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Atticus read my message and motioned Blackjack over.
“Mitskovski arranged bail for the accomplice,” he whispered.
“Did you see that?” I said to Wren.
“Sure did. Jacov not only listened; he understood every word.”
“Tell the translator to leave,” I said through the comms.
Blackjack leaned over and whispered my instructions. The man stood and left.
“You’re going to prison for the murder of one hundred and twenty-four people, Joe. That’s where you’re gonna spend the rest of your life while Lazar and Mitskovski walk away scot-free,” said Blackjack. “They blamed the whole thing on you.”
Jacov shook his head. “You’re lying. Mitskovski is dead,” he said in English with only a slight Bulgarian accent.
“Well, then. Now, we’re getting somewhere. How about we get to the real story, Joe?”
I continued listening to Blackjack play hardball with the man, insisting with something as egregious as the murder of over one hundred people, only his ability to provide details resulting in the arrests and conviction of the entire trafficking organization would get him a deal.
“How did you know Mitskovski was dead?” Atticus asked in a tone of voice far less threatening than his partner’s.
Jacov shook his head. “I want a lawyer,” he repeated.
Blackjack shrugged. “Time to give in to Syria.”
The man visibly reacted, almost imperceptibly, but from our vantage point, Wren, Wilder, and I saw it.
“Syrian victims, Syrian death penalty. He knows the fate that awaits him with extradition,” she muttered. I agreed. The tactic was brilliant.
“Lazar told me,” Jacov mumbled.
“When?”
“After we left the port.”
“Who were you meeting at the industrial complex?” Blackjack pressed.
“The courier.”
“To deliver what?”
“Our instructions.”
“Who was your courier?” Atticus asked.
Jacov shook his head. “Lazar would know.”
“I’m sending Wren and Wilder to get started with Lazar now,” I said through the comms. Blackjack nodded.
“Do you want to observe?” she asked.
“I don’t need to.” Wren would remember every nuance that might be missed on the video recording.
“Okay. We’ll keep you posted.”
“Toodles,” I said when she and her husband left the room. I shut the door behind her, pulled a stool closer to the window, and took a seat. Moments later, my mobile vibrated with another call from Ares.
“Good morning,” I answered. “Sorry I didn’t ring you back. I received the brief. Well done on the Yavaros op.”
