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“Go ahead and text Summerset the cousin’s all clear. Tell them to stay where they are.”
“I think they’re aware of that already.”
“Hammer it home. Chez Robert. Yours?”
“It’s not, no.”
“The handy had to end sometime. Chez—French, right? Like saying Ro-bare for Robert ’s French.”
“It is.”
“He couldn’t resist. He was capable with weaponry,” she continued when they reached the garage and the car, “but he wasn’t a sniper, a sharpshooter. And he’d have lost a lot of that skill in prison. A few years to re-hone, yeah, but that’s not how he plans to take them out.”
“He may have hoped for all three, but could hardly count on it.”
“He would think that way. Women. One goes to the john, they all go. I can’t figure that one out myself. And he brought in Ivanna, and that’s a little nudge to add Marjorie. He knows Ivanna’s in New York. And we’ll check with this assistant, but if he learned Iris was, he’d assume the rest.”
“Taking three at once,” Roarke continued. “And what he’d consider the weakest? He could take more time with the rest.”
“They’d be shaken, and angry, and they’d sure as hell lose any trust in me.”
“But none of that’s going to happen.”
“No, it’s not.”
But she had to figure out what he planned in order to subvert those plans.
“He can’t use the gas again unless he rigs it to take out the whole restaurant, or at least the section they’re sitting in. He books the table so he’d know that.”
“Disguised again, some poison in their drinks.”
“Possible. But fancy French place?”
“They’d know their waitstaff. Explosive.”
“That’s top of my list. Remote or timer. Timer makes more sense.” She considered it as they drove through the gates. “He’d want to be close, but not that close. If he can’t see them to set off the charge, a timer works better.”
“How will you handle it?”
“Working that out.”
“You’ll include me.” He pulled up, turned to her. “I’m very fond of Ivanna, and I’ve also grown fond of the rest.”
“You’re already in the mix I’m working out.” She breathed a sigh as they got out of the car. “And I don’t see a way of pushing them out of it.”
“You’re not letting them go to the restaurant.”
“Oh, hell no. But as much as it doesn’t sit all the way right, I have to keep them informed.”
Starting now, she thought as they went up the stairs.
It didn’t surprise her to find them all waiting in her office. It struck her as weird, but not as a surprise. Some on the sofa, some at the table, and Harry and the cat enjoying her sleep chair.
At least they hadn’t taken over her command center.
Iris got to her feet. “You’re absolutely sure she—”
“We had a conversation,” Eve interrupted. “She’s under no duress. She misplaced her ’link earlier today.”
“He lifted it,” Harry said. “I showed him how it’s done.”
Iris sent him a weary look. “It wouldn’t take any particular skill with Darlie.”
“You need to check with your assistant.”
“I did while you were gone. He did take an after-hours call from her, or believing it Darlena. I didn’t specifically instruct him not to tell her I was in New York, so it didn’t take much pleading for him to tell her.”
“Then that checks. But if she’d wanted to speak to you, why didn’t she contact you directly? Why go through your assistant?”
“I… I’m slipping. I will say it wouldn’t be impossible for her to go that route. Click his number first, as I’ve asked her to when I’m working. She remembers about half the time.”
“Don’t bring that up when you call to confirm.”
“I’m going to confirm?”
“We’re going in the field?”
Eve turned to Marjorie. “You are not.”
“It does sting.” With a sigh, Marjorie lifted the coffee that came after the brandy.
“You’ll confirm. The three of you to meet her, Chez Robert. You can’t make it until thirteen hundred, and have to leave by fifteen hundred. You’ve got a holo-meeting shortly after.”
“I see, add details and make him work for it a little.”
“Don’t contact yet. Roarke, I need an interior of the restaurant, and an idea of their security. And what we have across the street.”
He sat at her command center and got to work. Summerset poured him coffee, then took a cup to Eve.
“Yeah, great.” She drank; she paced.
“He wants to take all three of you together. He’s not that solid a marksman.”
“Close range, good enough,” Summerset told her. “Or with a covering fire. But no, he was no sniper. Leroy was our best. Iris right along with him.”
“He needs to get in there, but won’t be in there at thirteen hundred. Can’t get close enough to poison the drinks, especially three at once.”
