agency on the federal, state, county, municipal, and local level is participating in a HIDTA task force, which is being run by a TDS out of Charleston.”
“English, please?”
“A Tactical Diversion Squad. It’s a big field operation. Opioids are flowing out of teeny tiny towns down there at an alarming rate and ending up in Kentucky, Ohio, and points west.”
“Sure, everyone’s heard about the opioid crisis. It’s tragic. But Clive’s not mixed up in drug trafficking. That’s ridiculous.”
“Are you sure? Because I don’t know who Aliviyah Amini is, but the Amini family is part of the Al Sharqi drug trafficking network that operates out of Central West Virginia. The HIDTA has had Zayed Al Sharqi in their sights for a while.”
She thought for a minute. “I really can’t imagine Clive getting caught up in opioid trafficking. He’s an accountant for crying out loud.”
“Drug dealers need accountants, too. Maybe more than the rest of us.” He tilted his head as she stifled a yawn. “You should get some sleep if you’re going to head down there in the morning.”
“Yeah, I should. Are you coming?”
“In a bit. I want to finish something up here. I’ll be in before you’re finished brushing your teeth.”
“Okay. Thanks for trying to help. I love you.”
“Love you, too.”
She kissed him goodnight and slipped out of the room. He waited until he heard the water running in the bathroom, then restarted his laptop. He zipped through the security measures to return to the DEA database and stared hard at red pins in the map on the screen.
Could it truly be a coincidence that Sasha’s hapless client had apparently shared an address at one time with an Amini and had gone missing in the middle of a drug enforcement hot zone?
Yeah, he told himself, it truly could be.
The ‘related persons’ algorithm was notoriously imprecise; it was entirely possible Bloch had never met Aliviyah Amini. But still, it niggled at Leo, poking him in the ribs.
He noted the name of the agent in charge of the Tactical Diversion Squad: A-I-C Ted Dill. Maybe he’d give Dill a call in the morning. After story time at the library and before lunch. Just to feel the man out and, he hoped, quell the uneasy gnawing in his chest.
Unless, of course, by then, Clive Bloch had already resurfaced.
7
Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania
Saturday morning
Before sunrise
* * *
Connelly leaned in through the open car window and handed Sasha a second travel mug filled with fresh coffee. “Here, take a backup.”
She beamed a grateful smile at him as she eased the hot mug into the holder beside its mate. “Thanks, love.”
“Your phone battery is fully charged?”
“Yes, Dad.”
He rolled his eyes, but the gentle jab did nothing to slow his mother henning.
“And you have the car charger?”
She lifted the cord in her right hand. “It’s right here.”
“Emergency cash?”
She patted her bra, rustling the neatly folded fifty-dollar bill tucked inside, and threw him a wink. He blinked in response. “A pocket would have probably sufficed, don’t you think? Or the glove compartment?”
“Don’t question my methods, Connelly. Nana Alexandrov taught me this one, and it’s served me well since my training bra days.”
That drew a laugh; then he returned to his pre-trip checklist without missing a beat. “You put Clive’s address into the GPS?”
“Yes, Connell
y. I have directions, coffee, my phone, a first aid kit, cash, more coffee, and a sense of steely resolve.” She shooed him away from the car door so she could open it and step out into the garage, where she pointed down at her feet. “And, look, running shoes.”
He nodded approvingly at her choice of footwear. “Then I’d say you’re all set.” A frown creased his mouth for an instant. “Unless you want to reconsider the gun.”
She arched an eyebrow and clamped her lips together but didn’t speak.
He raised his hands in surrender. “Fine. I just thought I’d ask.”
“It doesn’t matter how many times you ask. I’m not carrying a gun. One, I don’t have a permit, and, as a federal law enforcement agent, you really should know better than to encourage me to break gun laws. Two, even if I had a gun, what, pray tell, would I do with it? I don’t know how to shoot, remember? And, three, I’m not planning to force Clive Bloch to come home at gunpoint.”
He opened his mouth to respond, but she wasn’t finished.
