by G. K. Parks
“I’m glad I please you.”
“Always,” I whispered, sinking deeper into the pillow. “So what’s the latest on the Francesca front?”
“Do you really want to know?”
“It’s only fair. Plus, if it gets too boring, I’ll probably just fall asleep.”
“Gee, thanks a lot.” He lifted my casted arm and slipped a pillow beneath it. Then he filled me in on his legal strategy.
They were about to enter the discovery phase, and the Martin Technologies’ legal team believed they had sufficient evidence to prove that MT held the intellectual rights to the disputed technology. The secondary issue, which would be more difficult, was figuring out a way to rebut the claims that they had gained the rights through emotional and psychological manipulation. It sounded like bullshit, but Martin had been engaged to Francesca more than a decade ago. That would make an impartial party raise an eyebrow, and then to top it off, he had a sexual history with numerous employees, including yours truly. It gave a certain level of credence to the claim of hostile work environment, but on paper, there was no evidence backing Francesca Pirelli’s claims. Suffice it to say, she was being vindictive and putting the screws to him. At least Mark wasn’t holding the mount for her.
“If discovery goes well, we’ll file for a summary judgment and hope to get it dismissed before it goes any further,” Martin concluded.
“Have they made any other attempts at a settlement?”
“No, that has my attorneys slightly worried.”
“What about the Germans? Are they planning an invasion if the shit hits the fan?”
“What?” He glanced at the phone on the desk. “No, that was about a distribution issue. We’ve lost our Eastern European supplier, and it directly affects that branch of MT. That’s just normal business shit.”
“Why am I under the impression that there was a time in your life that issue alone would have stressed you out and resulted in at least another dozen phone calls and a few angry e-mails?”
He shrugged. “Maybe you don’t know me that well.”
“Go,” I jerked my chin at the desk, “make your calls, send your sharply worded e-mails, and don’t do it from this room.”
“Am I bothering you?” he asked, pretending to be insulted.
“Yes, now get the hell out of here.” I pulled myself up and whispered in his ear, “I’ll miss you while you’re gone.”
“Liar.” Mumbling protests, he got out of bed and went to the desk, collecting his various work paraphernalia. “Laptop or tablet?” he asked.
“Laptop and my notepad.” He picked them up from the edge of the desk and placed them on the bed. “Oh, and the pack of colored pens.”
“Anything else?”
“Not at the moment.”
“Fine,” he gave me a look, “I’ll be across the hall in my office if you suddenly decide that you need something else.” He went to the doorway. “How come you get to work from our bedroom and I don’t?”
“I’ve been trained in manipulation techniques. You haven’t, despite what Francesca asserts. However, maybe I’ll throw some pointers your way.” I winked.
“Not funny.” He continued out the door, leaving me to contemplate the recent developments concerning a possible terrorist cell, Det. Donaldson’s murder, and the three men that were keen on preventing me from making it to the DA’s office alive.
The OIO and the PD opened a joint investigation following the assault on the police vehicle. After what happened, the two branches of law enforcement didn’t have a choice. It was a local crime, but the threat of terrorism was a federal matter. The men that attacked us would likely face both state and federal charges, but I was less concerned with what would happen to them and more concerned with what might happen if we couldn’t get them to talk.
The police department had granted my colleagues access to Detective Donaldson’s records. Anything that mentioned Ivan or Pepper was in review. Mark insisted it was a stall tactic, but reviewing the PD’s intel could be helpful. Jablonsky griped and complained, but it was currently our analysts’ main priority.
While the police department appeared to be sharing with us, it was obvious that they were examining the role I played in Donaldson’s death and the assault on the police car. Luckily, the three officers that were assigned to escort me to the DA’s office were set to make full recoveries, and the driver insisted that I had nothing to do with it. I knew they wouldn’t find any evidence to suggest otherwise, but given my spotty past with the PD and the altercation in the holding cell that likely caused or contributed to my recent stint in the hospital, it was difficult to assume they’d reach the proper conclusion. In the meantime, I had to be patient and wait for the verdict. The police had taken the assailants into custody, and so far, the OIO hadn’t been given access to them. However, Jablonsky planned to take custody soon.
