Page 9

Jack

In the back seat of the Range Rover, I lean forward to pass Fisher a slip of paper with the address for my next appointment.

“I’m going to need to work in an additional stop this afternoon.”

The Juniper & Ivy passes by the window, as Fisher’s eyes meet mine in the rearview.

“I’ll need you to stay outside for this next meeting. Preferably unnoticed in the car, but if anyone is watching, it’s not the end of the world if they see you.”

As we pass the San Diego shops and restaurants, I cross one leg over the other.

The back seat in the Range Rover is plenty spacious, but I prefer to drive myself.

Fisher scans the side mirrors, the rearview, and the road ahead with the same level of attention taught at Langley.

He turns left multiple times as we crisscross through town, headed in our direction, but with care to ensure we are not followed.

Until recently, I refused security, believing I didn’t need it. I don’t give a damn about myself, but I sure as hell care about my daughter. If I’d had any idea she would be a target, we would’ve had an entire platoon surrounding our home.

And now? I hire the best for protection. We didn’t catch everyone responsible for Sophia’s abduction. But no matter how long it takes me, or how much I need to spend, we will. And I won’t allow Sophia to be left without any parent, so now I have security too.

When we hit I-15, traffic slows. Fisher’s thumb raps against the steering wheel. “We could walk faster than this.”

It’s true. Gridlock is an issue on the freeways.

“I’m sure you didn’t take the job at Arrow to be a driver.

” Fisher didn’t pass BUD/S, the SEAL training course.

There’s no shame in that. From what Ryan told me, if he tried again, he would pass.

A torn rotator cuff and pneumonia combined with a candidate’s death one month prior had the normally unresponsive medic team pulling him out with twenty-eight hours remaining in his week of hell.

How, or why, he found his way to Arrow is a piece of information Ryan didn’t share.

“Part of the job.” Fisher glances over his shoulder and shoots me a relaxed smile.

“This is the most secure arrangement for transport. I’m in the best seat in the vehicle to determine if we’re being followed or if there’s an ambush up ahead.

If something happens, you’re in the best seat in the vehicle to hit the floor and take cover. ”

Right . It’s not like I’m defenseless. I whip out my phone and dig through email. As CEO, I get cc’d on an endless amount of email. Patricia, my assistant, is pretty good at flagging what I need to pay attention to, but if she misses something, it’s on me.

Shortly after pulling off the freeway, the Range Rover slows.

“Is this it?” I peer through the back window at a Holiday Inn Motel that’s seen better days. The parking lot spans the length of the two-story motel, allowing convenient parking for any guest. Rusted gold room numbers hang along each door. I catch sight of 219 and point.

“That’s where I’m going.”

Fisher doesn’t say a word. He parks directly in front of the room, two rows back, and scans the area.

I leave him to his work and climb the stairs that lead to the second floor. A door to a room opens, and a shirtless man covered in tattoos burps and announces he’s going to get ice. As I pass him, I see a nude woman lying on the bed with a cigarette in her hand.

When I reach 219, I rap my knuckle below the numbers.

The door opens a few inches, and the brass chain pulls tight.

My gaze rests on a deep décolletage covered in freckles, bound by a lacy tank top beneath an unbuttoned white blouse.

A gold necklace with a rose charm hangs just above her bountiful breasts.

The chain rustles, and the door opens wider.

Elsie greets me with a hand on my neck and kiss on my cheek.

She backs away, and I take in her heavily painted lips and the thick coat of blush inexpertly applied to her cheeks.

Her tight skirt hits just below the knee, and the sky-high heels lift the top of her head to my chin.

“Do I look the part?”

I glance over my shoulder and step to the side, ensuring Fisher and any other person looking can see my friend. Then I push the door closed.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in shoes quite like that.” Black leather strips crisscross and ride up her ankles.

“Well, if you’re meeting a lover at a motel, I figured my normal scuffed black office flats wouldn’t fit the cover. Pulled these out of my closet when I got the message we needed to meet as soon as possible.”

“I appreciate the quick response.”

“You’ve never made this request before. We take it seriously.”

“You know that, huh?”

I’ve worked with the CIA as an informant ever since my departure from the Naval Academy.

They were primarily interested in my international meetings.

