Page 56 of Blind Trust
Nic’s jaw tightened. His short time in the military had exposed him to a handful of situations in which military-grade weapons had landed in the wrong hands. There were always rumors or theories about how it happened that seemed to revolve around the “enemy of our enemy is our friend” proverb, but that didn’t sit well with him. “Whichpieces are fact?”
“Roger Colthorpe does live in Florida. He was a financial advisor.And...” Kekoa hesitated. “I pulled some records from certain departments that indicate Mr. Colthorpe was given immunity from the US for information about those involved in the gunrunning.”
“Which part of that is theory?”
Kekoa looked at Lyla. “He claims the United States paid him to run the guns into Ireland but doesn’t have a name or proof.”
“Or won’t give it.” Nic leaned his elbows on the table, reading the article again. “Wait.” He sat back. “The Police Service of Northern Ireland reopened this investigation ten years ago. How is this connected to our case now?”
“Thank you for asking.” Kekoa typed again. “Brynn helped me with this. The PSNI was able to connect the weapons Mr. Colthorpe smuggled in with weapons used by the Real Irish Republican Army, a paramilitary group focused on ending British rule in Northern Ireland. They used terrorist methods to attack British military and Irish police forces, killing almost two thousand people.”
“And Mr. Colthorpe claims America is behind arming this terrorist group?” Lyla’s skepticism matched what Nic was feeling.
“Not in those exact words. According to this article and the theory of the author, Mr. Colthorpe was paid to smuggle the weapons into the country but denies knowing who they were going to. Says he was paid in US dollars. Dollars”—Kekoa raised his brows—“that were bogus.”
Nic locked eyes with Kekoa. “From Ammar El-Din?”
Kekoa smiled. “One and the same.”
“Okay.” Lyla pushed out of her seat and began pacing. She wrapped her long hair up in her hand and twisted it into a bun. “So, we have a gunrunner in Florida who took guns to a terrorist group in Ireland and was paid with fake cash by Ammar El-Din, who also claimed he was moving money for the US and gave Jerry’s name to the journalist who interviewed him. Now Jerry’s dead. Is that where we’re at now?”
“Oh, you’re about to lose your mind at what I’m going to tell you next.”
Nic blew out a breath. “Do you need a spotlight?”
Kekoa raised a dark brow. “Do you have one?”
Lyla stifled a giggle. “Keep going, Kekoa.”
“Okay, so when I dug into these articles, I came across another one printed in Veritas Esquire, an investigative column in theLondon Telegraph.” Kekoa pulled up the article: TRUTHBEHINDOMAGH—US INVOLVED. “Pay attention, because this is going to get crazy.”
Nic and Lyla watched as the screens above them split into different images—Ammar El-Din, the article with Roger Colthorpe,and a final one that tightened Nic’s muscles. He easily identified the charred and mangled explosion that had taken out one side of a city street.
“In 1998, there was a bombing in Omagh, Ireland, that killed almost two dozen people who were unintentionally misdirected toward the bomb threat instead of away from it. The Real IRA was behind the attack. According to reports, it might have been prevented except for an intel miscommunication between British, Irish, and US agencies. During the investigation, a cache of US military-grade weapons was found along with large amounts of money—some real, some fake—inside double-layered suitcases similar to the ones discovered at the print houses in Lebanon after Ammar El-Din’s arrest.”
“The same money used to pay the gunrunner in Florida who supplied the material that was used to kill innocent people.” Lyla exhaled. “Do you think Jerry had any idea what the money he was stealing was being used for?”
“Possibly.” Kekoa brushed a curl off his forehead. “With permission from the DOJ and Paterson’s warden, I was able to access Jerry’s prison email account and found two emails of interest. One from Ammar El-Din two months after he was arrested and onetoR.D. Leto. Two weeks before he died.”
“What?” Lyla’s gaze zeroed in on Kekoa. “Who’s R.D. Leto?”
“The journalist behind these articles.”
Lyla pressed her hands on the table. “Please tell me you have his contact information.”
“Well...” Kekoa looked apologetic. “That’s proving to be a bit difficult.”
“Says the man who never fails to remind us that he hacked the NSA.” Lyla smirked, then realized Kekoa wasn’t playing humble. “Wait, you’re serious? You can’t find him?”
“I’m good. Really good.” Kekoa shrugged. “But journalists like this who focus on political and government conspiracy usually live on the left side of paranoia. Their theories, when published, canlead to unwanted attention from law enforcement, particularly if they get a little too close to the truth.”
Nic tipped his chin. “Like these articles.”
“Just like these,” Kekoa agreed. “Their entire lives can be flipped upside down as they’re intimidated to stop investigating, which leads them to go dark and take themselves off the grid for fear of retaliation against them or their families. I wouldn’t be surprised if this R.D. Leto isn’t even the journalist’s real name.”
“So how do we find him?” Lyla said. “He’s the last person to have contact with Jerry that we know of. He may know what Jerry had or why he was killed.”
“Ifhe was killed,” Nic corrected. “Jerry’s death is still ruled a suicide.”
