“That makes sense,” he agreed, his voice thick, gravelly. “You seem to have this situation under control, or as much as it can be.”
Even through the praise, I heard the concern. “I’m being careful,” I assured him.
He grunted.
“You know me.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “I’ll change your IDs and information now.”
“It’s okay. The FBI is going to—”
“I will change your IDs and information now, Esca,” he bit out.
So I shut the hell up. The man, I suspected, had a vast network of people at his disposal that would terrify me.
“Is this you giving me your blessing?”
“You say the FBI is fully up and running with this op?”
“Yes,” I said, keeping my tone level. I didn’t want to rouse Dallas; I liked him where he was, pressed to my side and holding on to me.
“I want to know who the players are so I can have Owen check them out.”
Explaining was quick. I gave him Dallas’s name first, then Digby’s, and finally, Eric Foster’s, just because I wanted to see what would come up. Lane was next, and finally Suárez himself.
“Okay,” he said slowly, like he was reading.
“Is Owen there with you, sir?”
“Yes,” he answered flatly.
And I had a moment to wonder about that. It was past midnight in Vegas, so that meant it was 2:00 a.m. in Chicago. What was my boss doing with Owen when they both should have been sleeping?
I cleared my throat.
“Esca?”
“I’m sorry that you have to wake Owen up just to do a deep dive into the people I’m with,” I said, trawling for a bite.
“He was already awake,” he replied absently.
I wanted to ask, “Doing what? Doing you?” But as I didn’t have a death wish, I kept silent. It would have been impertinent to ask such a personal question, even though I was dying to know. It occurred to me that I could have asked Dallas to look up my boss, but I suspected that would bring men in black to my door. Or worse, my boss would call me and ask what the hell I was doing. Just imagining that made me cringe.
“Okay,” Jared began, his voice a low rumble. “Looks like everyone is who they say they are, except Suárez and Lane. I’m looking at five aliases and five different passports for him.”
It wasn’t all that surprising. Guys who ran cartels were a good bet for having various identities and lots of fake paperwork.
“But that makes sense,” he said, and I wondered if he could read minds too. I shuddered at the mere thought. “And whoever’s making his papers for him isn’t as good at it as Owen. Most of this wouldn’t stand up to any kind of real scrutiny. A good customs official would spot these as forgeries.”
“And the sister?” I asked, because she was the one I cared about.
“Lane is working for someone,” he told me, taking a breath. “Is she a CI for the feds?”
“Not that Dallas told me.”
He grunted. “He may not have figured it out himself, or more likely, he doesn’t have the clearance to tell you. I see several things here that she could have, and should have, been prosecuted for, but hasn’t been… Or—wait.”
So I sat there and waited, because what else was I going to do?
“You need to talk to this Bauer again, and have him do some digging, because this goes back years. I’m seeing her name linked with Eston Travers.”
“That’s because she was fighting with him all the time, and finally killed him.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s the guy who sanctioned all the environmental horrors perpetuated by Stanton-Downey.”
“Well,” Jared said, with an exhale of breath, “the man Stanton-Downey blamed, at least, yes.”
“I’m sorry?”
“They blamed Mr. Travers for that, but it was all put into motion before he took over. That was all Baker Stanton’s call.”
“No, that can’t be.”
“Oh yes, it very well can,” Jared apprised me, his voice calm, soothing. “Baker Stanton headed all the development in the South China Sea that nearly caused irreparable damage, and there are landfills in Sonora, Mexico, that make Love Canal look like a Sunday cleanup at the beach.”
I tried to wrap my brain around all the information, but I was tired. “So, Eston Travers—he wasn’t the bad guy?”
“He was the fall guy.”
“And Suárez, he’s moving drugs in Sinaloa, where everyone knows the cartel is, but he’s not big time yet.”
“That’s right.”
“And he just so happens to get ahold of Lane.”
“Maybe it’s not quite the coincidence it looks like.”
“You’re saying she could be a plant?”
“It’s awfully convenient.”
“Bauer thinks she was kidnapped because Suárez figured out who she was.”
“This Suárez strikes me as a bit smarter than that, what with his hasty climb up the food chain in Sinaloa. Stupid men don’t last in the drug trade.”
“No, they don’t,” I agreed.
“You should have Bauer see what he can find because, again, her paperwork looks like it’s been tampered with. And it doesn’t have to be the Bureau, it could be the DEA or some other alphabet agency, but I would be very surprised if there weren’t concurrent ops running.”