Dragging out suspects.
Generally, getting business taken care of.
Much better than feeling like he was sitting around waiting for something to happen. He’d rather make it happen. Like these guys were, hopefully, doing.
Hollace typed on his laptop. “All ofDominatus, each ‘splinter cell’ as it were? Far as we have learned, they all pay a kind of dues to the organization. Each person who is in the group gives a tithe of their endeavors.”
“Seriously?” That was the first Ramon had heard of anything like that.
Hollace nodded, showing Ramon a ledger. “This is a photograph that was taken and handed to us. But we have no idea who took it or where to find this ledger. Somewhere in the world, there’s a paper book whereDominatuskeeps a list of all its members. We’re trying to find the ledger, which means we’re trying to find the name of the person who keeps the ledger.”
“Like an accountant, or some kind of business manager?”
“Right,” Hollace said. “We think it’s a chief financial officer or accountant.”
Ramon whistled. “One person who can break the whole thing open.”
Hollace nodded. “So, maybe go get a fingerprint from this janitor so that we can find some leverage to get him to tell us who ordered him to surveil us, or who the accountant is.”
“Could be on that drive.” Ramon motioned to the tech he’d given Bear. “Right?”
“We have to know it when we see it. Let Hazel do her job, and you do yours.”
Ramon figured the tone in Hollace’s words was about Bear ordering him around. “Fine. I’ll play.”
Hollace lifted a small device that looked like a GPS tracker or palm pilot. “Scan his fingerprint into this. It’ll immediately upload the image to our system and start running his ID.”
“Back in a sec.” Ramon wandered across the empty warehouse, skirted around a couple of pallets, and headed along the trail left in the dirt from when they’d dragged the guy in. The guys here, formerly Miami Security International, might have actually hit on a way to uncover all ofDominatus.
What would the world think when the president was exposed as one of their assets? Or when nations fell because their leaders were embroiled in this scandal? The fallout of releasing all that information to the public would be destabilizing.
He’d hoped it would reach that scale when they’d dumped the general’s entire research database onto the internet for all to see. Only the president had brought in the FBI to “investigate,” and they’d kept the entire story focused on that one rogue US Army general as the figurehead. Not one word about an international conspiracy had been spoken.
Instead, it’d all been about what the general was doing. And how the president had supposedly hired Banbury Investigations months or years ago—he wasn’t sure which it was meant to have been—to uncover it all and bring justice.
Now they were pawns in her game, and the team had the whole online world speculating on what they might be doing next. Picking apart what was known of their actions. Discussing it all to death. At least until another news story overtook people’s attention.
Through the doorway, there was a long hall about as clean as the rest of the place. Two of the MSI guys flanked an opening to the right. Ramon showed them the fingerprint scanner as he approached, and the one closest to him nodded.
Both guards stayed where they were as Ramon went inside the room, a slim space about the size of a prison cell with a dirty white sink on the left side—just without the toilet. The detainee had been tied to a folding chair, hands behind his back and his ankles secured to the legs of the chair. He was facing the wall,away from Ramon, so that he could see the guy’s hands but not his face.
His head was dipped forward like he had his chin on his chest. Sweat had dampened the back collar of his custodian overalls and under his arms.
Ramon only needed a fingerprint.
He palmed the scanner and grabbed the guy’s index finger. It flexed in his grip.
He was awake.
Ramon took the print, holding the digit steady while the scanner did its thing. The guy convulsed in the chair, not quite pulling against Ramon’s grasp of his hand, but it was close. A beep sounded from the scanner.
He looked at the screen.
Print not found.
So…not in the system? He looked at the image the scanner had come up with, but it seemed more like a blob than an actual fingerprint. He looked at the end of the guy’s finger and saw a patch of scar tissue. Ramon checked the others, then glanced at the doorway. “Go get Bear!”
“What is it?” The operator on guard peered into the room. “What’s going on?”
