head. “Don’t know.”
Zeus turned to her, his jaw set. “Enrique Gutierrez.”
Enrique, one of the younger members of the Columbian prosecution team, had dark brown hair, caramel colored eyes, and an intense courtroom demeanor. Sam swallowed. Behind her, she heard Charles gasp.
“Son of a bitch,” Eric said.
She glanced at Abe, whose horn-rimmed glasses sat starkly dark against his face, which was devoice of color. No doubt he was rethinking his position of jumping on a plane earlier that day and joining the on-site Amicus team.
“I won’t tell you how to do your jobs. Don’t tell me how to do mine.” Zeus’s hard gaze focused on Eric. “Because the American and Colombian judges are here, this hotel is an obvious target. Black Raven doesn’t control the premises. The reality is that with the existing security at this hotel, the judges take precedence over your security. I’m sure you all recognize the value in being top priority?” He said it as a question, but the flat look in his eyes indicated he wasn’t expecting a response.
Eric’s cheeks were flushed, but he remained silent. He reached for the crystal pitcher of water on the table and filled a glass.
“On security matters,” Zeus continued, “this is not a democracy. There is no room for argument. There is a reason for everything Black Raven does. Sometimes it will not be apparent to you. Do not put us in a position where questionable judgment on your part causes us to take unnecessary risks with your lives and our own. Put the vests on and move out. Agent Small will handle transportation of personal and business effects.”
“We have computers and iPads with sensitive information, not to mention files, trial binders, and other documents,” Charles said, straightening his shoulders as he adjusted his cardigan. “I need to personally oversee the transportation of our work product.”
Zeus directed his ironclad gaze at Charles. “Souls first, bullshit later. Your life is our number one concern, and because you don’t seem to understand the urgency of the situation, let me explain it further. Until we know differently, we’re assuming Stanley Morgan was murdered.”
Eric said, “Now that’s just plain ridiculous. He had a heart attack. No one has suggested that.”
“Zeus,” Samantha said, worry that matched Eric’s indignation sending blood pulsing through her veins. “At the request of Judge O’Connor, the autopsy was expedited. The report just came in and indicates death due to cardiopulmonary event, precipitated by severe hypoglycemia, with a suspicion of insulin overdose. To our knowledge, the investigation has not revealed foul play. Do you know something we don’t?”
“Sudden cardiac arrest in a diabetic could be a natural death,” Zeus nodded. “It could also be the result of an intentional insulin overdose, which could mean suicide, or it could be foul play.”
“He didn’t commit suicide,” Samantha said.
“No way,” Charles agreed.
Zeus gave them a nod. “So given that he was a key player in a proceeding that is being threatened by every crazy wannabe terrorist and damn legitimate ones, I’d say an accidental death is unlikely. If you want a security company that looks at the world with rose-colored glasses, you’ve got the wrong one here.”
“No terrorist group has claimed responsibility,” Eric pointed out, rubbing his hand through his red hair, shaking his head, and reaching for the glass of water he had poured.
“Lose the clichés,” Zeus retorted. “Terrorists don’t always claim responsibility.”
“Maximov does,” Eric said. “Through the cells that operate on his behalf.”
“Maximov isn’t the only game in town,” Zeus retorted. “You’re in a position to know that. For now, we assume foul play. Black Raven also assumes the Colombian team was the target of a terrorist act. So right now, you’re in an unsecure environment, it’s a potential target, and threat level is high.
Zeus turned to her, his jaw set. “Enrique Gutierrez.”
Enrique, one of the younger members of the Columbian prosecution team, had dark brown hair, caramel colored eyes, and an intense courtroom demeanor. Sam swallowed. Behind her, she heard Charles gasp.
“Son of a bitch,” Eric said.
She glanced at Abe, whose horn-rimmed glasses sat starkly dark against his face, which was devoice of color. No doubt he was rethinking his position of jumping on a plane earlier that day and joining the on-site Amicus team.
“I won’t tell you how to do your jobs. Don’t tell me how to do mine.” Zeus’s hard gaze focused on Eric. “Because the American and Colombian judges are here, this hotel is an obvious target. Black Raven doesn’t control the premises. The reality is that with the existing security at this hotel, the judges take precedence over your security. I’m sure you all recognize the value in being top priority?” He said it as a question, but the flat look in his eyes indicated he wasn’t expecting a response.
Eric’s cheeks were flushed, but he remained silent. He reached for the crystal pitcher of water on the table and filled a glass.
“On security matters,” Zeus continued, “this is not a democracy. There is no room for argument. There is a reason for everything Black Raven does. Sometimes it will not be apparent to you. Do not put us in a position where questionable judgment on your part causes us to take unnecessary risks with your lives and our own. Put the vests on and move out. Agent Small will handle transportation of personal and business effects.”
“We have computers and iPads with sensitive information, not to mention files, trial binders, and other documents,” Charles said, straightening his shoulders as he adjusted his cardigan. “I need to personally oversee the transportation of our work product.”
Zeus directed his ironclad gaze at Charles. “Souls first, bullshit later. Your life is our number one concern, and because you don’t seem to understand the urgency of the situation, let me explain it further. Until we know differently, we’re assuming Stanley Morgan was murdered.”
Eric said, “Now that’s just plain ridiculous. He had a heart attack. No one has suggested that.”
“Zeus,” Samantha said, worry that matched Eric’s indignation sending blood pulsing through her veins. “At the request of Judge O’Connor, the autopsy was expedited. The report just came in and indicates death due to cardiopulmonary event, precipitated by severe hypoglycemia, with a suspicion of insulin overdose. To our knowledge, the investigation has not revealed foul play. Do you know something we don’t?”
“Sudden cardiac arrest in a diabetic could be a natural death,” Zeus nodded. “It could also be the result of an intentional insulin overdose, which could mean suicide, or it could be foul play.”
“He didn’t commit suicide,” Samantha said.
“No way,” Charles agreed.
Zeus gave them a nod. “So given that he was a key player in a proceeding that is being threatened by every crazy wannabe terrorist and damn legitimate ones, I’d say an accidental death is unlikely. If you want a security company that looks at the world with rose-colored glasses, you’ve got the wrong one here.”
“No terrorist group has claimed responsibility,” Eric pointed out, rubbing his hand through his red hair, shaking his head, and reaching for the glass of water he had poured.
“Lose the clichés,” Zeus retorted. “Terrorists don’t always claim responsibility.”
“Maximov does,” Eric said. “Through the cells that operate on his behalf.”
“Maximov isn’t the only game in town,” Zeus retorted. “You’re in a position to know that. For now, we assume foul play. Black Raven also assumes the Colombian team was the target of a terrorist act. So right now, you’re in an unsecure environment, it’s a potential target, and threat level is high.
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