“We’ll be in touch,” I said, and tapped Sean on the shoulder. He rose without comment and followed me out, with Ghost trailing him. The people in the cubicles stared at us as if we were Martian invaders.
In the hallway, I blew Bridge Troll a kiss.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
1800 WASHINGTON BOULEVARD
MONTGOMERY PARK OFFICE BUILDING
BALTIMORE, MARYLAND
SUNDAY, APRIL 29, 11:13 AM
When the elevator doors closed, Sean said, “You haven’t changed at all since high school.”
“I’m taller and better-looking.”
He shook his head in total disgust. “What was that? Can you tell me? No, let me tell you, Joe. That was a total waste of time. Not only didn’t we learn anything but we pissed him off. We committed at least four felonies and almost certainly set a lawsuit in motion that the city will have to pay for. And how will they pay for it? With the money they were going to use for my salary but that will be up for grabs now that I’m going to get my ass fired. You are a walking train wreck, Joe.”
“You need to meditate or get a massage or something,” I suggested.
He made a strangled sound and balled his fists at his sides. Fratricide was probably an option for him, so luckily it was a short elevator ride. The elevator doors opened, and there was another pair of trolls waiting for us. Ghost growled. I looked at them.
“Step away,” I told them very quietly.
They must have had orders about this, because they did exactly that. They moved back and allowed us to exit the elevator, and then they followed at a discreet distance all the way out of the building. They stopped thirty feet from Sean’s rental car and waited like silent statues until we drove away.
“Like I said,” Sean groused. “A complete waste of time.”
“No, it wasn’t,” I assured him.
“How the hell do you figure that?”
“You’re so cheesed-off at me, Sean, that you’re not paying attention.”
“Paying attention to what?” he demanded. “Tell me, O super secret agent, what was the humble flat-footed city cop too stupid to see?”
“First,” I said, “cut the shit. The self-pity thing is all stress reaction and you damn well know it. You’re freaked out about the bugs, about having to send Ali and the kids away, and about the nanotech. I get that. It’s scary stuff, but my team is on it, so stop freaking the fuck out.”
We drove in icy silence for a full block. If there had been one of Mike Harnick’s ejector seats in the rental, I’d have been sailing through the air and Sean would be laughing.
“There were a couple of things back there that on any other day you would have caught,” I said. “First, Vee knew Holly. He has a damn good game face, but he didn’t ask enough questions. He didn’t want to have a conversation about her. That tells me that he probably thought one or both of us were wearing a wire and he didn’t want to say anything that we could flip on him.”
Sean considered that and gave a very reluctant grunt of agreement.
“Second,” I continued, “he wasn’t nearly as alarmed about me beating the shit out of one of his guys as any other sane law-abiding taxpayer would be. I think he was expecting something to happen. I think he was hoping to flush us out into the open so he could get a look. That’s a point for him, but we had our own look, so call that part a draw.”
Another grunt.
I said, “And the reason I didn’t ask about the nanotech was because I didn’t want him to know how much we knew. Same reason I didn’t ask about the rabies. Maybe he’s the one who planted the bugs. If so, he already knows that we know about that stuff, but that’s all. For now, I don’t want Vee to think we’re looking at him for anything other than having points in a prostitution ring.”
“Maybe,” said Sean, “but Vee’s probably making fifty calls right now to tell whoever he works with or works for that a cop and a Fed were just in his office.”
“I really hope he does.”
Sean stared at me as if I was totally batshit crazy. “Why? Why on earth would we want him ringing all the alarm bells?”
“Because, O ye of little faith, Vee really inspired me. The bugs he planted everywhere was a nifty idea. So … while we were in his office I planted some of my own.”
“The hell you did…” he began but trailed off. He’d seen me walk around the office and touch things. “Shit.”
Ghost made a sound that I chose to interpret as a laugh. He always enjoys it when I do something sneaky.
“Won’t he find them?” asked Sean.
