Jigsaw (Black Raven Book 2) Page 8

  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.”

  Zeus repeated Ragno’s warning and threw in numbers. High numbers. They’d break seven figures a few times. Easily. The simple reality was that Black Raven ran a business for profit. Risk was up, so manpower needed to increase. Every hour of manpower, for each agent, cost hundreds, if not thousands, of dollars, depending on agent skill level and task. Not to mention the safe houses they’d need, the transports, and the dedicated analytical support that Ragno’s group would provide. Samuel understood that fact, and so did Sam.

  Still, the numbers were daunting. He added the caveat that Black Raven always provided. “And this is only an estimate. The number will go up as circumstances evolve.”

  Sam shrugged, took a bite of the sandwich, chewed slowly, and swallowed. “Budget issues are between you and my grandfather. I didn’t hire Black Raven, and I especially didn’t hire you.” She took another bite, and drank a quick sip of water. “I’m not resigning, even if my grandfather decides not to pay you, even if you decide to quit the job. I’m doing the job…” She leveled her eyes on his, ate a grape, and added, “With or without you or Black Raven. Understood?”

  He nodded as he watched her eat more of her sandwich. Got it. Loud and clear.

  “Threat level of every country participating in the ITT–United Kingdom, United States, France, and Colombia– Hell,” Dixon said, breaking his silence. “The terrorist threat level worldwide is critical right now. I don’t want you in the goddamn bullseye, Sam. Bring her home, Zeus.”

  Is the man listening to his granddaughter?

  “Bring me home? As though I’m a package? Or a suitcase? He will not. I will not quit. The. Answer. Is. No.”

  Zeus held his breath as he waited for an explosion from Samuel Dixon.

  “Well, fine,” Dixon said, tone calm. “Zeus and Ragno.” His voice switched from concerned grandfather to thoughtful and steady businessman. “Spare no legitimate expense on the security detail for the Amicus team.”

  “Absolutely,” Ragno, back on the line with the three of them, answered.

  “There’s been a ten-million dollar bounty on Maximov for years,” Dixon said. “Is Black Raven pursuing it?”

  The off-the-wall question had Zeus’s gaze riveted on Sam’s eyes, because the surprise he saw there matched his. Not just surprise—he also saw worry as to where this was going.

  Hell.

  Zeus knew where it was going and there was plenty of cause for worry for Black Raven. He could almost see the giant fucking flashing neon sign yelling, “conflict of interest.” In all caps. Underlined.

  He maintained his poker face, unable to acknowledge that such a Black Raven job existed. An honest answer to the question required he reveal Jigsaw.

  Not gonna happen.

  Chapter Six

  Jigsaw was still in its relative infancy and Zeus, of all people, knew how sensitive it was. Two years earlier, Black Raven’s cyber division had been hired by the DHS on a project-by-project basis. At the same time, the NSA hired Black Raven’s cyber division on other projects. The DHS and NSA projects were unrelated, but shared a common objective—gathering information about terrorist threats. As with other outsourcing conducted by the governmental agencies to Black Raven’s cyber division, the existence of the projects was strictly confidential.

  One year after being hired on the separate DHS and NSA projects, the prison break involving Barrows occurred. Black Raven’s search for, and ultimate hiring of, Barrows resulted in an infusion of classified, sensitive information into the company. One result of the prison break and hiring Barrows was that Black Raven became privy to Shadow Technology—the top-secret data collection and assimilation program Barrows had designed for the government.

 
Zeus and Sebastian, working with Barrows and Ragno in the months after Black Raven acquired both Barrows and Shadow Technology, believed that Shadow Technology could enhance the pending DHS and NSA projects. Every bit of brainpower possessed by Barrows and Ragno, and others in Black Raven’s cyber division, had resulted in Jigsaw—a program tailored to DHS and NSA concerns. Meanwhile, terrorist activities were escalating. Zeus gave Barrows a couple of months of lag time for research and development, then personally pitched the project to the Secretary of the DHS and the Director of the NSA, who were under increasing pressure from President Cameron to damn well do something about terrorism. Zeus and Sebastian gave the new project the code name Jigsaw, the name of the Barrows-designed program that ran it. Forming a collaborative, top-secret task force, the DHS and NSA hired Black Raven for Jigsaw.

