Conners Ranch & Exotic Animal Safari | Near Lone Wolf, Oklahoma
Agent Eric Symon wanted to shoot Agent Roland Denzel.
Not literally.
Not… entirely literally.
He was a big enough man to admit that a lot of his irritation and frustration with his new boss was spinning out of their history. And he was further willing to admit that a lot of that history, particularly the parts Symon resented most, wasn’t actually Denzel’s fault. Symon knew he was shooting the messenger.
Still…
When Denzel and his partner, Dr. Dan Kotler, brought down Director Crispen on charges of espionage and domestic terrorism, it had the side effect of derailing Symon’s very promising career trajectory. And for a few years, Symon had to work in abject drudgery and misery just to clear his name and shake off some of the reputation that had been unfairly heaped on him.
That whole thing wasn’t entirely a bygone. Not yet. There were aftereffects that lingered to this day, despite all of his very best efforts and hard-won victories. And though Symon was determined to be professional and pragmatic, and even more important, “do the job” despite any resentment on his part, it still chapped him to have to take orders from Denzel.
At least Dan Kotler wasn’t around.
That guy came off like he knew absolutely everything, and it wasn’t exactly comforting to know that he sort of actually did know everything. Symon wasn’t a fool—he gave credit where it was due. And he could see that Dr. Kotler was every bit as brilliant as he seemed. No pretense. No airs. From the most practical and objective point of view possible, Kotler was a real, certifiable genius. And that was really, truly annoying.
At the moment, Symon was following an order from Denzel to look into a lead on a potential art theft. Possibly an entire ring of art thefts. It could be big.
This should have been something that fell into the laps of the FBI’s White-Collar Crimes division, but there was a special twist that brought it to Historic Crimes—the new inter-agency task force that was designed to deep-dive into threats that emerged from the quirks of history. The team was established to look into the stuff that was specifically labeled “weird,” which lumped in everything from the lost city of Atlantis to Sir Isaac Newton’s hidden laboratory. And, somewhere in that spectrum, stolen documents and artwork that could potentially indicate a bigger threat to the world.
That’s what this particular case was about. The artwork in question had a questionable provenance, and one that might be indicative of some deeper trouble. It was outside the typical purview of the FBI, for one reason or another, and so it became part of Denzel’s new pet project, know internally as “Outsiders.” Which, at the moment, mostly consisted of Denzel, Kotler, Symon and his partner, Agent Mayher, and, of course, Alex Kayne—Symon’s confidential informant, and fugitive extraordinaire. He had some suspicions about just how much of his landing the Historic Crimes gig came down to his own skills and reputation, and how much came down to being Kayne’s handler. Either way, his job was to run down leads, and a lot of those leads were going to come from Agent Denzel. That was the job.
The current lead in question was an exotic animal safari in Oklahoma. There was an insane amount of money funneling through these things, and at present there were all sorts of criminal investigations happening. A lot of these places were being shut down for some pretty awful practices. The animals weren’t being well cared for in some of them, to say the least.
But there were other, darker secrets at play in places like this. Murders were common. People were taking out hits on each other, trying to eliminate the competition or keep witnesses from testifying. There were also hints of illicit trafficking in everything from drugs to weapons to people, and of course in the animals themselves.
It was a dangerous and hidden business. It reminded Symon of the Wild West days of the casinos in Vegas. Criminal empires, hinting at a seedy underworld that operated by its own rules, with a public face that was all lights and smiles and entertainment. A scrim of legitimacy and innocent fun, thinly stretched over a bulging, bloated empire of evil.
Symon wasn’t alone on this job. His partner, Agent Julia Mayher, was with him, of course. And backing them up was one team of suited FBI agents and another team of SWAT-gear-clad operatives sporting the polished black steel of the Historic Crimes badge. The FBI agents were there to fan out and start collecting evidence, once the federal warrant was served. The SWAT team was already taking up strategic positions all over the property, ready to pounce if things went sideways.
Symon didn’t mind being the front man on any of this. Again, that was the job. And in this capacity, at least he was acting on his training and skills.
What he resented, however, was that Denzel had given him a script, and to make sure he followed it to the letter, everything Symon said was being monitored and recorded from a van parked a few miles away. Symon had Denzel’s voice in his ear the whole time. Like a Jiminy Cricket who had once derailed Pinocchio’s whole life.
“Teams are reporting that things look calm,” Denzel said over the channel.
