Terrorbyte (28 page)

The whole time I was dressing, with Mac's help, my mind was running nineteen to the dozen, replaying scenarios, trying to figure out how things went so wrong, how this got so out of hand. Questions came quicker than any sort of explanations. Where did the men go? I was sure they'd sailed right through a military roadblock, so again the poser: how did that happen? Why was I grabbed? What was the point of leaving me alive? Although, I didn't for one second think that leaving me alive was the plan. I think he was interrupted by the phone or maybe he'd expected the call and had waited for instructions. There was a possibility he was the Unsub.  Did I shoot the Unsub? How did this become so seriously scary that my team needed to hide me in what amounts to gangland?

I think Mac knew my mind was fully occupied, and left me to my thoughts. I started thinking about the crime scenes. There was no sense to be made there. The notes, the bodies, the poem, gold ribbon, chlorine, the bourbon, the choice of victims; everything so meticulously staged. To what end? And why did he break his rhythm? One death per day, then suddenly we had two; that didn't make sense. It must mean he'd used prior surveillance to determine when the victim would be alone. That was logical. I'd happened upon names of possible victims. They were chosen ahead of time. It was possible there was another party, another unknown subject who provided surveillance.

“Mac?”

“Yeah, babe.”

“What's really going on here? What is it our Unsub is concealing?”

“Bodies?” Mac replied and sat on the bed.

“He didn't really conceal them.” He is such a smartass and, for once, I didn't feel smart-mouthed. “The crimes feel so contrived. He couldn't have left more things for me; the presence of cameras and listening devices tells me he's getting his kicks watching us work, knowing we're not going to figure it out. There's something he's hiding. It's as if the real crime is being masked by these terrible acts.”

Mac immediately adopted his tried and true thinking mode. He dropped his feet on the ground and began wearing a track in the linoleum between the bed and the door. Five minutes later he opened the door and stepped outside. There was one long whistle. He came back in and closed the door. Lee and Praskovya appeared in the room. I don't even think I noticed them come through the door.

“What's up?” Lee asked.

“Tell them,” Mac said. “Exactly what you told me.”

I repeated my earlier spiel about how contrived the crime scenes were. Both men stared at me as though I'd grown horns. I was used to that look. Didn't mean I liked it any.

“Comments? Thoughts?” I asked.

Lee rubbed his face. Praskovya scratched his head. They rubbed and scratched until I threatened to have them deloused.

“You're serious, ain't ya, Ellie?” Lee asked.

I nodded, knowing he wasn't talking about me having them deloused; they
knew
I'd do that in a heartbeat. “He's pushed us so hard we're still processing evidence from the first crime scene. There's no let up – we're struggling to process all the evidence – we haven't even got all the autopsy reports. We're backlogged in all areas. He could know that.”

They nodded their agreement.

“The notes, despite Caine trying to downplay the content, were addressed to me personally.”

Again, a round of silent accord.

“My poem was butchered.”

Another collective nod.

“The Foundation hacked.”

You could've heard a pin drop. They too saw a pattern.

“My kidnapping – which, by the way, opens a whole other can of worms – we'll get to in a minute.” I paused while Mac sat down on the bed. “Why is someone going to such extreme lengths to draw me in then make it look as though I am a target?”

Ah! A joyous array of blank looks.

“And, how did those men know I'd be on the road, alone? The time frame and that I'd stop? What happened to the woman with the children? And who did I shoot?”

Relief flooded Lee's face as he spoke, “The woman and kids, they're all fine. She called the number on your card as soon as they took you. We checked with Triple A … it was a legit breakdown. Just unfortunate that they became part of your kidnapping … opportunistic of our Unsub.” He looked at me. “We have a name, the dead guy is …” he sounded almost happy when he said, “… Christopher Sadler.”

“What do we know about him?”

Lee flipped open his notebook and read his notes out loud, “He's ex-army, spent several years in Europe.”

I interrupted him, “How ex?”

