Page 71 of Flash Freeze

“We also recovered chatroom conversations that reveal your anti-authority dogma,” Bach said, floating a printed transcript across the table. Mora barely glanced at it. “You go so far as to say extreme measures might become necessary, and we—group members, believers, whomever—should amass funds with which to wage our war by any means available.”

Returning his gaze to Athena, a smile crossed his lips. “When I reference authorities, I don’t mean you two in particular, and extreme measures needn’t entail violence. Surely, even you know deep down somewhere that we’re all being led like sheep into the pens they choose for us, and the media is a significant component of the mass hypnosis. ‘Be afraid of this,’ they say, ‘don’t believe that. We are the keepers of the law.’ But whether you accept my ‘conspiracy theories’ or not, they aren’t criminal. You believe in the First Amendment, don’t you?”

“You are quite correct,” Bach stated. “Your beliefs are not against the law. But stealing products from your workplace and selling them under the table to unscrupulous buyers, without authorization or paying the proper taxes, is illegal.”

“Hmm.” Mora lifted his hands to rub the side of his face. “When did I supposedly engage in this illegal activity, and with whom? Where is your evidence, your witnesses?”

“Mr. Booker testified that he was approached by someone at the chemical plant four years ago,” Athena began, and laid it out for him, including the code name Nexus.

Mora laughed. “And you think I’m this Nexus person?”

Bach flipped a page. “We’ve discovered a great deal more of your history, including the online name you used when you were in college: Nexus.”

Still, Mora didn’t react visibly. He sure got his emotions under control since berating the dean at MIT, Athena thought. But he clearly still detests authority.

“Nexus. A connection, a link. A connected group. The center or focus,” he listed. “I’m sure many net surfers have used that moniker over the years. If Mr. Booker’s partner in crime calls himself that, it’s purely a coincidence that I once had the same screen name. Now I go by Mr. Klean, with a K. Is that suspicious?”

“You caused a fender-bender, ran a red light, and almost struck a child in the road during your reckless race to evade Agents Ice and Hernandez,” Athena replied with stone precision.

“I was afraid for my life, Agent Bouvier,” he said with practiced restraint. “And I didn’t hit or hurt anyone. My vehicle sustained much more damage than the scratch on the fire engine.”

“Yeah, well, our lab is going over your vehicle with a fine-toothed comb, Mr. Mora,” Bach responded.

Athena added, “And my agents returned from your house with evidence to process. You might be smart, but nobody’s perfect. We’ll find something that links you to the theft, the bomb, or Nolan’s murder.”

“Will you?” Mora blinked. He pursed his lips and shook his head. “I don’t think so. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to go home.”

“Not so fast.” Bach leaned forward, pinning him with as much intimidation as he could muster. “We’re holding you on the current charges. Considering the lateness of the hour, the weather, and the weekend, you aren’t going anywhere tonight.”

“Don’t worry,” Athena said with a flick of her wrist. “We’ll find you a warm, comfortable cell—with electricity and running water. Isn’t that accommodating of us?”

Sinking back in his chair, Isaac Mora smirked at her. “I appreciate your kind hospitality, Agent Bouvier. Do I get some magazines?”

Athena swept from the interview room without betraying her frustration. She had been sure Bach would get a rise out of him. “Agents Ice, Hernandez, please escort our suspect to lockup. Get him a magazine, preferably Women’s Day or Martha Stewart Living.”

Ice laughed, his cheeks turning red. “Being behind bars isn’t enough punishment?”

She pinned him with a sardonic expression. “He said he wanted a magazine. He didn’t specify a title.”

“We’ll take care of it,” Hernandez said, and the two entered the room to collect the suspect.

“We should’ve known he wouldn’t roll over easily,” Bach said as he walked with Athena toward the bullpen.

“I’m afraid if we don’t come up with some hard evidence, he’s going to get away with this,” Athena confessed, her throat tight.

Once through the door, she addressed the room. “We need more.”

Campbell glanced at the clock.

Athena glowered. “Yes, it’s five o’clock, and our biggest chance of success depends on what the lab can pull out of his truck and residence.”

“Don’t forget the tip line,” Howard said optimistically. “I’ve been going through the call records. Two rookie agents have answered 167 calls since Whitmore announced his reward—nearly 400 since Kerrington’s press conference last Sunday. Most aren’t credible, but I’ve pulled two dozen that warrant investigation.”

“If all of you take a few each, you should be done with follow-up calls and verification by six,” Athena said. “I’ll be in my office.”

She spotted Bach sitting on Shoops’ desktop as she strode into her private retreat and closed the door. She took out her phone and sent a text to Flash.

Sweetie, I won’t make it home tonight. Sorry. Love you.