Jigsaw (Black Raven Book 2) (20 page)

“Reported fatalities among prior teams that had the same idea we’re executing,” Zeus said.

“I wasn’t aware of recent searches in Praptan,” Samantha said, “or fatalities there.”

“Bounty hunter deaths don’t usually make it to the national news.” He shrugged. “Or documents that are admitted into ITT proceedings.”

“How did Black Raven get the information?”

Zeus was quiet for a second, as though weighing what to tell her. The eyes of his agents were on him. “We keep ourselves aware of what others in our business are doing,” he said, “in a variety of ways. One way that is paying off in this job is our standing tradition of treating other private security contractors and military personnel with respect. The world of special operations with high intensity jobs is small. Military personnel and agents from competing private security contractors are often thrown together in volatile situations. Respect promotes camaraderie. Some of the Maximov bounty hunters over the years have been private security contractors, either working for their company or chasing the bounty in their off time.”

He turned to the monitor, his eyes on his brother. As he shifted, his leg moved away, but in a few seconds, it returned. “One of Gabe’s many strengths is that he has never met a stranger. He called his friends on this one—and that includes bounty hunters and members of the governmental task force looking for Maximov. They’ve given him answers. Much of the intel we’re layering onto the maps comes from them.”

“How generous of them to share,” she said, unable to keep a slight bit of sarcasm out of her voice.

Zeus chuckled. “Yes, Sam. We’ve had to pay for some of this information, and your grandfather is paying for this too. But because of men like Gabe, at least we can be reasonably certain they’re not selling us bullshit that will get our agents killed. Though that possibility is always considered.”

“I have a couple of ideas for intel,” Samantha said. “First—Ragno, have you found the 2010 Joint Task Force Study entitled
Praptan: Birthplace of a Terrorist
?”

There was a pause. “Not yet.”

“The study is in high level files that aren’t a part of the ITT record, at least not that I know of,” Samantha said. “It takes information known in 2010 on Maximov and pinpoints areas of interest in Praptan. In 2010 a team of SEALs went in and searched those areas. Needless to say, searches were unproductive. The study may help this effort.”

Before she could say anything else, Ragno said. “We’ll find it. You don’t need to compromise yourself by actually sending me information. As long as I know what to look for, I’m golden.”

“The 2010 task force talked to people who taught at the university. It was a huge effort, and provided no answers,” Samantha said. “With Black Raven analysts looking at it, with new information that has been developed since then, maybe something will turn up.

“Second—in 2009 Vladimer Stollen and Maximov’s son, Vasily Maximov, were apprehended and convicted of the hijacking on Northern Lights flight 875.” The flight, which was routed for LaGuardia, had been hijacked by a team of six Maximovists. Military aircraft on regular patrol in the area intercepted the flight and shot it down before it reached its intended crash site, which was later determined to be the United Nations headquarters in Manhattan. The plane crashed in the East River. All of the one hundred forty-three passengers aboard died, along with the crew and hijackers. The ensuing investigation revealed that one of the hijackers had been a flight attendant. Two of the hijackers were experienced pilots. Their plan had been a suicide mission. Communications with the hijacking team led investigators to apprehend and convict Stollen and Vasily. Their mistake had been they were in the United States when the event occurred. Now they were both in a U.S. prison and were sentenced to death.

“We have their files,” Gabe said. “They weren’t helpful to our search for Maximov.”

“I’m not suggesting you look at the files,” Samantha said, as the door to the library opened. Three agents walked in with steaming pans of food, as the red-headed agent she recognized as the chef in charge of the kitchen made his way to the marble-topped table they’d used as a buffet on Tuesday evening. Once there, he lit waiting chafing dishes and directed placement of the pans. The aroma of roasted meats and vegetables filled the room.

“What are you suggesting?” Gabe asked.

