“Hosts? I think the word you are looking for is ‘kidnappers.’”
“Sweetie,” the woman said, a dollop of the American South flavoring her words, “you assaulted a federal agent.”
“I’m not your sweetie,” Constance said through gritted teeth. Mentally, she kicked herself for letting the woman get under her skin. After all, it was all a game, wasn’t it? “If you are government agents, then I demand you charge me or release me.”
“Oh, you need not worry about that. My people are busy drumming up charges as we speak. And yes, I said exactly what I meant. What you end up actually being charged with depends on how cooperative you are.”
“I’ll tell you nothing,” Constance said in a bored voice. She wouldn’t let these people intimidate her.
“Want me to persuade her?” the big man asked.
“Don’t you have a tractor pull to get to? A professional wrestling match, perhaps?”
The big man smirked.
“Not yet, Sievers. I believe she’ll come around. She seems the sort to see good sense…eventually.”
“It must be killing you to take orders from a sister,” Constance said, still trying to get under the man’s skin. But, he merely rolled his eyes. She turned her attention to the woman at the end of the table. “Do you have a name?”
“You can call me Tam.”
Constance barked a laugh. “Sounds like a musical instrument slow children play so they can feel like part of the band.”
Everyone around the table laughed, even Tam.
“I’m going to remember that one,” Sievers said.
“The hell you will,” Tam said, still laughing. Her expression suddenly grew serious. “Lord Jesus, I got to put a dollar in my cussing jar.”
“Just a quarter,” Avery said. “Hell is as much a place as it is a swear.”
“My daddy would say that’s cheating but I’m going to go with your analysis.” Tam rested the palms of her hands on the table, her expression grave. “That’s enough foreplay. Time to get dirty.”
“Whoa,” Greg said.
“I didn’t cuss.” She turned her attention to Constance. “Let’s discuss your crimes and misdemeanors.”
“First of all,” Constance began, “I didn’t assault any federal agent.”
Avery raised her hand. “Hello? On the island?”
“That wasn’t me,” Constance said.
“So it was your accomplice?” Tam asked.
“Yes… I mean, I don’t have an accomplice. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Shame,” Tam said, inspecting her own fingernails, holding them up to the light as if looking for blemishes. “If somebody else were guilty, I mean, if you could point us in a different direction. That is to say, if we’ve got the wrong person…”
“Oh, you have the wrong person, but I don’t know who the right person is.”
“Wrong answer,” Tam said, still staring at her nails.
“You are wasting my time,” Constance said. “We both know you can’t prove that I assaulted anyone.” She turned to Avery and grinned.
“No?” Tam quirked an eyebrow. “But I’ve got security video of you assaulting my agent.” She inclined her head toward Sievers, who nodded. “You kicked him and you tried to head-butt him. And that’s just what we have on video. I have witnesses who saw you do much worse.”
“I will not be railroaded,” Constance said. “I have rights.”
“Haven’t you heard? If you are suspected of terrorism you could spend a long time in prison awaiting a trial. Without being charged.”
Constance’s stomach lurched. “I’m not a terrorist.”
“You’re a person of color from a foreign country who has committed a crime. Under the current administration that’s pretty much all it takes.” Constance didn’t know if Tam’s scowl was for her or for the administration to which she referred. “Also, you pissed me off.” She said the last three words slowly and deliberately.
“You just cost yourself another dollar,” Constance said, trying and failing to sound glib. She could feel her resistance crumbling.
“Give us the room,” Tam said. The others obeyed instantly. Constance couldn’t help but be impressed. The woman might dress herself up like a Real Housewife of Atlanta, but she wielded authority as if it were second nature.
“You going to play good cop or bad cop?” Constance asked.
“Dealer’s choice. I have a diverse skill set.” Tam stood, made her way down to Constance’s end of the table, and took the seat Greg had occupied. “As much as I would love to bandy words with you, I’m a busy woman. I imagine whatever criminal enterprise you’re involved in occupies a lot of your time too, so let’s talk like two sensible people.”
Constance made a curt nod but held her tongue. She sensed a deal was in the offing.
“We both know I can send you to Guantánamo and lose the paperwork. You might get out someday, but by then I’ll be retired to a Pacific island drinking mai tais while an oiled-up man in a Speedo massages my feet.” She paused for a moment to smile at the thought.
“What’s behind door number two?” Constance asked
“First of all, you convince me you’re not a terrorist. Then you help me understand why you went after my agent. Last, you tell me who you work for or with. The more you give me, the lesser the charge. That, I promise you. If I find out you’ve lied or held anything back, you might as well cease to exist. That, I also promise you.”
Constance flinched. Her first instinct was to punch Tam in the face, but seeing how she was handcuffed to a heavy chair, that was not an option. And, the woman was correct. This corrupt American government could not be relied upon to meet out justice in a fair and equitable way. She took a deep breath.
“All I want is to recover what belongs to my family.”
Chapter 24
Maddock froze, his eyes taking in everything at once. He was flanked by two tall, solidly built men. Both had dark skin and the same East African accent as Nomi. It was no coincidence they were here. It couldn’t be.
“Make no sudden moves,” the man to his left, a bald fellow wearing all black, said. “We are both armed.”
“What’s this all about?” Maddock was stalling for time, hoping Bones might be somewhere nearby. One armed man and he’d take his chances. With two, he’d have to get very lucky.
“Don’t waste our time. Stand up slowly.”
Maddock rose to his feet and stepped to the side as baldy’s partner moved to block the secret door. The cathedral was nearly empty. No witnesses and certainly no one to come to his aid.
“What did you find back there?”
“Dead end,” Maddock said. There wasn’t much to be gained from lying; there was no hiding the collapsed ceiling and Israel Hands’ makeshift vault. Still, anything that might buy him time to escape or for Bones to turn up was a positive. “Not entirely a dead end. There’s a trapdoor that opens into a fireplace in an office. Nothing our television show would be interested in.”
The men exchanged knowing grins. Maddock saw that each held a small caliber pistol. Easily concealed, but deadly none the less. Without warning, baldy’s partner delivered a punch to Maddock’s gut. He took it with barely a grunt and returned a defiant glare.
“Solid,” the man said. “You must do your sit-ups.”
“Your wife works me out regularly.” It was a juvenile retort, something worthy of Bones, but it got a reaction. The man tensed, fist clenched. “Also, you hit like a girl. And I don’t mean Ronda Rousey.”
“Cleo, keep your head about you,” Baldy said.
Cleo looked like he was on the verge of trying something reckless, but he acquiesced. “As you say, Ronald.”