Cold Pursuit (Cold Justice) (Volume 2) (10 page)

“Write out a list of things you or Michael need and I’ll try and bring them by in the morning.” His dark eyes were warm and full of patient concern.

She stepped away. She didn’t want to respond to him this way. She didn’t want to respond to anyone. All she wanted was to go home.

Quickly, she wrote a short list while their protectors discussed how long it would take backup to arrive and the firepower capability on site. Every word made her insides shrivel a little. How foolish to think her life was complicated enough when she’d gotten up that morning. Or even after they’d dragged a panicked little boy from an MRI machine. Her life had been rosy. She’d just been too stupid to understand.

As much as she liked Brennan, as much as she was attracted to him—had been from the moment he’d pulled her to her feet in the crowded mall that morning—she was not about to let him manipulate her into doing something she didn’t want to do.

She turned away without a word. Left them to huddle and plot like the security experts they purported to be. The simple fact was she didn’t trust anyone. Especially not when it came to her son. She went upstairs and crawled into bed beside Michael, hugging his slight body to hers. His heartbeat reverberated fiercely against her palm, that small vital organ the noisiest part of his body.

***

Eighteen hours after the attack, Jed was at the FBI field office on Freeway Boulevard waiting for the briefing to start. It was dark outside but the snow cast an eerie light over the city to the south.

Every alphabet agency in the country from Homeland to ICE had descended on Minneapolis to confront the current terror threat, which was still considered severe. The whole country was on high alert. Commercial flights grounded until further notice.

More than fifty bodies had been recovered from the mall, including thirteen children, the youngest just three years old. It was sickening, and could easily have been worse. Vivi Vincent’s face flashed through his mind. When he’d left the safe house a few hours ago she’d looked like a hollowed out version of the woman he’d first met in the mall. Washed out and exhausted. Wary of everyone and everything. Foolishly he wanted to make her smile again. A simple thing under normal circumstances. A damn sight harder when she and her son had been marked for death by some shadowy terror organization with an unknown agenda.

He leaned against a wall in the bullpen. The FBI’s Rapid Deployment & Technology Unit were in charge of creating a local Joint Terrorism Task Force, which pissed off Homeland, DOD and the National JTTF because they all liked to be in charge. BAU’s terrorism experts were headed up on the next military transport available.

He hadn’t mentioned that technically he was supposed to be on leave.

Jed knew the guy running the show; they both worked at the BAU’s National Center for the Analysis of Violent Crime at Quantico. Supervisory Special Agent (SSA) Steve McKenzie was a solid agent with an excellent rep for getting the job done. Jed wanted in on the task force even though it would take him away from Virginia for a few months—his boss would probably think it was a good idea. He wanted this terrorist cell shut down so they never hurt another living soul, especially not a redheaded little boy he was starting to like.

The fact he’d been boots on the ground when an attack occurred might give them an advantage and he’d use it. He just wished he’d been properly armed. More civilians might have been saved—although a SIG versus an assault rifle wasn’t much of a match and in reality he’d probably be dead.

It was time for the meeting to start. The bullpen was crowded with personnel but the room was as silent as a freshly dug grave. Shocked and tired, everyone listened attentively. McKenzie began by outlining everything they’d learned so far.

“Seven dead terrorists. One in the ICU under armed guard—”

“Is he going to make it?” This from a guy in jeans and a faded University of Minnesota t-shirt who’d walked in late. He looked like a hippie. Jed didn’t know the guy or which agency he was with.

“Doctors are saying 50:50 chance. Bullet went through his lung, did a lot of damage.”

“Make sure someone has eyes on him at all times, and search him for suicide pills. No one talks to him except me.”

Spook
—Jed recognized the type from his days in Kandahar.

The guy continued, “Not the doctors, not the nurses, not the guard. Just me. Take away the clock, TV, any form of communication, be it radio or internet. I want him completely isolated with no idea what time of day it is and no access to outside information, and I want to know the moment he wakes up.” The gleam in his eyes told Jed the guy was experienced at getting information out of these guys.
Good
. He wanted these guys put through the wringer until they were bled dry of information and then left to rot in some stinking prison for the rest of their natural lives.

