Jigsaw (Black Raven Book 2) Page 20

  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 counterargument 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 tha
t 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.

  “That being said,” Samantha continued, her eyes on Gabe, then Zeus. “I may need your help with facts. To underscore the necessity for access to Stollen, I may have to reveal something about the need to go to Praptan.”

  “No,” Zeus said. “Not an option. Word will get out. I don’t want to facilitate an ambush.”

  “What if you fake it?” Gabe asked. “Make up a story about where the bounty hunt is going. Make it plausible based on something in the Stollen files?”

  The eyes of everyone in the room focused on her. Abe, as second chair attorney, knew her concerns as a lawyer and specifically as Amicus counsel. Through Abe’s tortoise-shell glasses, his blue eyes were lit with a caution warning. She gave Abe a reassuring nod, a signal that she wasn’t forgetting her professional and ethical obligations as an attorney.

  “The duty of candor that I owe the tribunal requires truthfulness,” Samantha said. “However, I’m sure your intel would enable me to come up with a scenario of options.” She glanced in the monitor at Gabe, whose open expression and wide smile told her he was persuaded her plan was a good one. Zeus’s brooding look told her he wasn’t so sure. She focused on Gabe, as she continued. “Options that would support an argument that interviewing Stollen is of paramount importance without revealing where Gabe’s team is going.”

  Gabe gave a low whistle. “Welcome to the team, Sam.”

  “Samantha,” she said, correcting him. Only one living person got away with calling her Sam, and he wasn’t the green-eyed Hernandez brother. “Not Sam.”

  “Sorry,” Gabe said. “Zeus calls you Sam. I’ve connected a few dots on my own, but I didn’t realize he had an exclusive on your nickname.”

  He was obviously going to tease his brother—and anyone connected to him—every step of the way. Just like an adoring, pesky, in-your-face younger brother would.

  “Ragno,” Zeus said, once again ignoring Gabe, “can you pull up everything we can find on Stollen?”

  “We’ve already got a wealth of information, and we’re crawling through databases, looking for more,” Ragno responded. “Some of what Stollen said is already factored into our decision to go to Praptan. By the way, I’ve found the 2010 study—Praptan: Birthplace of a Terrorist—that Samantha referred to earlier.”

  “Great,” Zeus said. “That was fast.”

  “It helps to know what I’m looking for,” Ragno answered.

  “Ragno sent the report to me while you were stealing Samantha’s butter,” Gabe said. “Or maybe it was when you were giving her your salad. Check your inbox.”

  Zeus ate a f
orkful of salad. Eyes on his brother, he said, “Ragno, look for something that could present a plausible argument requiring Sam to talk to Stollen now.”

  “Such as the bounty hunt is headed to caves in Afghanistan, or the Mexican desert?” Ragno asked.

  Zeus shrugged. “Wherever might make sense. Any area Stollen frequented. Anything that gives us a link to Stollen and a destination. When Sam talks to him, she’ll ask him the real questions. Word might get out, but it will be nearer in time to our mission. Less time for ambush prep.”

  “Understood,” Ragno said.

  “Gabe,” Zeus said, “we’re signing off for now.”

  “Oh, come on,” Gabe said. “I’m enjoying the family time.”

  Zeus glanced at Agent Small, lifted his right hand, and gave a signal with his index finger. Gabe disappeared from the monitor. “Sam. There’s more,” Zeus said, “and this information might produce something that can underscore the need for you to talk to Stollen. Based upon your request that we share the information we’re uncovering in the bounty hunt, we’ve created a file-sharing database for the three of you. We call it OLIVER.”

  “Why OLIVER?” To Sam it sounded like a name for a beagle. Maybe a war hero. Not a database.

  “It’s an acronym that has to do with drives, access codes, encryption, and filters. None of it makes sense to anyone other than the designer and his team. You’ll be receiving a memo from R. Barrows in a few seconds. He designed it. It contains information regarding what we’ve put into OLIVER and directions on how to manipulate the database.”

  Samantha glanced at Charles and Abe. Charles was finishing his last bite of pork roast. Abe’s plate was empty. Earlier in the evening, she’d explained that she’d asked Zeus to share the Black Raven data from the bounty hunt with her. Now, they looked like eager students, ready for any and all knowledge Zeus could provide.