Agent Hill Super Boxset: A Gripping Espionage Thriller Read online

  “Yes, but I don’t think you’re going to like it.”

  “God, he’s even uglier up close.”

  Sarah bent over, placing her hands on her quads, and looked Aurelio in the eye, moving her mouth very slowly. “Do. You. Speak. English?” Aurelio erupted in another fit of thrashing, tugging at his restraints and spitting a slur of Italian. Sarah straightened herself and placed her hands on her hips. “Wow, he’s talking really fast.”

  “Yeah, it’s starting to get a little harder to keep up,” Bryce said. “I think he said something about you and a goat with a stick?”

  “Enough of this shit,” Sarah said and pulled out a knife, which she hovered just above Aurelio’s crotch.

  The Italian stopped, and his whole body went rigid. “I speak English!” he said.

  “There. Now we’re getting somewhere,” Sarah said. “Who hired you for the attack?”

  “The Red Brigades bow down to no government that pr—”

  “You don’t like that people are happy and having fun, yeah, yeah. I don’t care about your ‘my daddy and mommy didn’t hug me enough when I was a baby’ crap. I want to know who hired you to take out the grid,” Sarah said. “You guys haven’t been seriously relevant since the seventies, and even then you weren’t big time. Where’d you get the money for all your new toys?”

  Aurelio kept quiet, and Sarah gently nudged the tip of her blade an inch closer to his crotch. “I don’t know!” he snapped with the blade grazing his left testicle.

  “What bank account did the money get wired to?” Sarah asked.

  “Swiss National. Zero five nine seven three five six eight four one two nine.”

  “Got it,” Bryce said. “I should be able to follow the paper trail. I don’t think this guy has anything else to offer. I’ll put a call in to the local police, and they can take him from here.”

  Sarah kept the knife close to Aurelio’s goods. “My friend thinks I should let you go to the authorities. You’ll rot in a jail cell for what you did, but I’m not sure that’s enough.” The tip of the blade pierced the fabric of his pants.

  “Please!” Aurelio said. “I’ve told you everything. We received instructions of what to do along with the wire transfer. I never met anyone. I don’t know who sent us the money!”

  Sarah retracted the knife, and Aurelio let out a sigh of relief. “Make the call. I’ll make sure Aurelio here is nice and comfortable when the authorities show up.” She smiled, and Aurelio cowered back into his chair.

  With the remaining duct tape and rope, she strung up Aurelio to the front of a bank, where he was positioned spread eagle in the nude, although Sarah wasn’t sure if that punishment would be worse for him or for the police officers who found him. Either way, she had a good chuckle on her way back to Chicago. “God, I wish I could post this shit on Instagram.”

  4

  The clouds overhead shifted in and out of the sun’s view of the proceedings below. Dozens of attendees, all dressed in black with their heads bowed, hands folded, and eyes watering, watched as the casket was lowered into the ground. Mack stood in the back, slightly removed from the rest of the guests in mourning, and whispered a soft prayer for the good man who hadn’t deserved the end he’d received.

  Pastor Turnick hadn’t married and had had no children (except for those that attended his sermons). The only next of kin was his older sister, Susan. Mack hadn’t spoken to her in more than a decade. He wasn’t even sure if she would remember him. He waited until everyone had paid their respects and followed her to the car so he could speak with her in private.

  “Susan?” Mack asked, gently tapping her on the shoulder.

  “Yes? Can I help you?” The skin under her eyes sagged, and the whites in her eyes were bloodshot from the sleepless nights and the loss of her brother.

  “My name is Mack Farr.”

  “Mack,” she said, enfolding him in a hug. “I’m so glad you could make it. How are you? It’s been a while.”

  “It has. I’m doing well. How are you holding up?”

  “I’ve tried to keep busy.”

  “I was hoping I could talk to you about Ernest if you had a moment. We’d stayed in contact over the years, and last week I was supposed to grab a few things from his place. Do you think you could take me over there? Whenever you feel up for it, of course.”

