“If you did, I’d tell you they held mostly magazines. Anything more, and I’d have to meet with my team before I elaborated.”
“I’ll let it go for the time being,” Hutch responded. “But only because the Bureau is making some significant progress of our own. I might be coming back to you on this, though.”
Casey wanted to press him, but her eyelids were starting to droop. “I’m sure you will.”
Hutch rose, ran gentle fingers through her hair. “You’re damned good at evading my questions, even when you’re half out of it and in pain. Enough for now. You get some sleep. I’ll wake you when it’s time to take your meds.”
A hint of a smile curved Casey’s lips. “Or when you decide it’s time for round two.” She yawned. “Don’t expect better results the second time around. G’night.”
Offices of the Zermatt Group
West Seventy-Fifth Street, Seventh Floor
Manhattan, New York
Tuesday, March 21, 7:45 p.m.
Terri sat straight up in her chair, fisting her hands in triumph. “Gotcha,” she announced to Aidan, who’d just wrapped up a call to Simone.
He recognized the tone of Terri’s voice and swiveled around to face her.
“What do you have?”
“With the insights Caitlin shared on Sunday about Scott Security, combined with my own knowledge and tools, I pried open the lid on the dark side of Scott Security’s backup personnel files. I cross-matched the names, time frame, and physical description we’re focusing on.”
“And, clearly, you got a hit.”
“Not a hit. The hit.” Terri angled her computer so Aidan could see it. “Meet Owen Willard, now Milos Popovic. He was scrubbed from the dark side of Scott Security three hours after Shane Walsh’s murder. Just after that, his one-stop flight to Podgorica, Montenegro, departed. It came complete with a new identity and a new bank account. An anonymous source wired ten thousand euros to Popovic’s account that same day.”
“Not much for a paid killer.” Aidan propped his hip on the edge of the desk. “But not a surprise, given he fucked up his assignment. Shane’s dead, but Caitlin is still alive and in hiding. Willard is probably hoping it’s a down payment until he flushes Caitlin out. Well, he can forget about that happening. It’s been too many days, and too many failed attempts. Instead of money, he’ll be getting a visit from Scott’s goons, who’ll fly into Montenegro to take care of him.”
Aidan strode across the room as he spoke. “Do you have Willard’s new address?”
“Of course.”
“Text that and his new ID to Simone. I’m calling her back now.” He grabbed the telephone.
Simone answered on the first ring.
“You missed me, chérie?” she inquired lightly. “It’s only been ten minutes.”
“The situation just got urgent.” Aidan’s voice told her all she needed to know.
“I’m listening.”
Succinctly, Aidan relayed everything Terri had found. “Scott is doubtless in the process of sending men to eliminate Willard, since he’s outlived his usefulness and is now a huge liability instead of an asset. Terri just texted you his new name and address. I need a Tiger Team dispatched there to land before dawn. We need the cover of darkness. Use the Zermatt jet. We’ll be exfiltrating Willard from Montenegro and bringing him back to the US—alive.”
Podgorica, Montenegro
Wednesday, March 22, 3:25 a.m. CET
Owen Willard—now Milos Popovic—paced around the kitchen of his third-floor apartment, swallowing another glass of whiskey—his third in the past hour. Maybe if he drank enough he’d pass out and forget the sense of doom that was knotting his gut.
He’d checked his online bank account twice yesterday and once an hour ago. No new funds had been wired to him. And the two calls he’d made to Scott Security had been interrupted by a computer-generated voice that informed him his call could not be completed as dialed.
What the hell did that mean?
It meant Scott was cutting him off.
