“Colonel,” Samantha sputtered. “So after the greedy sonofabitch willfully took part in a massacre of his own people, he went from being an interpreter to a colonel?”
“Actually,” Delilah said, “turns out that after Albu Bali, he was promoted to major. In the years since, he’s risen to the rank of colonel.”
“Seems one of the ways the CIA managed to keep the massacre at Albu Bali a secret was to pull some strings and get Raheem a cushy position inside the Iraqi army,” Ozzie explained. “A cherry job in exchange for his silence.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Samantha’s face was the epitome of disgust.
“Welcome to the wide world of international intrigue, luv,” Christian told her. Having lived there most of his adult life, he was no longer surprised by the perfidy of the players.
“Yeah?” Her brow was knitted. “Well, from what little I’ve seen of it, I’m not surprised you all got out as quickly as you could.”
A heartbeat of strained silence followed that little pronouncement. Emily was quick to fill it. “So let me guess. Colonel al-Atrash is being supplied with weapons by the U.S. government.”
“According to our military records, he is,” Ozzie said.
“Meaning?” Samantha asked, and Christian noticed that she couldn’t quite meet Ozzie’s eyes.
“Meaning I could find no corresponding record of those weapons when I hacked into the Iraqi accounts,” Ozzie said. “It would appear that Raheem is accepting the shipments himself and then diverting the guns to the Basilisks instead of sending them on to the Iraqi army.”
“Can you prove this?” Now Samantha was directing her gaze straight at Ozzie. The reporter in her overruled whatever else was going on.
“Not me.” Ozzie shook his head. “Delilah.” He pointed to the redheaded bartender who petted Fido’s big, blocky head. “By digging into Raheem’s accounts, she was able to follow a money trail leading back to a Panamanian bank. The same Panamanian bank used by one of the shell companies the Basilisks have.”
“After a marathon bit of hacking,” Delilah added, “Ozzie was able to get past the bank’s firewalls.”
“Which themselves had firewalls,” Ozzie muttered.
“And he located some internal transfers of cash between the account of the Basilisks’ shell company and the account Raheem owns,” Delilah finished. “Done and done. Point A has finally been connected to Point B.”
“Holy shit!” Samantha blinked rapidly. “That’s…incredible.”
“Yep.” Ozzie ran a hand through his hair, wincing when he inadvertently hit the wound near his temple. “Seems our wild-goose chase paid off.”
“So what happens now?” Samantha asked.
Ozzie blew out a breath. “It’s already happening. I handed everything over to Washington, and he’s handed it to the government. There are a lot of players interested in this case. The ATF, the FBI. Fuck, even the CIA.”
No doubt Ozzie had also phoned General Pete Fuller and the president, alerting them to what he’d found. What was equally apparent to Christian, because he’d known both men for so long, was that the general and the president had handpicked the individuals Chief Washington gave the information to.
The wheels of the establishment… Oh, how quickly they turn.
“So…then…” Samantha shook her head, trying to take it all in. “What happens to the Basilisks? To the guys who kidnapped me today? To…” She turned to Ozzie. “To…you? You shot two men.”
“In self-defense.” Ozzie nodded. “Washington assures me there will only be a cursory investigation and no charges will be brought.”
“But…but…” she sputtered. “What happens to the bikers in the meantime, while the feds build their case?”
“Judge Maple took your advice. And the advice of someone fairly high up in the federal government.” Ozzie shot her a smile. Samantha didn’t return it. “He’s holding the Basilisks without bail.”
“And so the kidnapping charge? The assault charges?” Samantha demanded.
Ozzie ran a hand through his hair again. “The government will likely go after the Basilisk MC as a whole on the illegal weapons deal. That’ll trump any local charges. I’d say chances are good you’ll never see the inside of a courtroom. I’m sorry, Samantha. I know you probably wanted to face down the men who took you, but—”
“I don’t need to face down anyone,” she declared, her expression fierce. “I just want to make sure they all rot in an eight-by-ten for what they’ve done to me, to Marcel, and every innocent kid who died on the streets from a bullet fired from one of their weapons.”
“At this point, given all the players involved and the fact that the U.S. government doesn’t take kindly to outlaw biker gangs stealing its weapons and selling them on the black market, rotting in eight-by-tens is pretty much a foregone conclusion.”
“Good.” She nodded vehemently. Her eyes darted across the conference table as she worked through all the ins and outs. “And Raheem?”