  Susan reached into her pocket and pulled out her key ring. “I don’t know when I’ll be able to go back there.” She glided one of the keys off the ring and handed it to Mack. “Just let me know when you’re done taking a look around.”

  Mack smiled and rested his hand on her shoulder. “I will. Is there anything there that you would want me to grab for you?”

  She waved her arms. “No, no. I’m fine. Do you still have Ernie’s phone number?”

  “Yes.”

  “They gave his phone to me when I had to identify the body. Just give it a call when you’re done, and I’ll come and meet you to grab the key.”

  Ernest had lived in the same house for the past twenty years, and when Mack pulled into his driveway, the property was in the same well-kept state Mack remembered from when he had helped Ernest move in.

  Mack pushed the door open and flooded the house with light. He stepped inside, the wooden boards creaking under his feet. The light disappeared as he shut the door behind him. He stood there for a moment, absorbing the silence of the house that used to be filled with his friend’s boisterous laugh.

  The house was neat, tidy, simple. It was void of any superfluous goods or entertainments. Mack entered Ernest’s study, which was lined with books across every square inch of space the walls had to offer. He pulled a pair of gloves out of his pocket and searched Ernest’s desk. He scoured through pieces of mail, receipts, tax forms, and appointments, anything that could give him some clue about what had happened to his friend.

  With the study turned inside out, Mack made his way down into the basement. He pulled the string to the overhead light, which cast a white glow onto the cobwebs and dust over boxes and rusted antiques. He opened a few of the boxes, and their contents ranged from empty mason jars to old photo albums.

  “You always were sentimental,” Mack said, flipping through one of the albums that contained pictures of both him and Ernest on their tour in the Gulf. He set the album down and sighed. It was nothing but personal effects. He was turning to leave when the lightbulb caught the edge of a small filing cabinet buried behind a pile of old lamps.

  Dust flew from the drawers of the filing cabinet as Mack fingered through the yellowed pieces of paper inside. Most of them were old administration forms from the church, but the middle drawer was filled with financial documents that contained info on the church’s activity over the past twenty years. If there would be anything that gave him more insight into what Ernest had been worried about, this was it.

  Hundreds of lines of code scrolled down Bryce’s computer screen in time with the quick blur of his fingers running across the keyboard. Both his eyes were bloodshot, and his hair was greased with sweat and fatigue that the contents of the empty Styrofoam cups that circled his desk had failed to banish.

  “Hey,” Sarah said, bringing him another piping-hot cup of coffee. “How are we looking?”

  “With Rome or with Mack’s thing?”

  “Both.”

  “Not good. Whoever did the drop in Aurelio’s account definitely knew what they were doing. It’s like the algorithm knows I’m trying to crack it. It’s actually trying to outsmart me.” The typing ceased for a moment, and Bryce took a sip of the coffee. He squealed as the liquid burned his tongue.

  “Well, it’s hot, dumbass,” Sarah said, smacking Bryce in the back of the head. “And you’re really going to tell me that you, the god of all things tech and nerdy, are being outsmarted by a math problem?”

  “It’s a very highly advanced math problem, but yes.”

  Sarah checked her watch and patted Bryce on the shoulder. “Well, I believe you’re smarter than the
math problem.” She put on her jacket and started making her way toward the door.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I have another dinner with my brother.”

  “I didn’t know the two of you were talking again.”

  “I wouldn’t really say we’re talking; more like sitting in silence while the rest of the family talks to each other. It’s nice seeing the kids again, though.”

  “Good luck.”

  “You too.”

  The elevator doors opened and closed, and Bryce was left alone in the office. He cracked his knuckles and snapped his head to the left and right in sharp, jerking motions. His muscles popped in his neck, relieving the tension in his shoulders. He delved back into the code, trying to find a way past the algorithm’s defenses. The clank of the elevators sounded again, and a few seconds later, a giant stack of folders thudded against his desk. “What the hell do y—” Mack’s stare cut him off, and he quickly composed himself. “I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t realize it was you.”

  “These are financial statements of Ernest Turnick’s church. I want you to cross-reference the names on the letterheads and locate the companies involved. Cross-reference employees with our criminal databases. See if you can get any hits. I want a report on my desk first thing in the morning.”