  With funding secured, and with Barrows having free rein on the job, Jigsaw blossomed into a wide-ranging project that had the potential to throttle the terrorists who now held the world in a chokehold. Jigsaw was tasked with the wide-ranging, lofty goal of a safer and more secure America. The program compiled, assimilated, and assessed data from intelligence agencies worldwide. The objective was to predict behavior and defeat organizations like Maximov and others, who managed to succeed in coordinated terrorist acts like those the ITT was investigating and the recent bombing in Las Vegas.

  Barrows was working out kinks, performing upgrades, creating shortcuts, and analyzing output. The Vegas New Year’s Eve bombing had produced shockwaves for Barrows, Ragno, and Zeus—because the program hadn’t predicted it. Barrows now assured Zeus the program was almost operating at a level where answers could be produced. Answers to burning questions, like where the hell is Maximov.

  Damn program should have an answer.

  There were other questions, as well, such as the questions the ITT was investigating, whether there was a link between the terrorist acts at issue in the trial, whether the Maximov organization was funding the current wave of terrorism, and what terrorist organization was behind the Las Vegas New Year’s Eve bombing.

  If answers aren’t produced soon, we’ll be skewered.

  Jigsaw’s level of secrecy was the highest Zeus had ever known. Now, six months after Black Raven had been officially hired by the DHS and NSA on Jigsaw, only a select few were even aware of the breath and scope of Black Raven’s Jigsaw. Even some of the agencies that were collecting and compiling their own data regarding credible terrorist threats—Maximov being one such threat—weren’t aware that Black Raven was using their information.

  A point that brought Zeus back to Samuel’s question. Is Black Raven working on the bounty hunt for Maximov?

  “No,” he lied easily. “We’re not pursuing the bounty.”

  True answer—hell yes.

  If Jigsaw produced information that would lead to the apprehension of Maximov, Black Raven would have the terrorist nailed to a fucking wall in a matter of hours. They’d happily claim the bounty, even though Jigsaw’s fee far surpassed anything that could legitimately be charged for a mere bounty hunt. As it was, clues as to Maximov’s whereabouts were starting to come in. Teams of elite agents had been mobilized.

  “Why not?” Samuel asked.

  Here goes. This is why I get paid one hell of a lot of money. I’m damn good at the creative lying that comes with top-secret government jobs.

  “We’re not bounty hunters. We’re paid for our services. Expenses for a team of elite agents searching the world for Maximov, with the kind of dedicated analytical power that team would require, could quickly rival and surpass the value of the bounty.”

  Sam raised a brow. “Ten million is a lot of money.”

  “I agree,” Dixon said.

  “Yeah. If we had the time to search for him. But time is money, as you well know. Black Raven requires a client to bankroll the job, because without someone paying us, well, once we netted out our expenses, ten million dollars is not a significant sum of money.”

  “Well, you’ve found your client for the job,” Dixon said. “Your fees and expenses, of course, plus, you get to keep the damn bounty when you find Maximov and hand him to President Cameron. Consider it bonus money.”

  Shit! Talk about double dipping. Samuel wants to bankroll a job on which I’m already working.

  When Zeus didn’t immediately respond, Samuel continued, “I want to hire Black Raven to find Maximov. To be perfectly clear, Zeus, your job is to protect Samantha. Your eyes are to be on her at all times, but I want you to monitor and direct the team hunting for Maximov. Put your best men and women on it.”

  “That’s crazy,” Sam told her grandfather, her face pale. “An international task force with military expertise is looking for Maximov. Let them do their job.”

  “Won’t be the first time I’m called crazy,” Dixon said, his voice sharp. “I didn’t get where I am by running from risk or sitting around, waiting for the government to get a damn thing done. The world is scared right now. Terrorists have created a humanitarian disaster and an economic disaster and it’s time to teach them a goddamn lesson. Maximov might be a phantom, but he’s only a man. If he’s gunning for the ITT proceedings, and my granddaughter is front and center, he won’t get away with it. Find Maximov, Zeus, and the world will make headway in the fight against terrorism, compliments of Dixon Enterprises.”