“Except for providing swabs and DNA that will enable us to prove that the man who is ultimately apprehended is actually the man the world knows as Andre Maximov, Vasily Maximov has been a dead end ever since he was apprehended,” Zeus said.

Samantha nodded. “His appeals are ongoing. So are the appeals of Stollen. More than seven years after their offense. The public’s disgust that these appeals take so long is part of the reason the ITT proceedings have no appeals.” She glanced at Gabe. “I’m suggesting we interview Stollen.”

“Why?”

“Information Stollen provided led investigators to conduct the 2010 Joint Task Force Study entitled
Praptan: Birthplace of a Terrorist
and the resulting search. Something that isn’t a matter of public record, something that I learned as I worked on these ITT proceedings, is that he was offered a pretty sweet deal at the time for the information he provided. The death penalty was taken off the table. His sentence became for a fixed, 20-year term, not life. Once the 2010 search of Praptan proved unsuccessful, the deal was taken off the table.”

“We know Stollen was Maximov’s second-in-command. In fact, aside from Vasily, Stollen is the world’s last proven link to the Maximov-In-Exile organization. I say I try to interview him and ask him what the teams missed in 2010. Stollen has had seven years to rot in a cell and think about the looming death penalty. Plenty of time to think about anything he might have omitted in his prior debriefing.”

The chef opened a wine bottle, while the agents who were assisting him made another trip to the kitchen.

Zeus leaned forward, eyes gleaming with a light that indicated he saw possibilities in her comment, while Gabe shook his head.

“No one has interviewed Stollen since then?” Zeus asked.

“As far as I know,” Samantha said, “no.”

“Access to Stollen is an insurmountable problem,” Gabe said. “The attorney who represents him in his appeals is actually Robert Brier—U.S. Defense Counsel in the ITT proceeding. Brier has made it clear that Stollen is off limits to anyone, especially bounty hunters looking for Maximov.”

“Brier has gotten court orders in this ITT proceeding that restrict access,” Abe added, “and he isn’t likely to change his mind, roll over, and let us in. Right, Charles?”

“Definitely not the sort of man to change his mind, unless it’s to his benefit.” Charles tapped at his keyboard, stopped typing, then read for a second, arching his eyebrow. “Stollen is imprisoned at ADX Florence, Colorado. It’s a supermax. The Alcatraz of the Rockies. You won’t be talking to him without a court order.”

“While Brier is defending the individual defendants, we all know his hidden agenda is protecting Stollen, which means he is protecting Maximov and his organization. Just like everyone’s agenda is to pursue Maximov and his organization. So”—Samantha gave Gabe a nod—“Stollen has been off limits to the lawyers in the ITT proceeding as well. Stanley Morgan and I were the proponent of the motion to interview Stollen that was made in the ITT proceeding. Which was denied. There’ve been concerns regarding relevance, and Brier has won those arguments.”

“He must have advanced a damn narrow definition of relevance,” Zeus said.

“The concept of relevance is complicated.” Samantha nodded in agreement with Zeus. “And subject to interpretation. Brier’s argument is that a man who was convicted more than seven years ago obviously has nothing to say about the four terrorist acts this ITT is trying. I might not completely agree with Brier, but he is a well-respected attorney in the community of international law, and he has a great track record on human rights issues. He’s persuasive. When he argues, he wins.”

“So how can you get us in?” Gabe asked.

Samantha locked eyes with Gabe, while Zeus chuckled. Her eyes shifted to Zeus, who was focused on her. He gave her a smile. A real one, with white teeth showing and a sparkle in his eyes. There was a trace of admiration in it, and her insides melted, while her heartbeat quickened. He loved intelligent women and had loved that she was smart. She knew that, because he’d told her so, years earlier. They’d had that conversation in bed. When he’d shown her just how turned on he became by an intelligent woman.

Chapter Seventeen

“Gabe, Sam’s not talking about getting Black Raven in to talk to Stollen,” Zeus said, proving once again how well he knew her. “This is too good of an opportunity for her to pass up. She wants to get herself in.” He shifted his gaze from her to his brother. “And collect intel for the bounty hunt while doing work for the ITT.”

