“You went after all twenty-five names?” Chris asked, eyes wide with surprise.
“I only managed to get to fifteen names from the list in the last three years, plus another smuggler connected to The Italian I found more recently.”
“Fifteen?” Chris’s mouth rounded in continued shock. “I’m out of words to express my awe.”
If only she had gotten to them all. “It wasn’t easy, especially after Jolie died six months into our collaboration. Well, technically, she disappeared, but I’m certain The Italian had Jolie killed.” Rory’s stomach knotted, anger hurtling through her at the loss. So much of Rory’s mission was owed to Jolie.
Chris gave her a reassuring nod, which helped her find the strength to get through this conversation. To relive past pains. The wins and losses.
“I had to continue with the mission, though. No way could I stop. There were so many names. I did my best to dismantle and disrupt The Italian’s trade routes by going through the list of smugglers I believed were all tied to him. But I always knew The Italian himself needed to be taken down to achieve any kind of lasting change. Cut the head off the snake, figuratively speaking.”
“Santiago,” Harper whispered. “Did The Italian orchestrate the ambush of the CIA’s transport? If so, why? To rescue Santiago or to get rid of him before he could talk?”
“But the guys who took Santiago spoke French.” Roman seemed to be reminding Harper of intel they already knew. “I mean, that doesn’t rule out that the men who took Santiago don’t work for The Italian, though.”
“Santiago has ties to The Italian,” Rory said a second later. “You probably knew Santiago as a human trafficker, but he dealt with animals as well. Snakes. Macaws. But it was elephants that led me to him in the first place. Ivory is often sold to fund armed groups in Africa, like the Lord’s Resistance Army. The price they can demand for tusks once they’re outside African markets is exorbitant. Santiago sold the tusks in Latin America and the U.S., but he was using The Italian’s Atlantic Ocean network to transport them to El Salvador.”
“I read a story about this very thing,” Chris spoke up. “National Geographic hid GPS trackers in the tusks to follow the smuggling supply chain.”
“I applied similar tactics to identify the starting and ending points of various trade routes, and I used that information as evidence to help take the smugglers down. Often when I broke into someone’s compound for the first time, it was to plant a tracking device.” A dull, achy pain struck her as she thought about the fight she’d given up.
“So, after you breached Santiago’s compound, what happened?” Harper asked, her voice soft.
“I was played by someone. I fell for their bait. I walked right into his trap in France.”
“France?” Chris’s brows drew inward as if he were considering a possible connection between the French-speaking men who’d freed Santiago and whoever had lured her into a trap.
“The man bested me,” Rory went on, not sure what to think about why Carter Dominick would ever free Santiago. “I was led to believe he used one of The Italian’s networks, so I was there to find evidence, but I wound up tasered and tied up in a room.” She thought back to that night, lying on the ground by the pool, completely incapacitated. Looking up at the night sky, thinking This is it, I’m gonna die tonight, and then the image of a man with a stunning smile appeared in her mind. Chris Hunter. And here he was now like they’d come full circle. It was all so unbelievable.
Chris’s anger flared up again. “Tasered?”
“He’s the reason I gave up my mission. In no uncertain terms, he pointed out I was putting my family in grave danger. He said if he was able to find and catch me, it was only a matter of time before The Italian would, too.”
“What’d he want?” Chris stepped forward, placing a hand under her chin, directing her eyes to meet his.
“He wanted me to help him. Said he’d let me go if I agreed. And as much as it pained me, I had no choice. But honestly, after three years, my time was probably running out. It was bound to happen. I can’t imagine the consequences if someone else had caught me.”
“That’s why you had no choice but to settle down.” Chris shifted out of her reach, a solemn look on his face. “So, who is this guy, and what did he want with you?”
“Carter Dominick.” Rory let go of a deep breath. “He wanted my help finding the man responsible for killing his wife.”
Chapter Nineteen
“Carter Dominick?” Harper blinked, a look of disbelief on her face. “CIA Carter Dominick? The one who left the Agency about two and a half years ago and went rogue? That Carter?”
“I was wondering if you’d know of him.” Rory sat in front of the fire using her folded-up rain jacket for a cushion on the rocky ground. Her skin was pink and glowing from sitting so close to the flames.
Chris peered at Roman, trying to get a read on him. What’d he know about Carter? Anything?
Who the hell was their adversary?
Andrew Cutter? The Italian? Or this Carter guy?
Fuck, he hoped “all of the above” wasn’t the answer to this multiple-choice question.
“We worked an op together maybe seven years ago in Costa Rica.” Harper squeezed her eyes closed as though mentally doing the math. She’d most likely worked a ridiculous number of ops between then and now. “Took down a smuggling ring together, actually.”
Smuggling? That can’t be coincidental. “We were worried the ambush of Santiago’s transport might have been an inside job because the officers escorting him were left unharmed. But after hearing this, do you think Carter could be our guy?” Chris was familiar with the name, but not because Carter was CIA. He tried to catch hold of a memory that wasn’t quite forming clearly. “Maybe Carter had a CIA contact who gave him the transport information.”
