“I know who Sam Hector is,” Kidwell said.
“He does millions of dollars’ worth of contracting for Homeland Security. He’ll vouch for me. He’s a longtime friend.”
“You’re right, Homeland Security does a great deal of business with Mr. Hector. So if I call him, and tell him to drop you as a consultant, he will.” Kidwell glanced at Vochek. “Joanna, get Mr. Hector’s number for me. We’ll call him on Ben’s own phone.”
“I think we could learn more by asking Ben…”
“Do as I ask, please.”
“Yes… sir.” She started to navigate through the numbers on Ben’s smartphone, a frown on her face.
“Your biggest client, you’re going to lose him, Ben. I promise Hector will pick us over you. Tell me about your meeting with Adam.”
“If I could help you I would. God knows I would.” A hot tickle caught in Ben’s throat.
“I’m going to call every firm that contracts with Homeland Security and tell them you’re under suspicion of consorting with a known terrorist. You’ll be blackballed. You’ll never work in this business again.”
“I can’t tell you what I don’t know.”
“I’m also going to freeze your bank accounts. Your savings accounts. You won’t be able to pay your bills. Pay your mortgage.” Kidwell crossed his arms. “You’ll be out on the street. You have a girlfriend?”
“No.” Emily’s face swam up in front of him and he blinked.
“I’m going to find someone you love. Someone you care about. Lover, aunt, uncle, neighbor, college roommate, best friend. I’m going to freeze their accounts as well.”
Rage flooded Ben, surged past the fear he felt. “You can’t. Absolutely you cannot.”
“Whatever I do, it will be on your head.” Kidwell raised his hands in mock surrender.
Ben turned to Vochek. “You seem reasonable, Agent Vochek. Please. You can’t endorse what he’s doing.”
“I don’t endorse what you’re doing, Ben, which is stonewalling us. Tell him what he wants to know.” She held the phone out to Kidwell. “I found Sam Hector’s number. Are we calling him?”
Kidwell smiled. “Are we, Ben?”
Ben swallowed. “I’d like to know if there’s any other evidence against me.”
Kidwell stopped his pacing and pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket. “You have three other cellular accounts.”
“No.” Ben shook his head.
Kidwell read off three numbers, all with 512 area codes in Austin. “Those aren’t my phone numbers.”
“They were opened in your name a week ago.”
“Tell me which branch opened the accounts. I want someone to ID me as the guy who conducted the transaction.”
“You rented office space last week, off North Lamar.” Kidwell read an address off the paper.
“Wrong.”
“The office was rented through an agent. Sparta Consulting.”
“Never heard of them. I never hired an agent. Maybe this is a case of identity theft.”
Vochek said, “People who steal IDs buy TVs and golf clubs and diamond rings, not rent office space.”
“Does your report tell you I have new credit card accounts, too?”
Kidwell nodded. “Three. In the past week.”
“Great. Examine my credit history. I don’t open new accounts. I have one credit card I’ve had for six years, and I pay it off each month.” He looked again at Vochek. “I have no motive for wanting Reynolds dead.”
“Talk to me, not her,” Kidwell said.
“Talking to you is like talking to brick.”
A dark scowl crossed Kidwell’s face.
“Do any of these new phone numbers point to Adam Reynolds or Nicky Lynch?” Ben asked. He had to keep them, he thought, on the defensive, force them to acknowledge a weakness in their case. Because they were wrong.
To Kidwell, Vochek said, “We just got the records faxed over to us. Adam Reynolds only made calls today to Ben’s new cell number and home, to your office in Houston, and several calls to a number in Dallas.” Vochek showed Kidwell two printouts. “Ben’s new cell phone number has several calls to Reynolds’s office.”
“Fantastic,” Ben said. “I want to know the time of all those calls I supposedly made. Because I’m betting I can prove I didn’t make them.” Vochek started to bring him the sheets and Kidwell stopped her.
“No. Show him nothing.”
Ben spoke to Vochek, meeting her gaze with his own. “Before you start threatening me or bullying my clients, you better check your evidence more closely. You better have it be watertight. Because Sam Hector’s a mover-and-shaker in DC, and I doubt you want to be accusing his friends. Especially me. I helped make him a wealthy man. A powerful man.”
Kidwell’s lips went tight. Ben wanted the heat of the exchange to pass; he wanted to let Kidwell save face, for his own sake.
“May I please go to the bathroom?” Ben said. Kidwell switched off the recorder and nodded his assent, as if he welcomed a few minutes of quiet thought.
Vochek escorted him down the hall. Ben washed his face twice, cleaning the blood from his nose. The ache faded to a dull throb. At least it wasn’t broken. He went back out into the hallway. Vochek stood with arms crossed.
“Is this when you pretend to be the good cop?”
“No.”
“You can’t be worse than Kidwell. You know he’s breaking the law in how he’s dealing with me. I can’t imagine this is how Homeland Security operates. I know too many good and dedicated people who work there to believe Kidwell’s typical.” He shook his head. “Office of Strategic Initiatives. I don’t recall ever seeing that name on a Homeland org chart. Who exactly are you people?”
She crossed her arms.
“Fine, you won’t tell me. Why should I help you?”
“To help yourself.”
“You’ve got it backwards. I’m owed basic rights as a citizen, I’m presumed innocent,” he said. “Until I get counsel I’m unsure why I should help Kidwell steamroll me.” He shook his head. “I thought I could reason with you. I saw how you looked at him when he went nuclear on me.”
“Ben…” But she went silent and Ben walked away from her. They went back into the room.
“Sit your ass down,” Kidwell said.
Ben sat. He looked again at Vochek, who lingered in the doorway.
“I’ll check what you say. But you consider what’s going to happen to you if you’ve lied to me. Think long and hard about it, Ben. Knock on the door if there’s anything else you want to share to save us time.”
Kidwell got up and turned out the lights and walked out. Vochek gave Ben a backward glance. The door clanged shut behind them, killing the soft envelope of light from the hallway, and Ben sat in total darkness.
"He’s soft,” Kidwell said as Vochek sat down at the laptop. “He’ll do exactly what we expect. Deny, plead for a lawyer, but when he gets confronted with more evidence, he’ll crack.”
“I’m not so sure,” she said.
“Why?”
“Here’s the hole in all this mess. Ben strikes me as an intelligent guy, and he barely tried to cover his tracks.”
“People are idiots. Or so arrogant they think they won’t get caught,” Kidwell said. “I want to find every link between him and Adam Reynolds. Find this Sparta Consulting that rented the office for him, see how Forsberg’s tied to it. I want to know everything Forsberg’s done or bought or who he’s talked to in the past few days.”
She opened her laptop, saw a new e-mail from their office in Houston titled “FORSBERG REPORT.” She opened it and scanned it and said, “Norman. Read this.” Her throat went dry.
Norman Kidwell leaned close, read the e-mail, and smiled. “Goodness. Mr. Innocent here left out a key detail.”
6
The kidnappers’ van suddenly powered into high speed along FM Road 2222, a winding snake of pavement cut into the side of limestone cliffs.
They spotted me, Pilgrim knew.
The van dipped and wove through traffic, rocketing along the curving road.
Pilgrim stayed with them, whipping around a minivan and a Porsche to narrow his distance from the van. The kidnappers had not waited to see how their compatriots had fared after the barrage of gunshots at the lake house. Which meant they either assumed Pilgrim was a dead man or they had orders not to look back. Getting Teach away must be their priority.