There was laugher, then Elizabeth said, “Dillon, I don’t mean to pry—well, maybe I do. Before you left the room, you looked sort of strange, like you were listening to someone—as if someone tapped you on the shoulder.”
Savich swallowed a bite of Sherlock’s honey corn bread and said easily, “I remembered I’d promised to check in with the Philadelphia field office about another case. And so I did before I forgot. Again.”
Elizabeth cocked her head at him. No way could she imagine Dillon forgetting anything. “Did you solve the case?”
“Let’s just say I learned some information I need the Philadelphia field office to act on.”
Rome wondered what that information was, since he knew of no case from the CAU involving the Philadelphia field office, but it was obvious Savich had closed the door.
Sherlock picked up the conversation. “Getting back to Aboud, we haven’t heard back yet about the federal warrant. It’s already too late in the day to send out the forensics team to Aboud’shorse farm. It doesn’t matter, they’ve already had time to cover up what they can. Still, a team will go over in the morning, examine the hangar, question his employees, see whether the helicopter could possibly have been stolen without inside help and direction. Dillon assigned two agents to do a deeper dive into Aboud’s background and affiliations, here and in London, any possible connection to the players John Eiserly is considering.”
Savich said, “We need to find the key to his motive. But you know, I doubt he was behind the attacks on you in London, Elizabeth. I’m thinking someone pulled him in after they found out you’re here in Washington, and that someone has leverage over him. To use his prized Sikorsky? I can’t imagine him doing that willingly. And that smacks of another spur-of-the-moment decision.”
Sherlock said, “Maybe it was the voice we heard on the recording. Maybe that person is calling the shots.”
Savich said, “We’ll find out how Aboud fits into all this, Elizabeth. I spoke to John and he’s got a lot of irons in the fire too. He’ll shuffle Ammar Aboud into the mix, see if he can’t find connections.”
“I sure hope one of those irons heats up soon.”
Rome patted her arm. “We’re good, sometimes miracle workers, and you’ve only been with us a couple of days. Give us another day, okay? Now, tell us about what your parents are saying.”
“That’s a good question. I hadn’t told my parents I was coming to the FBI in Washington after my time with Hurley, didn’t really tell them much of anything. I thought it would be safer for them.”
Sherlock said, “So that means anyone watching them, maybe even following them to hear if they said anything about you, didn’t know you were here.”
Elizabeth brightened. “That’s true. But after Dillon told John I was here, I told them we were all working together andthat you were keeping me safe. But I haven’t mentioned to them that we were attacked in the warehouse parking lot, or by the Sikorsky. What good would it have done except to scare them?”
Elizabeth looked around the table. “I did want to ask my dad whether he’s dealt with Aboud, but I decided not to.”
Savich said, “That’s fine. If he has any connection to Aboud we’ll find it, and if something leads us to your father, we’ll talk with him then.”
He picked up a corn on the cob. He studied her face a moment, then said, “I don’t think what’s been happening to you has anything to do with kidnapping you for ransom, Elizabeth. I think you’re the queen in this game, not your father.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
FBI Field Office
Philadelphia
Friday night
After a more-than-three-hour drive from Titusville to Philadelphia with one bathroom stop, Morales pulled the black Suburban into the underground garage of the stark monolithic Federal Building on Abbott Street. During the long drive, Briggs had never let up trying to get Rebel to talk to him.We charged you because we know already you conspired with your brother. You’re in communication with him, on a burner, right? You might as well admit it and tell us where he is and that way you won’t spend the next fifty years in a federal penitentiary.
He went on and on, impatient and loud,until Rebel wondered if he’d lose his voice. Morales interrupted him at times, kept her voice sympathetic.Mr. Navarro, I know you think you shouldn’t talk to us, but Agent Briggs is right. If you lawyer up, try to conceal your involvement, and don’t cooperate, your chance to stay out of prison will be gone, and what would happen to Tash? I know Archer is your brother, but it’s over for him in any case. You have to help yourself and Tash, you have to help us close this case. We’ll do all we can for you.
Rebel was angry at first, found it hard to believe the FBI actually had a warrant for his arrest.Wire fraud and conspiracy?What could they possibly have to implicate him? He kept his mouth shut as Ethan had told him to, except to ask once what evidence they had to arrest him in the first place. They didn’t tell him, only said he’d find out during his interview, if he cooperated.
He didn’t want to admit to fear, so he’d focused on his anger again at being made to feel so helpless, so impotent. Was that how Archer felt? By the time they arrived, he felt numb.
At least Morales had removed the zip ties binding his wrists together on the long ride to Philadelphia, instead using a single loop to fasten his right wrist to the handle of the back door. When Briggs pulled him out of the back seat, he zip-tied his arms behind his back again. Were they afraid he’d try to deck them and make a run for it?
The garage was eerily quiet, and their footsteps echoed loudly in the huge space, nearly empty this time of night. Briggs and Morales, each holding one of Rebel’s arms, opened the garage door to the stairwell and walked him up to the lobby. He saw only one custodian there, buffing the huge expanse of its marble floor. A security guard patted Rebel down and sent him through the X-ray, Briggs and Morales behind him.
Briggs pushed him toward a bank of elevators. When the elevator doors opened on the fifth floor, Briggs shoved him out onto a large square landing covered with industrial dark-gray carpeting toward an older man sitting on a high stool munching on a sandwich with one hand, working a crossword with the other. He was wearing a green federal marshal’s uniform.
Briggs said, “Finish off the tuna sandwich, Tip. This one gets a holding cell for a while. When SAC Gregson arrives, I’ll call you to bring him down.”
Tip shoved the last of his sandwich in his mouth, wiped his hand, frowned down at his crossword puzzle, sighed, and took a step toward Rebel. Briggs held up his hand when his cellphone rang. He listened. “Yes, I understand, we’ll be there. No, not a word.”
