“You didn’t keep me posted like I asked,” he went on.
My brain kicked into gear. “Mr. Secretary, it’s been non-stop.”
“So I hear,” he replied. “Philippe has given me the headlines.”
But Duval only knew part of the story.
“Jack, please cut the Mr. Secretary crap and remember what we’ve been through together. Let me know what’s going on. And if you need help, I want you to pick up the phone. I can’t speak for you, but I consider us friends.”
“Thank you, Mr. ...” I caught myself. “Sorry, force of habit. Thank you, Eli. I’ll check with my team and see if there’s anything we need.”
“Good,” he replied. “Now I’ve got to go to post-dinner drinks the Brits have organized. See if we can push this peace deal over the line with some champagne and cocktails.”
I knew from the news that the London summit was on the verge of a breakthrough, and presumed that, as Secretary of Defense, Carver’s job was to project the might of the US military at the negotiating table. The difference between him succeeding or failing to secure a deal was the difference between lasting peace or chaos in Europe.
“Good luck,” I said.
“You too,” he replied before hanging up.
“Carver?” Sci asked.
I nodded. “He’s putting himself at our disposal. If there’s anything we need from him, we just have to ask.”
“We should send the images and footage from the convenience-store camera. See if the NSA can identify them,” Sci suggested.
“Yeah. Let’s talk to Mo. See if there’s anything else she needs,” I replied.
I was careful not to exploit my connection to the US Defense Secretary, but if he wanted to get involved, I wouldn’t pass up the offer of support from the most capable intelligence apparatus in the world. I would do whatever it took to get Justine back because I suspected the people who’d taken her had violent endings planned for us both.
Chapter 21
Mo-bot was deep in concentration when Sci and I returned to the hotel. She was comparing a still from the convenience-store footage to a mugshot. She held a deep-fried chicken wing and was nibbling on it absently. When she realized we’d entered the suite, she used the wing to gesture at a room-service tray laden with food.
“I wasn’t sure how long you’d be so I went ahead and ordered for you,” she said. “It should still be warm.”
Sci put down his holdall and went to the bathroom to wash his hands. I pulled up a chair next to Mo-bot, who’d connected her laptops to the large flat-panel screen hanging on the wall opposite. Her eyes were ringed with dark shadows, and she exuded tiredness, but I knew her well enough not to bother advising her to rest. She was obstinate and pushed through exhaustion whenever she was working a case. She’d do anything for Justine, who couldn’t have mattered more to her if she’d been a flesh and blood daughter.
“What have you got?” I asked, drawing closer.
“Dinara Orlova ran the stills through a contact in Moscow and got a possible match.” Mo-bot gestured to the mugshot on the big screen, which showed a man with a stubbled head who looked like the driver of the white van outside the hotel.
“It’s him,” Sci said, picking up a chicken wing from the basket on the food tray. “Fried food? It’s almost like being back at home.”
He took a bite of the chicken.
“I asked for tastes of America,” Mo-bot replied. “The waiter actually tutted when I placed the order, but I told him I wanted fried chicken, burgers, pizza.”
“I think pizza is Italian,” Sci scoffed.
“How do you know it’s him?” I asked, diverting them back to the job. “The image from the surveillance footage isn’t great quality.”
“The shape of the nose, mouth, but mostly it’s the eyes,” Sci replied. “The eyes always give a person away.”
I took another look at the man and understood what Sci meant.
“According to Russian authorities, his name is Nikolai Oborin,” Mo-bot revealed. “He’s served time for robbery, assault, wounding. Not a nice guy.”
“You think this is linked to what happened in Moscow?” Sci asked.
I sighed. I hoped not. “I don’t know.”
It was an honest answer. I thought I’d finally dealt with the blowback from the Moscow investigation while I was in Beijing, but we’d angered some pretty powerful people, so it wasn’t beyond the realms of possibility.
“Eli Carver has said he’ll give us whatever we need. I thought he was making a throwaway remark when he first suggested it, but he just called again and told me to use him.”
Mo-bot gave a satisfied nod. “Department of Defense has a long reach. It would put our normal capabilities on steroids.”
“Right,” I responded. “Email these details and anything else you want checked out to this address.”
I wrote Carver’s secure DOD email address on a sheet of paper. “And send him a message to let him know what you want.”
“Speaking of what people want, what did they want with you in Nice?” she asked, gesturing at the package in my hands.
I shot Sci a hesitant glance, and he nodded. I wasn’t in the business of keeping secrets from the people I trusted, but I was ashamed of what was in the envelope. Slowly, I took out the resin gun and put it on the table. Mo-bot’s eyes widened when she registered what it was.
“I think they want me to kill someone,” I told her. “The price of Justine’s freedom is someone else’s life.”
Chapter 22
If Mo-bot slept at all, she must have done so during the two hours I shut my eyes. When I woke, she was still at her workstation, seemingly sustained by fragrant herbal teas and grim determination.
Eli Carver had connected her with someone known only as Weaver, whom he referred to euphemistically as a Department of Defense analyst, which meant he was probably running desk intelligence for one of America’s many acronym espionage agencies.
Weaver and Mo-bot traded information and messages, while Sci and I reviewed the huge volume of data submitted by Private offices around the world.
The identification of Nikolai Oborin had opened up numerous avenues of inquiry and additional background on the man himself. Our offices were digging through anything and everything on the Kutsenko Brigade and the Semion Gang, two criminal organizations Oborin had previously been associated with. They were implicated in arms dealing, people smuggling and the international drugs trade, with tentacles on every continent, so we had our work cut out for us.
I’d finally fallen asleep on the couch in their suite a little after 4 a.m. and woke at 6:15 when my alarm sounded.
“I think we might have something,” Mo-bot said, glancing round as I stirred. “Our friend Weaver has access to some pretty neat stuff. He’s got an AI... artificial intelligence—”
I cut her off. “I know what AI is. Thinking computers.”
“Well done,” she said mockingly. “Whoever he works for has access to an AI that can review video footage and lock onto an object or face.”
I sat up and stretched.
“The AI is reviewing traffic-camera footage throughout Monaco on the day of the abduction,” Mo-bot revealed.
“How did we get the footage?” I asked. “Monaco police?”
She shook her head. “Assume the NSA can dip into any machine or network anywhere in the world. If they haven’t purchased a back-door encryption key from the manufacturer or got access through the root chipset, they’ll hack the system.”
I rubbed my face, wondering what would happen when that kind of access was combined with the power of artificial intelligence. I suspected it would mean entire populations could be kept under constant surveillance with AI running real-time threat analysis. But the technology was currently working in my favor and being used to help us find the most important person in my life, so I wasn’t about to complain.