Gabe’s gaze bounced to her. Leaning back in his chair, he nodded. “Sounds like a plan to me. But how are you going to get in, when ITT rulings have prohibited access?”

“Hold it a second.” The admiration that had been in his eyes was replaced with something he didn’t often show. Worry. She readied herself to argue with him, because she knew where he was going with it. He shifted in his chair, pressing his leg harder against hers. “You shouldn’t be doing this.”

“Why not?” Samantha asked.

“It exceeds your job responsibilities as Amicus Curiae counsel,” Zeus said. He turned to the chef who stood silently at his side, and nodded. “Thank you. It smells incredible.”

As the Black Raven agents, Abe, and Charles made their way to the dinner buffet, Samantha and Zeus remained at the table. She squared her shoulders. Using her courtroom voice that was steady, authoritative, and professional, she said, “My job is to analyze all information that may be relevant to ITT proceedings, and finding Maximov is certainly relevant. The bounty hunt is public. It isn’t secret that a task force is looking for Maximov. Plus, if I tie the interview request to ITT proceedings, I’ll be underscoring the need to talk to Stollen.”

A frown line bisected his eyebrows. “You’ll be fighting an uphill battle against Brier and existing orders of the ITT. This has the potential to make you the focal point in a very heated argument.”

She shrugged. “I can handle it. I’ll do some groundwork and make a motion.”

“No.”

Anger simmered through her veins. “I’m not asking for permission, and you’re out of line.”

“You’ll be in the middle of a controversy, advocating for a position.”

Abe and Charles returned to the table with plates in one hand, wine glasses in the other. One quick glance at them told her they were focused on her interaction with Zeus, like spectators at a tennis match. The other agents in the room, two of whom were at the buffet table and two at their worktable, had eyes on her and Zeus. “That is my job. In a nutshell.”

“And my job is to advise you to keep a low profile.”

“No. Your job is to make sure I stay safe, while I do my job. No matter what my job entails.”

“Sounds like you’re fighting a losing battle, bro,” Gabe interjected.

“Don’t need your advice on this one,” Zeus snapped, irritation evident. His gaze returned to Samantha, and he switched his tone to something quieter, yet authoritative. “In any other proceeding or trial, that wouldn’t be a problem. In this circus, it isn’t wise for you to be center stage with the spotlight shining on you. Stanley Morgan was at center stage—”

“His death hasn’t been classified as a murder.”

Zeus nodded. “True. But I don’t want the bounty hunt to push you to the forefront so that you personally become a lightning rod for the next terrorist strike.”

“Do not attempt to tie my hands on this. Your idea of what security means can’t stand in the way of my professional judgment.” She saw his counter-argument building behind his steady obsidian eyes. Zeus drew a deep breath, providing a pause before he countered with an argument. “You don’t get to define my job,” she added, “and I won’t back down on this.”

Abe and Charles were waiting for her to get her plate before starting to eat. She stood and walked over to the buffet table, knowing she should be hungry. Lunch had been hours ago, and she hadn’t eaten much of that. The vigorous run had left her feeling empty, but instead of having an appetite, the burning in her stomach reminded her she should’ve taken an antacid.

Slices of pork roast were in chafing dishes, alongside baked sweet potatoes and roasted vegetables. A bowl contained a large salad of arugula, endive, slivers of apple, and candied walnuts. Whole-grain bread rolls, the dark-brown crust flecked with sesame seeds, nestled in a basket. Thick slices of yellow pound cake lay on a platter, with a large bowl of berries. It all looked appetizing, but what she craved wasn’t this healthy fare. A good pizza would be nice. A sandwich, of thinly-shaved ham and barbeque potato chips, on white bread. French fries.