“I don’t know what kind of criminal activity Carter has been involved with since he left the Agency,” Harper responded, “but I can’t imagine why he’d be interested in a smuggler like Santiago.”
“Personal tragedy often changes people. Maybe losing his wife turned him into someone else.” Chris’s tone grew dark at the idea of what Carter had gone through.
“Carter was Delta Force before joining the Agency,” Harper said.
Delta Force. Now Chris remembered the particulars about Carter.
It wasn’t every day a former Delta guy turned CIA, disappeared, and was then pegged as having gone rogue.
“After his wife was murdered,” Harper continued, “he went off-the-grid. Rumors are he became a criminal himself, but I can’t be certain. Carter’s wife’s family was wealthy, though. Picture the Kennedys but with more money,” she added. “I think Carter’s wife hoped her husband would be POTUS someday.”
“Thinking that ship has sailed,” Chris said and kept his eyes on Rory. “How’d his wife die?”
“Home invasion. She was savagely murdered.” Harper paused for a moment as if paying her respects. “Police and Feds brushed it off as a burglary. There’d been a string of similar break-ins around D.C. in the previous months, but Carter refused to believe it.”
A multitude of emotions flooded Chris when he thought back to waking up on the yacht yesterday with no idea if Rory was still alive. If he’d been Carter, what would he have done if he’d come home to find his wife brutally murdered?
He suddenly had a sour taste in his mouth and felt like he was about to lose the fish he’d eaten.
“And why would Carter think you could help him find her killer?” Harper asked. “You’re clearly a kick-ass tracker, but . . .?”
“He showed me a photo of someone he believed I could identify, and the reason he thought I’d know him is that Carter had another photo, one of the same man with me near the Washington Monument.”
And now, maybe Chris needed to sit. But instead, he set his palm to a nearby tree and braced himself for whatever else Rory was about to lay on them.
“I assume the timeframe was around his w
ife’s murder,” Harper commented.
“Carter was light on details about the photos, but the picture with me in it had to have been from when I was in D.C. having lunch with my friend about two and a half years ago.”
“Maybe Carter pulled CCTV footage outside his house and found your friend, and then he canvassed all the surveillance cameras in the area looking for more sightings of the guy,” Harper suggested. “I assume he checked immediately after her death because I doubt those tapes would still exist now.”
“But it took him two and a half years to approach Rory?” Chris asked. “That doesn’t add up.”
Rory nodded. “I asked him why he waited so long after her death to reach out if he’d had the images so long, but he didn’t answer. I was just glad he wasn’t going to kill me.”
Chris winced at her words. Thank God Carter hadn’t . . . He couldn’t allow that thought to marinate, or he’d blow a fuse. “So, uh, this guy was a friend? How do you know him?” And why would Carter think a friend of yours killed his wife?
“Well, we worked together. He was part of Andrew’s crew. And when I left Andrew’s team to chase down antiquities buyers, Danny decided to join me.”
When you were known as Red Robin Hood. Chris arched a brow, waiting. Nervous anticipation coiled inside of him.
“We worked together on and off for two years before I chose my new mission. Danny went back to solely focusing on treasure hunting with Andrew.” She let go of a deep breath. “Danny was in D.C., and he learned I was also in town, so we had lunch to catch up. As to how or why Carter believed Danny killed his wife, I have no idea.”
“Did Danny know you were giving up antiquities to chase wildlife smugglers?” Chris asked, but he assumed the answer would be no.
“Andrew and Danny were the only two people outside my small group I worked with who knew I was going after antiquities buyers. But when I changed missions and started hunting down wildlife traffickers, I kept my work a secret, even from them, for their own protection,” Rory explained.
“Andrew was okay with you leaving him to hunt criminals? Or for Danny to help you do it?” Harper probed.
“Andrew was worried about me,” Rory quickly replied, “but he knew once I made up my mind, there was no stopping me. I have a feeling he pushed Danny into helping to keep an eye on me.”
“And when you gave up antiquities—what’d Andrew say?” Harper asked next, and thank God for her, Chris was still rolling around in a sea of shock.
“I didn’t give him a reason to argue. I said I planned to travel the world. Take a break from everything. And then I avoided his calls and emails, worried he’d catch me in a lie. Andrew never stopped reaching out, though.”
“Hmm.” Harper frowned, and Chris could practically see the wheels turning in her head. She was suspicious of something or someone, and he assumed it was Andrew “The Asshole” Cutter.
“But um, back to Carter,” Rory continued. “He tracked me down when he couldn’t find Danny. And the reason he couldn’t find him is that Danny died on a dive in the Caribbean a few months after we had lunch in D.C.”
What? That was yet another unexpected twist, among many. “Yeah, that sounds . . . suspect.”
“Given everything that has gone down this weekend, yeah, I can see that now,” Rory admitted.
“So how did Carter find you?” Harper peered at Rory. “Facial recognition software, maybe? Probably still had contacts at the CIA.”
Rory smoothed her hands up and down the sides of her arms. “I guess so, and that’s how Carter stumbled upon who I really was and what I was doing. His men tracked me to El Salvador in August. They watched me break into Santiago’s compound.”
And his mind was blown. He’d known that fact already, but just, wow.