  “Tomorrow morning? But it’s almost eight. This could take me all night, and with the Rome intel, I don’t know if I’ll have enough time.”

  “Make time.”

  Bryce watched Mack disappear into his office over the stack of folders on his desk. He rubbed his eyes and reluctantly grabbed the folders, sifting through the rough, dry, crinkled paper. “Go into a support role,” he said mockingly to himself. “It’ll be easy. You won’t have to work weekends. Nine to five, forty hours. How bad could it be?”

  The only acknowledgement Sarah received at the dinner table from her brother was when he asked for the butter, which was directed more to the table in general, but she ended up being the one who handed it to him. She took it as a small victory.

  Sarah helped her nephew, Matt, with drying the dishes and did her best to make sure he—and she—didn’t break anything in the process. Once that was done, he rushed into the living room, where he flopped on the carpet in front of the TV where his sister was watching the news. “Catching up on current events, are we?” Sarah asked, taking a seat next to Ella.

  “It’s a project for school. I have to do a report on the news. I have to find three things to talk about in class tomorrow.”

  “What do you have so far?”

  “Something called the G7 summit, how to get the most from the gas pump, and that funny commercials are better than other types of commercials.”

  “Wise beyond your years.” Sarah’s pocket buzzed, and she gave Ella a kiss on the head. “Did you see the commercial with the cat and the car? I love that one.”

  On Sarah’s phone was a text from Bryce. Call me now! “I’ll be right back, kiddo.” Both her brother and sister-in-law were still in the kitchen, so she slipped out onto the back porch. When Bryce finally picked up the phone, he sounded like he was hyperventilating.

  “T-they’re connect-ted!” Bryce said.

  “How much coffee did you have after I left?”

  “Listen to me! The pastor’s death and the attack on Rome. They’re connected. I finally broke through the account’s algorithm, and it led me to some dummy corporation, which led me to New Frontier Real Estate, which was the same company that owned the land Turnick’s church sat on.”

  “What the hell does a pastor in the middle of bum-fuck-Egypt, Missouri, have to do with an attack on the power grid in Rome?”

  “I-I don’t know! I-It’s crazy though, right?”

  “Check to see if there were any out-of-the-ordinary insurance filings after the grid attack on Rome. I’d start with real estate companies and spread your search from there. Dinner’s pretty much wrapped up here. I’ll come back to the office to help you look.”

  “O-okay.”

  “And stop drinking coffee. You sound like you’re developing a permanent stutter, and I don’t think I could handle that in my ear during a mission.”

  “R-right.”

  Sarah pocketed her phone and headed back inside. She gave Matt a high five and commended him on his kick-ass dish-drying skills, made a pinky-promise with Ella that she would look up the cat commercial before she went to sleep, and gave Becca a hug, who then forced Ben to walk her out front.

  “Thanks for letting me come over again,” Sarah said.

  “Yeah, well, the kids like it,” Ben replied.

  Sarah lightly kicked the tire of her bike and fumbled with the helmet resting on the seat. She could still feel the cold radiating from her brother like an open freezer. “I went and saw them yesterday.”

  “That’s good,” Ben said. “Look, I’ve got to get back inside. I told Ella I’d help her with her homework.”

  “Right. Yeah. Well, I’ll talk to you… next time, I guess.” Sarah straddled the bike, pulled on her helmet, and drove off, mentally kicking herself for not having the stones to say what she wanted to. She wasn’t sure if he’d ever forgive her.

  The clock flashed three a.m. as Sarah and Bryce sluggishly searched the files for everything they could find about New Frontier Real Estate. So far all they had learned was that the company owned a lot of properties and had subdivisions and shell corporations and dummy corporations and offshore accounts and made lots and lots of money.

  “Anything on the police reports in Rome?” Sarah asked.

  Bryce didn’t answer at first. His eyes were wide open, the glow of his computer screen revealing the redness in them. She stared at him for three minutes, and he didn’t blink. Not once. “Bryce!”

  “Huh?” he asked, looking over with his jaw slack and his eyes blinking very rapidly.