Her stomach twisted, remembering the last time she’d been ready to eat a French fry, right before watching Eric ingest cyanide. Instead of reaching for a plate, she reached for a wine glass and the bottle of Loire Valley white burgundy that the chef had opened.

Rather than lifting it to her lips, she hesitated. It would be the first food item in her mouth untested since the cyanide poisoning. She had to get over her fear, she knew.

Zeus handled the dilemma for her. He was at her side, took the glass from her, took a small sip, and gave her a glimmer of a smile as he handed it back to her. “Nice. Crisp. All good.”

“Zeus. She’s right.” Gabe’s gaze drifted to his computer monitor for a second, then he glanced back at the camera as he typed a few keystrokes. “You’re an ace at Black Raven issues and pretty damn smart, but you aren’t a lawyer. Maybe you’ve been in management too long. Maybe it has been so long since you were in the field as a bodyguard that you’ve forgotten the rules.” One of the agents in the room drew a harsh breath. “As her bodyguard, your job is to protect her while she does hers. Not tell her how to do it.”

“Remember that discussion we had about boundaries?” Zeus, at Samantha’s side, glanced directly at the camera and shot his brother a quelling look that was as harsh as his tone. “You just crossed one you shouldn’t have. Stop acting like my brother and start acting like an agent who appreciates his job and wants to damn well keep it.”

Samantha leaned against the wall, took three small sips of the wine, and stared at the monitor as she waited for the wine to help settle her stomach and nerves. Neither Zeus’s harsh words, nor his steely-eyed glance, did anything to wipe away the gleam of interest in his brother’s eyes and the play of a smile at his lips.

The younger Hernandez brother was just as gorgeous as his big brother, with high cheekbones, a solid jaw, and thick hair. Like Zeus, Gabe’s eyes had a thick fringe of lashes and an intensity that was magnetic. He didn’t have the permafrost coolness of his big brother, though. From what Samantha could see, his expressions more often reflected what he was feeling, and right now, rather than being cowed by his brother’s threatening tone, he was stifling a laugh. As he held his brother’s gaze, while a smirk played at his lips, Gabe seemed to be thoroughly enjoying his big brother’s discomfort.

Zeus drew a deep breath, and exhaled as he squared his shoulders. Samantha was used to all sorts of domination tactics, intended and unintended. In the quiet hush of courtrooms, where professional decorum ruled, subtle moves made a big difference. Silence was a tool people used, and Samantha had learned not to fill in awkward silences with words. Her job was not to placate an opponent who was stewing.

Knowing this pot was best left simmering, because she had the winning hand and Zeus was smart enough to see that, she kept silent. She took another sip and walked back to the table.

The man was beautiful when he was perturbed. Quiet, but cheeks flushed. His frown was slight, but there was an unmistakable pull at the left side of his mouth. She placed her glass on the table, sat next to him, and settled into her chair. When his leg found hers, he gave her a brief nod of acquiescence.

As if I need his permission.

Samantha bit her tongue and considered this a win.

“Assuming I agree to this tactic,” Zeus said, apparently not done stating his case, “of which I’m still uncertain, why do you think your request to interview Stollen will be successful now, when prior attempts weren’t?”

Good question.

Samantha glanced at the television that once again showed highlights from President Cameron’s earlier speech. She reminded herself of Morgan’s constant worry that the ITT proceeding would be nonproductive, and his concern that a failure of this last ditch, civilized attempt to conquer terrorism would leave the world in a worse position. Morgan’s fear was coming to fruition. The direct terrorist attack on the ITT proceedings underscored the fact that the terrorists were winning. “I have a feeling the landscape may have changed after today’s events. Prior to now, the judges were focused on expediency. I’ll emphasize efficacy and leverage today’s events into an argument that our search for information on Maximov’s whereabouts needs to be more inclusive.”

Zeus frowned, dark eyes studying her. “We have to assume any request to interview Stollen will be made public, correct?”