“Roger that,” Symon said.
“You’re clear to approach,” Denzel said.
No kidding. Thanks for the pointers. I would never have known that I could do the job I was trained for and have done for more than a decade if I didn’t have you whispering permission in my ear. “Roger that,” he said again.
As Symon and Mayher stepped onto the front porch of the home, both wearing protective vests emblazoned with the FBI logo, and each with their own black-enameled Historic Crimes badges dangling from chains around their necks, Symon hit the button on the door camera, and waited.
“Well, hello, FBI,” a man’s voice said. This would be Derrick Conners, the owner of the ranch, and a real interesting character, according to his profile.
His tone was pleasant and knowing, and that gave Symon a sinking feeling.
Symon held his badge up to the lens. “My name is Agent Symon, with the FBI,” he said.
“Don’t forget to tell them your affiliation,” Denzel prompted.
Symon fought the urge to roll his eyes. “Historic Crimes task force,” he said, his teeth aching to grit.
“Never heard of it,” the man’s voice said. “And I’m not home.”
Symon looked to Mayher, and both blinked.
“You’re… not in the house?” Symon asked.
“No. So go away. This is private property.”
Symon shook his head and held up the paper in his hand. “Federal warrant. We’re here to search the property, including this house and all structures.”
“Feds come through once a month,” the guy replied. “They never find nothin’. All my animals are registered and cared for. No abuse. No guns or drugs on the property. You got no reason to be here. This is harassment.”
“We’re looking for a painting that we have evidence is in your possession,” Symon said. “Let us in, or we’ll force entry.”
“Force whatever you want,” Conners said. “I ain’t there. But I’m sending all of this to my attorney, so smile and wave, Agent Simmons.”
“It’s Agent Symon,” he replied. “And have them reach out directly to Agent Roland Denzel.” He read off Denzel’s personal cell phone number and email address.
“Thanks for that,” Denzel replied dryly in Symon’s ear.
“Last chance, Mr. Conners,” Symon said.
Conners’ reply was a series of expletives and directions for where Symon and his team should go, and what they should do to themselves when they go there.
“Give the order,” Denzel said.
Symon sighed. He reached up to his vest and spoke into a radio, giving the order for a breech. “Extreme caution,” he said. “We’re not sure who’s here or whether they’re armed.”
He stood aside as the team went to work.
It didn’t take long, and there were no major incidents. Though Derrick Conners hadn’t been lying when he said he wasn’t inside the home, a handful of his staff were onsite. Symon presented the warrant to a panicked-looking man claiming to be Conners’ assistant.
They scoured the property, and eventually found a not only the specific painting they were looking for, but a hidden room in the basement that contained hundreds of other pilfered pieces of art and antiquities. It was a trove of stolen goods—the sort of thing guys like Conners kept around as both insurance and currency. Art was an easy way to pay for something that shouldn’t be traced back to either the seller or the buyer.
“Looks like we can add art thief to Conner’s resume,” Mayher said. She was scanning through her phone, looking over the list of identified art pieces as the experts began cataloging the collection. “So far, there isn’t a legitimately clear piece in the place.”
Symon nodded. That was what they’d expected. And he had a hunch that before the day was done, they’d find a lot more. Their warrant gave them more access to the house than federal agents could justify, previously. Conners had made a huge mistake—appearing in that Netflix special.
By this time, Denzel and the agents accompanying him had arrived on the scene, and he was entering as Symon gave orders to start boxing things up. They’d made several arrests among the personnel on the property, and found enough evidence to move forward with charges on Conners, and to shut down his operation here. Symon was talking to some of his team members about arranging for the exotic cats on the property to be moved.
“Good work,” Denzel said, as he approached.
Symon turned from the team, and exercised a respectable restraint in controlling his expression. “Thanks,” he said flatly.
“I need to talk to you,” Denzel said. “I didn’t want to broadcast it over the radios.
Symon felt a slight anxiety rise in him, tinged with anger. He’d been going out of his way to keep his attitude in check, regarding Denzel. He was irritated by what he saw as micromanaging, but he hadn’t been openly hostile about it. He actually planned to chat with Denzel man-to-man, to ask if he could have a little more breathing room and autonomy on his operations. He was a well-trained FBI agent, after all, and experienced in running his own ops…
“It’s about Alex Kayne,” Denzel said quietly, leaning in.
