“Oh, David.” Edward shook his head. “I leave you to discipline your wife, and this is what you do? Must I remind you of our agreement?”
David coughed. “She can type. I left her hands.”
Edward dropped my head, his fingers running over my hands, lifting and checking each finger.
“Yes,” he said, standing. “But she is hardly able to perform like this.”
“She’ll do it.” David’s heavy hand settled on my shoulder, squeezing. I gasped as pain exploded from the dislocated joint. “She knows the consequences.”
I watched, swallowing against the nausea, as feet shuffled in front of me. Finally, Edward spoke.
“Take her to the women. Have them clean her up and what-not. When she’s decent, bring her to me.” He turned to leave.
“But what about the–” David protested.
“Patience, brother. God’s work comes first.” I heard the door open. “Come, David. We have much to decide.”
I listened to them walk out, their steps echoing down the hall outside. Hands tugged at the ropes keeping me strapped to the chair. In moments, I was free but unable to move. Hands gently pulled me forward and slipped under my knees and behind my back, cradling me like a child.
“I got her. Go tell the women.” Abel’s chest vibrated under my ear as he held me close. The other man in the room left. I fought unconsciousness, the world spinning, the nausea rolling as he shifted me higher, his head dipping down until his lips were pressed against my ear.
“You should have run.” His voice was barely a whisper, his tone apologetic. “You’d run every other time.” He below out a breath, hitching me higher. “When you stayed… They gave me no choice. You’d understand if you knew her.” His voice broke.
Knew who? Who is her?
“Call Luc,” I whispered, barely able to utter the words through the swelling. “Please.”
He pulled me closer. “I can’t.”
“Please…” I gave in to the dark.
Chapter Fifty-Two
Luc
The registration check on the vehicle turned up more questions. The only person able to answer them sat in the interrogation room at the local police station while Annabelle and her partner drilled him with questions.
Dressed in a smart suit, Eric Flowers COO of West Investments, sat handcuffed to the desk. He stared at his clasped hands as Annabelle rounded the table.
“Come on, Eric,” she cajoled. “The evidence is all there. We know you planted the software. We know you rented the two houses, and we know you bought the car. You’re looking at embezzlement, kidnapping, torture, and that’s just today.” She lent down, tapping a hand against the sterile table. “Your choice.”
“I want my lawyer.”
Annabelle tsked. “Your appointed lawyer is just there.” She nodded at the man in the corner of the room.
“My lawyer. Not some underling.”
“Your lawyer is in Europe on three weeks’ holiday.”
Eric’s fingers flexed. “I’m not talking until I get my lawyer.”
The man in the corner coughed. “Perhaps we could have a moment alone?” Annabelle and the officer left the room. Paxton bumped my shoulder. “Don’t worry, Annabelle will break him.”
I gritted my teeth, feeling the muscle in my jaw jump. If I had three minutes alone he’d be squealing like a pig.
The sound was muted as we watched through the double-sided glass. The lawyer gestured animatedly as Eric shook his head. Finally, the lawyer stood and tapped on the door. It opened, Annabelle and her partner returning. The volume switched back on.
“You ready to talk?”
“We want a deal,” the lawyer said, laying a hand on Eric’s shoulder. “He talks in exchange for protection and a pardon.”
Annabelle crossed her arms, shaking her head. “Protection, a new identity, but he’s serving time. We could look at a reduced sentence, but Mr Flowers has too many crosses against his name.”
The lawyer sat down, leaning over to whisper in Eric’s ear. After a moment Eric nodded.
The lawyer held out a hand. “We got a deal. Reduced sentence, two years, and protection.”
“I’m not making promises on the sentence,” Annabelle cautioned. “We need to hear what he’s got first.”
The lawyer hesitated, then nodded. “Eric?”
The guy sighed heavily, eyes glued to his hands. “They recruited me fresh out of high school. I thought I was top shit. Knew how to hack. They honed in on me, taught me what I needed to know. I was in deep when they blackmailed me.” He clenched his fist. “I couldn’t get out. They shaped who I became. Paid for my university, hacked systems so I became the preferred candidate. All I had to do was plant software in each of the companies.” He scoffed. “At first I thought it was intellectual property theft. They could sell the plans to the highest bidder. Sure, there was some of that. But then they had me work the financial sector. I ended up planting software that pulled money.”
“How much?” Annabelle asked.
“Millions by now. I don’t know how many places I’ve worked that still haven’t found the malware.”
No one spoke for a long moment as he struggled. “They sent me to Canberra two years ago. Set me up at what would become West Investments. The merger was already in negotiations. They had me plant the software, then leave it. Grant is a mover and shaker. He takes over shitty companies, flips them, then sells them for a profit. My role gave me access.” He swallowed, shaking his head. “For a while, everything was fine. I did the dirty work, they got paid, and they left me the hell alone.”
“But?” Annabelle prompted.
“They contacted me with a new request.” He looked up, his face ashen. “They ordered me to blow the West account.”
“Blow how?”
“Report it.”
“Shit,” Paxton whispered beside me. “They wanted Emmie.”
