Actual Stop (19 page)

I clenched my fists on the steering wheel and scowled. Why the hell was Mark giving me shit about this? It said a lot about his feelings toward me that he was concerning himself with an issue like my LEAP. Next, he’d probably be scrutinizing my gas-card receipts and my EZ-Pass records. Or perhaps how many minutes I’d used on my cell phone. Fabulous. I wasn’t particularly worried about it. I followed those rules to the letter, so there was nothing he could ding me for. But it was still a hassle, and even a mere suggestion from him of impropriety on my part would grate on my nerves something fierce.

“I’ve worked more than enough LEAP in the past few days to cover the rest of the week, Mark.” I kept my voice deliberately light, but it was one hell of a struggle. “In fact, I probably have next week covered, too.”

The silence on Mark’s end of the phone lasted so long I started to think we’d been disconnected.

“Mark?”

“You’d better be here for the PT tests,” he snapped. A loud clatter told me he’d hung up on me.

Okay, so going to NYFO right now was out. I was definitely not in the mood to get into a knock-down-drag-out with Mark over nothing. Sure, I had work to do, but something told me if I went back there, I’d spend more time arguing with him than I would actually accomplishing anything. I wracked my brain for legitimate ways to kill time until I absolutely had to make my appearance.

A quick glance at my watch confirmed I still had a couple of hours before the PT tests were scheduled to start. Maybe now would be a good time to show my face at the JTTF office. I hadn’t been there in a few days, and the impending Iran visit guaranteed I’d be out for several weeks. It couldn’t hurt to stop by. I could make my calls to D.C. regarding the Iran advance as easily from there as I could from NYFO, and I could spend the rest of my time running Akbari’s info through the FBI’s computer databases. Sure, I had no reason to suspect I’d find anything, but it was something to do, and it kept me away from NYFO that much longer, which was motive enough.

Normally, parking in the area near the JTTF office building was a nightmare, but luck was on my side today. I scored a prime space a few spots down from the front door. In no time at all, I’d stowed my gear in its required place outside the office itself and was sitting at my desk, making my calls to D.C. to ask about intelligence regarding the upcoming visit while I waited for my computer to boot up.

On a blank piece of paper, I jotted down some reminders. I could run basic criminal-history checks on anything I might uncover today from NYFO. It was just easier. The FBI had a special unit of analysts who did that sort of work for them, but it took a few days to get the results, and you needed to submit an active case number for the query. They wouldn’t accept the request without one, and since I wasn’t necessarily planning on opening an official case on Akbari—and even if I did, it’d be a USSS one and not a JTTF one—I’d need to do that database check myself. I also made a note to ask Amanda to run any new leads through the databases that she had access to for exactly the same reason.

Then I turned my attention to running Akbari’s name, address, and social security, passport, and phone numbers through the FBI databases to see whether they popped up in connection to any current or previous FBI investigations. Their system was superior to ours because you could pull up actual report text right on the computer. With just a few keystrokes, I could get an idea of the context of an investigation by reading the actual memorandums submitted in correlation with it. That was extremely helpful.

I fell headlong into my work. As much as I enjoyed being in the field and participating in interviews and arrests, I was much more interested in following trails and uncovering associations between people. I could sit for hours at a computer linking threads and tracking money as it bounced from bank account to bank account all around the world. It was like putting together a really big puzzle.

The name checks didn’t do me much good. Apparently the name Amin Akbari was relatively common. The search on the address where he used to reside in Maryland yielded a few more definitive results, and I jotted down the case numbers in which the address was mentioned. I’d read the full text of those reports to see whether it was relevant to my investigation when I had more time.

The FBI’s phone-record database was unbelievably impressive and held all the phone numbers that their main target number had made calls to and from. The data was sorted and compiled in such a way that you could see exactly how many calls had been placed between the two numbers during a particular time period as well as the length of those calls. And if you were lucky, the numbers your target was placing calls to and receiving calls from were listed somewhere else in the FBI database.