“Kayne?” Symon asked. “Is she… has she been apprehended?” The thought sent a thrill of dread through Simon, though he was constantly prepared for the news. She couldn’t run forever, despite all evidence to the contrary.
“No. Not… exactly.” Denzel nodded to the open door. “We might want to step outside. I’m guessing there are cameras and mics all over the place in here.”
Symon nodded, and the two of them stepped out and moved to the other side of the van that Denzel had brought to the site.
“We got a call from the head of security at Curie Motors, in Round Rock, Texas,” Denzel said. “They identified Kayne as an intruder at the facility. But they were told not to apprehend her, or to call the police or FBI.”
“Who told them that?” Symon asked.
“Ross Eckhart,” Denzel said.
“The billionaire?” Symon asked, confused.
Denzel nodded. “They said Eckhart met with her in private, and then the two of them left the facility.”
“So, Eckhart is aiding and abetting a fugitive? What’s their connection?”
Denzel shrugged. “They’re both Silicon Valley alumni. Maybe they were friends.”
Symon inhaled and let out a slow breath. “Not according to my files. I’ve studied everything there is on Kayne. I know everyone she knows. Or knew, anyway, in her prior life. As far as I’m aware, the two never met.”
“Can’t know everything,” Denzel said, shaking his head. “Regardless, he’s helped her escape. We need to look into it. And since she’s a Historic Crimes asset, and you’re her handler…”
“Got it,” Symon nodded. “I’ll get on a plane.”
Denzel also nodded, then turned to leave.
“Agent Denzel,” Symon said, stepping forward.
Denzel turned.
“I… listen, this isn’t the time, but I’d like to have a chat. About my… my role with Historic Crimes.”
Denzel studied him for a moment. “I know you’re not exactly thrilled to be working under me. Is it going to be a problem?”
Symon’s first impulse was to say no, to smooth it out, to assure his boss that there was no issue. But that wasn’t his way. “Yes,” Symon said, nodding. “I think it will be. It is. I can handle that, though. It’s my problem to deal with. But I… I’m hoping you can do me a favor, that might help.”
Denzel looked at him, curious. “Ok, ask.”
“Like I said, this isn’t really the time…”
“Ask, Agent Symon,” Denzel said.
Symon sighed. “Back off.”
Denzel arched an eyebrow.
“Respectfully… sir. Look, I’ve been an agent for a long time. I’ve run operations from end to end, more times than I can count. And with a high success rate. I know what it takes to do… this,” he said, motioning toward the house they were currently searching. “I don’t need a chaperone. Or a nanny.”
Denzel considered this. Symon saw what he thought might be a flash of annoyance cross the man’s features, but it faded fast, and after a moment Denzel nodded. “You’re right. I apologize. I’m not actually trying to be your… nanny,” he said this last with a slight smirk. “I’m actually trying to work out how this whole ‘Outsiders’ thing is supposed to work. Cases like this one, they aren’t even the reason Ludlum designed this thing. We’re supposed to be a sort of breakout team, a group that can take on… bigger stuff. Unusual stuff.”
“I get that,” Symon said. “So why have me on a mission like this one? Why me and Mayher here?”
“Because if we’re going to be that breakout team, we need to start with the team part,” Denzel said.
Symon considered this, an idea and realization occurring to him for the first time. “You’re trying to do some team building?”
Denzel nodded. “Look, I know you, Eric. The same way you’ve studied Kayne, I’ve studied you. Looked at every file, dug into your history. You’re one of the best Profilers the FBI ever had. And I know that the thing with Crispen set you offtrack. You’ve done a hell of a lot to get back, and I see it. But you’ve been… independent. Probably because everyone in the Bureau lost trust in you. Through no fault of your own,” he added quickly, holding up his hands. “But it forced you to work alone, work at the edges. Become… well, like I said, independent.”
“Not actually a bad trait,” Symon said.
“No,” Denzel admitted. “Not really. Not entirely. Believe me, I’ve worked with Kotler long enough to know that some independent and out of the box thinking can be a good thing. Annoying, but good.”
“So is this whole babysitting thing meant to break me of some bad habits?” Symon asked.
Denzel studied him. “See, it’s comments like that. You’re being a little insubordinate. Passive aggressive. That’s the independent streak in you. And I do agree that it’s useful. But what I need to know is whether you can actually be a team player. I know you’re the best Profiler there is, and that’s part of why you’re here. Another part is your connection to Alex Kayne. But Ludlum thinks you have more potential than you’ve been allowed to put on show.”
