“They weren’t there when you went in the first time?”
“No,” said Grimm with a shake of his head. “We also have new information. Are any of you familiar with the topography of Florida?”
Jeffrey nodded. “It’s karstic, meaning that it’s basically a porous limestone bedrock over a high water table.”
“Right. And beneath Florida is a system of caves formed by water running through the pores of that limestone, many of which are submerged. Cave-diving and spelunking heaven.”
“Yeah, okay,” said Lydia, not sure she liked where this was going.
“According to our source, they’re using some of the dry caves to hide weapons. Not just guns.”
“Who’s your source?” asked Lydia.
“Well, that’s the other thing,” said Grimm, shifting in his seat and putting his eyes on Lydia. “We’ve lost contact. We lost contact weeks ago.”
“You sent someone to infiltrate,” said Jeffrey, with a frown. “Because the kid we pulled out of there? He was fried, totally divorced from reality and from his personality.”
Grimm nodded. “In most cases, we train our people to resist those techniques.”
“In most cases?” asked Lydia.
“In this case, there was no time. It was a matter of opportunity.”
“So there’s an agent in the compound somewhere? Doesn’t that give you cause to go in?” asked Lydia.
“It’s more complicated than that. Let’s just say-” He paused as if searching for the right words. “Rules have been broken. It comes from on high that it’s hands off The New Day. But some of us didn’t think that was such a good idea.”
“So now you’ve lost someone that you can’t get out without admitting that you’ve been investigating a group that was supposed to be immune to investigation,” said Jeffrey.
Grimm didn’t answer, just glanced back at the computer screen. Lydia watched Jeffrey; there was a muscle working in the side of his jaw and he had leaned forward, his forearms resting on his thighs. He had turned a hard look on Grimm. He didn’t believe what Grimm was telling them, or not all of it. Lydia felt the same edge of uncertainty. An uneasiness had burrowed its way into her gut. They both knew that with the new anti-terrorism laws the FBI didn’t really need cause to raid the New Day Farms. There was some other reason they didn’t want to go in there.
“You want us to find your agent and bring him out,” said Dax.
“Since you’re in the neighborhood and were planning a visit anyway.” There was a blankness to Grimm’s face and his voice, a strange nebulousness to his whole being, as if you might forget what he looked like shortly after you’d left him. Suddenly Lydia didn’t like him or what he was asking them to do. It seemed off, crooked even for the FBI. “And in return, we won’t arrest you for any of the variety of things we could arrest you for right now.” He smiled. It wasn’t pretty.
“So who’s your man?” asked Jeffrey.
“Our man is a woman,” said Grimm, looking down at his shoes. “I believe you all know her. Her name is Lily Samuels.”
Lydia drew in a sharp breath of surprise. “Oh my God,” she said, standing up with the shock of it; both Dax and Jeffrey turned their eyes to her. A thousand things that hadn’t made sense suddenly did. “You used her,” said Lydia. Her voice was quiet but her tone was white hot with anger. “She came to you for help, trying to understand what happened to her brother and you used her.”
She thought of the message Lily had left her. “I really need your help. I am out of my league. Big-time. I-I just really need to talk to you,” she’d said. Man, she wasn’t kidding.
“It wasn’t like that, Ms. Strong,” said Grimm, holding up a hand. “Not at all. Lily Samuels came to us with a proposition. We took her up on it. Otherwise, she would have gone in on her own. We thought we could offer her some protection while pursuing our own agenda. We were wrong.”
“What was her proposition?” asked Jeffrey.
“She was convinced that The New Day had something to gain through Mickey’s death. She wanted to know what that was. In return for our support, she would provide evidence against The New Day and write an exposé that would tear the lid off the organization and send its political supporters scattering like roaches.”
“Allowing you to go in and get Trevor Rhames,” said Dax.
“And expose The New Day for what we believe them to be,” said Grimm. “A criminal organization that robs people of their lives and their money. One that uses that money and the money earned through a variety of illegal activities to fund terrorist groups and supply weapons and men to rebel factions, destabilizing political situations around the world to create chaos.”
“So your feeling is that The New Day is a Privatized Military Company masquerading as a religion,” said Jeffrey. Lydia looked at him and could tell that the same things were flashing through his mind: the house on the water, the compound in the middle of nowhere, the pink diamond, the jewel heist, Tim Samuels’ security company. All the pieces fell together, but something still didn’t feel right.
“At least partially-the part that Trevor Rhames runs,” said Grimm vaguely.
They were all quiet for a second. The sun had dropped below the horizon outside and the sky was deep blue-black with streaks of orange like the belly of a tiger. Outside two pelicans dive-bombed into the dark, gold-tinged water, taking advantage of the last bit of light to fish by.
“What are the security specs?” asked Jeffrey.
So that’s what you do? You work for one of these Privatized Military Companies?”
Jeffrey had the wheel and Lydia sat beside him, turned to look at Dax who sat in the backseat, his legs up, his back against the door.
“I’ve done a lot of things.”
Something in his face changed when he said it, as if the memory of some of those things pained him. He looked away from her, his eyes taking on that veiled look they got when she asked too many questions. He was shutting her out.
“You’re a mercenary,” she said. She’d leveled this accusation against him before but never with any seriousness. He turned his eyes on her then, seemed about to say something but didn’t. Jeffrey hadn’t said anything, she noticed. She settled into her seat and watched Dax out of her sideview mirror. She thought he looked a little sad.
“What difference does it make who else he works for or what he does?” Jeffrey said after a few minutes of riding in an uncomfortable silence. “You’ve saved our asses and sacrificed enough for us, Dax, that we could never doubt your loyalty or your friendship.”
Dax nodded and Lydia didn’t say anything. It was true, of course. But something in her still felt bruised. She folded her arms across her chest, rested her head against the back of her seat and closed her eyes for a minute. When she opened them, she saw Dax watching her in the mirror. She held his eyes for a second and looked away from him.
“Do you think Grimm can be trusted?” Jeffrey asked Dax.
“As much as anyone,” he said with a shrug.
“Do you know him?” Lydia asked, suddenly turning around. “There was something between the two of you in that room.”
Dax was silent, turned to look out the window. Lydia blew out a sharp breath, turned back around.
“The question is,” said Jeffrey, looking at the headlights in his rearview mirror, “are we doing the right thing in helping them?”
“I don’t see where we have a choice,” said Dax. “We were going to go in anyway. Now we have better security specs. It doesn’t matter whether Lily Samuels was working with them or not. We still need to bring her home. They’re not going in after her. What do we have to lose?”
The question made Lydia flinch. It was like tempting the Universe; there was plenty to lose-Lily, for one. She didn’t say anything.
The drive to the New Day Farms was long and mostly silent; nearly an hour and a half toward the center of the state. They took a small state highway that passed quickly through the pretty seaside town, then past a fairly large metropolis with tall gleaming buildings in its downtown center, creating a small but attractive skyline. The city was edged with million-dollar bayfront homes, all hosting boats bigger than some houses Lydia had seen. The scenery quickly turned to the projects and dilapidated houses of a depressed outer urban area. About an hour outside the city the dark, empty roadside was dotted by rundown houses and shacks. Shells of old cars lay in front yards like sleeping dogs, wash hung on lines, people gathered on porches, monster trucks rumbled in short gravel driveways. They passed a couple of seedy-looking bars, some barbeque joints, a Waffle House. Near the middle of the state everything turned green-black and they saw nothing for miles but lush, thick vegetation in the glow of the headlights.