Chapter 7
Shana was surprised that Dane assigned her to accompany Ryan to the FBI’s Boston office.
In spite of her relatively good standing with the feds, she knew it was hard for him to give up this much control.
After Ryan had made the call, setting up the appointment for this morning, they made ferry reservations.
It was a sunny Wednesday and the city was hot compared to the island.
They had two days until their staged wedding. Until the proverbial shit hit the fan.
The FBI Boston office was an hour and a half drive up from Woods Hole and located in Government Center in a large curved block of retail and office space called Center Plaza on Cambridge Street.
She double-parked Dane’s notorious Jeep out front to make sure the Homeland Security detail knew exactly where she was.
They’d been following her all morning. Same as Max’s people.
They’d all crossed the water on the same ferry from Martha’s Vineyard to Woods Hole.
“There’s no way Max doesn’t know his men are being followed by law enforcement,” Ryan said. He walked shoulder to shoulder with Shana to the escalator that would take them to the courthouse plaza and the back door to the FBI offices.
Shana shrugged. Dane had said not to worry, but her jaw clenched. She managed to maintain a casual air.
“This is not a clandestine trip,” she said. They’d advertised their journey the entire way. It was aimed at pissing off Max so he would turn the screws, and aimed at Homeland Security so they’d have to behave in a cooperative manner with the FBI watching over their shoulders.
“Not that I mind,” Ryan said, “but I think this move will force Max and Sal to shut down their operation here and go find someone else to source the arms.”
“Probably,” Shana said.
“Then the feds are going to hate us.”
“Probably. But Dane is betting Max and Sal, will want revenge. They’ll do something stupid to get back at Toly. They’ll go outside of the lines in a big way and we’ll be waiting for them and then we’ll have them—rather the feds will have them.”
Once inside the bland, unmarked lobby, they stepped inside the elevator and pressed the only button available.
It would take them to the public reception area on the third floor.
Of course the surveillance cameras in the lobby had announced their arrival and Shana had no doubt they’d be met in the reception area by any one of a number of Special Agents who she and Dane were acquainted with—hopefully one of the two who wanted to date her.
Quietly regulating her breathing to calm the adrenaline-induced racing of her heart, Shana stood still for the endless elevator ride.
She was sure the feds had a way to purposely slow it down whenever they had uninvited guests to give them time to scrutinize and scramble.
When it slowed to a stop, she stretched her spine and stood as tall as she’d ever been and lifted her chin.
Resisting the urge to put her hands on her hips as the doors slid open, she stepped in front of Ryan on the elevator’s threshold for a quick survey of her opponents before jumping into the fray.
Front and center stood Assistant Special Agent in Charge—or as he was commonly referred to, ASAC Mark Richards.
He wasn’t smiling but Shana stepped off the elevator anyway and into the gray-walled reception area with Ryan Murphy on her seven.
“Hello, Mark.” Neither of them bothered extending their hand for a shake. Richards deepened his frown.
“What the hell are you into?” He nodded in Ryan’s direction and said, “What the hell is Ryan Murphy doing here?”
“You know Mr. Murphy?”
“I’m aware of his impending marriage to the granddaughter of the notorious Anatoly Ivanov.”
Ryan said, “I’m flattered.” Shana was partly proud and partly cringing at Ryan’s brave sarcasm.
“We keep tabs on Ivanov. We’re not idiots. Apparently Murphy here is—”
“We have some intel for you,” Shana interrupted in a tense voice tipped with friendliness. She may have been wrong, but she thought Richards was about to call Ryan an idiot and this was no time to test Ryan’s ability to roll with the punches. Not yet.
The ASAC stared at her for a beat with his features finally schooled. He was a hothead, or as much a hothead as the FBI had on their payroll. Shana figured this was his Achilles heel and she would play it.
“My office. Both of you. For now.” He turned and marched down the hall.
Shana followed in long elegant strides, not forgetting that she was being watched by numerous special agents and not forgetting that she must always play her advantages to her advantage—whatever they were.
Ryan kept up with her and stayed out of the way.
They reached his office and Mark Richards stood behind his desk with his hands on his hips and a troubled mask on his face. Shana let Ryan go in ahead of her. He took a seat. She remained standing. Two could play.
She told them the part of the story Dane had told her to tell—leaving out any reference to Acer and Cap and playing up Toly’s refusal to cooperate with Max the Ax and the ensuing threat.
Ryan said, “I received a similar package with instructions to share it with my future father-in-law.”
“So that’s why you’re here—you’re the sacrificial lamb for Ivanov.”
She didn’t mention the Homeland Security connection. Dane wanted her to save that for him to impart. Dane had been sure they would call him in.
Richards switched his attention back to Shana.
“Where’s Blaise? Why isn’t he here? He sending you to do his dirty work now?”
Before Shana could respond, the office door banged open and two black-suited men holding badges barged in. Richards came out from behind his desk, pushing Shana aside, to meet the two men. The ASAC wore a grimace halfway between scared and resentful. These two had to be from Homeland Security.