“Why?” Annabelle asked.
“Said they had a bigger target. I was to contact Elliot Securities and ask for the people who’d worked the Sierra account.”
I jerked in surprise. We closed the Sierra account the middle of last year. A local start-up that specialized in wholesale medical equipment, their website had been compromised. Shaken, the CEO had asked us to overhaul not just their online security, but all their backend and physical. The guy had sung our praises for months, referring new customers our way. Emmie and I had worked the case.
“They did their research,” Brean commented from my left. “Addie wouldn’t have questioned that referral, just passed them on to you.”
My fists clenched. This wasn’t getting us any closer to Emmie.
“Did you know the Sierra case?”
Eric shook his head.
“Did they tell you about the real target?”
Eric shook his head again. “They wanted all the information about my meetings and who would be where, when.”
“And the houses? The car?”
“Last month. They wanted me to set it up. First it was two guys, then five, then ten.” He paused. “Said they’d let me out once this was done.”
“It was a big job?” Annabelle asked.
“Huge. People were coming and going. They kept wanting more tech, more infrastructure, more… just more. I got them what they wanted, but it was causing issues. They were… on edge. Pissed off.”
“You know they’ve kidnapped Ms Franklin.”
Eric dropped his head. “Yes.”
“Do you know where they’re taking her?”
He hesitated, glancing at his lawyer. The lawyer nodded.
“They gave me a fake ID. Robert Castle. The house is a rental in Bywong.”
I turned to leave but Paxton’s hand clamped down on my shoulder, halting me.
“Wait,” he said, nodding towards the glass. “We need to know more.”
“Do you know what they want with Ms Franklin?”
“Something about an account. Before she left, escaped, w
hatever, she transferred money.”
“Fifty thousand.” Annabelle nodded. “We know.”
“No.” Eric shook his head. “I’ve heard whispers it’s in the hundreds of millions. Maybe more. She siphoned the money. It goes through multiple offshore accounts, never staying in one place long. They can’t track it, can’t work out her alias. She’s covered her trail so well they can’t figure it out. And they need the money.”
“Why?”
“They need her to access the accounts. They’re transferring cash to weapons dealers, big players overseas. They don’t have the money to pay these guys off. They need her to enact their final solution.”
“The final solution?”
“They never told me. But it sounded like they were planning on something big.”
“I want the Bywong address.”
I twisted out from under Paxton’s hand. “Let’s go.”
Annabelle met us in the hall. “The tactical teams are approved. We’re lead.”
“I want in,” I told her, palming my gun.
She locked eyes with Pax who nodded.
“Fine, but you stay behind my guys. I don’t need a civilian contractor getting shot.” We followed her up to the meeting room. Maps were spread on the table, Sawyer sat hunched over a laptop next to two analysts.
“Swayer?” I asked, entering the room.
“I got satellite and confirmation from a CCTV that they passed through the town. They’re there.”
“How long do we have?” Pax asked, looking over the maps.
“Maybe three hours? They don’t know they’re compromised, yet,” Annabelle commented, taking a stack of papers from her aide, then frowning. “We’ve pulled the plans from the rental agency. The house is surrounded by bush. That’s going to make entry difficult.”
“We’ll have to wait till dark,” Brean agreed, running a hand over the property lines. “They’ll no doubt have traps and patrols.”
I stared at the plans, memorising the layout. “The house is big. Also, outbuildings.” I pointed at the plans. “Based on this, they have enough room for half the commune.”
“Shit.” Sawyer hunched over the laptop. “Give me five. I’ll see if… fuck.” He slapped a hand on the table, twirling the laptop to face us. “Three buses. They passed through the town three days ago.”
“That could be–”
“They’re registered as being hired by Robert Castle.”
“Okay.” Annabelle clapped her hands together once, all attention turning to her. “This has just jumped from a hostage to a full scale takedown. We’ve got one opportunity to bring these guys in. Someone get me the commissioner. We’re going to need support.”
Her aide stood, moving to exit the room.
I looked down at my hand, feeling the slight tremor. I clenched it into a fist, impotent rage threatening.
Get it together, Luc. She needs you.
“Emmie may not have time to wait while you seek permission,” I said to the room at large, my eyes still on my fist. I lifted my head, killing all emotion, my eyes completely dead.
“We need to move fast. They’ve got her, they’re not going to hesitate using her.”
Annabelle eyed me, her piercing blue meeting mine as she considered my words.
“We have one opportunity here, Lucien,” she finally said, the room quiet as our wills battled. “We can take down this whole crew and nullify the threat against Ms Franklin. Or we can rush it, save her, and pray we get the rest while we’re there.” She lifted a hand, palm up, “What would you prefer?”
I looked back down at my hand, eyes closing as I finally choked out the words. “We’ll do it your way. Just pray she’s alive.”
The room seemed to breathe as one, people springing back into action. I felt Brean and Pax beside me, both watching me struggle to contain my fear, my rage, my frustration.
“We’ll find her,” Brean whispered. “We’ve got this.”
