The Girl Beneath the Sea (Underwater Investigation Unit #1)(88)

We climb inside, and I spread the documents across the galley table. Jackie takes a seat behind me on the windowsill and watches.

First I find pages of checks made out to different people for amounts ranging from a thousand dollars to tens of thousands. Different company names are shown as account holders on the checks, most sounding like investment firms but with slight differences. There’s Vanguard Investments, Fidelity Funds, and a few others of that type.

“Who are those people?” Jackie whispers.

“I don’t know . . .” I stop on one check and stare at the payee, Caldwell Thompson. I know that name. He’s a drug-court judge.

Holy crap. I flip back through the pages of checks and recognize at least five other judges’ names. Two of them are federal.

This is big. This isn’t DEA agents taking bribes. Bonaventure owned judges. Federal judges. There’s even a check to a circuit-court justice.

I flip past the checks and find copies of emails. They’re to anonymous accounts, but Bonaventure has annotated them, pointing out who they were sent to. These seem to record transactions with high-level law enforcement officials.

It’s not the number of names that stuns me, it’s how high up they are. Bonaventure must’ve worked on these people for years.

A chill washes through me. This is scary. These are powerful people. Trying to bring one down could draw interference from others.

I start photographing the documents with my phone. “Hey, honey, you want to help Mommy?”

Jackie slides them across the table as I snap the photos. After a few seconds, I decide it’s quicker simply to shoot a 4K video and make a movie of them all.

After I’m done, I call down to George. “Hey!”

He puts a finger to his lips then points outside.

Oops, they’re listening.

“The man’s walking to the door,” yells Run. “What do I do?”

“Don’t let him in, for crying out loud,” Dad answers.

“Switch,” George says as he runs to the front of the warehouse and Run races to the back.

I look back at the documents. They’re practically nuclear. I have to get them out of here. It’d be nice if I could email or text or transfer the video file somewhere safe . . .

“Do you have any signal on your phone?” I ask Jackie.

She shakes her head. Mine is dead too.

I recall Run mentioning the landline in the warehouse office, and an idea straight out of the eighties hits me.

“I need you to stay here. Okay?”

“All right.”

I shove the documents back in their bags and take them with me down to the warehouse floor. George is watching the front while Run keeps an eye on the back.

George catches me approaching out of the corner of his eye. He waves for me to stay out of the way of the window.

“Find anything?” he says loudly and meaningfully.

I raise the documents. “No. I don’t think it’s here,” I lie in a loud voice.

K-Group or whoever probably has us bugged. In this day and age, that could be as easy as landing a drone with a microphone on the building.

He waves for me to stay back. I point to the office off to his right and mouth the words fax machine.

He nods.

I hurry into the office and set a sheaf of papers into the feeder, then try to think who the hell has a fax machine anymore.

“Our man’s approaching,” George announces.

BANG! BANG! BANG! The man’s fist on the door sounds like gunshots and makes me wince.

George pokes his head in the office and whispers a number to me. I dial it in and get a fax tone. I cringe as the sound fills the air before I can hit the “Mute” button. The machine makes a humming sound and starts to scan the documents.

A voice calls from outside. “Mr. Solar, Ms. McPherson, I was hoping we could talk.”

George remains silent. I don’t even move, hyperconscious of the sound of the fax machine.

“My name is Owen Landsberg. I’m the deputy director of the Defense Intelligence Agency. I’m unarmed and just want to speak with you.”

I hear the sound of George cracking the outer door open. “Care to explain why your people are trying to kill us?”

“First off, they’re not ours. We’ve apprehended several people who have been acting illegally.”

This just got interesting.

“Great. Well, have a good day.” George shuts and locks the door. A moment later, he pokes his head in to check on me.

The documents are only half done. I point this out to him. He rolls his eyes.

“Mr. Solar, I can guarantee your safety if you cooperate,” Landsberg calls from outside the door.

“That sounds like a threat,” George tells the DIA man.

“If we wanted to breach the building, we’d be inside already.”

Damn this machine. Then again, I’m not sure how faxing this information will get us out of here alive.

“That also sounds like a threat,” says George.

“We’re not here to threaten you, Ms. McPherson, or her daughter or father.”

Jesus, that really sounds like a threat.

“Then why are you jamming our phones?” asks George.

“The storm took out a cell tower,” replies Landsberg.

“And the VHF bands too? That’s pretty amazing.”