Page 89 of Nothing to Fear

“Paid for in cash.” Sybil sneered as if the less-than-accurate detail substantiated Harper’s guilt.

He wanted to snap her bony neck. “Actually, paid for in Bitcoin. Untraceable.” A fact that supported his suspicion Willow was being framed.

“The deed and the offshore account are both in her name, for goodness’ sake.” Sybil folded her arms, stiffening in her chair. “And one of my analysts checked the entry records to the server, where power to the observation room was disconnected the night Novak was murdered. Willow Harper was the only person to access it.”

“You mean Willow’s PIN was used to access it,” Sanborn countered.

Sybil gave him a pointed look. “The evidence is damning. What do you need? A trail of breadcrumbs spelling it out? She’s the mole. Why do you keep pussyfooting around the facts?”

“I’m inclined to agree with Sybil on this.”

A smug smile hitched her mouth.

Sanborn’s eye twitched and he wrestled the urge to slap the Cheshire-cat grin off her face. First time he’d ever wanted to hit a woman.

He softened his expression in opposition to his mounting annoyance. “The so-called evidence is circumstantial at best, too tidy and convenient. Just enough to point the finger at Harper and give the appearance of guilt, with nothing to substantiate it.”

Glaring at her with daggers of disgust, he mentally stabbed the hell-raiser to death but refused to lower himself further.

“The bank in the Caymans,” Sanborn said to the DNI, “has denied our request for copies of the documents used to open the offshore account. Attempts to hack into the system have been futile. The external firewalls are brutal.”

Sanborn straightened, squaring his shoulders. “The deed to the villa is in Harper’s name, in a country where we have extradition. Not the best place to hide. Also, she didn’t use her offshore account to pay for it—instead, she supposedly used Bitcoin. Why would she go to the effort of using untraceable underground cryptocurrency to cover her tracks, then slip up by putting the property in her own name?”

He took a hit of coffee to strike the beat of a pause for effect, a casual show of confidence. “I may not be a forensic accountant, but this sure as hell doesn’t add up.”

“Doesn’t she have a sister who’s married to a Frenchwoman and living in Paris?” Sybil asked for the DNI’s benefit.

“That true, Bruce?” The DNI pinched the bridge of his nose, looking in desperate need of a power nap.

“She has a sister there and a sister-in-law who could’ve provided a French stooge to list on the deed so we’d never know about the villa. Since the discovery of the offshore account, Willow Harper’s house has been torched, and her father is now in a coma in ICU. Also, I was just informed that forensics confirmed the brakes on Harper’s car were sabotaged. Traces of a rare and highly corrosive chemical called dedtrex were discovered. We’re trying to track down where it came from.”

Sybil rested her forearms on the table. “Sir, this only proves whoever Harper works for obviously wants her dead before she can be found and talks.”

“The only thing obvious is the danger of someone with zero operational experience weighing in on matters beyond the scope of their comprehension.”

“I have a dog in this fight.” Sybil stabbed the glass table with a painted talon, throwing him a frosty glare. “More than Operations is at stake here if you continue to fail.”

Sanborn cut his attention from her, looking to the DNI. He hated to tug at personal strings in a professional situation, but everything was about to be razed to ashes. Careers, lives, the Gray Box. He’d sacrificed and risked too much to lose it all now.

“Lee, you and I go way back. My reputation—”

“Needs no reiteration with me. They don’t make them like you anymore. Truth be told, if you weren’t the one handling this, I would’ve insisted the president assign an interim director in your stead at the first piece of evidence pointing to Harper, regardless how shitty or shoddy. That should show how much I respect you.”

The hollow declaration brought no comfort. Lee was a veritable politician and dished out what others wanted to hear.

“Give me seventy-two hours.” Gideon and Willow needed time to do their job and find the real traitor. Neither would betray him, the Gray Box, or this country. “I’ll run this to ground.”

“Thus far, you’ve produced zero results.” Lee raked a hand through silver hair that made him look ten years older than his true age of fifty. “Despite your previous assurances.”

Sanborn folded his hands atop the cool glass. “With the budget cuts, I’m working with limited resources, a smaller staff, and one hand tied behind my back.” Their black budget had been chopped in half with the change in the last administration. Meant he couldn’t provide his operators the proper support or leverage resources to their full potential, forcing him to find other ways to remedy the situation. “I’m not a magician, Lee. You know well enough what it takes to run this type of operation.”

“The Gray Box has proven its capability and worth time after time. Your team was just awarded another unofficial letter of appreciation from the president for preventing the worst terrorist attack in U.S. history and saving thousands from a nasty bioweapon. And that’s with one hand tied behind your back. You’re doing fine with limited resources.”

Fine was bullshit. They needed the resources to operate at the top of their game. “Too much is at stake to dismiss mitigating factors.”

“Don’t preach to me about the stakes. The intel community can’t handle another blow like Tice or Manning or, God forbid, Snowden.” Lee flipped open a bottle of Tums and popped some in his mouth, washing them down with the whiskey sitting in a tumbler in front of him.

No doubt a twenty-five-year-old Glenmorangie Grand Vintage Malt that cost more than some folks’ car payment.