Jigsaw (Black Raven Book 2) (7 page)

“Department of Homeland Security. Tracking their source now. Unfortunately, DHS data on this is incomplete. I’m having to figure this out the old fashioned way—on the telephone, talking to the person who interviewed the source.”

Great. More information for Jigsaw.

Walking around the table to where Sam stood, he watched her place a stem of purple grapes on a plate without breaking one off. With her eyes leveled on him, he said, “It has become impossible to keep up with the faces of the threat. New groups appear every day. When they make an appearance, like the TRCR, they do so with a solid set of followers, a bankroll, an agenda, and an impressive cadre of weapons. Someone, somewhere, is bankrolling these groups. No one has figured out who, though everyone blames Maximov. Until the real culprit is identified, any attempt to stop these small cells—like the ITT proceedings—will be a minefield.”

“Now tell me something I don’t know,” Sam said, holding the phone at chest level, shoulders square.

“You shouldn’t be walking through it,” Zeus answered. “That’s what you obviously don’t know. Your presence here isn’t necessary.”

“Like I said, not an option,” Sam retorted, shifting her attention to the plate. She pulled a few grapes off the stem with her left hand.

Zeus watched her toy with the grapes. Was her hand trembling? Maybe. She didn’t eat them. Instead, she removed a few from the stem and pushed them to the side of the plate, making a neat pile.

“Ragno, any link between the TRCR and Maximov?” Zeus used the shorthand name for Maximov-in-Exile, the group that for years had been the culprit behind terrorist acts around the world in retribution for the destruction of Praptan, Chalinda caused by the 1986 meltdown at the Chalinda Nuclear Power Plant. Given the established nature of the organization, and the considerable wealth attributed to it, Maximov-in-Exile was the strongest contender for bankrolling the startup terrorist groups and pop-up cells that were currently wreaking havoc around the world.

“Some of their recruiting on the dark net suggests an affiliation with Maximov,” Ragno said. “But there is no affirmative link between the two groups.”

Sam pulled three more grapes off the stem. He was right. There was a slight tremble in her left hand. The stress of the night had gotten to her, even though she was doing a damn good job of not revealing it.

“Wait. Isn’t it an established fact that Maximov is funding most of these start-up groups?” Dixon asked.

Zeus answered, “That might be reality, but as far as we know, it hasn’t been established. There aren’t money trails to follow. At least none that anyone has been able to detect.”

“That is one issue we’re analyzing in this ITT proceeding.” Sam used a fork to lift thin slices of ham and two slices of bread onto the plate with the grapes. With the utensil in her hand, the trembling was more evident.

“Oh, come on,” Dixon asserted. “The U.S. government has seized millions upon millions of dollars belonging to Maximov and his group, and forensic analysts have long opined it’s just the tip of the iceberg for the organization.”

“Well, it’s suspected that Maximov is the culprit, but so far no one has proven he’s the power behind the blossoming groups. And frankly, no one has even proven that the money that was seized belongs to Maximov. As you know, no one has been able to find Maximov, despite the bounty that’s been on his head for years now,” Zeus said. “The last time anyone saw Maximov in person was during the 2006 raid at Belmarsh. When he escaped.”

“Goddamn Brits,” Dixon said. “They should have relinquished custody of the bastard to us. His ass would be rotting in solitary confinement in a supermax, and the world would be a better place.”

Zeus watched as Sam slipped the phone to the table.

“Aside from the difficulty of having to rely on evidence, and getting four countries to agree to anything, the ITT proceedings have a really big problem. Operating in the face of terrorist acts. Acts.” Dixon’s voice was clearly audible through the speaker function. “Not threats.”

“Your grandfather’s assessment is one hundred percent accurate,” Zeus said. She ignored him as she spread a neat, thin layer of mayonnaise on each slice of bread, and assembled her sandwich. He continued, “The bombing and poisoning tonight revealed vulnerability in the proceedings. There is blood in the water. Terrorist acts will be ramping up.”

“#IAMMAXIMOV and #MAXIMOVINEXILE are trending worldwide right now,” Ragno added. “Believe it or not. Maximov and his organizations are cult heroes.”