“We’re holding the guy Brennan nabbed from the pool at the federal facility—he refuses to give his name and so far his biometric profile isn’t popping any databases. That joker is claiming he saw the boy drowning and tried to save him. Wants his lawyer so he can sue Brennan for assault,” SSA McKenzie told the group.

“Good luck with that from Git-mo,” muttered Jed.

The intelligence officer shot him an amused glance.

“We’ve ID’d four of the dead terrorists.” McKenzie reeled off names that meant nothing to Jed. He hadn’t worked terrorism since his probationary period at the BAU and things moved fast on the international scene with so many willing and enthusiastic recruits constantly blowing themselves up. The spook wrote down all the names. “We are running them through every database but from what I can tell none of them were on any US watch-list.” Which was unusual and disturbing. “They were all Muslims. Two of them were American citizens.”

That was a blow. The Muslim community had been rebuilding relationships and this would put their efforts back a decade and probably radicalize a whole new generation with the blow-back.

“What about the female tango?” Responsibility for her escape scraped Jed’s nerves.

McKenzie looked irritated by the constant interruptions, but Jed was more worried about Vivi and her son. He didn’t intend to let their safety fall through the cracks of such a massive operation. Plus this guy wasn’t technically his boss so pissing him off probably wouldn’t get him fired, but it wouldn’t get him on the task force. He reeled in his frustration.

“Thanks to your smart thinking in the clothing store we know she left wearing black pants, burgundy shirt, gray wool coat. She’s approximately five-six, one-hundred thirty pounds and they are running her DNA as we speak.”

The ERT deserved the credit and Jed had put that in his report. “Get anything from photographs of people leaving the mall?”

McKenzie shook his head. “We’re canvassing the media and crowd-sourcing social media for images but it may take some time. We don’t want a screw up like we had in Boston, or any vigilante nonsense.”

“All the security cameras inside the mall were down?” someone from the back of the room asked.

McKenzie nodded. “From the time of the explosion onward. Whoever these guys were they had some sophisticated help planning this attack. We’ll have analysts going through all today’s footage from before the explosion and then they’ll run previous days’ and weeks’ tapes through image recognition software to see if we can find the bad guys scoping out the joint.” He rubbed his forehead. “We are asking for anyone who took footage at the mall over the last few weeks to submit that to us online. It’s a slow process and we want to make sure we get this terror threat contained ASAP.”

The trouble in today’s world wasn’t a lack of information. It was an abundance. By the time they’d plowed through everything the perps could be long gone.

No one intended to let that happen.

McKenzie continued. “Weapons were all smuggled in illegally and we’re tracing serial numbers. Ammo was bought legally. The anti-gun lobby and NRA are both going to be all over this thing saying it supports their cause.” Like they needed added political pressure while investigating this thing. “No comments to the media either way from this side of the investigation—got it?” He eyed them sternly.

“I’m all for gun control as long as I get to keep mine,” one agent joked.

Jed didn’t say anything. Fewer guns on the street would probably make his life safer but people were plenty capable of killing with crowbars, vehicles, screwdrivers, knives, fire, electricity and all manner of other household items. Guns were tools, but they sure as hell were effective when the job was killing as many people as possible in the shortest amount of time.

Changing gun laws in the States was going to take an act of God. His whole family was licensed to carry concealed, including his mother. They’d have to pry those weapons from his family’s cold, dead hands, and considering his twin brother was the local police chief he didn’t think it was going to happen any time soon.

“What about the kid?” asked the spook. “What can he tell us?”

Fifty pairs of eyes swung toward Jed. Shit. “He’s a mute, autistic eight-year-old boy. Yeah, he can draw but I’m not convinced he even saw anything.” Jed shrugged. “He’s been traumatized and didn’t look like he was capable of remembering his own name when I saw him last.”

“He’s in a safe house?” The spook scribbled something in his notepad.

Jed was not discussing the Vincents’ exact whereabouts in front of fifty people. He stood straighter, held the man’s gaze in a direct challenge. “You’re not interrogating the kid, CIA.”