Symon considered this. “And what about you? What do you think?”
“I think you’re a good agent,” Denzel said. “I think you’ve shown, over and over, that you don’t let personal feelings interfere with your work. But I haven’t seen you really work as part of a team yet. Not really. Not when you’re not the one calling all the shots.”
Symon felt like raging at this. Of course he’d worked in teams. He had to. That was the job, sometimes. And he’d even worked as part of teams that Denzel himself was commanding.
What more could Denzel want from him?
“I’d better get going on this Eckhart thing,” Symon said, after a moment. “Maybe we can circle up when we’re both back at Historic Crimes HQ?”
Denzel nodded. “I look forward to it.”
Symon returned the nod, then went to find Mayher.
Curie Motors Facility | Round Rock, Texas
The first thing Kayne had to clear up was her client policy.
“Nobody ‘hires’ me. I pick my clients based on whether they’ve been disenfranchised by law enforcement or screwed over by corporations or kidnapped by international thieves with secret agendas.”
They were sitting in Eckhart’s private office, and Eckhart himself was already pouring over a copy of the files from the air-gapped lab. He looked up, studying Kayne. “Ok… but you have a client right now, right? Shai Salide? You’re here to help her?”
Kayne nodded. “Exactly.”
“So help me help her,” he said.
She wanted to respond, but she couldn’t think of anything to say that would make any real sense. After all, Eckhart could have had her held by security until the FBI arrived. She’d more or less be cooked. But he hadn’t. And his reasons for not having her arrested coincided with her reasons for being there in the first place. She wanted to help Shai, and so did he. Among other things.
There really was no reason why they shouldn’t be working together.
“You’re the CEO…”
“Not anymo—”
“Got it, not anymore. But you were the CEO of the company that shafted Shai. You still have pull. And you own a majority share in the company. Why not just give the patents back to Shai and be done with it?”
“When you do this,” he said, waving vaguely toward the data he was reviewing, “is it enough to just give someone their property back, or whatever?”
She hesitated.
“Sometimes,” she said.
“Really?”
She sighed. “Ok, no. Hardly ever. If ever. Most of the time I’m helping someone who’s… who has suffered some kind of injustice. So… I make it right.”
“You bring justice?”
“Yes,” she said.
“You…” he held up his index finger and thumb in the shape of a pistol and made a little bang sound.
“No! I mean… that’s happened, sure. But no, it’s not like that, I promise. I don’t want to kill people, I’m here to help people.”
He observed her for a moment. “But you have, right?”
“Have what?”
“Killed people.”
She watched his face, and he watched hers. She wasn’t sure why she always felt the compulsion, but she couldn’t keep herself from admitting the truth to Ross Eckhart, for whatever reason.
“Yes,” she said quietly. “When I didn’t have any other choice.”
He considered that for a moment. “Did you kill Adrian Ballard?”
She shook her head, her expression sad. “No. That was the Russians.”
“Who did you kill?”
“Well… the Russians. That was self defense. But I’ve also had to deal with others. Usually it was them or my client. Sometimes… them or me.” She was thinking specifically of Jason Hawthorn, the son of a corrupt Congressman who was keeping his son’s human trafficking business off the radar. Jason had brought Kayne to his own private warehouse, where he was running everything from guns to drugs to bootlegged booze, and after making it impossible for her to escape he had tried to rape her. She had killed him in self defense. But the weight of that was no lighter for having a reason.
She thought about trying to explain this to Ross Eckhart, but balked. It would sound like she was fishing for justification, maybe validation, or maybe some kind of sympathy. Maybe. But part of her just felt no need to explain herself or her actions to anyone. She was doing something no one else in history had ever done, and though she did not consider herself above the rules, or above the law, she did think of herself as fitting in a sort of unique category of justice. Like a CIA agent or a member of Special Forces—there were rules, but there were also gray areas. All of this would be impossible to explain to anyone without sounding like a sociopath.
So she settled on a simple statement that Eckhart could take or leave.
“I’ve had to deal with some very bad people, to help my clients. And I’ve had to do some very bad things, sometimes. And I don’t regret the decisions I was forced to make, even if I regret some of the consequences.”
He was watching her, quiet. She watched him back. And then, after a long moment, he simply nodded and turned back to the laptop.