Sandwich apparently forgotten, Sam looked up, meeting his glance with eyes that flashed with anger. “Seriously? As though Maximov is a war hero. Do these people even understand what Maximov has done?” She stood straighter. The light in her eyes intensified.

Dammit.

Like dark storm clouds on the horizon, her resolve was building. But when she looked at her plate of food, her hands still trembled. She shook her head, as though willing the fear out of her. Reaching for a glass of water, she lifted it, and became pale as she raised it toward her lips. The glass thudded when she placed it on the table next to her phone, without drinking any of it.

Son of a bitch.

She had all the motivation in the world to continue the job that she’d started, but she was too damn afraid to eat or drink. It was a fact that would have given her grandfather a fucking heart attack and a fact that he knew was royally pissing her off. Though she was just as vulnerable as anyone, Sam didn’t like to appear weak in any way. He had figured that out about her before, and assumed that was why she hadn’t acted hurt when he told her goodbye.

She drew a deep breath as she picked a few pieces of ham off the sandwich. Watching closely, he bet none of the morsels would make it to her mouth. She had every reason to be afraid. The scene with Moss had been brutal, but if she stayed, there could be more scenes like that one. More close calls. She’d never make it through the next month if her recovery time wasn’t shorter.

“Ragno. Zeus,” Sam said. “This new American group—TRCR—you mentioned they talk of drone attacks. Is your intel establishing a link between them and the cruise ship bombing in Miami? Or any of the other bombings the ITT is looking at?”

Damn
.

The sandwich was now pulled apart, and not one morsel of anything had made it to her mouth. Food and water on a dining table inspired hand-shaking terror, but her question proved that she had the tenacity to use Black Raven for intel. Zeus bit back a smile of admiration.

“Sam, you’re the one with the overview of the ITT evidence,” Zeus said. “Why don’t you give us the answer to that question?”

She didn’t respond. Ragno and Dixon waited in silence.

“As a matter of fact,” Zeus pressed on, “at this point, of the four of us, only you know how the proceedings are faring internally. Will the result of the ITT proceedings be worth the effort and risk that you’re pouring into it?”

He studied her gaze. Steady. Solid. Nothing.

Not giving one damn thing away.

“Your silence is answer enough, sweetheart,” Dixon said, his tone serious and firm, yet placating. “The ITT proceeding was a great idea for the politicians, but it will ultimately be a waste of time. For every person who might be convicted in these proceedings, hundreds more will rise up and take their places. I can’t have you risking your life for this.”

Sam gave a hard headshake. “My life, my decision. At a minimum, the proceedings will set new precedent for handling those convicted of terrorist acts.”

“Ideally, yes. But that assumes success,” Dixon said. “And also assumes that the proceedings result in some kind of a verdict, which assumes that the proceedings aren’t bombed, that everyone associated with the proceedings—including you—isn’t killed. Too many assumptions. A hell of a lot can go wrong in thirty days. Right, Zeus?”

“That’s right. An ungodly amount can go wrong. Surely you don’t want me to list the possibilities? ITT proceedings are a galactic-style clusterfuck, in an era where terrorists have morphed into super-villains. There’s just no way to anticipate where the threat will come from next, except to know it can come from all sides, at all times.” He leveled his gaze on Sam. “Even in the French fries.”

She folded her arms with the phone poised on her shoulder. “I repeat. Resigning is not an option.”

Dixon harrumphed, his anger and frustration evident. “Dammit, Samantha. Why don’t you ever listen to reason?”

“Your reasons aren’t my reason. I’m serious about this, Samuel. Back. Off. I’ve told you before, I don’t want you interfering in my life. You obviously haven’t gotten that message.” She glared at Zeus as though he was a stand-in for her meddling grandfather. “And I don’t want you interfering in my professional life. I don’t want your help, your guidance, or your opinion. I mean it. I said earlier I’m not talking to you any longer, and if Zeus weren’t standing in front of me, I’d sure as hell expand on all the reasons why. I mean it. You have no idea how outraged I am. If you try to control my professional decisions…” She drew a deep breath. “I promise I will cut you out of my life. I’ve told you a million times, I don’t want or need your money, nor do I want your love if you can’t rein in your desire to control me.”

