“It’s close to noon. Call me as soon as you get this.” Special Agent Cruz had left three messages for Jack Darling. Each call went straight to voicemail. With O’Neal’s help, she was able to verify the information Darling had given her, and she wanted to know what progress the reporter had made on his end. Every detail she had led back to The Tucker Group. She had placed calls to the organization, but no one of importance had returned her calls, only secretaries, who gave her scripted responses. The Tucker Group was somehow involved. She could sense it, but could not prove it.
During her career with the FBI, Cruz had developed a keen sense for detecting when people were not being honest with her. This talent had been her greatest asset when she investigated those who were suspected of criminal wrongdoing. She dissected a person’s words and examined them against the person’s body language, tone of voice and facial expressions. She knew if she was getting the truth or that person’s version of the truth. She was good at this part of her tradecraft, sometimes too good.
She had often considered her penchant for detecting lies had been part of the reason for her failure with men. She had never caught any of them cheating or lying to her, but once that familiar feeling of distrust swept over her, she could not recover. Cruz sat behind her desk and stared out the window. Large and puffy clouds sporadically intercepted the sun’s rays. Maybe they didn’t leave because I intimidated them. Maybe I pushed them away.
Thoughts of Hardy forced their way through her lamentations over past relationships. The first time she had seen him in the hospital, he had seemed different from most of the men she had known. Even in his then current and somewhat vulnerable condition, he had seemed…dangerous. She had worked with many men during her time in the military and law enforcement, but none of them had conveyed that quality to her. What seemed peculiar, however, was not the aura of danger that emanated from Hardy. No, it was the way he made her feel, a feeling of trust—a sense of safety. Cruz recalled the incident on Franklin and Fourth Street. Her face flushed and she smiled when her mind’s eye saw the butt of the naked man—it was firm and cute. It had to belong to Hardy. She remembered seeing him in the back seat of the SUV, wearing a hospital gown. He must have used the gown to dress Harper’s wound. Lost in thought, she flinched when someone knocked on her office door. The door opened a crack and Martin O’Neal’s head appeared.
“You got a minute, Cruz?”
“Come on in, Marty.” She pinched the front of her blouse between her thumb and forefinger and fanned her chest. Her cheeks were warm and she felt as if she had been caught looking at dirty pictures. Standing, she met O’Neal at the small conference table, located to the side of her desk, halfway to the office door. “What’s up?”
O’Neal was wearing a blue suit, white shirt and blue tie. Gold-rimmed, oval-shaped eyeglasses sat on his narrow nose. His light-colored hair was short, almost in a crew cut style. The two sat at the table and faced the window. O’Neal placed a file folder in front of her. “Take a look at this.”
She skimmed the contents of the folder. “What am I looking at here?”
“Remember how everything we had pointed toward The Tucker Group being involved, but we just couldn’t find the lynch pin tying them to the deaths and disappearances of the people on that list?”
Cruz lifted her head and nodded.
“I found that pin.” O’Neal leaned forward and pointed out several lines on the papers. “These here are sizable monthly deposits to The Tucker Group on the first of every month like clockwork. Now, it doesn’t show where the money is coming from, but I used my contacts and was able to find out the money originated from a Swiss bank account.”
“Whose name is on the account?” Cruz peeled back a sheet of paper and glanced at the page beneath it.
“The Swiss won’t divulge that information—confidential.”
“So, it’s a dead end.” She let go of the piece of paper.
O’Neal leaned back before sitting erect and pointing at the file folder. “Ordinarily, yes, but I noticed the amounts were exactly the same every month, right down to the penny.”
Cruz whirled her head around toward O’Neal, hearing the excitement in his voice.
“So, I dug a little deeper and discovered the amount matches with a line item buried deep in the operating budget for the Department of Defense.” He raised his hands. “Let me back up a bit. The exact amount is not there; however, there are several smaller amounts listed that, when added together, equal the amount that was deposited into the account of The Tucker Group on a monthly basis. The dates even match.”
Cruz squinted and tilted her head. “The DOD is regularly giving money to a private security company…in exchange for what?”
O’Neal shook his head. “That’s just it, Cruz. They aren’t giving money directly to The Tucker Group.
“I don’t understand.”
“To the untrained eye, it looks like several small random amounts are being expensed on the usual types of items the military would need—bullets, bombs, guns, etc. They are so small that no one would think twice about it. In actuality, the money is being transferred to the Swiss account, which acts as a holding account, if you will, until the figure hits this specified amount.” O’Neal pointed to the line items on the papers. “Then, the transfer is made to The Tucker Group, and the process starts all over again.”
Cruz was putting together a picture in her mind and she did not like the image. Somewhere, someone in the government was channeling money to a private corporation. When things like that happened, top-secret covert black-ops programs usually were at the heart of it. Those involved did not want American taxpayers to find out how their tax dollars were being spent.
“Are you ready for the next piece of the puzzle?”
Cruz faced O’Neal. “What, there’s more?”
He pursed his lips and nodded his head. “Senator Chuck Hastings personally made the request for every one of those smaller expense items.”
She shrugged. “He’s Chairman of the Armed Services Committee. He’s involved with the budget.”
“That’s true. It may be nothing or it may be part of something bigger. I don’t know. All I know is that he does not normally make requests of this nature. It’s a little odd and might be worth investigating.”
Cruz stood. “Nice work, Marty.”
O’Neal nodded. “I also have some information on Hardy.”
Cruz had walked away and picked up her desk phone. Hearing his words, she held the phone in mid-air and looked back at the computer guru.
O’Neal glimpsed his watch. “How about I tell you over lunch?”
Her breakfast had consisted of a cup of coffee. She had not even taken one bite of her bagel before Agent Harper called and informed her of the hospital episode with the fake DHS agents. Her free hand went to her stomach and she felt a hunger pang. “Give me a minute.” She contacted her secretary. “Get me the office of Senator Chuck Hastings, immediately.”