“Discharged seven years ago.” Lee pulled his pen from his pocket. It was as if he knew I was going to give him instructions. There's something fabulous about a man with a poised pen.

“I want to know who he knows at Belvoir – he must have connections to be on the base – I'm not liking this whole military involvement aspect of this case. I want someone I can talk to. It's my feeling that one of my attackers was a Marine; I'll have a chat with someone at Naval Criminal Investigation. Europe: where, when and doing what?”

“Interpol has him on a watch list, suspected human trafficking. He's associated with a group of known traffickers.”

“So you're saying I did the world a favor?”

“Yeah … fuc'n good shooting.”

We grinned at each other.

“Where in Europe?”

“He was living in Germany, with frequent trips to Russia, Ukraine, Romania, Serbia, Bulgaria and Turkey. There are records of him traveling to Iraq, Iran and Libya. His most repeated trips were to Spain and Morocco … always after a trip to the Ukraine or Russia.”

“He gets around. When did he arrive in the U.S.?”

“Twelve days ago.”

“I want his prints compared with any unidentified prints from all of our crime scenes.”

Lee scribbled frantically.

“Added to that, Lee, I want a list of associates. I want a timeline of his movements since his arrival on U.S. soil.”

Lee looked at me, pen poised above the page.

“I want to know where he ate, drank and crapped. Get him on a camera somewhere, time stamp him, preferably with a live friend.” I needed to chat with someone who knew him.

Praskovya remained silent during this. I noted he had stopped scratching sometime ago. A cold, clawing, gut feeling told me he knew of Christopher Sadler. The feeling matched the dark cloud of tragedy that enveloped Praskovya.

“Praskovya, do you know the deceased?”

He raised his eyebrows, not in surprise but in affirmation. I waited for him to speak. Visions of hell freezing over danced in my head, as I suppressed my impatience.

He almost spat the words, “I know of him. He evaded our police last summer. Fourteen teenage girls died trapped in a shipping container. He left them to die so he could escape.”

Another person not sorry that I'd shot Sadler.

“Does he know Selena?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know why he was here?” I watched his face carefully, fearing he wasn't about to tell me the truth.

“No.”

Too slow! I made eye contact with Mac, letting him know I was ready to let him take over. Lee's phone buzzed. He answered and headed to the door.

A few minutes later, his hushed murmur stopped and he announced, “Ellie, we got another one.”

So the Sadler guy wasn't the killer, or there is another one out there. “Name?”

“Cynthia Cobham.”

“Dammit, Lee, she was on the list!”

“I know. I'm sorry. We found the other two.”

It was my turn to rub my face. “I want some information. I want to know what rumors were floating around the street. You know, stuff like how much I was worth and why me?” I stopped abruptly and looked at Mac. “Who's outside?”

“Some big dude, goes by the name of Caps.”

I smiled. “Does he by chance have a smaller, more heavily tattooed, version of himself close by?”

“Yeah.”

“Excellent.” I said to Lee, “Ask them to come in, please.”

Lee left and Mac asked, “What are you scheming?”

“A fishing expedition; these boys know, hear and see way more than you'd think; if something went on in D.C., they'll know.”

Mac eyed me with suspicion. “Will they tell you?”

“They'll tell me the buzz.” Did he really need me to say the exact words? I didn't want to say them. I barely wanted to think them. I wanted to know how much time there was before I became a dead Fed. I had the feeling that this was what this Unsub would like happen. Why, I didn't know.

Upon hearing footsteps outside the door, I cautioned Praskovya to remain quiet.

Lee poked his head around the door. “Okay to come in?”

“Yes.”

Lee entered in silence with the two men, who bowed their heads in respect.

I went to extend a hand; they made do with my left hand. “Caps, Tats, thank you for coming, and thank you for your hospitality.”

Caps spoke. I didn't need to look at Mac and Lee to know they were surprised: there wasn't a trace of Cap's usual Ebonics. This was a relief because I struggled to grasp the meaning in words like ‘shizzle' and ‘fizzle.' About the only thing I did understand was that ‘Yo, G, you frontin' me?' basically indicated the beginning of a fight. He spoke in a quiet and cultured voice, “You're always welcome here, Agent Ellie.”