“Yes. Most of the business of the ITT becomes accessible to the public, and the more important the information is, the more visible it becomes. Media and interested parties are constantly scouring the record, looking for items of interest.”

“Do these judges have authority to give you bargaining chips? Without something to offer Stollen,” Zeus said, loading his plate with salad and vegetables, a small spoonful of potatoes, and a few slices of meat. “He sure as hell won’t talk to you.”

“Let me think about it for a second.” Samantha considered his question as she assembled her dinner, placing a generous pat of butter on her potatoes.

“No vegetables?” Zeus asked, his voice low, their backs to the camera.

“I don’t like that assortment.”

“What about salad?”

“Seems like all the exercise I did this evening would earn me the right to eat anything I please. By the way, I beat you in that race. If you recall, that wasn’t the performance of someone who is suffering nutritional deficiency. Nor was my performance after the race.” She placed another generous pat of butter on her potatoes, and added a third pat when she saw that Zeus was watching her with a slight frown.

Returning to the table, she unrolled her fork and knife from the linen napkin she had picked up at the buffet. Zeus sat down next to her, reached over with his fork to her plate, getting ready to test the food for her, as he’d done with everything she’d eaten since Monday night.

She reached for his arm, holding her hand on his bicep, and gave him a slight headshake. “I’m okay here. I’ve got to get over this fear. But thank you.”

“Good. Progress,” he said, as she removed her hand from him. He dove his fork into her plate anyway, scooped up one of the pats of butter she’d put there, and put it on his own potatoes.

“Hey. I wanted all of that butter. Every precious drop of it.”

“I know. I just forgot to get some.” Chuckling, he slid his fork under some of the salad on his plate, and placed it on hers. “Just try a bit of the salad. You’ll like it. The walnuts have sugar on them.”

“Well, give me more of them, and less of the green stuff.” With her fork, she pushed the greens to the side of her plate, reached into his plate with her fork, and scooped up a few walnuts and apple slices. As she deposited them back on her plate, she realized Abe and Charles were watching them. So were the other agents in the room. Glancing at the monitor, she saw that Gabe was focused on them, as well. His eyes were narrowed. Questioning.

Busted.

Glancing at Zeus, she saw that he wasn’t focused on Gabe, or his unasked question. His dark eyes were on her. He gave her a slight shrug, suggesting that he didn’t give a damn if the world knew there was more between them than the decorum with which professionals should act.

He needs a reminder about discretion…just as I do.

Eating off his plate could be interpreted as flirtatious behavior, and openly flirting in public while at a dinner table when she was practically engaged to a U.S. Senator was not wise. Her relationship with Justin—one of the most important things in her life—demanded discretion when she had flirtatious or sexual relationships with other men.

Pretending that their exchange had been nothing but professional, Samantha squared her shoulders, and tried hard to think back to the last topic of conversation that had been relevant to the ITT proceedings. “ITT judges have authority to offer leniency on any sentence previously imposed by a member country, in exchange for information that will assist the ITT in its objectives.”

“Would they do that here?” Gabe said. “Stollen is pretty much hated by everyone, universally.”

“Maybe.” She locked eyes with Zeus. “Let me work on strategy. When I ask for permission, I want to make damn sure I get it. I need to formulate an approach designed to get the answer I want.”

“Now that’s the kind of attitude I like to see,” Gabe said, reaching for a carafe, and pouring a stream of steaming black coffee into his mug.

As her gaze bounced between the brothers, her mind raced through strategy. Since prior decisions of the ITT prohibited access, all the judges must agree to reverse those decisions. Should she approach Brier directly? Should she go through Judge O’Connor? She decided she needed to call Judge O’Connor in the morning, but go through proper channels. While proceedings were in France, protocol required that a motion be filed in the record and Judge Ducaisse, the chief judge from France, would be the decision maker. Calling Judge O’Connor first would enable him to apprise Judge Ducaisse of the motion and the position of the judges from the United States.