Chapter 4 – The Conference

Stella walked into the New Orleans AV lab, a somewhat less grand affair than the one she had left behind in New York, and pulled up a chair in front of a bank of four screens. "What have you got for me Lacey?"

Lacey's smile reached from her full lips to her dark chocolate-brown eyes. Research was her forte. She pointed to the first screen displaying the CTC web site. "CTC has four major branches. A road haulage service that serves almost every state on the East coast. A shipping service between New Orleans and the Mexican Gulf coast. Large storage facilities in and around the state of Louisiana and a more recent acquisition, a local air freight service." Pointing to the second screen displaying the image of a container ship, she continued. "Now the ship you mentioned – the Bella Rosa left the port of Marseilles twelve days ago. She does a regular run between Marseille and New Orleans. She's due into port tomorrow morning."

"Her cargo?" Lacey shrugged and tapped at her keyboard. A long list appeared on the third screen.

"Everything. Machine parts. Breathalyser tests. Egyptian Cotton. French perfume … wouldn't mind a little of that! Italian shoes … wouldn't mind some of those either. It's a long list. What exactly are you looking for Stella?"

Stella sighed. "I wish I knew Lacey. I wish I knew."

"Stella!"

Stella span round in her chair as Frank Mitford strode into the room sporting a bright orange shirt. The homicide detective waved a sheaf of papers at her and nonchalantly perched himself on the corner of the nearest desk. "A little birdie told me you were looking into CTC?" Stella nodded and suppressed a smile knowing full well that the little birdie in question was sitting next to her. It was perfectly clear to everyone that the burly homicide detective had a soft spot for Lacey. "Well as you know I don't believe in coincidences so whatever your friend told you must have some truth to it." Now her curiosity was peaked. Stella looked questioningly at the detective. "Because the managing director and chief executive officer of CTC was found drowned in his pool two hours ago. A man by the name of Roger Clemens."

"CSI:NY – CSI:NY – CSI:NY"

As soon as Jo said her goodbyes to Lieutenant Rossi, she waltzed into the AV lab. "Okay Adam. Let's roll." Adam tapped away and looked up at the monitors. The first monitor flickered and Stella appeared seated between an attractive young African American woman with the kind of smile that could make your day, and a large handsome man with a square jaw wearing a lurid orange shirt. The second screen flickered and a fair-haired man with piercing blue eyes appeared. Jo nodded a greeting to Stella who smiled in return. They eyed one another for a second, each curious about the other. "Stella, this is Gregory Hames, our liaison with the US Embassy in Baghdad. Perhaps for his benefit, could you tell us exactly what Mac said to you last night?" Jo might have added for her benefit too because at that moment she would have given anything to hear Mac's voice.

Stella nodded and though she appeared calm and professional, she felt anything but; her stomach was churning and she was filled with a nervousness she hadn't felt since Mac had disappeared with a bank robber calling himself Joe several years before. She took a deep breath. "His call was brief. We weren't able to get a fix on the number. He didn't specify where he was calling from but I distinctly heard the sounds of an explosion and gunfire." Adam shifted nervously in his chair displaying the unease that Jo was desperately trying to hide. "The connection was bad but he wanted me to stop something – a something that was coming into New Orleans on the Bella Rosa. It's a container ship that set sail from the port of Marseille and is due in here tomorrow morning. He also mentioned a company called CTC. It's managing director and chief executive officer, Roger Clemens was found drowned this morning."

"CTC?" Jo looked at Sheldon. "That was the company that was picking up the carpets at the convention centre."

Stella jumped at her words. "What?"

Sheldon placed the palms of his hands together. "Yesterday evening the body of an Interpol officer, Jean-Luc Gallet was found wrapped in an exhibition carpet being picked up by CTC at the convention centre here in New York. He was strangled with a fine wire, possibly cheese wire. He'd been dead at least twelve hours. We have security footage of a hooded man with pale skin pushing a pallet cart with the carpets on it just after TOD. The prints have been wiped but we've got a team processing the carpet and Danny and Lindsay are over at the convention centre now trying to see if they can't find further clues."

Jo picked up where Sheldon left off. "We were told that Jean-Luc was looking into the activities of a group of businessmen calling themselves The Forum. In particular he was interested in a French industrialist called Pierre Moreau and his links to a man known only as the Corsican."

"I've heard of this man," came a deep voice. Everyone looked at the second screen where Gregory Hames had been listening intently to the discussion. "He is rumoured to be supplying local insurgent groups with arms and he is also wanted here in connection with the murders of a local law enforcement official and a customs officer."

Sheldon leaned forward in his chair. "Were they strangled?"

Hames shook his head. "No, they were shot. We have ballistics evidence linking the two killings but only hearsay regarding the perpetrator. We have no formal ID on the man and he left little forensics evidence but I've been led to believe that our lab here have a new lead thanks to Detective Taylor."

There was silence for a moment then Stella asked. "Mr Hames, do you have anything on the whereabouts of Mac Taylor?"

