SAC Steve Wu sat beside his chief analyst, Jada Johnson, at the long rectangular conference table that took up the middle of the Joint Operations Center. Equal parts situation room, briefing area, and observation point, the hub boasted a perimeter containing moveable cubicles surrounding a central table embedded with visual controls and an intercom system.
He had chosen to use the JOC for this investigation because of its capabilities. In this space, he could speak securely with anyone from the security personnel who guarded the building’s entrances to the President of the United States. Right now, the screens displayed a patchwork of video feeds from CCTV cameras across the city as analysts combed through them with sophisticated computer programs in a fruitless hunt for Gustavo Toro.
He glanced up as Agent Vega walked in, Detective Flint in her wake. He didn’t waste time with pleasantries. “We’re prepping a BOLO for Toro,” he told them as they settled at the table. “As soon as you secure a warrant, we’ll enter him into NCIC.”
Wu was counting on the National Crime Information Center, which was the largest computerized index of criminal justice information in the nation, to snag Toro. Any law enforcement officer who came across him would simply have to run his name to find out he was wanted for murder. Any border he attempted to cross or flight he tried to board would result in immediate detention.
“Do we have any aliases for him?” Flint asked. “Someone in his line of work would probably have a bunch of identities.”
“Working on it,” Johnson said. “Nothing yet.”
“What about a car?” Vega asked.
“Nothing’s registered to him, and he hasn’t received any tickets driving someone else’s vehicle,” Johnson said.
Wu hadn’t been surprised Toro didn’t own a vehicle. Many people who lived in the city didn’t bother with the inconvenience and expense when public transportation, taxis, and services like Uber were so readily available, especially if they stayed here only part time.
“We’ve been trying to find other addresses for him,” Wu told them. “There are a lot of men named Gustavo Toro in the world, but we think he has a place in Monaco.”
Flint raised his hand. “I volunteer to go check it out.”
“Nice try,” Wu said. “But we have no indication he’s gotten on a plane. We checked international travel manifests and found him on an incoming flight from Charles de Gaulle to JFK four days ago on a one-way ticket.” He raised a brow at Flint. “I’ve already contacted our Paris legat. They’ll investigate his overseas address and report back.”
The FBI’s legal attaché in Paris covered Monaco, and, disappointing though it might be to Flint, an agent could get eyes on Toro’s address from there much quicker than anyone flying from New York.
“He must make good money,” Vega said. “His place in Spanish Harlem was modest, but the French Riviera can be pricey.”
“Does he have a day job?” Flint followed her line of thinking. “Or is murder a full-time gig for him?”
“He hasn’t filed any income tax for the past several years,” Wu said. “So he’s working off the books, or he pays tax overseas.” The comment reminded him of another avenue he had begun to pursue. “Speaking of money, we’re getting authorization to track his credit cards and cash withdrawals. That should give us an idea where he is.”
Toro’s life was about to become exponentially more difficult. Wu was satisfied with the plan he’d devised and the traps he’d begun to put in place to catch Toro. It would get increasingly harder for him to operate, and, sooner or later, he would give himself away.
“Could we hold off on the BOLO and NCIC?” Vega asked.
Wu’s own bafflement was reflected in everyone else’s expressions. Why would she propose taking their best tool for locating Toro off the table?
“I believe we should use a different approach,” Vega went on. “From what we can tell, Gustavo Toro is a professional assassin. In this case, the target was very close to one of the most powerful people in the US government. The method of execution—and yes, I’m calling it that—is some sort of toxin delivered through a device that requires a high level of sophistication.” She looked around at each of them. “Everything about this was meticulously planned—including his escape. The only way to know who’s behind it is to locate and arrest Toro, then get him to talk.”
“Which is why we’re putting out a BOLO,” Flint said. “I don’t see the problem with—”
Vega raised a finger to put the detective on hold. “If every law enforcement agency, every media outlet, and therefore every person is looking for him, whoever hired him is going to realize we’ve identified Toro, and that he’s the only one who can lead us to him.”
Wu grasped her meaning. “He won’t go anywhere near Toro, who becomes a liability.”
“We need to move carefully,” Vega said. “If we plaster his name and face everywhere, we’ll find his body floating in the river.”
“A literal dead end for this case,” Flint said. “I get it.”
“There’s another advantage,” Vega went on. “If he doesn’t know we’ve made him, he’s more likely to either come out of hiding so he can leave town, head to an ATM to get cash, or make some other mistake.”
“He’ll think he’s free to move around,” Flint said. “But we’ve got to be proactive. We can’t just hope to stumble across him while the body count goes up.”
“I wasn’t suggesting that,” Vega said, frowning. “I’m saying we wait twenty-four hours to see if we can pick up his scent. We’ll continue to use face rec on all city cams. He’ll have to make a move soon. Once we catch him, we quietly pull him in and give him a choice.” She lifted a shoulder. “Become an informant or rot in prison.”
Wu regarded Vega for a long moment. She thought they could turn a hit man into an asset. If they were successful, Toro would tell them about every crime he’d committed, potentially closing many unsolved cases from all over the country and maybe the world. How many people had literally gotten away with murder thanks to Gustavo Toro?
“Why not just bring him in and squeeze him?” Flint asked her. “Either way we get names and dates out of him.”
“If Toro does a perp walk, he’s burned,” Vega said. “He couldn’t do a sting.”
One of the ways to corroborate any statements Toro made would be to have him contact a former client and record a conversation about their previous arrangements. This technique, called a sting, would support Toro’s testimony in court. A highly publicized arrest would mean that everyone who had ever hired Toro would be highly suspicious if he suddenly reached out to them.
Wu leaned back and steepled his fingers, contemplating both Vega and her proposal. She was a new agent, but her background had impressed him. In fact, it was one of the reasons he had specifically requested her for the JTTF. He had expected someone with her elite military experience to be disciplined and tough, but he had not anticipated her unorthodox way of thinking. Was it her experience in the field or her cryptanalysis training that led her to view obstacles as minor hindrances?
He detected no signs of uncertainty in her body language or expression, only quiet confidence. Either her commanding officers would have been supremely capable leaders, or they would have found Vega intimidating.
He recalled the words of the assistant director at his last promotion. “There’s nothing more damaging to an institution than an insecure leader,” Hargrave had told him. “You’re a rising star in this organization because you’re a strong supervisor and mentor. Many eyes are on you, and expectations are high.”
The eyes his boss had alluded to were on him now. He was accustomed to high expectations, which had been drilled into him from the time he was small. Vega did not intimidate him, but the lingering question was whether or not he could trust her judgment. Hargrave was in charge of the New York field office, and he had made Wu directly responsible for all the decisions as well as the outcome of this case, which could have profound implications for the trajectory of his career. The decision was his to make, and he would live with the consequences.
He turned to Flint. “I can get behind Vega’s plan if it’s only for a day, but will the NYPD go for it? We have to present a united front.”
Flint dragged a hand through his thick sandy hair, making it stand on end. “I’ll run it up the chain. We’ll have to coordinate this from the top down if we’re going to keep the senator’s nose out of our investigation.”
“Explain what we’re trying to do,” Wu told the detective. “Sell it.”
“Might not be able to guarantee you an entire twenty-four hours, but I’ll do what I can,” Flint said. He stood, pulled out his cell phone, and walked away from the table.
Wu was about to question Vega more about her proposal when Johnson spoke up.
“I have a request for a video link, sir,” she said to him. “It’s the director of the NYPD crime lab. They’ve isolated the substance that killed the victim.” Johnson paled. “The director says it’s something she’s never seen before.”
CHAPTER 6