The guy’s lip curled into a lopsided smile. “Never crossed my mind.”

“Sure it didn’t.” Tension knotted Jed’s muscles and his jaw ached from being clamped shut.

“The mother?” The spook’s smile was a thin slice of cunning. He had too long, dirty blond hair and a surfer laid back attitude that didn’t fool Jed one bit.

“She didn’t see anything.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“OK then, if you’re
sure
…” The guy’s lip tightened a fraction. “She’s an interpreter?”

“Used to work for the UN.” Jed had done a little superficial digging but nothing stuck out. She’d had good security clearance up until a few years ago.

“Any chance she was the original target of the attack?”

“Nope. None.” Jed shook his head, remembering how the big guy had knocked her over without a backward glance. If she had been the target he’d have started shooting the moment he saw her.

“Good thing you were there, otherwise we might have to do some actual investigating.” The intelligence officer’s tone was mocking and someone laughed.

“But I
was
there.” Jed straightened away from the wall. “If she’d been the original target she’d be dead.” He held the man’s gaze. “The last thing we need is for this investigation to go off on a wrong tangent.” There was something. “She did speak to the guy in Arabic when she was cornered in the restaurant kitchen. Whatever she said made him hesitate for all of two seconds before he started shooting. She was damned lucky to have got out of there alive but I don’t think the guy was after her specifically. He was trigger happy and hunting anyone still breathing.”

“Like I said, good thing you were there,” the spook said, watching him impassively.

Christ
. Jed knew when he was being riled. He was half-tempted to let this guy question Vivi Vincent as long as he got to watch. She’d never let him near her son. He wasn’t fooled by the guy’s demeanor. He was an interrogator and after 9/11 they all knew what that could entail. The guy
would
try to talk to Vivi and her son. Ah, shit. The guy probably
should
talk to them but Jed did not like it one bit. The Vincents had been through hell already.

They moved on to discussing the list of mall employees—hundreds of people long. Forensics were backed up because of the sheer volume of information.

“Cell phones were bought in a couple of different locations in Madison. Buyer used cash and even the stores where we got him on surveillance show the perp concealed by hats and glasses. It could be the guy Brennan caught in the pool though. He’s the right size and shape, we just need something solid to hang it on him,” said McKenzie.

“His DNA might be on those cell phones or the SIM cards,” Brennan suggested.

McKenzie agreed. “We’re on it. We’ll cross reference ASAP.” He checked his watch. “But it’ll be a couple more hours until we get the preliminary DNA profiles to compare.”

Brennan quashed his impatience. Compared to how slowly things usually moved this was lightning-speed. And he knew the guy in the pool was part of the group. He didn’t need proof.

“The phones were only used to communicate with each other. The same ten numbers were logged into each cell.” McKenzie continued. “Data says the phones were activated and programmed yesterday morning.”

Just for the attack. “Any corresponding phone activity on the pool guy’s cell?” Jed asked.

“We didn’t find a cell phone or a wallet with his belongings.”

That didn’t make sense. Very few people traveled without cells and the guy certainly hadn’t planned on getting caught—but he was definitely a pro. Jed tried to remember if he’d seen a cell phone anywhere at the pool but came up blank.

The spook raised his voice to be heard over the muttering crowd. “It’s imperative we identify the unknown female. This wasn’t a lone wolf act of terrorism. This was a terror cell and cells are always connected to someone, through training, ideology and cash. We need to find the female and we need to figure out who sent them and shut them down before they target another mall or fucking Disney World.”

“Thanks for pointing that out, we’d never have figured it out on our own.” McKenzie’s eye-roll was understated. He flipped the cover over the tablet he was holding. “We’re pouring resources into it but there are the hundreds of witness statements to sort through, piles of forensics to examine, and more images than Hollywood. I suggest you—Intelligence Officer Killion—start with the suspected terrorists we already have in custody. I was told that was your specialty when the Director of National Intelligence volunteered your services.” The raised brow questioned the spook’s abilities but the guy wasn’t fazed. Jed eyed him more carefully. It wasn’t often the DNI got personally involved, although it wasn’t often terrorists attacked an American mall—thank God.