It was in the PD’s best interest to clear me, and from what I’d been told by Mark and the OIO’s legal staff, I would find out today or tomorrow what the state had in store for me. As usual, I wasn’t good at taking things lying down, even if I was actually stuck in bed. So I was reviewing Homeland’s file on Shade. I’d read through it before, but now that I knew there was a local connection, I had been spending my downtime cross-referencing names and associates with Pepper and the local immigrant community. Shade was a small organization, but it wasn’t tied to just one nation-state. Its membership spanned the Balkans and most of Eastern Europe, particularly the former Soviet Union. Membership was estimated to be less than fifty people, ten of which were in charge, but it only took one determined, desperate individual with resources to make a big mess.
Despite the fact that the men who fired on the police vehicle were yet to be identified as members of Shade, I couldn’t imagine that another random group had taken a hit out on me or the police. Coincidences didn’t happen. The men with the grenade launcher wanted to take me out to make sure that I couldn’t clear myself of Donaldson’s murder. Someone wanted the double homicide to be wrapped up in a nice neat package and the federal agent to take the rap and be sent away as a raving lunatic. That hadn’t happened, at least not yet.
Picking up my notepad, I grabbed a pen and worked on the physical description of the shooter from Pepper. Based on the way he acted, he was either in charge or took his orders directly from whoever was in charge. Unfortunately, most of the details concerning his looks eluded me. It had been dark in that kitchen, and I wasn’t in any condition to make determinations like height or weight after I was skunked out of my mind. But I figured he was average height and fairly lean. He was strong though. Strong enough to snap my wrist in one quick move.
Biting my lip, I replayed the struggle over the gun. He must have been trained, perhaps former FSB or Spetsnaz, or whatever special paramilitary entities existed near Shade’s HQ. Then again, he might have been a street brawler that picked up a trick or two to avoid getting his face blown off. However, if he was military or paramilitary, that would explain the use of the grenade launcher. Normal civilians didn’t have access to military weapons.
Scribbling a note on the sheet, I thought about the Hummer and the weaponry. It was classic military, so I performed a search for security specialists in the area. It wouldn’t be the first time one of these private organizations had ties to terrorism. After all, selling weapons, tech, and soldiers was a lucrative business, and not everyone had qualms about which side paid the bills. Money was money.
Copying down a list of potential companies to investigate, I checked the time and started with the first one I jotted down. A few clicks provided some biographical information and a résumé of sorts, so I began researching each company for a connection to Shade’s area of operation. I’d cleared three companies from my list when Martin returned to the bedroom.
“Jablonsky sent a text. He just pulled in.”
“Thanks.” I put the computer on the bed and pushed myself up. “I’ll get changed and cleaned up.”
&nbs
p; “Okay,” he watched warily as I crossed the room to the dresser, pulled out a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, and went into the bathroom, “do you need help?”
“You just want to watch me change.”
“Maybe.” He lingered outside the bathroom door, waiting for me to emerge. “If Mark plans on hanging around, I’ll head to the office for a while.”
“Good.” I opened the door. “Have fun, just be safe.”
He gave me an odd look. “So I should take condoms to work?”
“I meant stay safe, you jerk. Things have been precarious lately, at least for me.” I tried to shake off the foreboding feeling that continued to fester. “For the record, keep it in your pants.”
“I plan to.” He kissed me. “The legal team would murder me if I didn’t.”
“So would I.”
He smiled. “I know.”
Twenty-three
“The district attorney dismissed their claims. The police don’t have a case against you. All charges have been dropped. It was circumstantial at best, and in light of recent events,” Jablonsky surveyed the bedroom, skimming across the work I’d done, “your involvement is no longer a question that needs answering. We have bigger fish to fry.” He gave me a look. “You’re white as a sheet. Shouldn’t you be resting?”