“Happy thought,” Iris murmured.
“A boomer’s the way. You just have to be close enough to see it, hear it, have that satisfaction. But you have to get in to place it.”
“He might have done already.”
She glanced over at Ivan, who shrugged.
“Anticipate the enemy, he’d say to me. Set the trap, then wait to spring it.”
“Security,” Roarke said. “Decent enough, but not tight or layered.”
She pointed to the screen. “Harry. Could he get through that?”
After setting the cat aside, Harry rose for a closer look. “If he couldn’t, I wasted my time on him.”
She pulled out her communicator, ordered surveillance on the restaurant.
“If he tries tonight, we’ll spot him,” she said. “And we’ll take him.”
Could it be that easy? she asked herself. Would he make so major a mistake, one so simply exploited?
“Restaurant interior,” Roarke said, “front of the house on-screen.”
Hands in pockets, Eve rocked back on her heels as she studied the setup. Tables—two- and four-tops, booths, a bar, a host station, stairway leading down to restrooms.
“Nothing with a street view. Okay. No interior cams. He could plan to place one, if he wants to watch.
“Do you want back of the house? Kitchen, storage? Wine cellar, lockers, and so on?”
“He won’t bother with that, but I need to see.”
So she studied the kitchen—blinding white and stainless steel. The counters, the racks, the tools, and all the rest.
“If he wanted to take down the whole place, sure, set charges throughout. Kitchen, cellar, one at the bar, under a table, under a booth. But he doesn’t want that. That brings in anti-terrorism—too much attention.”
“One small charge.” Ivan spoke quietly. “A blast radius of eight to ten feet.”
“Agreed,” Eve said. “Minimal collateral damage, and too bad for them. Keep it contained. Unless he places a camera, he’ll go with a timer. No point in the remote when you can’t see.
“Roarke, street view.”
“On-screen.”
“Okay, okay. A pair of restaurants, outdoor seating. Couple of shops with windows. Mixed residential and commercial above. If he had sniper skills, I’d look at the roof or the residential windows. But that’s a no. Add he can’t be sure to get all three. But he’ll be there, and it’ll be across the street where he has a view.”
She turned to Iris. “Make contact, text it. Thirteen hundred arrival.”
“Have to leave by three. Got it.”
She sent the text, and the response came quickly.
“God, even this sounds just like her. ‘Brilliant! Though I’d so hoped you’d come with me after lunch to help me buy a new ’link! I’m such a dolt about these things, and always get talked into something that never works properly. Maybe I can drag Marjorie or Ivanna off to help me. Mad to see you and catch up, even for so short a time. Until tomorrow! Kiss, kiss.’”
“All right. I don’t want to call in the bomb squad on this. They tend to generate a lot of attention.” She looked at Roarke. “Can you rig a sniffer?”
“I can, of course, but no need, as we already have more than one.”
“Great. Let’s go sniff, in case he has already planted it.”
“And if he’s on his way to do so, you’ll take him down.”
“That’s the bonus round.”
“And if it is already planted,” Summerset began, “and activated?”
“I’ll deactivate it.” Roarke rose. “I had a very good teacher. Give me a moment, Lieutenant, to fetch the sniffer.”
“I’ll get it. I’ll get it,” Summerset repeated before Roarke could speak. And walked out.
“Allow him to worry about you.” Ivanna let out a sigh. “Allow us all to do so. Being together like this, after so long, it brings back memories. The memories make it difficult to sit passively while others take the risks.”
“You took the risks,” Eve reminded her. “And more than your share. You’ve taken another by coming here. Now it’s our job. Roarke, is the restaurant still open?”
“Likely they take reservations until nine, and people will linger. But it may not be when we get there, as it’s Lower East Side.”
“Let’s cover that.” She pulled out her ’link, tagged APA Cher Reo.
Though Reo wore a baggy T-shirt, had her froth of blond hair messily bundled up, Eve concluded: Still working.
“I need a warrant.”
“So I assume, as I didn’t think you’d called to chat.”
“I’m good. How are you? Great. There, I chatted.”
“Dallas, I’m buried here.”