Entering all of that data into the database was a painstaking process that amounted to hours of work for the analysts, but the information that could be gathered was invaluable. The pictures they revealed and the patterns that often emerged could provide leads that had the potential to make a stellar case, provided you were motivated enough to follow up on them and take the time required to reveal the entire image. I, of course, was.

First, I searched the cell-phone and landline telephone numbers Akbari had provided me the other day. Unsurprisingly, this search yielded negative results. It was about what I’d expected. The man had been in New York for only a few weeks, and the analysts weren’t quite that current with their database entries.

Next, I searched for the cell-phone number Akbari had used when he was in Maryland, fully prepared to end up with nothing on that search as well. I was stunned when a long list of numbers that went for several screens was displayed on the monitor in front of me.

I blinked, flabbergasted, as I registered what the case code classifications I’d come up with revealed. I’d gotten multiple hits on Akbari’s number in connection with subjects who were targets of terrorism investigations. And at least two of those were main targets, suspected heavy hitters.

That couldn’t be right. Could it? I flicked my eyes back and forth between the number from my notes and the number displayed on the computer screen. Huh. They definitely matched, so there was no mistake there. Could I have copied the number down wrong when I was talking to Sarah? It wasn’t outside the realm of possibility, but I always meticulously check and recheck my information when copying something from dictation, so it was unlikely.

I scribbled a note to myself to call Sarah tomorrow to verify the number and then hastily copied the first two dozen hits that had cropped up on the list as the ones my target number had been in contact with the most. I also included any additional information provided, such as the number of calls made and the average length. I wasn’t yet positive whether it’d be worth my time to look into every number on the list, but—

The ringing of my desk phone shattered that thought. Without taking my eyes off the screen and while still attempting to make notes with my right hand, I reached for the phone with my left.

“JTTF. O’Connor.”

“Where the hell have you been? I’ve been calling you for hours.” My sister’s irritated voice floated over the line and conjured up images of what her face and posture surely looked like as she scolded me.

“Hey, Rory. What’s up?”

“Well? How’d it go?”

“How’d what go?”

My sister made no attempt to hide her exasperation and allowed me to hear the rude noise she made in the back of her throat. “Tea with the queen. The visit, jackass. Did everything go okay?”

“Huh? Oh. Yeah. Yeah, it went fine. Thanks. Wait, how did you even know about that?” I hadn’t spoken to my sister since that assignment had been dropped into my lap.

“That’s it? That’s all I get? ‘Fine’? You’d better come up with a better response than that! I want details,
Ay-vo
, and I want them
nep
.”

Rory’s use of a couple of our old code words from childhood startled me. She must’ve felt pretty strongly about this to have slipped back into that habit. I glanced up from my notebook, shocked when I noticed the time. Shit, I had to hurry or I’d be late for the PT tests. Mark would just love that. I made a few more quick notes and then started shutting everything down and storing it, so I could get the hell out of there.

“Ryan? Are you listening to me?”

“Oh, yeah. I’m here. Sorry. What’d you say?”

“Why have you been avoiding me all day? What happened?”

“What? Nothing happened. I haven’t been avoiding you.”

“Well, I called your cell phone like a hundred times.”

“That’s a lot of time to invest in one activity. You do still have a job, don’t you? How’d they feel about that?”

“I’m working the night shift this week, smart-ass. And I woke up in the middle of the afternoon—hours before I even needed to be awake, might I add—just to call you to see how everything went, and you’re giving me shit. Nice.”

“Sorry. You still didn’t tell me how you even knew about the visit.”

“How do you think I knew? Dad told me. I loved finding out something like that from him, by the way. Thanks.” Her voice was laden with sarcasm, but I ignored it as the tiny little lightbulb in my head went on. Dad. Of course.

“So why were you ignoring me again?” my sister demanded, not leaving me the space of a breath to sneak in even a word.

My smile widened into a full-fledged grin. “Rory, where did you just call me?”

“Huh?”

“What number did you just dial?”

Her end of the line was quiet for a long moment. “You’re in the scow, aren’t you?”

I chuckled. “It’s a SCIF, Rory.”

