Page 190 of Secrets Beneath the Waves
“I’m listening.”
“When we were at Oumar’s apartment, we found tickets to an exclusive gala tonight at the Louvre with the name of a contact on the back. I’m pretty sure Oumar wanted me to find them.”
Hawke pulls his car keys out of his pocket. “We have a lot to do between now and then, but it looks like you and Graham are going to that gala tonight.”
CHAPTER
ELEVEN
[Ransom Countdown: 23 Hours, 52 Minutes remaining]
I spendthe next few hours doing a deep dive on Elijah Rourke, the name scribbled on the back of the gala tickets, while Graham works with Hawke to investigate what happened at the safe house. I shift in my seat, trying to stretch out the knots that have built up across my lower back and shoulders. This detailed assessment is a process I’ve done a thousand times in order to access potential assets, comb for information, or simply do background checks on people. The importance of getting things right is essential. If I were to authorize a terrorist, for example, or someone who held some kind of deadly secret, the outcome could be devastating. It’s not a scenario I’m willing to gamble with.
Initially, I don’t find much information on Rourke beyond his LinkedIn account and a sleek private security firm website. According to his brief bio, he spent time in the military then worked for several years for a government contractor overseas. After that he went private. The website is simple, up to date, with a description of offers for everything from private security for businesses and individuals, including discrete surveillance,consultations, risk assessments, and asset transportation. And while I’m sure he gets some of his clients off his website, I’m sure most of them are from referrals. If he’s as good as he says he is, military buddies and other former clients will get his name out there.
Open-source intelligence, though, is just the starting place. Government law enforcement databases are the next place I look, searching for any criminal history. I look through DMV records, military records, and employment history, until finally, I head to the CIA’s classified internal system. What I find there both surprises and confuses me.
While on the surface Elijah Rourke appears to simply be a businessman with wide connections, I quickly realize that the classified data shows a different picture. I find a CIA file on him, one that is heavily redacted. Which, once again, leaves me with more questions than answers. It looks like someone is protecting him. I just can’t figure out who or why.
I glance at the countdown I set on my watch. With less than twenty-four hours left before something potentially happens to Oumar, I’m frustrated at how fast time is going by and how little information I have at this point.
A knock on the open door shifts my attention. Hawke and Graham step into the small conference room where I’ve been working, carrying a takeaway bag and three coffees.
“Thank you,” I say, happy when Graham hands me a croque-monsieur. “This smells amazing. I didn’t even realize how hungry I was.”
“I figured you’d probably skipped lunch.”
Graham sets a drink for me on the edge of my desk, then pulls up a chair and sits down across from me. Hawke stands, coffee in hand. The tension clear in his jaw.
I take a bite of the sandwich. “This is perfect.”
“How are you?” Graham asks.
“Tired, but fine,” I say, reaching for my coffee. “Any updates?”
“Lizzie will be okay, but they’re keeping her overnight for observation,” Hawke says.
“And the guards?” I ask.
“Both guards should make it,” Graham continues, “but so far we haven’t been able to get any information out of them. Same for the apartment building residents. No one saw anything, and on top of that, security for the entire building was down as well.”
“Which implies Mariam—if she was involved—had outside help,” I say.
“Agreed.” Hawke takes a sip of his coffee, hesitating as if he doesn’t want to tell me something. “We did receive an update on the man who attacked you. Ibrahim Diallo. Witnesses say that a man matching his description climbed out of the river on the opposite bank about twenty minutes after the standoff.”
My stomach clenches. “So he’s alive.”
Hawke nods. “French police have an alert out on him. We’ll find him.”
I glance at Graham. “He said something to me I didn’t understand.”
Hawke waits for me to continue.
“He said, ‘Tell Langley to stay out of this. This might not be Kidal, but we will still win.’”
Hawke’s brow furrows.
“What do you know?” I ask.