“Yeah? Me, too. More chat. Done. I have probable cause to believe there’s an incendiary device planted, or about to be planted, at Chez Robert, a restaurant on the Lower East Side.”
“Have you contacted the boomers?”
“No. The attention drawn would hamper my investigation, and warn off the perpetrator. I need a warrant to enter the restaurant should it be closed, and to search for said device.
“Conrad Potter, convicted war criminal—Urbans. I have evidence indicating he faked his own death, escaped prison in England. Interpol is picking up, or in the process of picking up, his accomplice, the prison doctor, in Costa Rica. Potter is responsible for the murder of Giovanni Rossi.”
“The limo hit.”
“Affirmative. Potter has a kill list. He plans to check off three more names tomorrow. I can feed you all of it, Reo, but I’d sort of like to take care of this bomb.”
“I’ll get you the warrant, then you feed me frigging all of it.”
“I’ll send you everything I have.” She glanced over as Roarke came back in from his office. He wore his suit jacket again, she noted, and assumed he had a weapon somewhere on him.
Summerset stepped in behind him with another pot of coffee and a tray of cookies.
“I have more to write up, and you’ll get that when I do.”
“Make sure of it. I want to be up to date and prepped when you bag him. And I’m not great. The boss and two colleagues are down with a stomach virus. While I’ve escaped that, so far, I’ve got work up my ass.”
“Sorry. Good luck. See, more chat. Later. Let’s go,” she said to Roarke.
When they left, Marjorie poured herself another cup of coffee. “I like the girl more and more. Just no bollocks about her.”
“She can be, and often is, stunningly rude.” After topping off his own coffee, Summerset sat. “Honest, not to but beyond a fault, brilliant in her way and her focus, which does not include social niceties. Unflinchingly loyal to those who have earned her loyalty. And terrifyingly brave.
“She once stepped in front of a stream to spare me. I had not earned her loyalty. I had not. Yet she did so without hesitation.”
Reaching over, Ivanna took his hand. “He won’t best her, miy druh . He won’t best either of them.”
“If he harms them, either of them, he will not live.” He said it calmly, coolly, with absolute certainty. “Not this time. Not again. I swear that to all of you.”
Marjorie set down her coffee, walked over to lay her hand over theirs. “That’s an oath we’ll all take with you.”
And one by one they laid their hands, and swore it.
As Roarke drove, Eve sent the files to Reo.
“They’re going to get restless,” Roarke warned her.
“I can’t help that.” Then she scrubbed her hands over her face, into her hair. “I know that. I feel that, but they’ll have to suck it up. And I know if I don’t take Potter soon, it’s going to be a problem.”
“Let me handle that. You’ll just order or threaten.”
“You’ve got something better?”
“I do, yes. Guilt. Why would you add to the lieutenant’s work? Why would you fracture her focus when she needs her focus? Losing her focus could cause her to make a mistake, and be hurt. Why would you add to her worries, and to mine?”
“Jesus. That’s good. It’s mean in a twisted way that makes it meaner.”
“Passive-aggressive may not be an honorable choice, but it’ll work.” He glanced over. “I’ll handle them, my word on it.”
“All yours. And here’s my warrant. I’m going to check in with the surveillance team, and let them know we’re moving in. By the way, don’t draw the weapon you hooked on before we left the house unless there’s no choice.”
“Which weapon?”
Eve just closed her eyes a moment. “Any and all.”
She contacted the team on Chez Robert, then sat back, considered.
“Restaurant’s just closing. No single male went in or out since they’ve been on it. If I were going to break in to plant a bomb—or rig toxic gas—I’d wait a couple more hours. Give the neighborhood time to settle in for the night.”
“Or you move in directly so it looks as though you’re an employee who forgot something. Look harried instead of furtive. Go in, switch on the lights—nothing to hide here—plant the device, then leave the way you came.”
“Huh. Well, you’d be the break-in expert. Drive past it, park about a block away. We’ll give it a few minutes. Better it’s closed,” she said half to herself. “No need to go in, stir anybody up. ‘Hey, just checking for explosives.’ No media reports to scare him off.”
He cruised by the restaurant.
“And if he hasn’t already planted it?”
“I come back in the morning.”