“Then why not grab you there?” Harper asked what Chris was thinking, but he hadn’t been able to get his voice to work.
“Once Carter put two and two together, that I was the person taking down smugglers, he decided instead of kidnapping me, he’d draw me straight to him,” she explained. “Since it was clear The Italian was my target, about two weeks after I was at Santiago’s compound, Carter lured me to his home in France by acting as though he was smuggling pangolins on one of The Italian’s trade networks.”
“How’d he do all of this?” Chris asked now that he was able to speak. Rory was far too smart to fall into an easy trap, so now he was curious to what lengths Carter had gone.
“When it comes to wildlife trafficking, a lot of the transactions are done online. Supply chain messages go through different social media outlets that are hard to track. The illicit shipments are then sent through cargo ships or on private cargo planes, along specific trade routes to the buyers in a particular area.” Rory was in full genius mode right now. “Think about a toll road. You have to pay to drive on that road. Same concept in international smuggling. You pay a fee of sorts to move illegal goods or people on trade routes governed by different transnational criminal groups, or in the case of The Italian, one person.”
“So, Carter made you believe he was going to traffic pangolins on one of the commonly known routes The Italian ran?” Roman asked, quickly interpreting Rory’s words.
“Exactly.” Rory nodded. “Carter set up the sale of pangolins on the black market online. Pangolins are one of the world’s most trafficked mammals right now. A multimillion-dollar supply chain runs across Africa and Asia, and these criminals are destroying the species, so I’ve been monitoring the situation.”
“Unfortunately, Interpol is having a hell of a time stopping them,” Roman noted. “Only a tenth or so of pangolins trafficked are intercepted.”
“Pangolins, brother? You know about those, too?” Chris would have laughed if the subject wasn’t so heart-shatteringly horrible.
“Going after these people, it’s like searching for a needle in a haystack if you don’t know what you’re looking for, which is why it was helpful I’d had someone early on to get me on the right path,” Rory explained. “When I discovered a large order had been placed online to be sent out of Douala International Airport, I followed the trail, and it led me to Carter Dominick. It took several contacts to find his property, but I shouldn’t have been so arrogant. I found him too quickly. A man like Carter was only found because he wanted to be found. He doesn’t actually live in the lavish home he lured me to. It was a ruse.”
Fuck if he was impressed, though. And admittedly, this was all a little over his head. He was used to taking down smugglers, but not identifying and tracking their whereabouts in the first place.
“Well, consider my mind blown.” Harper clapped twice. “Could have used you at the Agency, woman. And don’t beat yourself up about Carter’s trap. He was trained by the Farm to do shit like that, and you are self-made.”
“So, uh, when you got to Carter’s home, and he asked you to help him identify and find Danny, and you told him he’d died, what’d he do?” Chris whispered, his nerves still pretty shot.
“I have no idea what led Carter to believe that Danny was the murderer since he refused to tell me, but I told him Danny would never have done such a thing. And with Danny dead, what could Carter do? Bring him back to life and question the guy? So, Carter got pissed, gave me a warning about The Italian, and sent me on my way after a day. I highly doubt he gave up his pursuit for justice, though.”
Chris didn’t even know how to begin processing everything Rory had just divulged, but he could understand her reluctance to share her story with anyone. He’d always thought he lived life on the edge, but this woman had taken enormous risks pitting herself against the likes of pirates and smugglers. All without a team of trained covert operatives and the weight of the United States government backing her. She’d gone after bad guys because it was the right thing to do.
Her love for animals, her experience . . . chasing wildlife smugglers, it made sense in an odd sort of way. But would she truly be satisfied training canines after the life she’d led?
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“So, are you upset that you’re in this mess because of me?” Rory’s voice was unsteady as though she were nervous about what they all thought of her. But he knew Harper, and he could tell she now saw Rory in a new light. Someone who could hang with their team, no problem.
And she could, couldn’t she?
“We might be able to take down some major bad guys with your help if you’ll let us, so we should be thanking you.” Harper stood and started poking the wood in their firepit with a stick. They’d need to douse the flames soon. Better to be safe than sorry. The fire would be great to signal for help, but it could also draw unwanted eyes.
“You want to go after The Italian? I mean, it’s obvious to me that’s the only way I’ll ever be safe, more importantly, my family, but I wasn’t so sure if you’d—”
“We’ll do whatever it takes to ensure your safety, and taking down a criminal is a byproduct of that,” Roman said, speaking for Chris since his emotions had him all tangled up.
Proud and fearful at the same time. It was a lot to wrap his head around.
“Hey, guys,” Roman said a moment later with his back turned, eyes on the ocean. “We’ve got company.”
Chris abruptly went to his side to follow his gaze. A red and white, commercial-grade fishing trawler that looked to be about an eighty-footer was anchored off in the distance, not too far away. They weren’t more than twenty-five feet above sea level in their current spot. The rock wall was easily scalable, plus there was a small area of sand at the base for a starting-off point. “They must have come out after the storm cleared. You think they could be our ride out? Save us the rest of the trek trying to get to the ranger. They’re fishermen, so we should be good.”
Chasing Fortune (Stealth Ops Book 8) Page 22