“I’m a lawyer, remember? I’m paid a lot of money to use my mouth and my brain to solve problems, not to wave a hunk of metal in someone’s face to get them to do what I want.”
“Okay, okay. Simmer down, woman. I just want you to be safe in case things go awry.”
“Have you forgotten? These hands are a deadly weapon.”
She waggled her fingers at him, hoping to draw a laugh. Instead, he surprised her by frowning. She reached for his hand.
“What’s wrong?” she asked as she traced a circle over his thumb with her own.
He interlaced his fingers through hers. “I wish you wouldn’t make light of it. It’s not normal for a civilian—a civil trial attorney, for crying out loud—to have to rely on combat training as often as you do. One of these days … your luck’s going to run out.” His sad gray eyes searched her face. “And I don’t know what I’ll do without you.”
She was momentarily stunned into silence by the raw vulnerability in his expression. Then she blinked, gave a little shake of her head, and stared into his eyes. “Connelly, I’m not going to go looking for trouble. I never do. I have you and the kids to think about. I won’t take any unnecessary risks.”
“That’s what you say, but—”
“I’m going to track Clive down and explain to him how blowing off a federal judge is generally, and, in his case, specifically, a terrible idea. Then, I’m going to drag his sorry behind back here. In fact, I’ll be bringing him to the soccer game and putting him up in the guest room until Monday when I can hand deliver him to Judge Cook. That’s all. I’m not going to fight anyone or break up any crime rings or anything remotely like that.”
“Promise me.”
“I promise. Anyway, it’s Saturday. I have all my superhero crap penciled in for Wednesday of next week,” she deadpanned.
The faintest hint of his crooked smile shaded his mouth. “Fair enough.”
She stretched up on her toes and kissed him. “I love you, Leo Connelly.”
“I love you more, Sasha Middle Name Trouble McCandless-Connelly.” He breathed his response against her lips.
“Not possible.”
He tipped her chin with two fingers, raising her eyes to his. “Very possible.”
“Just see if you can’t convince Finn and Fiona to pay attention to the round white and black object on the field instead of doing somersaults and trying to catch birds out there.”
“Sure, give me the hard job. I see how it is.”
She grinned before she slipped back behind the wheel and started the engine. He closed the door for her and stood in the garage bay in his bare feet, with his sleep-mussed hair, and watched her drive away into the pre-dawn, gray light.
Before she turned the corner, she lifted her hand in a final wave and then patted the top of her head to ensure that the geisha pin, inherited from Nana Alexandrov, was firmly in place, securing her wild tangle of curls in an approximation of a bun. The beautiful, deadly pin had helped save her life the night she married Connelly.
She told herself the pin’s only job on this particular mission would be to keep her hair out of her eyes. She even believed it.
8
Pocahontas County, West Virginia
The Al Sharqi Estate
* * *
Omar Khan swallowed hard as Aliviyah Amini made a show of paying no mind to the two men who stood before her, heads bowed, eyes pinned on their feet.
From beneath his lowered eyelashes, Omar watched as the Amini woman drizzled honey over a bowl of yogurt, lowering the wooden dipper into the pot and then turning it over the yogurt in lazy spiral movements. Beside him, Omar could feel more than hear Youssef Farooq’s short, shallow intakes of breath.
Youssef had told Omar that when Zayed Al Sharqi had been here himself, it would have been rare for him to rise so early in the morning. And rarer still for him to meet in person with his foot soldiers. Such an event almost always meant he’d decided to personally punish some infraction, real or imagined. But, Omar reminded himself, keeping a firm grip on his emotions, Al Sharqi was gone—visiting his business interests in the Middle East—and he and Youssef were not here to be reprimanded. They’d been chosen.
This was Omar’s chance to prove himself. To gain admittance to Al Sharqi’s inner circle. He had to remain calm.
Satisfied, Amini returned the dipper to the honey pot and snapped her fingers. Omar jerked and raised his head in unison with Youssef.
“Do you understand your mission?” she asked softly.
The question was directed to Youssef, who licked his lips before answering. “Yes, sidi.”
