Page 101 of Hard Rain
Cutter hadn’t gotten this far by himself.
Fucker always had help.
“We’ve been working with the FBI on the trafficking organization tied to Cutter for months,” Davis said when Cho looked at him expectingly. “Our investigation was already in motion before Cutter showed up.”
“So, he’s hiding inside of Seattle,” Cho finished.
Davis pressed another button.
A map of the city appeared, dotted with colored markers.
“We believe he’s working for a man named Oscar Charleston,” Alvarez interjected.
Nobody around the table looked surprised that Cutter had a boss.
After everything Cutter had managed to pull over the past several weeks…
“Why haven’t you caught this Charleston guy?”
“Because catching him isn’t the problem.” Alvarez leaned back in his chair.
Axel frowned. “Meaning?”
“Meaning we know exactly who Oscar Charleston is,” Davis said. “We know where he lives. We know what he drives. Hell, we could tell you where he buys his morning coffee.”
“What we don’t have,” Cho continued, “is enough to prove he’s running the trafficking organization.”
She tapped a file on the conference table.
“Over the last year, we’ve arrested traffickers, couriers, recruiters—every one of them sits somewhere below him. We’ve mapped the organization. We’ve followed the money through shell companies and charities. We’ve had confidential informants point to Charleston as the man giving the orders.”
Alvarez shook his head.
“Problem is, nobody’s willing to testify, and Charleston keeps at least one layer between himself and every crime. We’ve never caught him meeting with the people doing his dirty work.”
“So why are we here?” Whip asked.
Davis looked around the room.
“Because Cutter might be our best shot at proving Charleston is running the organization. If Charleston’s going to make a mistake, there’s a good chance Cutter’s the one who leads us to it.”
Boone nodded once.
Davis looked around the room.
“Any other questions?”
About damned time.
He had one. “When do we start?”
A smile tugged at the corner of Davis’s mouth.
“I was hoping you’d ask.”
The Pizza Mart smelled like pizza, garlic, and beer. Music played somewhere overhead while employees shouted orders over the hiss of the ovens and the steady buzz of conversation.
“Told you it was open until two,” Cho said as they stepped inside.
