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“What the fuck?” muttered Luke and Eric together.
“How is he affording that home? I mean, he can’t possibly be stealing enough money for it, so he’s got to be doing something on the side. Does he have any connections to Iranian officials? The military or government?” asked Eric.
“Again, we’re still looking. If you want my advice, send one of the boys guarding Daphne to the wife’s home and interview her. They’re in London now.”
“It’s a good idea,” said Luke. “Ask Chris to head over to their home. Hopefully, she’ll speak to him.”
“I’ll be back by nightfall,” said Chris.
“Be careful, brother,” said Carter. “I can get there quickly if I need to.”
Chris nodded at his friends, jumping on the train and heading north to his destination. Just north of Soham sat the historic home. The massive gray stone structure looked like something straight out of a Charles Dickens novel. There were a few cars parked out front, but nothing that indicated mass chaos inside. He rang the doorbell and waited. When it opened, he was surprised to see a little boy of about nine.
“Hello,” said the boy.
“Hello,” smiled Chris. “Is your mother home?”
“Yes, sir.” He left the door ajar and turned, running toward what Chris assumed was his mother. When a young woman walked back toward him, he was surprised to be greeted by a fair-skinned redhead.
“May I help you?” she said in a heavy Scottish accent.
“I’m looking for Mrs. Hijad,” he said.
“That’s me. If you’re here to sell me something, it’s truly not the right time.”
“No,” he smiled. “I’m not here to sell you anything. My name is Chris Paul, and I work for a security agency that’s investigating something that we believe your late husband was involved in.” Her smile faded, and she nodded at him.
“Come in,” she said quietly. He entered the foyer and stared at the beautiful, massive structure around him.
“Your home is truly beautiful. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Thank you,” she smiled. “My family owns several around the United Kingdom.”
“Your family?” he frowned.
“Yes. My family owns a number of businesses. Whiskey distilleries, offshore oil rigs, that sort of thing.”
“And you don’t have security here?” he asked, surprised.
“We do. Everything is on camera, and my team is strategically hidden. That’s how I knew it was safe to let you in. They must know you or have seen you before.” Now, Chris was even more confused. He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned slowly.
“How you doin’, Paul?” smirked the man.
“I’ll be damned. Giamarco.”
“You know this man, Albert?”
“I do, Moira. We were both U.S. Navy SEALs but on different teams. Chris was on one of the best.”
“You called him Paul,” she said, confused.
“My name is Chris Paul,” he said. “Sorry, it’s confusing.”
“What’s up, man? What brings you out here to speak with Moira?” Chris noticed that for the second time he used the woman’s first name.
“Let’s sit,” she said, waving them into the living room. “I am curious what would bring you to England to speak with me.”
“Your husband was killed at the hospital, but we’d discovered that he was involved in an incident with a young woman. Our investigation told us that he was going to perform unnecessary surgery on the woman, abort a child she was carrying, and then turn her over to men that we believe wanted to harm her.”