of shame tinged her cheeks. She’d failed Sam. The truth swamped her and threatened to drown her. A familiar sinking feeling trickled through her but she fought it. She might have failed Sam in his last days, but she wouldn’t fail him in his death. She’d make the people responsible pay. Her mind kicked into overdrive.
“These so-called Black Knights... They seem to be everywhere. Know everything.”
Kopack agreed and opened a file. “They are one of the most technically competent terrorist groups out there. All thanks to their leader, Nikolai Chekhov.” He pulled a photo out of the file and handed it to her. “Do you recognize him?”
She studied the man in the photo and noted the waxy complexion. “Yes, he looks like the man who stabbed Sam. I recognize the strange appearance of his skin. But he had black hair.”
“He was wearing a wig. We found it on the ground in the parking lot.”
“He can’t hide that skin. It looks half dead.”
“That’s because it is. Chekhov’s parents were brilliant nuclear physicists working at Chernobyl. His family survived the accident and immigrated to the US. In the subsequent years, Chekhov watched his parents and his older sister die from different forms of cancer, all due to radiation exposure. Chekhov didn’t escape their fate. He has severe nerve damage. It’s killing him, too, but at a much slower rate.”
“He wants vengeance.”
“Yes, and he’s very good at getting what he wants. Five years ago he joined the rather benign Knights and slowly but surely began to recruit brilliant sociopaths like himself. Eventually they took over the group and changed the name to the Black Knights, with a different goal. They don’t want to protect the environment but to destroy mankind’s destructive technological progress.”
Sassa pressed a hand to her forehead. In spite of her determination, her overworked mind was beginning to spin. “But they neglected to change their web page and include that little piece of information. That’s why Sam thought they were safe.”
“Chekhov believed he’d found another conversion with Dr. Kruger. He wasn’t happy when he found out he was wrong about the good doctor’s intentions...and Chekhov doesn’t like to be wrong. He sent his right-hand man to watch over the professor.”
He pulled out another photo and handed it to her. “My people spotted him on security film in and around the campus.”
Sassa stared at the agent, unable to move. At last, she looked at the picture of a stocky man with a long black beard and a ponytail. She had to work hard to get her eyes to focus. Finally, her blurred vision cleared. She closed her eyes, dropped her forehead to her hand and shook her head. “I don’t recognize him. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him. Sam developed the formula and I didn’t know... Men have been watching us on campus and following us...around the world, and I’m clueless. I’m sorry, Agent Kopack, but I’m useless to you.”
She was no longer able to fight the familiar feeling of failure, and it moved over her in a wave that dragged her body down. Tears came again. She couldn’t stop them this time and didn’t try. She covered her eyes with one hand and let them fall. “I just want to go home and hold my baby.”
After a short pause, Kopack cleared his throat. “I think we’re finished for now. Let’s—”
“Hold on.” Officer De Luca interrupted whatever Kopack meant to say. “You said Sam told you his ID bracelet was yours.”
Surprised, Sassa wiped the tears from her cheeks, sat up and opened her hand. She’d forgotten Sam’s gift. She’d clutched it so tightly during this interrogation that deep imprints grooved her skin. In fact, a small, slightly bloody spot showed where the latch had pierced the inside of her palm.
“May I see it?”
Officer De Luca’s request jarred her. Numb, she handed it to him with a jerky motion.
He ran his fingers across the numbers engraved on the face of the ID plate. “These numbers look like they could be a code of some sort, or maybe a combination.”
Sassa shook her head and lowered her forehead back onto her hand. “No. It’s nothing like that. Sam’s grandfather was a pastor in Germany during World War Two. Like many other Christian leaders, he protested the treatment of the disabled and the mentally ill so loudly, he ended up in a concentration camp. That’s the number assigned to him. Sam was very proud of his grandfather’s actions. He put the number on that bracelet to honor him. He meant to give it to Christopher. After his son died, Sam told me he wanted me to have it. It has nothing to do with the formula. I’m sorry. Like I said, I’m no help.”
She looked up and tried to focus on Agent Kopack. “Can I go home now?”
The agent nodded. “Yes. We’ve arranged for transportation. You’re in no shape to make the three-hour drive back to Fresno.”
She sighed with relief. “Kingsburg. My home is in Kingsburg.”
Now Kopack looked blank.
“It’s a small town a short drive out of Fresno.” Officer De Luca supplied the information. “I’ll take her there.”
“My agents are perfectly capable—”
“I’m taking her.” De Luca’s tone allowed for no arguments. He came around to her side of the table and assisted Sassa from her chair. She wasn’t certain she wanted him to make sure she got home safely but the grip on her arm was steady. In fact, his big, broad-shouldered body seemed to be the only thing holding her up. Her legs refused to work. She leaned on him as he half carried her out the door.
“My bag and my luggage.”
“I’ve got it, Sassa. Don’t worry.”
Don’t worry? If only.
Jared glanced at Sassa in the passenger seat next to him. The minute they’d climbed into his government-issued SUV, she’d pushed the seat back and fallen asleep. Three agents followed behind them; two in her car and another in a government car. Two of the agents would stay to guard Sassa at her parents’ house near Kingsburg. As soon as they dropped her off, Jared and the other agent would return to the small office in downtown Fresno.
They’d set up a temporary office four days ago when Sam had notified him that June was missing. The FBI had mobilized and was on site quickly. He’d been impressed. The same day he’d returned from Los Angeles and retrieved Sam’s message, they had him traveling to Fresno. Still, it hadn’t been fast enough to save his friend.
Jared stumbled over the thought of Sam’s death. The Black Knights had moved like lightning. After months of no activity and no contact with Sam, they’d snatched June off the street and attempted to blackmail Sam into handing over the formula. If the Black Knights couldn’t force Sam to hand over the formula, they had a “Plan B” to steal it.
Whirlwind fast. Jared would never underestimate them again—or rather, he’d never underestimate Nikolai Chekhov. He was the mastermind. A brilliant sociopath. Sassa had called him the Terminator, the robot-like creature from the movie of the same name. She’d referred to the unusual look of his skin and the emotionless features, all caused by the nerve