She frowned. “Why do you call me sidi? I am not a man.”
“No, you are not. But you are the mouthpiece of Mr. Al Sharqi, are you not?”
“I speak for him in his absence, yes.”
Youssef stiffened. “And I do not take orders from women, so I am showing my respect to sidi, Mr. Al Sharqi.”
She smiled faintly and shifted her attention to Omar. “And, this behavior, Mr. Kahn, is why you have been chosen to accompany Mr. Farooq on this particular job. I assume—Mr. Al Sharqi assumes—that you, like me, an American born in this country, don’t possess the ingrained prejudices and views of our … less enlightened brothers.” She let her gaze fall on Youssef for a moment before continuing, “Therefore, you are to ensure that my orders, which are Mr. Al Sharqi’s orders in absentia, are carried out precisely.”
“Yes, sister.”
He felt Youssef’s hot gaze on his neck and shrugged it off. If he could gain Aliviyah Amini’s confidence during Al Sharqi’s absence, he could make real progress here.
“There is a man, an American, who has information Mr. Al Sharqi needs. Two of the men who provide us with access to the product were hired to bring him to us. They did that, but they did not follow instructions.”
“They abducted him?” Omar asked.
“Yes. They grabbed him yesterday. He’s being held in an abandoned home. They were given explicit instructions not to harm him. Unfortunately, they did not comply.”
“He is injured?”
“From what I understand, he was badly beaten about the head. He lost consciousness during the attack. He has a broken nose and, likely, a concussion.”
Omar drew in a breath.
Amini took no notice. “You have two jobs. First, the Americans have defied a direct order from Zayed Al Sharqi and must be dealt with. Youssef, you will handle this.”
Youssef nodded. “Yes, sidi.”
“Quietly, please. No mess.” She had apparently decided to ignore Youssef’s insistence on continuing to address her as ‘sir.’
“Yes, sidi.”
“And the prisoner?” Omar asked.
She examined Omar’s face, her bright eyes piercing. Finally, she said, “You will question him. Alone.” She shot Youssef a fierce look. “You will tell him Zayed Al Sharqi wants his money back. Do not hurt him … any more than is necessary.”
Omar bobbed his head in understanding. He couldn’t help but wonder why he, a relative newcomer to the organization, had been hand-picked for an assignment by Al Sharqi himself.
Aliviyah Amini must’ve read the question in his eyes. She answered it, at any rate. “This man, he’s not a criminal. He needs a different approach. A more modern approach, something someone like you can understand.”
Youssef snorted.
But Omar knew what she was saying. He was an American Muslim. American first; Muslim second. And he lived that truth. He’d expected it to be an obstacle to earning Al Sharqi’s trust; he’d never dreamed it would be his ticket to the inner circle.
He bit back a smile.
9
Clive was dozing, still bound to the chair, his head lolling, chin hanging down against his chest. From somewhere in the dark room came a loud thud, followed by whispered cursing and the shuffling of feet.
He started awake with a jerk and twisted in the direction of the noise. It had come from the kitchen counter. At least, he thought so. From the makeshift bed by the wall, he heard Jamie’s sleep-thick voice.
“Donny, what the—?”
“Stubbed my toe. Gotta take a leak. It’s time to get up anyway. I gotta make that call to Al Sharqi’s people.” Donny fumbled in the darkness for the box of wooden kitchen matches.
He struck one against the striker strip and light bloomed in the shadows. Clive watched as he lit the hurricane candle and tossed Jamie a warm beer leftover from the night before.
Jamie caught it one-handed and popped the tab top open with a hissing crack. He took a sip, his eyes still half-closed.
Donny opened a beer and drained it in one long gulp. He belched, louder and longer than seemed strictly necessary, then glanced at Clive.
“What’re you thinking?” Jamie asked.
Donny shook his head.
Clive dropped his eyes and watched the flame’s shadow dance across the floorboards. He’d noticed that as long as he wasn’t looking directly at his captors, they spoke freely in front of him. It was as if he weren’t there.
In Absentia Page 4
