“Jeez.” She forked up a huge bite, stuffed it in. “Spill.”
“He has what we’ll call his dumping account, which coordinates with the profits from the dojo. Hefty, but not enough to finance this sort of operation.”
“So he’s got other accounts.”
“Has to. He doesn’t dip into this one, just dumps the funds, and his personal data on it leads to a law firm out of Eden.”
“Eden? Like the garden thereof?”
“Based on. A manmade island in the South Pacific created ostensibly for recreation and in reality for tax evasion, money laundering. It takes considerable doing to get past the legal blocks there to gain information. And it takes considerable funds to open accounts there, or utilize any of their legal protection.”
“You’ve used it.”
“Actually, I helped create it. Before I saw the light of truth and justice.” He grinned when she just stared at him. “I sold out my interests there before we were married. However, since I did have some part in the design, I have ways of getting to information. Kirkendall’s covered himself very well. His law firm there leads to an off-planet financial firm, which leads—Do you want to hear all this?”
“Bottom-line it for now.”
“It all circles back to other numbered accounts. Five. All very plush indeed, and all under various aliases. The most interesting is one with a single deposit of just under twenty million.”
“That’s million? Two-oh.”
“A tad under. But doing the math, that’s well over and above any of the recorded fees I’ve found so far—that is, including the other accounts, which jibe with those fees, and expenses.”
“He hired out to more than sanctioned U.S. agencies.”
“There will be other accounts, I haven’t swept them all up yet. It’s going to take some time. But this account is interesting for a couple of reasons. The lump-sum deposit, for one. Have a look at this.”
He drew a disc out of his pocket, plugged it in her unit himself. “Data on-screen.”
Eve skimmed the data—another CIA file on Kirkendall. “Subject is considered nonsecure. Get them,” she muttered. “Train yourself a killer, then oops, he’s no longer secure. Last psych eval, eighteen months ago. Sociopathic tendencies—another huge surprise. Suspected ties to Doomsday—and the big surprises keep rolling. Suspected ties to . . . Cassandra.”
Doomsday Group, she thought. Techno-terrorist organization she’d brushed up against, by default, on a recent case. But Cassandra, they’d been more flexible in the terrorist game, and her involvement with them the year before much more personal.
They’d nearly killed her, and Roarke, in their quest to destroy New York’s landmarks. Took out a couple, too, she remembered with some bitterness, before she’d put the hurt on the ring leaders.
“And the bell rings. They were keeping him active as much to watch him as to utilize his skills. Look at the dates.” Roarke gestured with his fork. “When they lost him. When he went rogue according to both this file and the one I dug out of Homeland—which also coordinates with the same entries on his brother’s file and Isenberry’s.”
“September of last year. Just a few months before we got the first Cassandra letter. Before things started blowing up in the city.”
“And the date of the hefty deposit.”
“After we broke their back. We got most of them—figured we got most of them, but you never get all the rats crawling off the sinking ship. We got to most of the money, too, but they were a well-financed terrorist organization.”
“And it appears Kirkendall scooped up a chunk of the funds, or was given them for safekeeping.”
“One more reason to take him down. I don’t like leaving rats outside the cage.”
“He went rogue,” Roarke pointed out. “All three of them are on various agencies’ lists. Though, again, you can see by the file that the status was lowered after Cassandra scattered. And there’s no indication he’s had any facial surgery.”
“We had doctors on Cassandra. I’ll pop up that file, start looking at them. He’s left a trail. Everyone does.” When Roarke gently cleared his throat, she slid her gaze in his direction. “Even you, ace. If I wanted to find yours, I’d just put you on as consultant.”
It made him laugh. “I imagine I could find myself, if I tried hard enough. I’ll get back to it. I have to say the ins and outs are fairly fascinating.”
“You find any connection to a building in the city—especially Upper West—to any of those aliases or blinds, you get a big bonus.”
Those blue eyes went wicked. “Of my choosing.”
“Pervert.” She swung back to her computer.