“He’d have to know what he was looking for.” I dipped into my pocket and removed a tiny dot of what looked like clear plastic. I rubbed it once between thumb and forefinger and pressed it to the dashboard. It immediately swirled with colors and in less than two full seconds took on the exact shade of vinyl used on the dash, pebble pattern and all. It became virtually invisible. At the first stop sign, Sean leaned forward to study it.
“That’s … that’s crazy. I mean, I know it’s there, but I can barely see it.”
“That would be the actual point. These were developed by a friend of mine. A, um, late friend of mine. They draw power via Wi-Fi and have excellent pickup. I dropped a tiny booster pack into the trash can when I threw away my tissue. We should get signals until they empty the can, and it didn’t have much in it, so I doubt they’d empty it before the close of business. Right now, everything being said in that office is being relayed to my team.”
Sean was silent for several blocks. He wanted to stay mad at me, but I was scoring some useful points.
“There’s another thing to think about, Sean,” I said. “He didn’t ask for our names. He didn’t even ask to take a close look at our IDs. And the capper was that when his goons walked us out they didn’t look at your license plates. You know why?”
Sean ground his teeth and growled. “Because they already know this car. Which means they know who I am.”
“Yup,” I said.
“Shit.”
“Shit,” I agreed.
He gave the car a suspicious narrow-eyed appraisal. “Did your sensor thing buzz you?”
“No, the car’s not bugged.”
He looked uncertain. “What do we do next?”
I smiled. “Well, first thing on my to-do list is deal with the two assholes in the black SUV who’ve been tailing us for the last three blocks.”
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
WASHINGTON BOULEVARD NEAR WESTERN AVENUE
BALTIMORE, MARYLAND
SUNDAY, APRIL 29, 11:16 AM
Sean did a fast double take in the rearview. “Wait—what?”
“Black Toyota SUV two cars back,” I said. “They picked us up within a block of Vee’s office. I saw one like it parked in the lot when we arrived, so Vee probably called down while we were in the elevator and put it in play.”
“You’re sure they’re following us?”
“Let’s find out. Turn left at the corner,” I suggested.
He did, and the SUV didn’t follow. But when he made three more lefts to get back on the same street there was another SUV idling by the curb two blocks up. As we passed by, it moved into traffic two cars behind us. Sean sighed and nodded. It was a pretty standard follow pattern, with cars swapping the tail and making sure not to ride the bumper of their target.
“They’re not too bright,” said Sean. “Using two cars is good, but they’re the same make and model. They might as well have Follow car one and two painted on their hoods.”
“Would you prefer smarter bad guys?” I asked.
As we drove, I looked down the side streets and caught the first SUV paralleling us. Sean saw it, too.
“I should call for backup,” he said.
“We don’t need backup.”
“Oh, come on, don’t give me that crap, Cowboy,” he said, using the nickname the disciplinarian had given me in high school, which had, through a long and winding process, become my combat c
all sign. Sean didn’t know that last part and used it in the literal, old-school way. “We don’t know how many of them there are, and I don’t want to get into a gunfight in heavy traffic.”
“Won’t come to that,” I said. “Besides, we have backup.”
“Where?”
“Here and there.”
He glared at me. “Why the fuck are you smiling, Joe? This isn’t funny.”
“No,” I said, “but it could be fun.”
In the back seat Ghost said, Whuff. Sean tried to glare some shame and common sense into me, but then I saw the corner of his mouth twitch. It wasn’t a smile. Not exactly.
“You were always screwed up in the head,” he said. “Always. Mom and Dad used to worry about you. Dad probably still does.”
“What about you?”
He flexed his fingers on the knobbed steering wheel. “I don’t know. You scare me a little, I guess. I used to think I understood you. Used to think I knew how you’d jump. But ever since you started working for the Feds you’ve turned into someone else. You went away from the brother I knew, Joe. Guess I never really understood how far you’ve traveled.”
