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“There’s a large Bulgarian population in Northern Ireland.”
“Why?”
“It’s called diaspora.”
He looked away from the wall and at me. “What’s that?”
“The dispersion or spread of a people from their original homeland. The first wave began in Bulgaria in 1903. Then, the majority of emigrants either went to Russia, the United States, or Canada. There were a total of six such waves, all attributed to significant events like the First and Second World Wars, the Great Depression, and the Greek Civil War. It was during the sixth wave, brought on by the collapse of the Berlin Wall, that Bulgarians were permitted entry into Germany, Italy, and the UK.”
“Hence, Northern Ireland,” said Ares.
“Correct,” I responded.
Ares continued to study me, but I felt more as though he was looking through me.
“My postgraduate degree was in Eurasian Studies,” I mumbled.
“I recall,” he said out loud, although he appeared lost in thought about something else. He turned to Puck. “You said the first location on the containers’ manifests was Moldova.”
“Affirmative.”
“A hop, skip, and a jump from Belarus. For years, the worst country in the world for human trafficking. Number one among tier-three countries until only recently, when the US State Department moved them to the tier-two watch list.”
“A convenient theory, flawed by the fact the majority of Belarusian trafficking victims remain either there or in Russia.”
Ares nodded. “You make a good point, Nem. The other flaw in the theory is that according to the ME, the victims in one of the containers were from Syria, Iran, and Afghanistan. Why move them into Eastern Europe to then transport them to the UK? Or wherever their final destination was supposed to be?”
“Nothing about this makes any sense,” Puck commented.
“We aren’t looking hard enough. The simple answer is that the manifests are fake.” Ares paused, focusing again on the blank wall. “But why go to all this trouble to move one hundred and twenty-four people who were already dead? And if they weren’t, they were close.”
I agreed, and I also admired the intuitive way he processed information. He was clearly very good at what he did, which was made evident by the UN’s wanting him to command the US task force. I found myself regretting the disparaging remarks he’d overheard me make yesterday.
What I’d said was akin to a man vilifying an attractive woman, assuming her being so would take away from her ability to do her job. I was ashamed of myself, both for that and the thoughts I’d had about Iris.
“Zep and Magnet are here, meeting with Z before joining us,” said Puck, jarring me out of my introspection.
“It might be best to reconvene in the sixth-floor conference room where we met yesterday,” I suggested.
“Roger that. Excuse me a minute.” Ares left my office.
“What are you thinking?” Puck asked.
“About?”
“Anything.”
I shook my head. If he was attempting to get me to comment on Ares, I had no intention of doing so. My gaze met Cayman’s, and he nodded imperceptibly.
I liked working with Puck, but his background was undercover work, and it was where he excelled. I was anxious to utilize his capabilities in a way we’d both prefer.
My mobile vibrated with a message from Wren.
“I’ll join you upstairs shortly.” I stood and motioned for the two men to do the same. Once they’d left, I closed the door behind them and rang her.
“How goes it this morning?” she asked.
“It appears the move to Shere is a go,” I responded.
