Colin, who shrugged.
He pulled out his cell and typed in the name of the organization. Tapped on the first hit. Skimmed a few lines.
It fit.
“How’d you make that connection?” He swiveled toward Sam.
The other man stopped fiddling with the cell. “In grad school we had an exercise that involved hacking into communiques about the World Trade Organization protests twenty-some years ago. That was a DAN-coordinated event. Given the Antifa angle of this investigation, I connected the dots.”
“Impressive.” Colin folded his arms. “You ever think about being a detective?”
“Not my cup of tea. I’d rather solve puzzles that have logical solutions”—he lifted the phone—“than deal with irrational people.”
Hard to argue with that answer.
As Sam went back to the phone, Brent fed Colin the Wikipedia highlights. “DAN was a collection of anti-authoritarian anarchist groups. It fell apart in 2002—but a bunch of the key people went on to play active roles in regional and national mobilizations of independent affinity groups in the Antifa movement.”
“From the setup down here, Olivia could be one of those. It has all the earmarks of a command center.” Colin gave the room another sweep. “Maybe after her banker husband died, she returned to her anarchist roots.”
“You guys want to take a look at this cell?” Sam held it up. “As far as I can tell, it was never used for calls, only texts—and only with one person. The last one was yesterday.”
“Yeah.” Brent took it from him, and Sam moved on to the next phone.
Colin leaned over his shoulder to see the screen. “Who’s Al?”
“Any ideas?” Brent directed the question to Sam.
“Sorry.” One side of the computer tech’s mouth rose. “You’re on your own with that one.”
“Scroll down.” Colin motioned to the screen. “We can worry about who Al is later.”
Brent complied . . . but sucked in a breath when Jackson’s name popped up.
“I see it too.” Creases scored Colin’s brow. “Another link between Olivia and Eve. Your theory about a third party slipping in on Jackson’s coattails just got legs.”
Brent’s heart missed a beat as he zipped through the exchange from September 7. “Look at the reference to next weekend . . . and making ER history. That has to refer to today’s event—and Eve.” He continued to scroll through the texts.
“Stop.” Colin leaned closer. “Another reference on September 1, to ER being gone in two weeks.”
“Al must be the hit man.”
Meaning he was at today’s event, preparing to carry out his assignment.
“Forget later. We have to identify this guy now.” Colin’s tone was grim.
Brent handed him the cell. “You work on that—and call Sarge. I want Eve out of that park ASAP. If they can make it happen before I arrive, fine. But with sirens and lights, I can be on site in ten minutes—and if she’s still there, I’ll light a fire under whoever’s in charge.”
“Go for it.”
He took the stairs two at a time, pulled out his cell, and raced through the house. Sarge would be all over this—but Eve needed to hear about the danger from him.
And that danger had just increased exponentially.
Jackson may have threatened to silence Eve, but it was questionable whether the man would ever have followed through.
Olivia and the guy named Al, however, were deadly serious in their intent to silence her.
They wouldn’t succeed today—not if he could help it—nor would they in the future. From the prognosis Sarge had relayed, Olivia was out of the picture. Since she appeared to be calling the shots, that should eliminate the threat.
Once they found Al.
And they would. Whatever it took.
Because keeping Eve safe was his top priority.
For her sake—and his.
At the sudden vibration in her hand as she paced the confined area within the tent, Eve jolted to a stop. Fumbled the cell. Grabbed it as it plummeted toward the ground.
Mercy.
Between the armed guards surrounding her and learning that her kindhearted neighbor was involved with a radical anarchist group, every nerve in her body was vibrating. If this kept up, she’d be a basket case before the day was over.
Thank goodness Brent was calling with an update, as he’d promised.
Instead of returning her greeting, he got straight to business. “Are the guards sticking close?”
“Yes.”
“Stay near them. We think you’re being targeted at this event.”
Her stomach bottomed out. “Targeted how?”
“Unknown. But the intent is deadly.”
She groped for the edge of the table and sank back into her chair, stomach churning as she tried to digest that news. “Olivia wanted to kill me?”
“It appears so. Does the name Al ring any