It was Sean being honest, not necessarily trying to hurt, but it hurt anyway.
“People change,” I said. It wasn’t a very good reply to all that was implied by what he’d said, but it was the best I could do at the moment. There would have to be more, though. We both knew that.
The tail was still on us, so I told Sean to head in the general direction of his office while I watched the traffic. I needed something to distract, and the universe must have heard me because it sent a big brown UPS truck. It pulled up next to us at a red light. The SUV had been shifting lanes and using other cars for cover and was now in the opposite lane five cars back. I slipped out very quickly, using the truck for cover. Ghost ran with me, eyes bright, tongue lolling like a puppy going to play in the park. I gave him a couple of quick verbal commands and he melted away, running between the cars stopped in long lines at the light. I went in a different direction, running low and fast, trying to beat the red light. People in the stopped cars gave us strange looks, but I was getting used to being stared at as a freak.
As the light turned green and the cars began to move, I came around the back of a pickup truck and broke into a dead run straight at the SUV, my hand snapping to release my Wilson lock knife. The two men in the SUV saw me about a second too late. The driver spun the wheel, but I was right there and punched the tip of the knife through the sidewall of his tire, turned fast, and rolled toward the rear tire and killed it, too. That whole side of the car sagged over and rolled two feet, then he threw it in park. Their doors popped open and they jumped out. Two big guys with Slavic faces and spray tans. Made me wonder where the hell Vee was recruiting talent. They were all trolls.
The driver whipped back the flap of his sports coat to make a grab for the holstered Czech pistol he wore in a shoulder rig. The other guy did the same thing.
Silly rabbits. Ghost hit the troll on the passenger side like a white missile and bore him down and out of sight with a lot of snarling and screaming. The driver was four feet from me. There’s a saying about never bringing a knife to a gunfight. That’s mostly true, unless you already have the knife in hand and the idiot with the gun doesn’t have time or distance to draw. I whipped the knife across the back of the hand reaching for his gun. The Wilson rapid-release folder is short, with only a three-and-a-half-inch blade, and doesn’t look all that intimidating unless you know about knives. The blade is scalpel-sharp, and it bit deep. A red line appeared from thumb knuckle to little finger.
He hissed as if he’d been burned. I kicked him in the nuts with the point of my toe because that had worked so well with his fellow troll, then I stomped on his instep and clubbed him across the eye socket with my left elbow. It rocked him backward against the side of the car, and when he bounced off I looped my arm around his neck, bending him double, and drove my knee into his solar plexus hard enough to lift him off the ground. He landed flat-footed and sagged, gasping like a gaffed sailfish, and his legs suddenly buckled. I released him, and as he sat down hard on the asphalt like a weary drunk after a bad bar fight, I took his pistol away from him. I considered pistol-whipping him with it, but he was done.
On the other side of the car, Ghost was having what sounded like too much fun. People were getting out of their vehicles and yelling. Horns were blaring. Sean came striding up, brandishing his badge, Glock in the other hand, yelling in the leathery cop voice to announce who he was. People backed off, but cell phones came out to immortalize the moment in digital high definition.
“Cuff him,” I said to Sean, and then raced around the front of the car, expecting to see body parts. But even though the man was down and bleeding, he was more or less in one piece. The order I’d given to Ghost was to take and own. That meant Ghost would disarm and maul but not kill. He’s a hundred and five pounds of attitude, training, experience, and natural enthusiasm. And he has those six titanium fangs.
“Off,” I said, and Ghost stepped back with great reluctance. His victim was curled into a ball, his arms wrapped around his head to save his face and eyes. I folded my knife, drew my gun, screwed the barrel into the guy’s ear and held it there while I patted him down. I took another Czech automatic and a .22 throw-down piece that was hidden under his jeans cuff in an ankle holster. I took a knife and a wallet, too.
