The Survivor by Vince Flynn Page B

investigate.
    Gadai laid a dossier on Taj’s desk and the ISI director opened it. He immediately recognized the name of the Italian law firm.
    â€œWe already looked into them, no? They were helping Rickman create anonymous financial trusts with money he’d siphoned off from the CIA’s Afghanistan operation. To benefit his children, if I recall correctly.”
    â€œYou do,” Gadai said. “After we confirmed that his connection with the firm related to personal affairs, we moved on.”
    Taj felt his grudging admiration for the CIA man grow further. More of Rickman’s complex web. He hadn’t hidden his personal activity as carefully as he could have, calculating that anyone who found the firm he used would assume that it wouldn’t also be involved in his plot against the Agency.
    â€œThen you have him? You know the identity of the lawyer?” Taj said, trying to keep his voice even despite the excitement he felt.
    â€œI’m afraid it isn’t that easy, Ahmed. It’s a very large firm, and Rickman didn’t use the same lawyer that he used for the trusts.”
    â€œWhat about the managing partner? Can we interrogate him?”
    â€œHe’s a very public and very well-connected man in Italy. Also, I very much doubt he would know anything. While we understand the importance of the files, this arrangement would be unremarkable to the firm. Essentially just a schedule of electronic documents to be sent if certain criteria are met. It’s unlikely the attorney handling the details would even know that his client is dead. And it’s almost certain that he would be in the dark as to the contents of the files.”
    This time, Rickman had displayed his cleverness by taking a page out of Taj’s own book. Make everything too commonplace to attract attention. It was infuriating. He was within a hair’s breadth of closing his fist around Irene Kennedy’s delicate throat.
    â€œSo, you’re telling me that we have to investigate hundreds of individual lawyers whose careers are predicated on confidentiality inhopes that they left some clue about a client they never met? That’s unacceptable, Kabir.”
    The younger man smiled, his eyes shining with an arrogant light that Taj was very familiar with. Gadai knew something but had withheld it for effect.
    â€œDon’t make me wait, Kabir. I’ve indulged your sense of drama in the past, but my patience is at its end.”
    â€œMy apologies, Director. Our research suggests that this firm has a dedicated division that handles these kinds of arrangements—scheduling, payments, requests for information, notifications . . .”
    â€œHow many people are in this division?”
    â€œIt’s largely automated. Most of the work is done by computer or—”
    â€œHow many!”
    Gadai opened the dossier again, shuffling to a photo of a plump woman with dyed blond hair. “Isabella Accorso runs the entire enterprise with a single administrative assistant.”
    Taj picked up the photo and examined the woman’s face. She was probably in her mid-thirties, wearing a blouse that clung to her breasts in an obvious attempt to facilitate the faceless, nameless sexual encounters so enjoyed by Western women.
    It was hard to believe that this female had the keys to America’s heavily guarded intelligence apparatus. That she unwittingly possessed more information on the CIA’s operations than anyone outside Langley’s executive offices.
    â€œWhat do we know about her?”
    â€œShe’s divorced. Clean. No drugs or illegal activity. No affairs or significant financial problems.”
    Taj just glared at him. Again, his assistant’s expression suggested there was more.
    â€œShe does have a daughter, though. A sixteen-year-old who attends public school. Quite an attractive young woman.”
    â€œCan I assume she’s accessible to us?”
    Gadai smiled.