Tat's wide grin revealed gold dental work, but he said nothing.

I smiled at them both. They were imposing in stature and, I'm sure, terrifying in the wrong circumstances. “I need to know what you know, Tyrone.”

Caps smiled a perfect, gleaming smile. “I haven't heard my name in a while, Ellie.”

“That's a good thing; means you haven't been hauled in by the police in a while.” I was sure it meant only that he hadn't been caught, not that he was keeping entirely out of trouble. “What can you tell me?”

“There's talk of a crazy killer. Some say he's Russian or German. Some say he wants to take a female FBI victim.”

“He almost did,” I commented.

Tyrone dropped a large protective hand on my shoulder. I felt the room pressure change subtly as my men collectively breathed in. “No one gets past us. You're safe here.”

I didn't doubt that for one second.

“I appreciate it. I'm going to be leaving soon. There's been another murder.”

Mac chimed in, daring with so much testosterone in the room, “Send us. No need for you to go. He won't stop until he gets his FBI agent.”

Tyrone agreed, “Listen to the man.”

Yeah, yeah. I semi-dismissed his comments knowing that it was Mac, my husband, speaking, not Special Agent Mac Connelly. “Heard anything else?”

“An agent got knifed, that black dude who came here with you, long time back. He okay?”

“Sam will be. Anything else?” I sensed Tyrone wasn't done yet.

“This killer, he's not alone. Word is he was recruiting … wanted someone to run surveillance … said it was legit.”

“What kind of surveillance, Tyrone?”

Tats spoke, “ 'S'up, Agent Ellie?”

“Trying to catch a bad guy; 's'up with you, Tats?”

Tats grinned. “We heard he wanted some women watched. Like five-0 stuff.”

I wished he hadn't said that. The theme song to
Hawaii Five-O
soared through the space between my ears. I waited for Detective Steve McGarrett to deliver his famous line to his sidekick Detective Danny Williams. He did. Upon hearing the word ‘Danno,' the interlude ended.

I focused again on Caps and his information. Please don't let him mean there was police involvement.

“Is he police?”

“Nah, he weren't no five-0.”

I kept my relief to myself. “Private investigator surveillance job? More than one woman, yes?”

He nodded. “Yeah, that PI shit. That's what they're saying.”

“Who'd he get?”

Tyrone spoke, “No one from here, they said he sounded too strange.  No one liked his fucked-up accent.”

“Do you know of anyone who actually saw him, who had face time with him?”

“Maybe someone has, people spoke to him; could've been by phone but maybe …”

“Please find me someone who spoke to him in person.”

“We'll ask around.”

“Thanks.”

Then came Tyrone's firm advice, “Stay here. You are in danger as long as you're out there.”

Mac said, “She's staying; we can handle it.”

Handle schmandle. I worked my own cases. It wasn't the first time a case has taken an unexpected turn for the worse and likely won't be the last. Husband or not, I didn't like being dictated to.

I raised my eyes to meet Mac's and said, “I give directives on this case.”

He said nothing. I knew damn well Lee could've taken over the case but for whatever reason, he'd chosen not to. So I was still in command. It was still my team.

Caps and Tats fell silent.

“I cannot work this case with my hands tied. I need to be on scene and that is where I am going to be.”

I turned to Lee. “Her name was Cynthia Cobham, right?”

“Yes,” Lee said.

“Have the Cobham scene swept for bugs and cameras.”

He nodded and waited.

“I want the area cleared of all non-essential personnel. Any onlookers are to be removed.”

“You got it, boss.”

“And one more thing … drape the scene. I want to be sure no one can see us while we're working.” I thought for a minute. What if he was using a directional microphone of some description? “Counter surveillance measures … Lee: a noise curtain, I don't want him eavesdropping from a distance, or at the very least, I want to make it harder for him.”

The corner of Lee's mouth twitched into a smile, “That should piss him off.”