Page 17 of The B-Team

His lips curved in the approximation of a smile. One that oozed superiority. “That won’t be a problem. With terrorism charges on the table, we can hold everyone for up to fourteen days.”

Maya took a slow breath before replying. “About the terrorism charges, sir. I’m not sure any of them will stick. In fact, I’m not sure that what we have even fits the criteria for terrorism.”

His eyes narrowed as his chin rose. Even seated, he had no problem letting her know he looked down on her.

“That is why we have interviews, Detective Inspector.” His tone was patronizing. “We will gather the evidence we need to substantiate the charges.”

“I understand that sir.” It was hard work keeping her own tone respectful. “But, on several occasions, Benson Security has helped our government combat terrorism. Harry Boyle, one of their founding owners, designed the software that keeps our country safe. It’s hard to imagine his company perpetrating acts of terrorism against the same government they’ve worked to protect.”

“Mr. Boyle is no longer involved with Benson Security and hasn’t been for many years. He has nothing to do with this investigation.”

“There are other factors too, sir,” Maya pressed. “Lake Benson and Callum McKay were both decorated SAS officers. They served their country and fought against terrorism. Why would they attack it now?”

The commander sniffed. “Who knows why criminals choose to break the law? But I suspect we’ll find a financial motive at the core of the rot in Benson Security. There is far too much money floating around in that business.”

“Some of their employees are independently wealthy,” Maya reminded him. “Ms. Ford-Talbot is worth millions.”

He frowned. “Yes, we’ll need to call in a forensic accountant to get to the bottom of what money is coming from where.” He made a note on the pad in front of him.

Maya felt like she was talking to one of those conspiracy theorists who flourished online. “About the terrorism charges, sir. A few years ago, Callum McKay and the rest of the London team foiled a terrorist operation in Scotland. Why would they do that while planning their own acts of terrorism?”

“Professional competition? To ensure the authorities would continue to ignore what they were doing in private? Who knows what their reasons were?” He waved a dismissive hand. “What we do know is that on several occasions, Benson Security has hacked into secure government databases. They have carriedout operations within this city without the cooperation or knowledge of the police forces tasked with protecting it. They’ve endangered the public, caused community damage, and believe they are above the law. These are acts of terrorism. Acts intended to scare, control, and infiltrate our very society. These people have broken laws, and it’s our job to ensure they pay for doing so.”

“Yes, sir.” Maya stood and tugged down her jacket. “It might be difficult to prove they’ve broken laws when they worked closely with your predecessor and kept her informed of their actions.” She stared straight at him, refusing to blink. “She gave her permission.”

“Ms. Sharp was wrong.” The commander stood and gestured to the door. “That is why she’s in prison and I am here. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must prepare for my interviews.”

“Sir.” Maya turned toward the door.

There was nothing more she could say. For months, she’d tried to convince the commander his investigation was going nowhere. Benson Security was well-connected. It was staffed with former government officials—mainly from the armed forces and security agencies, both in the UK and abroad. It had a stellar reputation and was generally trusted. And, as she’d pointed out again today, they often did favors for the British government. No matter which way Maya looked at it, she couldn’t see how Fitzwater would make the terrorism charges stick. In fact, once you started digging, much of Benson Security’s behavior could be considered self-defense. Or even in defense of the public. It felt like the commander was caught in a sinkhole and determined to take them all down with him.

Then it hit her.

Commander Fitzwater wasn’t an idiot. What if he hadn’t been blinded by his desire to ruin Lake Benson? What if hedidn’t even care about making the charges stick? What if this was all about something else entirely?

A chill ran down her spine as every single one of her cop instincts screamed at her to stand up and take notice. It was clear Fitzwater had an agenda, and now she suspected it ran much deeper than she’d initially thought. Something was definitely off. And she’d been dragged into the middle of it. Whatever Fitzwater was up to could have long-lasting consequences for her reputation and career. There was a good chance neither of them would survive this investigation.

“DI Singh,” the commander called after her as she strode toward the door. “I want regular updates on your interviews.”

“Yes, sir.” She glanced back at him: the despot in control of his kingdom.

“Excuse us, DI,” a voice said, making her realize she was about to walk into a fellow officer in the corridor outside the commander’s office.

The young constable was escorting Rachel Ford-Talbot—minus her handbag and phone, which had been taken during processing.

“What’s going on here?” Maya asked. “Why isn’t Ms. Ford-Talbot in one of the holding rooms?”

The constable opened his mouth to speak, but Rachel beat him to it. “Because they’re unhygienic and barbaric,” she said in that plummy voice of hers. “Not to mention you’ve decided that two people can share a single cell. A cell with one toilet, out in the open, for all to see.”

“Perhaps you haven’t noticed,” Maya said, “but we’re a bit overcrowded. You aren’t being put with a stranger. We’ve housed you with another female member of Benson Security.”

“I don’t care if I’m sharing with the queen consort herself. I still wouldn’t want her to watch me toilet. For the love of Prada, having privacy in the bathroom is a basic human right. At leastit is for those civilized enough to realize it.” She waved a hand. “I’ve no idea what the proletariat considers normal these days, but in proper society, one does not use communal toilets.”

Maya wanted to rub her temples, where a headache was brewing. But she suspected that any show of weakness around Rachel Ford-Talbot would not be a good idea.

“Is that what this is about? The toilet?” she asked the constable.

“Of course not,” Rachel snapped. “I refuse to go into the cell, which means the lavatory situation is neither here nor there. This is about priorities. I wish to be interviewed first, as I have no intention of staying here any longer than necessary.”