Chapter 11 #2
He had said nothing of his familiarity with his attacker’s words to Donovan.
Before he could act on what he had recalled, he needed time to turn things over in his head.
Closing his eyes, he thought back to that day with the clinical eyes of a criminal profiler.
He called on his every sense, trying to recall what he had heard and smelled and felt.
When he reached for the memories, the sharp burn of the knife puncturing skin and muscle always greeted him first. Then the smell of blood.
It had taken him months to remember where the bruise in the center of his chest had come from, the futility of fighting against that crushing force.
The UNSUB had been strong; as strong as the man who had attacked him last night.
He had whispered those same eerie words.
Blood and breath.
It was one thing he had remembered beyond the searing pain of the knife piercing between his ribs.
Blood and breath.
He had been so awash in his grief, he hadn’t stopped to think those words had meant anything.
The UNSUB was exactly what Mateo had made of him.
Narcissistic. Calculating. Sadistic. No one could figure out how the man had sniffed out Mateo’s involvement in the case.
No one could identify him. Ultimately, the forensic evidence from the scene proved fruitless.
The only blood collected from the scene had been his and Mari’s.
Mateo made quick work of washing and grooming himself.
He scrubbed the taste of old Scotch out of his mouth, used his clippers to slough off his stubble, and forced himself into a clean suit.
He left off the tie, in no mood to wrestle with a knot after the night he’d had.
There was just enough time to shoot the photo and video files off to Carlisle before he was out the door, his thoughts writhing over and around each other like a nest of snakes.
He arrived at 7:01 to find that his attention would be the most coveted possession of the day. Williams, Smith, Darcy, and Donovan all descended on him at once, talking over each other to be heard.
Mateo held up a hand to silence them, then snatched his coffee from Donovan. They waited impatiently while he took a long sip and then sighed.
“One at a time,” he grumbled. “Darcy, go.”
“Good news and bad news,” she said, thrusting a fresh set of files at him.
She looked like she hadn’t slept the night before and smelled distinctly of coffee and ramen.
“Bad news first … I’m working every source at my disposal, but I still haven’t been able to identify the owner of Valemont Holdings.
The company is registered under a trust that loops through a foreign shell company in the British Virgin Islands, which lists the fake name, Jonathan Blake, as the owner.
Even the IP addresses I traced wound through encrypted, anonymous VPN chains and burner domains. Whoever this guy is, he’s a ghost.”
“Keep digging,” Mateo replied. “Look into any connections to Berenger Warehouse. Check into the financials, specifically looking for suspicious payments or invoices. Run every lead into the ground. We need to know who this guy is.”
“Aye, aye, Cap’n. Now for the good news.
I added the code from those crates—BAZ-024—to my dark web sweep and found something in a Tor forum.
In a discussion of esoteric religious philosophy and drug-induced transcendence, I picked up on mentions of ‘the breath’ and ‘Azrael’s Gate’.
They seem to be speaking in code, so I can’t make sense of much.
Only references of worthiness and ascending through ritual fire. ”
Mateo met Donovan’s gaze. The agent gave him a slow nod as if they shared the same thought.
“Link your search for the owner of Valemont to the BAZ-024 code. Look specifically into customs records, shipping manifests, logistics databases … anything that might tie Valemont or Gulf Atlantic Freight to this. Last night, I found what I think is a delivery device for this BAZ-024. Some kind of drug that reduces pain response and increases physical strength. The man who attacked me last night huffed it right before.”
Darcy swiveled in her chair. “Check records and manifests to see if Morrison and the Valemont Ghost are running drugs as well as women. Got it.”
“And the other thing I asked you to look into?”
He gave Darcy a warning look before she could speak, hoping she would remember that his last request to her had been on a need-to-know basis.
“Still working on it, Boss. Should have something for you this afternoon.”
“Fine. Donovan?”
“Heading out to take the inhaler for testing as soon as we wrap up here. I know a guy at the regional crime lab, and he owes me a favor. Testing will be discreet with a 12 to 24-hour timeline.”
“Go now. I want the results the second you get them.”
“You got it.”
“Jones!”
Jones was the only agent who hadn’t swarmed him the second he’d stepped through the door. He sat in a corner of the room, shoveling donut holes into his mouth from the baker’s box resting on his lap. He snapped upright at the sound of his name.
“Sir?”
“There was a mention of ‘the NOLA house’ on the wiretap last night. It’s where the women are being stashed and prepped for transport out of the city.
