Authors: A.M. Khalifa
Blackwell ignored him and pushed on. “Don
’
t you see what
’
s happening here? It
’
s the first time we
’
ve looked at him from the wider prism of being
just
a criminal, rather than a terrorist.” He jumped to his feet and Slant followed.
“Alex is right. We just assumed this was all ideological for him, because he lead us to believe that. We assumed he was Jihadist Joe just by what he fed us in terms of actions, demands and rhetoric.”
The tingling of a revelation in the making vibrated through Blackwell
’
s body.
“What if this guy isn
’
t a terrorist at all—just an opportunistic criminal? What if Nabulsi and Madi don
’
t mean a damn
thing to him and are just a means to an end?”
Slant was just a few feet away from him now. “Or he could have been hired by someone else to break them out. Maybe he
’
s just a mercenary who was given a bundle of resources to get the job done and paid a lot of money for his services.”
Blackwell pondered Slant
’
s take on his theory. Vlasic, Nishimura and Kendrick were all blank-faced and clearly hadn
’
t yet latched on.
Slant
’
s observation sounded good on the surface. Seth could have been a professional mercenary who for some odd reason didn
’
t like blood on his hands. His execution of the operation was flawless and he had outsmarted them along every step of the way. He certainly had the brains and the balls to be a successful soldier of fortune.
But there was something not quite feasible about this being the
only
explanation. Nabulsi and Madi were held in Egypt. If it was Blackwell in Seth
’
s shoes, he would have extorted the Egyptians directly. It would have been far less risky and would have required less resources and planning. Why bring the fight to American soil? There was no possible rationale for Seth to break into Exertify and to lock horns with the FBI and the entire might of the US government, when it could have all been done on the cheap in Egypt. Unless there was something else.
He rubbed his scalp to massage his thoughts and looked at Slant, who was waiting for a verdict on his theory.
“That could very well be, Bob. But that alone doesn
’
t explain why he came here. He wanted
to be here. He wanted this.”
Nishimura jumped up and started pacing around. He too had been infected by the frenetic pace of mental processing Blackwell and Slant were exchanging.
“Why are we thinking either-or?”
Not one to be left behind, Vlasic stood up.
“What do you mean, Liam?”
“What if he wanted to do both, free the Jordanians
and—
”
Blackwell interrupted Nishimura before he could complete that thought.
“Kendrick—how much of the building has been cleared by HAZMAT?”
“All of it. You guys wouldn
’
t be here otherwise.”
Blackwell then turned to Vlasic. “And forensics?”
“We have three teams. One dedicated to this floor, and the other two are working from the bottom up and from the roof down. What
’
s going on, Alex?”
“We
’
re
so
stupid. He led us on. He wanted us to think this was just about Mark Price and Exertify because of the Julia connection. He blinded us. But I
’
ll bet anything Liam
’
s right—Seth wanted to free the men
and
he was looking for something here. Not necessarily in this room and not necessarily on this floor. But in this building.”
Nishimura didn
’
t need to wait to jump on what Blackwell had just given him. “I
’
ll pull out the list of tenants.”
Vlasic stood at the center of the room with eyes wide.
“So, what? It
’
s a fucking
heist
?”
Blackwell did not respond to her but kept his eyes fixed on Nishimura who was scanning the list of tenants on his laptop. They had gone through it at the onset of the investigation. Most of 200 Park Avenue was occupied by the insurance company that owned it. The other major tenants were a couple of overseas bank offices, a handful of investment management companies, and numerous law firms.
And there were three small boutique companies that weren
’
t typical of the building
’
s profile. Exertify was one of them. The other was an Australian property and infrastructure company, Ray Black and Young. And the third, a Delaware-incorporated offshore trust, Balmoral Westwood, LLC.
Kendrick scrutinized what appeared to be a provisional report on an iPad and then turned to Blackwell. “The insurance company, the banks, the finance companies, and the law firms all locked down their offices before the evacuation. And none of them were breached during the siege, according to their security logs.”
Vlasic fired back. “How about the two other smaller companies?”
Kendrick put down his iPad. “They don
’
t keep logs, Monica. We
’
ll have to check their offices ourselves.”
Nishimura peered up from behind his laptop. “Ray Black and Young are on the seventh floor. We could start there.”
Vlasic thought for a second then shook her head. “No. Forensics has already scanned the seventh floor.” She checked her phone for an update report. “They
’
re up to the twelfth now. If they had found something they would have told us.”
Everyone in the room fixed on Nishimura for the answer to the question they all wanted to ask. But it was Blackwell who said it first. “And the third company?”
“Balmoral Westwood shares a tiny office on the forty-first floor with another company not officially on the rental agreement, but listed as a co-tenant—the Aswan Group.”
Vlasic grabbed her phone and started dialing. “The forensic team on the top floor is still working on the forty-eighth. Let
’
s divert them to Balmoral Westwood and meet them there.”