SCIF stood for Sensitive Compartmentalized Information Facility. Basically, it meant my office had a lot of classified, secret, and top-secret information floating around in it and wireless devices of any and all kinds, whether capable of transmission or not, were strictly forbidden. Cell phones, pagers, PDAs, cameras, iPods. All of them had to be left outside. Rory could call my cell phone a thousand times for all the difference it made. When I was in here, I was more or less on an island, reachable only by the landline telephone at my desk.

“Skiff. Scow. Whatever. It’s some sort of boat.”

“Yes. You’re absolutely right. I’m on a boat. I decided to give up my job and try my hand at piracy. You know how I feel about those eye patches.” I had to bite my lower lip to keep from laughing out loud. My sister was a trip.

She was also not amused, if her tone was any indication. “Stop being an idiot. I don’t even know why I bother checking up on you sometimes.”

“I’m such a bitch.”

“Tell me about it.”

I laughed again as I attempted to ignore the pangs of loneliness that reverberated within me at hearing my sister’s voice. I desperately wanted to talk to her, to pour my heart out regarding everything that’d happened the past few days. Unfortunately, I didn’t have time right now. I sighed wistfully.

“Listen, sweetie, I know you’re gonna kill me, but I’ve gotta run.” My computer was now dark, and I was shoving all my notes and the envelope containing the pictures Meaghan had taken into my top desk drawer and locking it.

“Oooh, hot-shot federal agent too busy for her big sister now. Fine. I see how it is. Hmph.”

I couldn’t see her, obviously, but I was willing to bet she was pretending to pout. “Rory, you’re only like three-and-a-half minutes older than I am.” It was a recurring argument, one we’d had at least a million times and would probably have a million more. “I’m not sure that qualifies you as ‘big.’”

“Four. And the difference in our maturity levels is apparent.”

“Three minutes and forty-three seconds.”

“I rounded up.”

“I know.”

“So am I going to see you any time soon?”

My mood fell. I had so many things I wanted to talk to her about and get her take on, but I simply didn’t have the time. I grimaced, knowing she wouldn’t like my answer. “Um, well, I’m pretty tied up the next few days…Two weeks maybe?”

“Seriously?” Now she sounded aghast.

“I’m afraid so.”

“Well, who the hell am I supposed to confide in while you’re off saving the world or whatever it is you do? By the time you get back, Caleb and I will probably already be out of the honeymoon phase of our relationship, and you’ll have missed all the best parts.”

That made me pause. “Caleb? What happened to Landan?”

“See what happens when you get all wrapped up in your own world of international espionage?”

I rubbed my forehead against the headache gathering behind my eyes. I definitely didn’t like that I was missing important changes in my sister’s life. I also didn’t like that I couldn’t vent to her about the occurrences in mine, but if I began that conversation now, she’d never let me off the phone, and I really needed to leave.

“Tell you what. The second my boy’s wheels up, I’m all yours. How’s that?”

“I’m going to hold you to that,” she warned me.

“I’m good for it,” I promised.

“Yeah, well, it doesn’t matter if you are or not. I know your boss. I’ll get him to make you make time for me.”

I rolled my eyes. “Right. Because the SAIC of the New York Field Office has nothing better to do than indulge you and your whims.”

Rory laughed. “Somehow, I don’t think he’ll mind. You know I’m his favorite.”

I winced at the thought of her calling in that favor. “Well, let’s make sure it doesn’t come to that. Seriously, I gotta go. I’ll talk to you later.”

“All right, honey. Be careful. Call me when you can, okay? In the meantime, I’ll dole out little teaser tidbits via text to whet your appetite.”

“I can’t wait.
La-val
.” Love you.

“
La-val, tow
.”

I hung up quickly and hauled ass out of there, praying the traffic gods would be merciful today.

As luck would have it, I made it to the office just in time to administer the PT tests. Mark was milling around in the gym when I arrived—most likely hoping I wouldn’t make it, so he could yell at me or try to get me fired or something—but as soon as I breezed in, he left. I guess he didn’t want me overseeing his test. Or maybe he’d skulked off to find something else he could be mad at me for. I hardly cared.