“The name on the ID that Burton used to board the flight to New Orleans,” Rafe said quietly. “The names are those of two of his sons. Mercy said that Pastor gave Burton the ID and that Burton was unhappy about it. Something about the names meaning ‘fruitful.’”

Simpson considered this. “Well, at least they’re consistent. The funds transferred into the account come from a company called Frutuoso. That’s Portuguese for ‘fruitful.’ The business has an agricultural classification. Its main products are olive oil and pomegranate juice.”

Gideon huffed. “Olives and pomegranates? Really?”

“I’m missing something,” Hunter said. “Explain?”

“The olive tree is part of Eden’s symbol,” Gideon said. “It’s thought by some religious scholars to have been the Tree of Life in the Garden of Eden. Eden taught this to us as children. They also taught us that the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge—the forbidden fruit that Adam and Eve ate—was a pomegranate, but the original texts never specify the kind of fruit. The Hebrew just says ‘pri,’ which simply means ‘fruit.’ Pomegranates are still a popular theory among Jewish scholars, although I’m pretty sure that Eden’s founders were neither religious scholars nor linguists.”

“Which you are,” Simpson said. “A linguist, I mean. Molina said you’re part of the chatter unit.”

“That’s what I do,” Gideon confirmed. “It’s predominantly drug gang chatter these days. At any rate, that they’d list olive oil and pomegranate juice as their products is at least suggestive of a tie to Eden. Where does Frutuoso’s money come from?”

“That’s what we’re still trying to figure out,” Simpson admitted. “It appears to be coming from offshore accounts, so that makes it harder to track.”

Hunter held up his hand. “They’re in.” He turned up the volume on his phone and Rafe and Gideon crowded around to see his screen.

“That’s Mrs. Franklin,” Simpson said softly, indicating the elderly woman sitting in a chair by the window. “She’s seventy-six years old. The doctor here on staff thinks she is capable of speaking far more than she does, but her personal doctor doesn’t agree. If he knew Miss Callahan was here, he’d probably object, but we don’t legally have to inform him.”

“Hi, Belinda,” a woman’s voice said cheerfully. “I brought you some visitors.”

“That’s the nurse’s aide assigned to Belinda Franklin,” Simpson supplied. “She’s not ours, but she passes all of our background checks. No indication of being on the take.”

So the FBI also thought that Eden might have someone embedded here, Rafe thought. Mercy had been right to worry about that.

“Go away,” Belinda said flatly but clearly.

The picture jumped a bit, then lowered. Mercy had pulled up a chair. “Hi, Mrs. Franklin,” she said quietly. “I’ll go in a minute, but I was hoping you could help me. My name is Miriam. I’m married to your son Harry.”

Rafe could hear Gideon grinding his teeth. Rafe, on the other hand, was clenching his.

“She is not nor has she ever been married to that bastard,” Gideon growled.