“Agent Trevor Croft, Homeland Security,” the less beefy man said. He nodded in the direction of his larger and younger partner and said, “Agent Hank Tims.”
“What the hell are you doing barging in—”
“You’ve got our marks.”
“The hell you say.”
Shana inserted herself then. She had far too much experience diffusing macho testosterone-based pissing contests in her life, beginning with the birth of her second brother.
“Before you decide to take it out back behind the school, boys, let me remind you I’m no one’s mark.”
The three men turned to her. Then in a telling mistake, the Homeland Security agent introduced as Hank Tims reached out and clutched her arm.
Before he had a good grip, she tore his hand away and pressed her thumb into the most painfully vulnerable spot on a man’s hand.
The move was lightening quick. She’d been the best student in her Krav Maga class because she’d been the quickest. Tims shrieked before he realized it, before he thought to respond in any other way.
His partner, Croft, the level-headed one, took hold of Tims and Shana let go.
She stepped back and to his credit, Mark Richards stepped up between her and the two Homeland Security agents.
Ryan jumped to his feet and stood by Shana’s side.
She felt him vibrating, but she didn’t know if it was fear or anger.
“Let’s have a civil discussion,” Richards said.
Tims collected himself. Rubbing his hand, he dipped his head in acknowledgment, but didn’t meet Shana’s eyes.
Croft said, “We’re in the middle of an operation involving an arms deal. We think Anatoly Ivanov is the supplier and Murphy and his firm are fronting. Now Beachcomber Investigations are involved.”
“You don’t have all the facts,” Shana said.
The ASAC glared at Shana and didn’t know if he was grateful or angry for being thrown into a Homeland Security operation.
“Where the hell is Dane Blaise?” Croft said.
“That’s what I want to know,” the ASAC said. They both glared at Shana.
“He’s where he always is.” She turned to Trevor Croft and said, “You ought to know.” That was enough of a message for the ASAC to confirm that Homeland Security was following them, but not a hundred percent successful at it.
Richards picked up his phone and asked for the SAC pronto. That got Shana’s heart beat racing.
Croft said, “I don’t care who you bring in, Richards.
This case is ours.” He turned to Shana, “What the hell kind of game is your boyfriend playing sending you here?” Shana’s first instinct was to slap him.
She fisted her slapping hand until her nails dug into her flesh and told herself not to punch him either. She said nothing.
“I’m calling him in.”
“That’s what I was about to do,” Richards said. “We can send a copter.” The FBI ASAC lifted the phone again.
“Don’t bother. I already have a copter on the way,” Croft said. “But this is your lucky day. We’ll bring him here for the party. We’ll need your special conference room for our interrogation.”
“Not without me and my interrogators.”
The Special Agent in Charge of the FBI’s Boston office, Owen Evans, walked into the office then.
“We have company,” Dane said looking out the window into his back yard where a late model EC120B helicopter lowered and hovered close to the water, barely missing some treetops.
“Who do we have?” Acer asked, looking over his shoulder.
“If I had to guess, I’d say it was Homeland Security. It’s a new and sleek model—too stylish for the FBI. And too expensive. Homeland Security has a bigger budget than the FBI these days.”
“Damn. What—”
“Head for the basement,” Dane said in clipped words as he watched two armed men jump from the copter and head for his back door. “Looks like I’ll be going for a ride.”
He cooperated with the two men and went out the back door before they came inside. He got on board the copter with a minimum of shoving, but he didn’t say a word to either of the men. They weren’t the interrogators.
It was a short ride, under a half hour, to the roof of the FBI building.
Dane was escorted to the elevator where they went down to the third floor and straight to the special conference room.
He’d been there before. He was pulled in on either side by his escorts as if he were a high value prisoner ready to escape instead of a highly decorated ex-special operations soldier in the US Army.
It burned, but not as much as the pounding worry about where Shana was and how she was.
He found out immediately once he got through the door and it closed behind him.
“Crowded party,” he said. The SAC, the ASAC, and two FBI agents, one of whom he recognized as a fan of Shana’s, stood on one side of the room.
Shana sat at the table with Ryan. On the other side of the room were two strangers he pegged for Homeland Security agents.
He didn’t know them and they had no identifying marks, but it was a good guess based on the black suits and the game faces.
He could play their game. His first goal was to get Shana out of there—free and clear.
“Glad you could join us,” Richards said. His smirk was faint, but Dane saw it. “We have some questions for you. Take a seat.”
“Aren’t you going to introduce me?” Dane gestured toward the two men at the table with Shana and Ryan.
One of his escorts shoved him toward the seat at one end of the table. Dane didn’t budge any further than that one step.
Owen Evans, the SAC, decided to take control. He said, “This is Agent Trevor Croft and Agent Hank Tims. They’re with Homeland Security. But I think you already knew that.” He darted an accusing look at Dane.
This was a signal that it was time to take off the gloves, the mask and whatever else and stop playing games. Or start playing for real. The SAC was a smart man. He knew Dane had set him up and he was a man who liked to cut to the chase. Dane was all about cutting to the chase.
He said, “I’m not answering any questions until Shana is safe at home.”