“So it looks like we’ve done this patent thing to a lot of people,” he said. He shook his head. “I had no idea. I thought we were getting all of this on the up and up, but I see at least a hundred patents on this list that have a pretty dubious pedigree.”
“That’s one way to put it,” Kayne said, leaning in to look over his shoulder. “So how does that happen without you knowing?”
He shrugged. “I hate to say it, but it’s just too small of a thing to come to my attention. I own a dozen large businesses, Alex. A few of them take up more of my time and energy than the others. And I have this grand master plan I told you about. So I let my people deal with a lot of this stuff.”
“Sounds like some of your people are dealing dirty,” she replied.
“Sounds like it,” he agreed. He sighed and rubbed his eyes. “This is going to take a month, sorting through all of these to find the trail. Whoever did this knows how to hide themselves. There are hundreds of these so far, and there are probably more I haven’t found yet. I’ll have to trace each one back to whoever was handling the accounts, see if there’s anyone in common, vet everyone. Sorry, Alex. It looks like your client may be out in the cold for longer than you’d like.”
Kayne glanced at him then back to the laptop and sighed. She’d been hemming and hawing about this decision since Eckhart had caught her in the server room, but now seemed the time to address it. The compulsion to open up to him, wherever that was coming from, would win this round. “I have another way,” she said.
He looked up, hopeful.
“I have… some software, we’ll say. Something that can sift through this quicker.”
He smirked. “Is it the sort of software that would cause your business partner to try to cut a deal with the Russians and sell state secrets while under a US government contract?”
“Something like that,” she frowned.
He nodded. “Ok. No need to give me all the details. I suspect this is what’s had you on the run for the past few years, right?” He stood and stepped aside, gesturing to the laptop. “Be my guest.”
Kayne sighed again and stepped forward. Instead of taking the seat offered to her, however, she took out her phone and tapped a few commands. QuIEK picked up on what she wanted, and went to work immediately.
Unlike the air-gapped laboratory, Eckhart’s little office space had its own dedicated WiFi network. It was fire walled in all directions, preventing anyone from accessing any data within his sphere, unless he specifically authorized it.
Or unless QuIEK walked right through those firewalls and security measures like they weren’t there.
On Eckhart’s laptop screen, data danced, moving in a Matrix-style march from top to bottom as QuIEK sorted through every file, getting the scoop on context and history. After just a moment, a series of company names appeared on the screen.
One by one those names got cross-referenced against a convoluted trail of public records until finally they boiled down to only one name.
“Well, I guess that isn’t all that surprising,” Eckhart said, leaning forward to see the results.
“Bertrand, Owens & Cromwell,” Kayne read aloud. “Is that a law firm?”
Eckhart nodded. “The same firm I’ve worked with for years. They helped me structure all of these companies, almost from the beginning. I… I’ve always trusted them.”
“So, why isn’t it surprising that they handled the patents?”
“It’s one of primary things I pay them for,” Eckhart shrugged. “It was always easier to let them handle every acquisition.” He looked up, “I tend to delegate details.”
“Gotcha,” Kayne said. “No judgment.” Though, as she considered it, details were kind of her jam. Keeping on top of every detail was how she stayed alive, stayed out of prison, stayed ahead of the bad guys and good guys alike. She couldn’t imagine what sort of disaster her own life would be, if she just put things on cruise control. She even double-checked on QuEIK’s work, most of the time.
But how much simpler would her life be, if she could let someone else handle it all?
Of course, she had let Adrian handle the details of Populus, and that had resulted in her being wanted as a fugitive by every government on Earth. A pretty solid argument in the “cons” column.
“I made the mistake of trusting they were doing things right,” Eckhart said, standing up straight and frowning. “And that’s resulted in people getting hurt.”
She could hear the self-recrimination in his voice, and her instinct was to give him some kind of out, some kind of avenue for grace.
“It’s possible someone within the firm just screwed up,” Kayne offered. “That it wasn’t anything intentional.”
Eckhart looked at her, surprised. “You believe that?”
She shrugged. “I said it was possible.” She sighed, shaking her head. “But no, I don’t think it’s likely.”
“Well, either way, it needs to be cleared up. But there are two things I need to sort out first.”
“What’s that?” Kayne asked.
“First, I want to know what possible reason they would have for stealing patents I’ve authorized us to pay for and obtain legally.”
“And second?”
“Second,” Eckhart said, “I really want to know more about this software you’re using.”