Gator
Thursday, Ruffles Hotel, Singapore
A tattoo sounded at the hotel room door. Gator lifted his chin to Lynx then went to open it.
“Hey man,” Blaze said as he moved into the room and shot a glance to the computer. “Hey, Lynx. I just got my last person tucked into bed. Sorry I’m late.”
“No worries. Gator gave me the rundown on what’s going on for the next two days before you get to Davidson Realm. We’ll do our best to keep our communications open. I was about to share some puzzle pieces I’ve identified from conversations thus far.”
“Okay, shoot,” Blaze pushed the computer over to make space on the bed and flopped down, scrunching a pillow under his head.
Gator pulled up a chair, spun it around, and sat on it backwards. He crisscrossed his arms over the back, and let his chin rest on his forearms. Gator was relieved Blaze had come when he did and interrupted his discussion with Lynx, as cowardly as it felt to admit that.
Gator had dealt in the ether before. Mainly as an observer. Lynx could do some scary-assed shit with her psychic abilities. Gator hated to watch her when she went behind the “Veil” as she called it. She could meld with and become one with a victim, trying to figure out what was going on and how to get help onto the scene.
He’d stood by and watched her take the punishment while she saved life after life. It weren’t how he was raised. No man worth his salt would let a woman face a physical assault while he stood idly by, twiddling his thumbs. And that was what it had been.
Lynx seemed okay dealing with her sixth sense. Gator hated it. Hated the sensations. Hated the distraction. But most of all, right then, he hated that they’d both concluded that all this psychic noise had to do with Christen Davidson. Knowing danger was focused on Christen did crazy things to his insides. Just talking about it, and the volume got turned up in his own body. For relief’s sake—since there was no good coming of just talking—Gator was glad Blaze came in to serve as a buffer.
Lynx flipped through the pages in her hand and then stopped, her eye tracking from top to bottom. “I have a connection for you – Medved’ means bear in Slovac.” She looked back up at them. “That’s the Gregor Zoric guy’s nickname. The Zorics are a dangerous and powerful family. You know about the branch of the Zoric family that went after Lacey Stuart when Deep was trying to protect her from the Zoric assassins here in DC. But you’ve been on assignment since Jack jumped off the roof.”
“You made a Jack connection to Gregor?” Gator asked.
“Maybe. You know the story of how Jack went after Suz and hooked up with the Mossad unit in Brazil and Paraguay. Did you also know that when the Mossad took down the extremist’s camp, they discovered it was a group of Slovakians who were helping to fund the terrorists and run that training camp? Since then, several of our intelligence communities have been talking to Jack, including NSA, CIA, FBI, and interestingly, the treasury. The CIA and the Treasury happen to be our clients – they’ve made a connection between money laundering, offshore banking, and activities down in Paraguay. They’re trying to make the connection between Medved’ Zoric and the Paraguayan kidnapping.”
“And you think Gregor Zoric might be that Medved’ Zoric from Paraguay?” Blaze asked.
Lynx tilted her head back and forth as if weighing the idea. “Seems like we keep playing in the Zoric’s back yard. I’m going to call Special Agent Steve Finley and see if he’s willing to weigh in. Right now, we know for a fact that the Zorics are connected to Iran and Hezbollah and so Syria. Voila! I think that’s the Johnna Red connection.” She paused, looking up from her notes. “Speculation. Grain of salt.”
Both men nodded.
“Money to fund extremist activity is absolutely funneled to Hezbollah, through the Zoric connection. And drugs and art work are funneled back their way. These are business and economic considerations not driven by any religious connection, except where they find it useful as a tool.”
Gator shook his head. “Wait. That makes no sense what you were sayin’. It was an al Qaeda cell in Paraguay. Why was a Hezbollah sympathizer helping al Qaeda?”
“In Paraguay? That’s a very good question. We don’t know for sure what the terrorists’ affiliation was. They were operating under a black flag. Does that sound a little like something that you were telling me about in the Philippine article? That small groups were fighting unaffiliated but under a black flag?”
“Shit,” Blaze muttered.
“The Mossad and CIA are sharing the documentation that the Mossad gathered from the Paraguayan camp, but it’s need-to-know. And we really have no need, outside of curiosity, to know. Al Qaeda was a guess based on the historic association that Osama bin Laden had in Paraguay, not from any concrete evidence.”
“Okay. Got it. Why are you bringing this up?” Gator asked.
“Suz and Jack both said in their hot wash that the guy who was being reported to over the satellite phone was called the Bear. Also, a note was intercepted that was being sent out from the Tanzanian prison camp the scientists were held in along with Meg Finley and Honey Honig. It mentioned Medved’ which, again, is Slovac for bear. Unfortunately, since Honey neutralized Momo Bourhan and his men, we have no new information, and no one to interrogate.”
“You think the guy here might be the same bear? I’d imagine that were kinda common as a nickname over in that part of the world.” Gator rubbed a hand over his jaw.
“I agree a thousand percent. I’m laying my thoughts out there in case it bubbled any connections or memories you guys had from Jack’s last mission. I’m keeping an open mind.”
“Gotcha. Grain of salt.” Blaze said.
“What else do you know about Russia and helium?” Gator asked.
Lynx reached for a pad of paper. “Let’s see, just ticking down some of my notes: Russia may be able to help the global markets catch up on their requirements because its gas reserves hold a higher proportion of helium and the fields are close to Asian markets. Uhm… Davidson’s on the records for helping to push US laws concerning the federal helium reserve, located in Amarillo, Texas, his home town. It’s the only strategic reserve of helium in the world. It’s also the main reason why the U.S. is the top global helium supplier. The government began privatizing its helium reserve in the 1990s. That’s when Congress decided private-sector demand for the gas had exceeded federal demand. They passed a bill to share public helium with private companies. The Department of Interior generates revenue from that sale of helium.”
“Davidson was involved in lobbying for that bill?”
“Yup. He’s been in the helium game for a while.”
“And we’re sure this is about helium.”
“Nope. But I’ve been trying to put the puzzle pieces of people at the party together and that’s the only configuration that makes any sense right now. Think of it as a hypothesis.”
“But why?” Blaze asked. “William Davidson’s looking like both the victim and the villain here. Which do you think it is? Did the CIA tell you? Is he an asset or a target?”
“You know what I know,” Lynx said. “For some reason, they think it’s best to keep us in the dark. We’re eyes and ears. We’re meant to data gather. And I’m putting it through the helium filter to see if it shines things in a new light.”
Blaze tightened his jaw. “Just between you, me, and the lamp post, that feels like a damned dangerous plan of action. I’ve had a cold tickle on the back of my neck since the hotel room in Tanzania. I couldn’t tell you why, but this mission has FUBAR written all over it.”