“Damn straight.” Rock nodded to the screen, “Explain the players.”
“We may need Rio to do that.”
“Explain.”
“This one,” Cade pointed to the image in the center of the second row. “Even though the name we have is Zaid Mughniyah, FRED threw us a curveball and matched him to this image here.” He pressed the button to split the screen in half and pulled up an image of Rio with three other men.
“This is the image that was in the file you gave us in Brazil?” Grif studied the screen.
“Yup.”
“This one is Hezbollah,” Rock muttered, “His father, right?”
“Yeah, he was exiled to South America in the seventies.”
“It’s probably an alias then. How does this tie back to what Noble and Zenko found in Syria?” Rock was all for taking out terrorists. However, he had to be able to justify it to POTUS, plus with his and Grif’s bank account in play—he had to cover his own ass too.
“Because of this.” Cade flipped the screens again, back to their bank statement and drew a circle with his laser pointer around a transaction. “This is dated one day before Shaun was taken from his fuel run.”
“Bastards.” The toe of Grif’s biker boot scraped off the floor.
“Your bank account was one of the numbers in the paperwork Noble and Zenko found.”
“You think someone is trying to frame us for some shit?”
“It’s possible.” Cade flipped back to the screen of images, “But this dude, Rio’s father, is at the center, all transactions either originate from or end up in his account.” He waited a beat before adding on, “Or El’ Mencho’s.”
“Fucking fabulous,” Rock’s face twisted into a scowl. “Hezbollah in bed with the cartels, and if I remember correctly, involved in a 9/11 style plot for Diego Garcia in the Indian Ocean.”
“That about sums it up.” Cade watched his boss pace back and forth across the floor. When Rock paused and blew out a breath, Cade held his. He didn’t dare make a sound. Whatever Rock decided, that was going to be a factor in how his own near future worked out.
“Did you check Rio out?” Rock folded his arms across his chest, “Have FRED give an opinion?”
“Yeah,” Cade handed over the reports, all three of them, the one from earlier in the week, when he had found out Rio was living in Mexico, the one from Brazil, and the most recent from today. “But you read it, verify it.” He scrubbed his hand over his hair, “I gotta admit, Boss, I don’t think I can be objective with him as the subject.”
“Yeah,” Rock took the files, “I can see that.”
“He is connected to the CIA?” Grif flipped through the duplicate file Cade handed him.
“Possibly also the DEA.” Cade’s fingers drummed on the desk. “Last month they both claimed him as an informant.” He nodded to the file in Grif’s hand. “In FRED’s most recent report, both claim to have no knowledge of him.”
“They burned him?” Rock frowned. It was unusual for either the CIA or the DEA to completely burn an asset. They liked to keep their options open. With the war on drugs raging in the border states, it didn’t make sense to burn Rio, unless… “They have another asset in place.”
“Probably,” Cade agreed with his boss’s assessment, “But we owe him. CIA records show he is the one who got Axel Shaw’s sister out of El’ Mencho’s reach.”
“Okay.” Rock glanced at Grif, the two men having a silent conversation. Cade refrained from doing a fist bump when Grif nodded and Rock returned it.
“I’ll meet with him tomorrow morning.” Rock said. “Once we are sure none of the analysts are compromised and we get this shit show back on the road.” He glanced around the War - Room. “I’ll call FOB Panther and talk to Krystal Shaw.”
“He can stay?” Cade wanted to clarify. Not that he had asked Rio to stay, but well, now he could. “Have freedom in Dreamland?”
“Yes, Cade,” Grif shoulder-checked him. “You can keep your boyfriend.”
“He’s not a puppy.” Cade muttered. “It’s not like that.”
“If you say so.” Grif nodded at the clock, “Go, take him to your room, have dinner, chill. We’ll finish up here.”
Yeah, Cade wasn’t waiting to be told twice. He shut down the computer in a couple of seconds, then was up the spiral staircase. His feet thumping on the metal of the catwalk didn’t cover Grif’s laughter. But eh, he could worry about that tomorrow.
