Nathan pointed at Tox in agreement.
“Maybe it didn’t even go down the way he said. Maybe he knew someone who might want the package. It’s not a big leap to think this construction worker might have a friend or relative with criminal ties. Doesn’t really matter. All I got from the trip was a tidbit of information and a bad case of road rash.”
Twitch took over, her cheery disposition lightening the despondent mood. “Here is the good news. Well, ‘good’ in a glass-half-full kind of way. Our contact at the Port Authority in Savannah noticed a couple of the dockworkers driving shiny new decked out pickups. That’s a big red flag that some palms have been greased.”
“Or they won the lottery,” Tox theorized.
“Which they did not. They play the same numbers in the Georgia State Lottery every week and, to date, they have not won more than thirty bucks. A quick, eh hem, peek at their finances shows both men made five separate cash deposits of nine thousand dollars.”
“Deposits of ten thousand dollars or more automatically get flagged by the IRS,” Ren clarified.
“Meanwhile, and here’s my big cliffhanger, so that bait shop in South Carolina? I think it’s an outpost of some kind. The NSA or Homeland has been monitoring electronic communication and intercepted instructions from an IP originating in Paramaribo, Suriname, for a $90,000 wire transfer to be used as a cash payment.”
“The bribe for the dock workers,” Nathan surmised.
“So, we have a Middle Eastern kingpin with an Armenian right-hand man living in South America.” Jack rubbed the heels of his hands against his eyes.
“Believe it or not, that will narrow it down considerably. Can’t be too many of those.” Twitch never looked up as she tapped away on her keyboard.
“Twitch, before you start digging, get in touch with Steady. I want him down at the Savannah docks keeping an eye on things.”
“And whoever is moving this bioagent is also involved in this mess with Emily.” Jack shook his head in confusion.
“And whoever is manning that bait shop knows it now too,” Nathan confirmed.
“Maybe the good people at...” Twitch checked her screen, “. . . Royal Beach Fishing and Tackle have some intel.”
Nathan looked up suddenly. “Royal Beach?” Twitch nodded in affirmation.
Tox stood and began pacing. “What the fuck is the connection between an eight-year-old girl and a bioterrorist?”
“Technically, this person is an arms dealer. He is the outfitter, not the executor,” Ren corrected.
Tox returned a flat look. “I stand corrected. What the fuck is the connection between a fifteen-year-old abduction of an eight-year-old girl, an ongoing vendetta, and a fucking arms dealer?”
Chat chimed in for the first time, “That is the question.”
“We need to go to Royal Beach.” Nathan looked directly at Jack Webster while clinging tightly to Emily’s hand.
“Charlie? Impossible.” Jack paled. “Your uncle would never be mixed up in this mess. He’s a former Secretary of Defense, for heaven’s sake.”
“He’s not the shark, Mr. Webster,” Twitch clarified. “He’s the suckerfish.”
“And he always has the most valuable thing any terrorist or arms dealer or alphabet agency needs,” Nathan added.
“What’s that?” Emily queried.
“Information.”