“You just said we have bigger problems.”
“Parker, you’re sitting this one out.” He made himself comfortable in Martin’s desk chair. “Lucca’s on it. Everyone is on it. Honestly, you’re benched for the next couple of weeks until medical clears you. Why don’t you focus your efforts on recovering?”
“I can’t let this go.” Walking away held an unbelievable level of appeal, but I wasn’t wired to leave things unfinished. “We could be dealing with a large-scale attack. Can you say with complete certainty that you don’t need my help?”
He huffed but didn’t say anything to the contrary. Leafing through my notepad, he pulled out his own and made a few notations. Then he pocketed the information, picked up a pen, crossed out some of my scribbles, and placed the notepad on the bed beside me. I read through the changes, realizing that they’d already explored the list of private military contractors.
“Analysis is complete on the grenade launcher and the firearms that the assault team possessed. They’re Soviet made. Old. And most likely, black market imports. Interpol is assisting us in tracing their origin. Most of the old Eastern Bloc was controlled by warlords at one time or another. A few are still around, even today, but the gear is dated. Any dealers left in the area are probably selling more advanced weaponry by now, so we’re thinking it came from an old weapons cache that had been stockpiled since the Cold War days. Hell, it might have been dug out of some underground doomsday bunker.”
“Damn, that is old. It must remind you of when you were a young whippersnapper cutting your teeth at the OIO.”
“Don’t be cute. I’m old, but that’s before my time. The good news is the bulk of the assault team’s equipment, like tactical vests and close range weaponry, came from the same era as the grenade launcher, so we think it must have been provided by the same seller. Assuming he has more to sell, we’ll eventually be able to track down the supplier and force him to give up his clientele.”
“That seems like the long way around. Have the assholes been questioned yet?” I didn’t even know what to call them besides derogatory names.
“They’re under local jurisdiction. Director Kendall wants us to make as much progress as possible beforehand, so we have leverage to use against them.”
“It’s a gamble. The longer we wait, the harder it’ll be to stop an imminent threat.”
“So you believe the three men in custody are members of Shade?” It wasn’t a question so much as asking for affirmation on a theory.
“I don’t know. I do believe that they are connected.”
“Explain.” Mark leaned back in the chair and waited.
“I’m guessing the lost shipment from that cargo plane made it to its destination. It might have contained the weapons that the assault team possessed, or it could be something else entirely. Shade must already have allies within our borders. Those allies picked up the shipment and did everything in their power to make sure we didn’t know about it. I’m guessing Pepper is a front for something heinous. Ivan must have seen something since he was reporting unusual activity to the police. Donaldson thought it was gang related.” I sighed. “He didn’t know what he had stumbled upon. Someone else must have realized Ivan was a snitch, and they waited and followed the rat back to the big cheese. Maybe it was my fault. I requested that meeting. Perhaps something about our presence that night tipped our hand.”
“You can’t think like that. Whatever happened probably had nothing to do with you and everything to do with Ivan or Donaldson,” Mark said. “From what you’ve told me, the man performing the interrogation had no idea you were a federal agent. So you weren’t the one acting suspiciously. It’s not on you.”
“Yeah, but it doesn’t change anything.” I bit my lip. “I don’t think the shooters from the highway assault were the same men involved in the kitchen interrogation.”
“So we’re dealing with at least five men with suspected ties to a terrorist organization. That worries me.”
“Yeah, me too.” I stared at the ceiling. “What about Jakov Horvat? Didn’t you say he was picked up?”
“Yeah, TSA nabbed him at the airport late last night. He bought a one-way ticket to Croatia under a fake name. His passport didn’t pass muster, and he was tagged by security. Homeland is detaining him, but we’ll get a crack at him later today.”