  Sam slowly shook her head, her lips parted, a frown line bisecting her brows. She held the phone in a white-knuckled grip as she glared at it. “Samuel, you can’t do—”

  “I can, and I will. If you’re fighting terrorists, I don’t see why I shouldn’t as well. We’ll try to tackle these sons of bitches from both sides. One of us is bound to hit them on their blind side. Goodnight, honey. Let’s talk after you’ve slept.”

  Dixon clicked off the call. Zeus and Samantha stood in surprised silence.

  “God,” Ragno said. “I love that man.”

  Zeus chuckled. Ragno, he was sure, had enjoyed what had just transpired. Together, he and Ragno would have to come up with a method of creative accounting that didn’t cheat Samuel out of his money. Black Raven routinely bent laws to satisfy the needs of their jobs, but the almighty dollar—the oxygen on which the company thrived—was always treated honestly and with the respect it deserved.

  His chuckle faded as Sam drew in an exasperated breath. Her eyes were strained, as though her argument with her grandfather had worn her out, and his decision to hire Black Raven to lead a bounty hunt for Maximov was only icing on the cake of a day that needed to end. “Ragno, give me a few minutes.”

  Ragno clicked off, and he and Sam were alone.

  “You okay?”

  “My grandfather is picking a fight with the most feared terrorist in the world, two people who were close to me have died in the last forty-eight hours, and”—she glanced at her watch—“I need to function in less than seven hours on the most important trial in which I’ve ever been involved. Why wouldn’t I be fine?”

  “If it’s too much you could re—”

  “Don’t go there.” She drew a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “I need to be up at seven, at court at eight forty-five. Proceedings start at nine.”

  “I’m aware.” He didn’t think he needed to explain to her that for the next thirty days, his every breath would revolve around the details of her life. He wouldn’t be doing his job if he didn’t know her schedule intimately.

  “Would you please make sure my grandfather is secure? My involvement here, and now the bounty hunt.” She drew a deep breath, and exhaled slowly. Her eyes were worried, revealing that even though she put up a tough front and had just threatened to cut the man out of her life, she loved him. “He could become a target.”

  Samuel Dixon was in residence at his Orange County home, in one of the most exclusive guarded and gated communities in the world. The house itself was a fortress, made impenetrable by Black Raven, and exactly where Zeus wished Sam would run to. “We’ll evaluate. Your grandfather will be fine,” Zeus s
aid. “His security isn’t anything you need to worry about.”

  As she walked towards her bedroom, he said, “One more thing.”

  She glanced at him. “What?”

  He walked to the wet bar and washed his hands, gesturing with his head to the coffee table, where the first aid kit waited. “Microchip.”

  For a second, her jaw dropped. “Like I’m a dog?”

  “More like a car. It’s a GPS system we can monitor remotely.” He stepped to the coffee table. Before opening the kit and pulling out the syringe, he paused. “Blood phobia is still bad, right?”

  “With movies, photos, and evidence, I’m fine. Otherwise I couldn’t do my job. Real life?” She shook her head with a slight blush on her cheeks. This was another sign of weakness that she hated. “I still can’t look at one drop without passing out. Once I come to, if I look at it again, I get nauseated. That’s almost as bad as passing out.”

  “I’ll work around it. Come here,” he said. “I need your left arm.”

  “You didn’t do this last time.” She didn’t move from her position right outside her bedroom.

  “It’s been seven years. That’s light years in technology. We started using chips last year, and we’ve recently developed a stealth mechanism. The chip is almost undetectable.”

  “Almost?”

  “Yeah. Almost.”

  “I’ve counted at least twenty agents tonight. Chances of anyone taking me away are slim to none. I have to admit, I find this pretty damn offensive. So explain why it’s necessary.”

  “Remember that part about listening to my instructions? The promise you made to your grandfather?”

  “Yes. And by the way, I said I’d listen to Black Raven. Not necessarily you.” Arms folded and eyebrows arched, she didn’t look like she cared one damn bit about the promise she’d made.

  “Same thing.”

  “Whatever.” Despite her nonplussed tone, something cracked in her composure. As her eyes flashed with emotion that he couldn’t quite read, he realized she was more bothered than she was letting on. Whether it was Eric’s death, the stress of a long day, or…