  “Rome. Police reports. What did you find?” Sarah asked.

  Bryce returned to the computer and scrolled down, wiping the drip of saliva that had rolled down his chin. “Nothing yet.”

  Mack walked out of his office. His shirt was untucked, his tie hung loose around his neck, and his eyes seemed to have drooped halfway down his face. He dropped a pile of faded yellow papers on Bryce’s desk. “Ernest’s church was levied as a tax shelter for New Frontier.”

  “Money laundering?” Bryce asked.

  “It’d be easy to pull off. Especially if the money was super dirty,” Sarah said. “Like stripper money. Or pimp money. Or, what’s that thing called when the girl—”

  “We get it,” Bryce interrupted. “Other than New Frontier, we don’t have anything tying both cases together. New Frontier could be guilty of a hundred different things, or nothing. It’s perfectly legal for a church to take tax exemptions in the amount that they claimed.”

  The computer beeped, and Bryce clicked on the incoming link. Bryce perked up, and Sarah felt a sudden burst of adrenaline rush through her. “What? Did something happen? I feel like something happened.”

  “A company by the name of Adelina Real Estate just turned in an insurance form for damages to its main headquarters in Rome, in addition to other properties in the area,” Bryce said.

  All three of them circled the computer screen. Bryce pulled up files on Adelina, searching financials, assets, personnel—anything and everything he could hack his way into. “Listen to this: Adelina Real Estate is set to sell after the devastating losses to property after rioting and looting during the power outage in Rome. And guess who’s looking to buy them.”

  “New Frontier,” Sarah said, putting her arms around both men and shaking them senseless. “Good work, Bryce.” But Bryce remained quiet, his hand running through his wild hair and his eyes searching the empty space of the room. It was as if he had just made another connection, or he was having aneurysm. Sarah couldn’t be sure.

  Bryce swiveled around in his chair to face both Sarah and Mack. “I didn’t say anything before because I wasn’t sure, but after the account l
ink from the terrorist group and the fact that same company is looking to buy out a competitor that just got wiped out, I think that—”

  “New Frontier is financing terrorists,” Sarah and Mack said at the same time.

  “Yes,” Bryce said, his shoulders sagging and looking slightly deflated.

  “It’s pretty obvious, son,” Mack said.

  “Yeah, I got there like two minutes ago,” Sarah replied. “Is there a way for us to track any other recent deposits made to see where the money is going?”

  Bryce accessed the accounts and brought up recent transactions. “It looks like there was another deposit made to an account in the Caymans. It’ll take a minute to see if I can trace it to a name.” Sarah was always amazed at how fast Bryce could type. Sure, she could take apart and reassemble her Glock 37 in less than twenty seconds, but she’d never gotten the hang of typing. She still used both index fingers.

  “Here, it looks like the money was accessed out of a Volzbank in the Czech Republic,” Bryce said.

  “I do love Eastern Europe this time of year,” Sarah said.

  5

  The roads and buildings were old, almost medieval. Puddles of collected rainwater gathered in the cracked and potholed pavement from the afternoon’s rain. The sun was sinking below the horizon behind her, but only a few of the streetlights managed to flicker on, the rest shattered or burnt out. Piles of trash lined the alleyways between buildings and sent up waves of stink every time Sarah passed one.

  The back roads of Ostrava weren’t the best place for a Western woman to be walking alone, but she wasn’t an abductor’s average target. The local sex trade had a better chance of pulling Bryce out of his chair in their secure facility back in Chicago than they did of nabbing her in the back streets of the city.

  Of course, it didn’t help that she was also looking for the leader of one of the largest criminal organizations in the country. Imrich Evzen’s group controlled more than ninety percent of the sex-trafficking trade that came in and out of the Czech Republic’s borders, and because of that, he’d made quite a bit of money, which allowed him to acquire quite a large following of brutes and thugs that he could pay to do whatever he wanted to. But first, she had to find out where he was staying, and Bryce’s intelligence stated that his right-hand man, Havel Bohdan, liked to frequent the brothel at the end of the road.