“All right.” I propped myself up on my elbows. “He worked at Pepper with Ivan. His cousin is highly placed in Shade. We have to convince him to talk.”
“Agreed.” Mark looked at his watch. He and Martin had been trading off to stay with me. On a few rare occasions when they were both busy, Marcal, Martin’s valet, had stayed nearby, but it was obvious Mark wanted to get back to work and Martin was nowhere to be found.
“I’m fine,” I said. “I won’t do anything stupid. I promise. You can leave me by myself.”
“Yeah, right.” He ignored me and opened the laptop, starting a new search. “The police sent the crime scene file. Do you want a copy?”
“Yes.”
He copied the data from his office inbox and saved it on my hard drive. “It’s a bit gruesome, but it contains a lot of data concerning the search of Pepper and the location of the abandoned SUV and the bodies. Maybe you’ll notice something that they missed or didn’t think was important. You can take a look after I leave.”
“Sure.”
“Right now, we have something else to discuss,” he said. “Eddie Lucca.”
“What about him? Did the boy scout get reassigned?”
Mark held up a hand to silence me and pressed his lips together to compose himself. “Explain to me why the man who might have saved your life at least three times in the last few weeks has voiced concerns over your continued partnership.”
“I’d say three’s pushing it. Once, maybe. And even that’s a bit of a stretch.”
“Parker, answer me.”
“I can’t. You haven’t told me what his concerns are. If it has to do with my ability to follow orders, well, that’s not anything new. If it’s my ability to stay alive and reasonably healthy, well, shit, it’s been a tough couple of weeks. And if it’s because he suddenly realized that being in close proximity to me ought to warrant hazard pay, that’s on him because he’s been slow on the uptake.”
“He’s concerned that you’ve almost fired upon him on two separate occasions.” Mark stared at me, wanting to understand. “What the hell would possess you to think he was the enemy?”
“I don’t trust him,” I admitted.
“What more does the man have to do? Hasn’t he proven himself to you, especially in light of recent events? I trust him. The federal government trusts him to uphold and protect the law.
What makes your opinion superior?”
“For the record, I didn’t plan to shoot him the first time. I wasn’t cognizant of what I was doing. I was asleep, remembering Donaldson’s murder in the kitchen. It came to me in a dream, and Lucca was attempting to wake me from it.”
“And the second time was in the middle of the firefight with possible terrorists. How do you plan to explain that away?”
“I’m out of my mind,” I snapped, sarcastic and annoyed.
“Be honest with me. What is it?”
“A lot of things didn’t make sense in that moment. Lucca didn’t come to my aid after the police vehicle was disabled. I kicked through the back windshield, emerged under hostile conditions, and was subjected to the barrel of his weapon. Did he mention that?”
“He said he was assessing the situation. The scene warranted having his weapon drawn. He was facing the attackers. You were facing him.”
“He had bruises.”
“Bruises?”
“The morning he claims I tried to kill him. I saw them on his torso, deep blue bruises like he’d been in a fight. And then everything he had said and done, the fact that he phoned me that morning, that he found me so quickly after the call was made, it was like he knew I wouldn’t be in to work that morning and knew precisely where to find me. And then he just kept dismissing everything I said like it had been an accident and I was raving mad. Even when we went to Pepper, Lucca didn’t run down Jakov, and our only suspect got away.”
“Whatever you think, just spit it out, Alex.”
“It’s possible that Lucca could be part of this.”
“You’re telling me that Shade has a mole in the OIO, and that person just happens to be your partner?”
“I’m not telling you anything.” Taking a deep breath, I wanted to be able to do something to let out the frustration, but I couldn’t. “I don’t know, Jablonsky. I don’t have a fucking clue. I just know that something is off when it comes to Eddie.”
“Didn’t he stop the assault in the holding cell? Didn’t he call for help and then put himself in danger to apprehend the team that seemed intent on killing you and the police officers? If you don’t trust him, why did you send him to get help?”