Sean hurried around and handed me a set of plastic zip ties. I pulled the man’s hands behind his back and secured the ties. I wasn’t exceptionally rough about it because the fight was already won and the crowd of spectators was growing. I’d learned to be very aware of cell-phone cameras.
“Joe…” Sean murmured.
“I got this,” I said.
“We have company.”
I glanced up as another black SUV rolled up and two men got out.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
WASHINGTON BOULEVARD NEAR WESTERN AVENUE
BALTIMORE, MARYLAND
SUNDAY, APRIL 29, 11:19 AM
Sean still had his sidearm in his hand, but I shook my head as I saw the faces of the two newcomers.
“Friendlies,” I told him.
The men were dressed in navy-blue suits, white shirts, dark ties, and had on sunglasses and wires behind their ears. One was a thin Latino guy in his twenties, and the other was a broad-shouldered Irish thirtysomething moose. Al Torres and Steve Duffy. When Sean saw Duffy, he grunted and gave a small nod of recognition.
“Secure the scene,” I told the agents, and they went to it without comment or question. They knew the drill. Keep the civilians back while not offending them or provoking outrage. Sirens began wailing in the distance. Sean’s people.
A couple of pigeons flew over and one landed on a telephone wire. I cut a look at it and suppressed a smile. Even for me, it’s hard to tell sometimes. DMS pigeon drones had adaptive software so that, in the company of other birds, they acted like part of the flock and learned from their behavior. I’m surprised they haven’t yet been rigged to shit on statues but don’t want to suggest it or somebody will put in a work order.
“What about them?” Sean said, indicating the two injured men.
“Their injuries will be treated and they’ll be taken to a secure facility, where I will ask them a whole bunch of questions. Now, before you blow your stack, Sean, yes, you are invited to participate. And, I promise, no waterboarding or thumbscrews. Depending on the answers, the suspects will either be handed back to you for formal arrest and processing or we’ll keep them.”
“What do you mean, ‘keep them’?”
“Exactly what it sounds like.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“It’s the way it is,” I said. “You don’t have to like it, but you do have to accept it.”
His face turned to stone, and from the look he gave me I knew that Thanksgiving with the family was going to be a hoot.
Duffy came over and leaned close. “Cowboy,
we ran an Anteater over our new friends and they’re bugged nine ways from Sunday. So’s their car. The fuck’s that all about? I mean, why’s someone bugging their own field guys? What kind of shit’s going down?”
“To be determined,” I said.
He gave me a crooked grin. “What’s wrong, boss, the West Coast not weird enough for you?”
“Since when’s anyplace weirder than Baltimore?”
“Point taken.” Duffy glanced around.
“Take Mutt and Jeff here to the shop,” I said. “Scan their prints en route and take DNA samples at the Warehouse. Tow the car in, too. I want it torn apart, down to the last screw. I’m getting tired of surprises, feel me?”
“I do.”
I nodded to the Czechs. “Nobody talks to them until I get there, okay? You can stitch them up, but that’s it. Put them in separate rooms and let them sweat.”
“Sam won’t like it.”
“Nobody likes anything I have to say today. Why should he be any different?” I glanced up at the pigeons and then down the crowded street. “Sean thinks there may be more than one car, Duffy. Same make, model, color as this. See what you can find.”
“You got it.” He paused and glanced at Sean, then offered his hand. “We didn’t have much of a conversation yesterday. Joe’s told me a lot about you.”
Sean looked at the proffered hand but didn’t take it. He gave me a look that would have melted plate steel. Duffy shrugged, smiled, and lowered his hand.
“Stop being a dick,” I told Sean.
“Fuck you, Joe. Who are these cocksuckers? Are they more of your superspy butt buddies?”
Duffy mouthed the word butt buddies, sketched me an ironic salute, and walked off to join his partner.
“They’re my friends,” I said. “You don’t have a clue as to what guys like them have to do to keep this country safe.”
“Oh, please. Stop making speeches,” growled Sean. He shook his head. “You know, I’m sorry I ever called you.”