Elsie has been my contact for the better part of the last year.

We typically meet in secure locations designed to fit within my routine.

This is definitely an exception. I admire her ingenuity, but given I’m not married and money is not an issue for me, I can’t help but wonder who would believe I’d ever bring a woman to a dump like this.

She’s already closed the blinds and has assumed a seat on the edge of the bed.

“Did you notice anyone following you?” she asks.

“No. My security detail didn’t notice anyone either.”

“Is your phone in the car with him?”

“Yes.” Her gaze floats over my body. She’s looking to see if there’s any other potential listening device on me. But there’s not. Arrow routinely checks my home, watch, and clothes. Before, I didn’t believe risks applied to me. I learned my lesson.

I lean against the wall opposite the bed, next to the dresser and television set.

“I met with Victor Morales today.”

“Of the Morales Cartel?”

“The one and only. He admitted men from his family held Sophia.”

She narrows her eyes. “We knew that.”

“Sounds like he punished them. Maybe eliminated them. He asked me to continue a business arrangement. The same one he had with Wayne Killington.”

“The Morales Cartel is one of Sullivan Arms international clients?”

“No.” I tug on my chin, considering. It’s not clear how Wayne concocted the deal on the ledger side.

Every gun we manufacture shows up somewhere on a sales record.

The parts we sell aren’t as trackable. But wholesale distributors, like DeCampo, are responsible for their own ledgers.

“More is going on than merely funneling guns to a cartel, as we could have done that legally by selling to DeCampo and remaining uninvolved in where the inventory actually ended up. Victor assumed I was aware of the deal specifics, and I played along.”

“Why would he assume you were aware?”

“With Killington out of the picture, my uncle told him to talk to me. But I can guarantee you he didn’t know what kind of arrangement Wayne Killington had with Victor.

Wayne was gunning for greater distribution to Mexico.

It angered him when Sullivan Arms was deemed too small of a manufacturer to be included in Mexico’s lawsuit against US gun manufacturers.

My uncle agreed with him. Said not being seen as one of the top players was bad for business. ”

The lawsuit claims US gun manufacturers have contributed to elevated crime within Mexico and are responsible for countless deaths. The suit implies that gun manufacturers are indirectly responsible for the expansion of the illegal drug trade by providing arms to drug growers and traffickers.

Most would consider exclusion from the suit to be an advantage for Sullivan Arms. But, to someone who has dedicated his life to growing the company, exclusion feels like an insult.

“So, your uncle believes it's just another sales account?”

“DeCampo Distribution, Victor’s business, has grown to about ten percent of our sales.

It’s a significant wholesale account. Mark probably met Victor at a lunch or dinner.

It’s not unusual to wine and dine big accounts.

He’s American. Native English speaker. If you met Victor, you wouldn’t immediately think he’s a cartel crime boss. ”

“I’ve seen his profile.”

“He dresses like any other Fortune 500 CEO. Acts like any of them too.” But since she’s already seen his profile, it sounds like he’s already on the CIA’s radar. “If I understand Victor correctly, the high-end yachts are used to send guns down to Mexico and bring drugs back in.”

“Heroin?”

“He didn’t specify, but given that’s what they drugged Sophia with, that’s my bet. He offered to recommend replacements for Wayne and Larry. I assume those replacements would handle everything. Continue the operation.”

“Do you think there’s anyone else within Sullivan Arms involved?”

“Others have to be involved. Our CFO. An accountant who worked for him. Someone in compliance. There have to be a handful of people in on this deal, at all different levels within the company.”

“Do you suspect human trafficking? Or only drugs and guns?”

I meet her deep blue eyes across the room. She takes a band off her wrist and pulls her hair back into it. Her breasts bulge from the movement.

“He didn’t say anything that led me to suspect human trafficking. But he didn’t get into details. He wants me to replace the yacht that’s currently under federal possession. Did you guys find anything on that yacht?”

The feds apprehended Wayne Killington on his yacht. The vessel was owned by him personally and valued at around twenty-five million. As part of an ongoing criminal investigation, the vessel remains in federal possession.

“FBI and ATF are running the show on that one. I’ll get an update.” She purses her lips. “Are you planning on playing along? Replacing the yacht? Hiring his recommendations?”