Nishimura was still reading, his eyes glued to the monitor. “Wait. Something
’
s not right here. The number of permanent staff listed for the office of Balmoral Westwood is zero. They have an office but nobody works in it. Security only issued one building pass for a company director to come in casually. If I go back three years, same thing. The last time someone worked in that office full-time was 2005.”
Slant squinted hard, like he was struggling to squeeze something out of his head. “What was the name of that company again?”
“Balmoral Westwood, LLC.”
“Liam, check the report Finn Simmer filed from Cairo this morning. It
’
s the summary of the meeting he and our ambassador had with the Egyptian generals.”
Nishimura clicked and scrolled on his laptop with organic precision. “Got it right here. What am I looking for?”
“A mention of that company, Balmoral Westwood. The name is ringing a bell from Simmer
’
s report.”
This was a part of the job Blackwell missed the most. The fusion of incredible brains to laser through information and formulate theories to solve crimes. It would have served them well before Seth had gotten away, but to their defense, he hadn
’
t given them anything. Not a crumb.
Nishimura froze behind the computer then stood up abruptly.
Slant glanced at him like a concerned parent.
“What
’
s wrong, kid?”
“You
’
re right, Simmer did reference Balmoral Westwood. It
’
s a shell corporation registered in Delaware. Check this out: The Egyptians claim it
’
s a front for a close member of the Mubarak family. One of their conditions to hand over Nabulsi and Madi was for us to help them freeze Balmoral Westwood
’
s assets. Nearly six hundred million dollars of US government bonds, stocks, mutuals, and time deposits. All accrued illegally, according to this report.”
Blackwell thought hard about this. The Egyptians had requested the US government
’
s help to seize Balmoral Westwood
’
s assets in return for Nabulsi and Madi
’
s freedom. What are the odds the same company has an office in the same building from which Seth launched his offensive to free these terrorists?
Slant looked at Nishimura and pointed at his laptop. “Is there any mention of the Aswan Group—the company that shares the office with Balmoral Westwood?”
Nishimura sat down and continued to read Simmer
’
s report closely. “Nothing, but—”
“But what?”
“The Egyptians think the same member of the Mubarak family had set up another dummy US corp to launder money in a different way. But they don
’
t know the name of the company. They just suspect its existence.”
“What else do they know about it?”
Nishimura read and paraphrased from Simmer
’
s report. “They suspect it was a front to aggregate anonymously owned real estate across America. Thousands of properties purchased with laundered money. They found out about it through an informer who squealed after the revolution in return for immunity.”
Nishimura
’
s eyes lit up as the geek in him was overpowering the FBI agent.
“They built an impenetrable piece of software called Leviathan. It
’
s the key to unlocking the real estate fortune they
’
d been amassing since 2008. The informer provided them with a copy of Leviathan, but neither he nor the Egyptians have a clue how to operate it. They
’
re sitting on it with their hands tied.”
Blackwell was already ahead of Nishimura.
“I know where this is going. The Egyptians want us to help them crack Leviathan so they can liquidate the company
’
s real estate holdings.”
“Exactly. There is an NSA cryptographer who the Egyptians think can get the job done. Danny Zimmerman. Ex Mossad. And the president approved it as part of the deal to get Nabulsi and Madi.”
“How much money are we talking about?”
Nishimura scanned the report and his eyes popped. “The conservative estimate is three billion dollars, Alex. But it could be up to seven, according to the Egyptians.”
Slant couldn
’
t control himself. “Holy mother of fucking crap!”
Vlasic, who
’
d been quiet for a while, put her hand on Nishimura
’
s shoulder. “Do the Egyptians know anything else tangible about this second company, other than its suspected activities?”
“Nothing conclusive. They think it may be incorporated in Wyoming or Nevada.”
Blackwell held out his hand to speak ahead of anyone else before the thought escaped him.
“Check the building
’
s tenancy records again. Where is the Aswan Group incorporated?”
“Nevada.”
“Bingo.”
The office of Balmoral Westwood and the Aswan Group was located on a floor used mostly by the archives department of the insurance company that owned the building. It was a low traffic area. The perfect location for an office trying to stay under the radar, Blackwell thought.
The tempered glass door of the office had been smashed to tiny pieces. Shards of every possible size were sprayed all over the champagne-colored carpeted floor. A group of FBI forensic agents were already at the office when Blackwell and the rest of the team showed up. They
’
d probably been sweeping the rest of the building with mindless repetition, but with nothing interesting to report. And now they were finally getting some action. This was the real centerpiece of the crime scene, not the Exertify floor as they had been misled to think by Seth.
Blackwell stopped to speak to a pretty young agent with soft curly hair and a dimpled face, who was already lifting prints outside the office.
“Didn
’
t HAZMAT check this floor already?
How
’
d
they miss it?”
“Well, there
’
s HAZMAT for you. If it
’
s not hazardous materials, they don
’
t give a damn. They knew we
’
d eventually get to it. Never mind that time could be of the essence.”