“We come back in the morning,” he corrected, and slid along the curb.
“I can pull in a boomer for it.”
“We come back,” he repeated. “And again, no doubt, sometime before thirteen hundred.”
No point in nudging him back, she thought. And no good reason. “I’ll have men placed, soft clothes, in the restaurant, the other restaurants, the shops, on the street an hour prior. I’ll need more to cover the roofs, just in case. We’ll check if any single male has rented any of the residential or commercial spaces with a view of the target. Say in the last six months. Longer than that doesn’t make sense, even for him.”
“I agree there. While he must have considerable funds, they aren’t unlimited. He risks the whole operation if he squanders what he has.”
“You’d also be the expert on money, but I’d already gotten to that one. Let’s take a walk. Wait.”
She pulled out her signaling ’link. “It’s Abernathy. Dallas,” she said.
“We have Pierce in custody. I have to say, it was remarkably easy.”
“Good work. I’ve got a few questions I’d like you to work into your interview.”
His face, his voice, radiated haughty. “I believe we know how to conduct an interview, Lieutenant.”
“I’m not questioning that, Abernathy, but we’ve got some movement on this end. It’s doubtful Pierce knows anything that could apply here, but I don’t want to assume. I’ll send you the questions.”
“Very well, since I appreciate the tip on Pierce. Now I’m going to get a few hours of sleep before we escort Pierce back to London. It’s been one brute of a day.”
“Tell me about it,” Eve muttered as she pocketed her ’link. “Let’s take that walk.”
“He should’ve shown by now if he was doing what I’d have done.” Roarke got out, joined Eve on the sidewalk. And took her hand. “Just in case,” he said. “We’re an ordinary couple taking a stroll on a lovely September evening.”
“Right.”
She took out her communicator, told the team they were moving in.
“No sign of him.” She pocketed the comm. “I’m turning on my recorder. We’ll go straight in. Record on. Dallas, Lieutenant Eve, and expert civilian consultant Roarke.”
She gave Roarke a nod at the entrance as she read in the details of the warrant.
“I’ve bypassed the alarm,” he added, “so as not to cause undue attention.”
And slick, silent, and smooth, they were in.
Eve hit the lights; Roarke took out the explosive detector.
They worked front to back, sweeping the tables, the bar, the booths while the indicator remained green and silent.
“Maybe he’s got another way,” Eve began.
At a back corner booth, it chirped, turned red.
“And there we have it.”
Handing the detector to Eve, Roarke took out a penlight, crouched down. “Interesting.”
“That’s not a word I like when attached to a bomb.”
She got down with him, twisted to look under the table. “Timer, right? Set to go off in thirteen hours, thirty-six minutes, forty-six seconds and counting. Give them time to sit and settle, maybe order a drink, wait for the cousin. How the hell did he get past the team and set this a half hour later than he’d said in the first contact?”
“He set the timer remotely. And there’s a backup to detonate by remote.”
“Well Jesus. Fuck. Get out of there. I’ll bring in the bomb squad.”
“No need, give us a minute.”
“If he’s watching the place, he could just set the goddamn thing off. Your face is on top of it. I like your face.”
He glanced toward her, smiled. “Thank you, darling. I’m very fond of yours. This is an old device. Urban Wars era. I learned on one of these bastards. Hold this on it, will you?”
While she held the light, watched the minute go from thirty-six to thirty-five, he got out tools. She didn’t know what the hell he did with them, but wished he wouldn’t.
“Listen, Roarke—”
“Shh. It has a nice but faint hum. I need to hear it. I thought, after all this time, you’d trust me.”
“I do, but… that’s the guilt crap, isn’t it?”
“Mmm. There now.” He set some sort of housing down. “You’ll want to bag all this. You should run back, get your field kit.”
“I’m not going anywhere, Ace. And if you think I’d leave you here with a fucking bomb, you hurt my feelings.”
“A good attempt at the guilt crap.”
His long, clever fingers drew out some wires. She wanted those fingers whole and attached to his hands.
“He does like to complicate things, the right prick, so we’re not falling for that, are we now?”
Another minute clicked by. She remembered what the master told her in dojo training, and tried breathing through her toes.
