Page 70 of Blind Trust
Kekoa rolled his eyes. “Using the airport cameras, I tracked her to a women’s restroom near the baggage claim.” He let out a sigh, and Nic could see he was trying to hide his frustration. Lyla didn’t make it easy to disappoint, and Kekoa didn’t like to disappoint. “Four domestic and two international flights arrived within minutes of each other. There were at least several hundred people, women who went into the same bathroom. I never saw R.D. come out, or if she did, she didn’t look the way she did when she entered. I’ve got my program running facial recognition, but—”
“She’s gone.” Lyla blew out a breath. “She knows you’re good, Kekoa, and she was ready.”
“It’s not over, sis.” Kekoa pulled his shoulder-length curls back into a man bun that always made Nic cringe. “She has no idea who she’s messing with. I’ll find her.”
“Maybe we don’t,” Nic said, and both Lyla and Kekoa frowned at him. “I know R.D. probably thought she was helping, and she did give us new information, but based on the trouble she went to, knowing we’d be watching, I think we have good reason to let her hide—for now.”
“I hope your suggestion means you have something on our Duke of Death.” Hope lingered in Lyla’s eyes and voice.
“Nothing says good morning better than Duke of Death.” Jack walked in. “I take it that’s not the name of Lyla’s newest coffee creation.”
Lyla speared him with a glance. “Okay, you know what, no more fancy coffee for you.”
Kekoa flicked a piece of chocolate across the table, and Lyla caught it with a quick hand. She unwrapped it and eyed Jack, who cautiously took his seat. “You’re on warning, Hudson.”
“Noted.” Jack looked between Nic and Kekoa, clearly confused as to what was happening. “Is the Duke of Death Lyla’s latest date or—” A piece of chocolate flew at Jack’s head, and he ducked before smiling at Lyla. “Nice aim, but you’re too slow, Fox.”
Nic gave a soft chuckle, joining Lyla and Kekoa, and it made him appreciate the friendship rather than envy it. If he left, he knew they’d be okay. He swallowed. If he left, he’d miss this.
“Baron of Death,” Nic corrected as he tapped a few keys, giving his laptop access to the overhead screens. “The man the Irish call Barún an bháis is Narek Grigoryan. Armenian-Syrian, he was born and raised in Istanbul, where he joined the French Army out of school. There he became proficient in weaponry. Once he left the military, he married and moved to Lebanon, where he used his knowledge to procure weapons and sell them to militias in Eastern Europe. He was arrested by the United States for illegal arms deals during the Iran-Iraq War and Lebanese Civil War, and for arming smaller revolutions in other countries.”
“Is he connected to our gunrunner in Florida?” Jack looked at the names listed on the acrylic board. “Roger Colthorpe?”
“Nothing directly connects him,” Nic answered. “However, just like Colthorpe, after Grigoryan was arrested, he started claiming top American officials were involved in the transactions and was suddenly released and began workingwiththe CIA. But a man like that is loyal to only one thing—money. I guess the CIA didn’t pay enough, because it didn’t take long before he opened operations in Jordan and France until he was arrested for bank fraud.” At this Nic raised a brow to Lyla. “Want to guess who he banked with?”
“Zane Investments.” Lyla stated it as fact.
Nic nodded. “I also found this article from theIrish Independent. An Irish man identifying himself as Michael O’Sullivan claims he tipped off British and American intelligence agencies to Narek Grigoryan’s role in supplying weapons to the Real IRA. O’Sullivan was a member of the Official Irish Republican Army but later became an informant until his identity was exposedshortly after he identified IRA leader Eamon Flannery. He’s fled Belfast, fearing for his safety, and he blames the US Secret Service and British police for failing to protect him.”
“Wait.” Lyla frowned. “Why would the Secret Service be involved?”
“I might have the answer to that.” Kekoa popped his knuckles. “I did some further digging into Roger Colthorpe. The weapons he was smuggling into Ireland were connected to the bombing in Omagh, and an arrest was made a few years after. When Eamon Flannery was arrested, they found him in possession of a package containing supernotes that he had smuggled in from Moscow.”
“I’m sorry,” Lyla said. “What are supernotes?”
“They’re fake one-hundred-dollar bills that are so perfect even Secret Service experts have a hard time telling the fake ones from the real ones.”
Nic stared at Jack, waiting for him to continue, but all he got was a tight-lipped side glance. Weird. Was this why Jack was meeting with the Secret Service? It didn’t look like this information was entirely new to him.
“Right.” Kekoa pulled up another article. “R.D. Leto wrote this article about an incident in London a few weeks after the bombing. Apparently a deal was made to deliver a cache of weapons to a member of the Real IRA, but supernotes were used and the deal went south, ending with a shoot-out that killed two members of the Real IRA. Rònán O’Hagan and Connor Murphy. Read the last line of the article.”
Nic gestured for Lyla to read it aloud.
“Though no one from Britain’s Security Service or American Central Intelligence Agency will confirm, rumours continue to circulate that Connor Murphy may have been a member of American intelligence and defected to the Real IRA before being killed.” Lyla swung her gaze to Jack. “Do you think Brynn can help us find out if Connor Murphy was in the CIA?”
“I wouldn’t count on it.” Jack pushed back in his chair. “Trueor not, the CIA isn’t going to reveal the identity of one of their officers.”
“Even if they defected?” Lyla asked. “Or died?”
“Yes, Lyla, even then.” Jack’s tone shifted, and he stood. “I think we need to hold off on moving forward on this information until we pass it by Walsh.”
Nic studied Jack. It wasn’t like him to pull the reins on an assignment. He was usually the first to suggest they keep digging so they’d have all the information needed to present to Walsh.
“Hold off?” Lyla looked as confused as Nic was by Jack’s decision. “We need to move forward. We should get to Florida and talk with Roger Colthorpe before he suddenly disappears like Ammar El-Din. And if Brynn can’t give us information about Connor Murphy, maybe she can help us reach out to Eamon Flannery or this Baron of Death guy.”
“Lyla—”
“Jack.” Her voice was hoarse. “All these men claim someone in the United States has been orchestrating a gun-smuggling and counterfeiting scheme that may be connected to Jerry’s death, or at the very least to Genevieve’s death, which has led to the threat against me.Nicolásand I were attacked. It’s put my own family in danger. We can’t hold off.”