Hames shook his head. "I can confirm that he was indeed at the lab but his duties there finished some days ago. He was due to fly out ten days ago but there is some confusion as to whether he actually was on that flight." Hames shuffled uncomfortably. "The administration here is not always as efficient as it should be. I'm afraid we've lost track of his movements as of ten days ago."

"Mr Hames, do you know what forensics evidence Mac turned up?" Sheldon asked out of curiosity.

"Er … not exactly … it had something to do with … er … shells and his god-daughters eyes."

"CSI:NY – CSI:NY – CSI:NY"

Fifteen minutes later Jo was stood in Mac's office staring out of the window. She sensed someone come up behind her. "Are you okay?" Sheldon asked. Jo turned around and offered a weak smile.

"I had a bad feeling about this the moment he told me he was going." Sheldon nodded sympathetically knowing what she meant. "From what Hames was saying the lab accreditation was genuine but Lindsay was right, that only takes a few days."

"Hames confirmed that Mac was at their lab for just over a week. But he's been gone almost three. What the hell has he been doing for the last ten days ?"

"I wish I knew Sheldon." Jo grimaced in frustration. "I can't seem to get my head around this. What is Mac doing in Iraq that involves the murder of a shipping magnate in New Orleans, a mystery shipment from Marseille and the death of an Interpol agent here in New York?"

"I think we might be able to provide some answers to that." They turned around to see Don standing in the doorway with a tired-looking man leaning heavily on a walking stick. "This is General Martin Schaeffer."

"CSI:NY – CSI:NY – CSI:NY"

Mac looked up as Hicks gestured from the door. Looking over at Davy who was curled up on his side wrapped in a long dark overcoat, Mac hauled himself up trying to ignore the stiffness in his limbs and tiptoed to the door.

"All quiet Sir. You sure you don't want to rest some more. I can manage."

Mac shook his head and patted the younger man on the shoulder. "Don't need so much sleep at my age and you need to be at the top of your game. We're relying on you." Hicks smiled gratefully as Mac turned away and headed silently to a rocky outcrop leaving the young man to duck inside the abandoned shell of what had once been somebody's home. As he settled in Mac scanned the dark barren landscape. He shivered. It was amazing how cold the night seemed after the heat of the day. His eyes quickly became accustomed to the darkness. It wouldn't be dawn for a couple of hours but already there was a lightening of the sky on the horizon. Mac continually scanned the terrain for danger, occasionally raising his rifle and peering through the scope to check that the flickers of movement were nothing more than a night scavenger out in search of a snack. As he sat and watched he thought back to that meeting with his old friend. At that moment he would have given a year's salary just to be sitting in one of those comfortable leather armchairs overlooking the Hudson savouring that fine twelve year old single malt Scotch.

"What's wrong Marty? I can tell something is troubling you." Mac glanced at his old friend out of the corner of his eye not failing to notice how he kept rubbing at his knee, an old wound that had plagued him since their time together in Desert Storm, a wound that he had got saving Mac's life.

"You remember my son Davy?" he asked in a tone that left Mac feeling that he was not going to like what was coming next. "Six months ago he was working in a refugee camp on the Somali border when he was abducted with a group of aid workers. We believe that al-Shabab were behind the attack. However, when the ransom demand came ... it was only for the other aid workers."

Mac felt sick at the pain in his friend's voice and waited for him to continue. "To cut a long story short I discovered that Davy had been handed over to al-Qaeda and taken to Iraq. A month ago he was spotted at a training camp for a local insurgent group outside of Kirkuk. A rescue attempt was made several months ago but failed because ... " The older man sighed and rubbed his eyes. Mac waited for him to compose himself. "... because Davy refused to go with them. He said that he was with his new family now and that he didn't want to come back."

Mac's frown deepened. "Stockholm Syndrome? He's identifying with his captors?"

Schaeffer nodded. "It looks that way but the leader of the rescue mission believed that he had help. He swore that Davy was drugged. He was thin, beaten, malnourished. He was confused Mac. He needs help."

A feeling of dread crept into Mac's stomach. "Why are you telling me this now Marty?"

Schaeffer gave a short laugh. "You always were a perceptive man. Straight to the point." Schaeffer turned to face him. "I … er … heard that you have been asked to accredit the new lab in Baghdad?" Schaeffer laughed again at the look of surprise on Mac's face. "I may be a desk-bound general nearing retirement but I keep my ears to the ground. I'm sure that you have some reservations about going but … Mac I have recently received information as to Davy's whereabouts. He's being held by a group of insurgents in a small compound some eighty miles north-west of Baghdad. They're going to send in another team, one of the best. I'm afraid that he won't come with them ..." Schaeffer licked his lips nervously. "... but he might if he saw someone he knew." Schaeffer pushed a photograph into his hand. Mac looked down at the picture of himself in uniform with a small boy by his side. "Someone he used to call his favourite uncle."

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A/N : Hope I haven't made this too complicated. Thanks to all who have reviewed. They are much appreciated.