Find it. Start by cross-referencing known brothel busts, city complaints, and anonymous reports within the last six months.
Look for addresses connected to shell companies or cash-only real estate purchases linked to Valemont Holdings.
If you find a house with signs of heavy foot traffic and dark-windowed vans making frequent stops—flag it. ”
Jones was already on his feet, polishing off his last donut hole before tossing the box into the nearby trash can. “Consider it done.”
Smith was up next. “I shadowed the prick with the tattoo last night. He stayed for the entire night and left pissy drunk with a couple of friends to crash at a house a few miles from the club. I don’t think it’s his place, though. Just a flop house. He’s there now, sleeping it off.”
“Stay on him but don’t engage. Photo surveillance only. Until we see him doing something that could be construed as a crime, our hands are tied. But keep me updated on his movements.”
“And what’s Carlisle going to say to that?”
Mateo rolled his eyes. “Carlisle is my problem. Follow tattoo guy and keep me posted.”
He turned to Williams last. She had been watching him in silence this entire time, her dark eyes sharp and assessing. She was dying to say something; Mateo could feel it.
“What?”
She sighed. “How long have we worked together, Sir?”
Mateo quickly did the math in his head. “Nine years. Why?”
“I’ve questioned your methods and your reasoning a lot over those years.”
“No one does it like you, Williams.”
Williams raised an eyebrow. “And yet you keep me around.”
He couldn’t help a half-smile at that. “You’re the conscience of this team. And I’m arrogant and set in my ways. I need someone to call me out on my bullshit sometimes.”
“Right now, for instance.”
Mateo snorted. “First Donovan, now you.”
Williams straightened and squared her shoulders with impressive rigidity. Mateo had always been of the opinion that she would have made one hell of a soldier. “I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t respect you, Sir.”
“That’s always been obvious.”
Her gaze softened, becoming earnest. “Just watch your step going forward. Carlisle called me after she talked to you last night. She’s concerned that you’re too close to this. Your emotions are causing you to act recklessly. It’s not like you to go rogue, and we need you on this team, Sir.”
“Snapping a few pictures hardly qualifies as going rogue.”
“Maybe not, but it’s a slippery slope. I get it, okay? I was on the scene when SWAT arrived at your house. I saw Mari’s body. I saw your blood on the bathroom tiles. I was there when you woke up in the hospital and were forced to confront the loss of everything you love.”
Mateo rubbed a hand against his chest, which was suddenly tight. “Your point, Williams?”
“We all understand how badly you want this guy. And you, and Mari, and Angelica deserve justice. Those women, too … no matter their background, they deserve justice. But if you aren’t careful, you will lose your chance to deliver that justice.
Protocol says it’s not supposed to be you, but it is.
If you want it to continue being you, get your head in the game. Respectfully, Sir.”
Mateo wanted to be irritated with Williams but found he didn’t have the energy.
It was simply her way. Of everyone on the team, she was the most dedicated to the rules, more than Mateo had ever been.
She came from a family of law enforcement officers and government officials and believed wholeheartedly in the pursuit of justice.
Mateo had once seen himself in her, but now found they were nothing alike.
Justice. A word heavy with meaning. The pursuit of it had been his life’s work in some form or another.
But he couldn’t believe in it anymore, couldn’t bring himself to cling to those old ideals.
What he wanted was darker than justice. It was more permanent.
It involved the rending of flesh and the spilling of blood and the breaking of bones.
“I hear you,” he said absently, rubbing at his tired eyes.
“I have a job for you, too. I need you to review all the wiretap recordings from last night. And I need you on that surveillance every night for the foreseeable future. I want to know what’s being discussed in VIP.
Listen for any mentions of the NOLA house and the transport of the women and drugs.
Pay particular attention to conversations involving Suede, Wilson, or Morrison.
Document and timestamp everything and report directly to me with your findings.
We need something that will convince the brass to allow a court order for back-room access. ”
“On it, Sir.”
Mateo sank into the nearest chair as she walked away.
Fatigue sapped the strength from his limbs, and the pounding in his head eased itself to a dull throb.
His injured shoulder ached and the fingers of the hand on that side had gone slightly numb.
He sucked down his café au lait, mournfully eyeing Jones’s empty baker’s box sticking out of the top of the trash.
He should have told Donovan to bring him something to eat, as well.
He couldn’t remember his last proper meal.
His work phone vibrated in his pocket, and he retrieved it to find Carlisle’s name on the screen.
“Here we fucking go,” he muttered before answering. “Garcia.”