I ignored the pit in my stomach, looking over at Sawyer. He stared back at me, his shaggy hair standing on end, his eyes tired and mouth tight.
He gave me a sharp nod before returning back to his laptop.
I forced myself to sit, pulling the plans and maps to me. “Choke points are here and here.” I pointed at the spots on the house plans.
For a moment neither Brean or Pax moved. I could feel their silent communication above me. They both sat, examining the documents with me.
“And here.” Brean pointed to one of the buildings. “The real estate ad says it has a studio. I’d put her there. Easier to secure, quick access for an exit, less conspicuous.”
A quick glance at the tactical lead showed they were concentrating on the house as the central point.
“I’ll get us in with the group targeting this,” Pax murmured, slipping away from the table.
“And if she’s not?” I asked.
“We’ve come this far. You gotta believe,” Brean told me, clapping a hand to my shoulder. “She’s smart. She’s resilient. Our Emmie is a fighter. She’s gonna do whatever it takes to survive.”
Survive, baby. I cast the thought out. I’ll find you.
Chapter Fifty-Three
Emmie
The Past
I fidgeted on the chair, watching as Edward flicked through the binder I’d compiled. My plan for the final coming.
It was simple, route money from small financial institutions. Build a cache of cash, then use that to develop a safe house for the commune. Once complete, target the major banks both physically and electronically. If the banks went down, if the stock exchanges were all taken out in one massive synchronised hit, it would cause global chaos.
Not every bank needed to be targeted. Just the headquarters of major lines and the stock exchanges. We had enough members scattered across the globe to do it.
I’d developed the final coming.
Edward finished reading, placing the binder on the desk. He knit his fingers together, considering me.
“Sister Abishag, do you understand why I tasked you with this duty?”
I shook my head. “No, Prophet.”
“You are creative. You see a puzzle and break it down until it is easily surmountable.” He nodded at the binder. “I will pray over this and decide.”
“Yes, Prophet.”
“If God decides to bless this plan, then work needs to be done.”
“Yes, Prophet.”
“We require guns, explosives. Your estimates are conservative?”
I nodded.
“Hmm.” He leaned back in his chair, one hand tapping against the arm rest.
I waited, palms pressed to the front of my jeans.
He began muttering, mulling my idea over. “It will take time and resources to achieve our end. We must ready the chosen. Embed them in the financial institutions. Build connections and stockpile weapons.”
He closed his eyes, mouth moving silently for many minutes. Finally, he opened them, turning back to me.
“Yes.” He tapped the binder. “God is pleased.”
Chapter Fifty-Four
Emmie
The Present
Dark. It was my first thought as I opened my eyes. The room had deep wood panelling. Boards covered the one window from the outside, allowing no light to enter. The air was stale, hot, and smelled like mothballs.
I rolled, immediately regretting the movement as my stomach rebelled, nausea assaulting me.
The smell of blood, sweat, and vomit hung heavy as I fully woke. The nausea now under control, I gingerly rolled to my side, pushing to a sit. The small room had a bolted down chair, a mattress− no blankets or sheets −and a bucket in the corner. I assumed that was my toilet.
Despite the indignity, I forced myself to use the crude chamber pot. God only knew how long I’d be kept here.
There was no water to wash my hands or soothe my throat, no toilet paper or towels to clean myself. Despite the protests of my injured body, I explored the small bedroom, looking
for weaknesses. There were none. It appeared they’d taken the tire iron to heart, stripping the room of any useful items. There was not a loose nail or screw to be found.
I’d have to rely on my wits and training.
God, help me.
After my slow circle of the room, I collapsed back on the mattress, groaning as the thin foam barely cushioned my weight. It was one of those old shitty kid mattresses which contained zero springs and nearly no actual support. It sagged into the floorboards, barely separating me from the hard wood.
Under me, I could hear people moving about. A clatter of utensils, the scrap of furniture, and the dim drone of voices as life happened around me. I didn’t remember seeing a two-storey building, but then I’d been in such a rush that I hadn’t paid enough attention. Unless they were in some kind of basement and I was above them?
My head spun with possibilities, each more creative and wildly implausible than the last. I drifted in and out of consciousness as I struggled to consider a plan of attack. My body required rest, healing; the concussion throbbed, and the nausea crested as I struggled to focus.
After what felt like hours, the door opened, permitting four people in. The two men entered, taking position on either side of the door. I remained on my side, watching women enter the room. The men were middle-aged with matching haircuts and beards. Both wore fierce expressions and glared down at me. I ignored them, knowing I would find no help from them. The women were a mix. One was older, her hair long and tied back in a strict braid. The other was younger, with a softly rounding belly and hair in a loose Dutch braid. The older woman placed a plate on the bolted down chair, then moved to lift the waste bucket.
The younger approached, kneeling beside me, placing a bucket of water and two water bottles down. She reached into the pocket of her skirt and withdrew a rag, dipping it in the water.
“I’m just going to clean you.” Her voice was soft as she wrung out the cloth. “Please stay still.”
Bleeding Edge: Elliot Security (Elliot Security Series Book 2) Page 23