The back of Zeus’s neck itched. He’d heard that exact tone before. Calm, controlled, decisive, and lethal—exactly how she’d sounded seven years earlier when she’d refused to listen to his apology. Seven years earlier, he’d wanted to talk things through. She hadn’t. There’d been no shock from her, even though he’d been shaken to his very core by the news he’d had to deliver. She’d nodded, processed it, and
fuck
, she’d shown him the door and not looked back. He chalked up her lack of visible emotion to pride and composure and not wanting to appear weak. She was, after all, a woman whose competitive streak knew no bounds.

He’d been heartbroken, and that had been a shiny and new, un-fucking-pleasant experience for him. He’d also been spitting angry that he felt so fucking obligated to do the right thing—the thing that required turning his back on Sam.

At the time, he’d understood the depth of how much he’d hurt Sam, even if she didn’t show it. In the intervening years he’d felt like shit every time he thought about her, and he’d felt guilty for breaking her heart—when he wasn’t feeling sorry for himself for breaking his own. He’d been so goddamn miserable, he hadn’t given much thought to context, how his walking away from her could’ve possibly factored in her overall life, which had been guided by her grandfather’s extreme meddling.

Hell.
He hadn’t thought it through.

Watching her now, he realized she was capable of shutting off personal feelings if those feelings interfered with her job trajectory. He recognized and respected that capability. He had it himself. He wouldn’t be at the top of Black Raven in the competitive, dog-eat-your-own-sweet-mother world of private security contracting if, for years, he hadn’t had the ability to employ gridlock focus on his goals and look at every decision through filters that kept his goals at dead center.

Now, as she threatened to cut her grandfather—her closest living relative—out of her life if he interfered with her career, he wondered…

Through his mic, Ragno’s voice, calm and even, provided a welcome interruption to the thought that was so half-baked he didn’t want to acknowledge it. “Zeus, your ears only. I’ve dropped them from my line. You wanted me to dig deep into her life, and I’ve started that process. Reality is Dixon has controlled every step she’s taken since her parents died. He can’t control her now. He knows it. She knows it. Even if she wants to quit, she wouldn’t. Just to prove to him or to herself—hell, it doesn’t matter—she’s proving that he isn’t in control. You and Dixon are going to lose this battle.”

No shit.

As a stand-off ensued between grandfather and granddaughter, Zeus decided not to intervene. Instead, he assembled another sandwich for her. He didn’t have to think of how she liked it, nor did he need to mimic what she’d just done.

The ingredients and assembly method were just more inane trivia about Sam that he hadn’t been able to purge from his brain. White bread. A thin layer of mayo. About a third of an inch of thin slices of ham. A layer of barbeque potato chips on the sandwich. Not off. Slices of bread lightly pressed together. Ends removed. Cut in thirds, so the sandwich became neat, rectangular finger sandwiches. He poured a fresh glass of water from the pitcher.

As she watched him, he took a bite from one of the sandwiches, chewed, and swallowed. He reached for a few grapes, ate them, then the glass of water that he poured for her and took a sip.

She studied him, seemingly holding her breath, as he didn’t start frothing at the mouth and drop to the floor. He whispered, “See? Food’s fine.” He set both the plate and the glass down in front of her.

Warm gratitude flooded her eyes and told him thank you in a way that words never would have. Her open, honest eyes conveyed everything that needed to be said, and for a moment she looked exactly like she did before their detour to lives without each other—trusting, honest, and without a filter over what she was really thinking.

Goddammit.
If he could just step back in time and go to the point where he’d made the wrong turn, he’d do it in a heartbeat.

“Zeus,” Ragno said. “Tell them that with the escalation of threat caused by the Boulevard Saint-Germain bombing and the cyanide poisoning, and the increased chatter, Black Raven will need double the manpower originally anticipated. Maybe that will help her make her decision.”