“Ah, there you are. Not as clever as he thinks, is he then. Not as clever by far.”
“They can respond within four minutes.”
“And he’ll know they have.”
More wires, and a look in his eye that warned her he was about to do something. She started to ask him what, then decided to save her breath while she had it.
“A simple ploy, unnecessary booby-trap, and…” He clipped two wires at once. “Done.”
The timer froze at thirteen hours, thirty-one minutes, thirty-eight seconds.
“Can I get a ‘well done’?”
“Can he reactivate it? Remote it?”
“Absolutely not.”
Instead of words, she pulled him to her under the table and kissed him, hard and long.
“Don’t touch anything else until I get my kit and we seal up. I’ll call, have it picked up. Nonemergency, silent, unmarked.”
She crab-walked back, rose, then jogged away.
Roarke stayed as he was another minute, studying the device.
“Clever,” he murmured. “But no, not as clever as he thinks.”
Within thirty minutes, they were on their way home.
“There’ll be prints on it, ones that aren’t yours. Sure, he could’ve sealed up, but why bother? I’ll check tomorrow who had that table, get a description. He had to do it today—yesterday,” she corrected, as it had gone past midnight.
“Risks and complications, sure, but he’d have no reason to place it before that. He had lunch or dinner there, at that table. And at thirteen hundred tomorrow, he’ll be somewhere close enough to see it blow, or hear it, witness the immediate aftermath.”
“It’ll be a disappointment to him,” Roarke commented.
“So will finding his ass back in a cage. Listen, if they’re all still up, I need you to take them.”
“Where would you like me to take them?”
“Don’t get me started.”
They breezed through the gates where the house stood against the night sky, windows burning with light. And right now, not the sanctuary she’d grown to crave, but a safe house.
There was a difference.
“I have to write this up so Peabody, Whitney, Reo, Mira, all of them are fully updated in the morning. Update the board. Have five minutes to think. So I need you to keep on the expert consultant, civilian, and brief all of them.”
“I can do that.” He parked at the front entrance, then shifted to her. “Forty minutes. We take forty minutes more for this, then it shuts down for the night.”
“It’s a lot to write up.”
“Happily, you’re not only good at what you do but efficient. Forty minutes,” he repeated, and got out of the car.
She decided she could probably do it in forty, if everyone left her the hell alone. And if it took longer, she’d renegotiate. The man understood negotiations.
They walked in, started for the stairs.
“They’re all still up there,” she said darkly. “Spread out in my office.”
“I’ll deal with it.”
And he would, she thought. He had a way of dealing with annoyances and inconveniences. With people, who often amounted to the same thing.
Just as she imagined, they were all spread out in her office, in her space, with coffee, and cookies, and conversation.
How did people find so damn much to talk about?
To cut off questions, as all turned to her and Roarke, Eve took the lead.
“The situation’s handled. Roarke’s going to bring you up to date.”
“Why don’t we use my office so the lieutenant can write her report?” As he gestured, they rose as a unit, and Eve went straight to her command center.
She opened operations.
Summerset placed an oversized cup of black coffee and a plate of cookies at her elbow. “Caffeine and sugar. You appear to thrive on them.”
“They do the job.”
“So do you, Lieutenant.”
He followed the others into the adjoining office, then shut the door.
Eve took the first of her forty minutes to absorb the solitude, the quiet. Then got to work.
Thirty-nine minutes later, Roarke came in.
“What? Do you set an alarm?”
“Do I need to?” After a glance at her board, he nodded. “You’ve updated, and wouldn’t be standing here staring at your board if you hadn’t sent off your report.”
“Upper East for Rossi, Lower East for the bomb. He’s got a place on the West Side.”
“Because it’s more complicated.”
“Affirmative. He’s got his own vehicle. Public transpo wouldn’t cut it. He’s got a garage.”
“You’ve had at least some of those five minutes of thinking time. As well as coffee and some of Summerset’s exceptional shortbread biscuits.”
“Cookies on this side of the Atlantic, pal.”
“I’m an Irishman currently surrounded by Brits.”
“And where are they?”
“Gone to bed, as we’re about to.”
He took her hand to lead her away from the board, and out of the room.