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  Sandman intended to be there when the meet took place. Reilly needed to be silenced before he could be taken into custody. If necessary, he knew he could get assistance from the FBI agent his employers had on their payroll, but he preferred to do it alone. Reliability was never an issue when he was operating solo.

  He stared at the words on his screen, trying to divine their hidden message. He went over everything he knew about Reilly and Tess. Then he went wider. He looked at the file he had been given about those close to him, starting with Aparo—and an unexpected association flew off the screen at him. Something that, to him, seemed like the obvious solution.

  Sandman nodded with satisfaction. It would be dark soon. He needed to make a move if he was going to get there before Reilly.

  28

  Mamaroneck, New York

  Skulking by the window of her bedroom, Tess peeked out at the sleepy, tree-lined street as the early darkness of winter settled in. She could see the unmarked sedan parked outside the house, across and slightly down the street, and knew Annie Deutsch and her partner were in it. She could also just about make out the Comcast van one house further away and knew it was the Stingray monitoring vehicle they often used in these situations—which was why she was intrigued by the text message that she’d received.

  Much earlier that day, as she was leaving Federal Plaza, she had already been wondering about where and when she would meet Reilly. She knew that, if all went well, he would make contact soon after he was out. He’d want her to know he was OK and that the capsules had done their job. She also figured he would need her help. His reckless text message had seemed out of character until Kim had come into her bedroom with a curious question and it all fell into place.

  She turned away from the window and edged over to the bed, on which sat Kim’s denim backpack, the one she’d personalized with small pyramid-shaped studs. She had packed it with Reilly’s jeans and Timberland low boots, a pair of thick socks, underwear, a winter shirt, a small vanity case she’d been given on an overseas flight that included a shaving kit and toothbrush, and the stash of cash—two thousand dollars’ worth—they kept in the gun safe for an emergency. She’d also put in Reilly’s personal handgun, a Glock 19, and a box of rounds.

  She glanced at her watch. It was time to get ready.

  She could hear a blissfully oblivious Alex laughing to the antics of Despicable Me 2—still his default movie—with his grandmother downstairs in the living room, and guessed that Kim was probably sulking in her bedroom, gorging herself on an endless stream of Snapchat messages and Instagram likes while preparing herself for the aborted fun night out at the movies with her boyfriend Giorgio and, probably far more distressing, the imminent, if temporary, loss of her prized phone.

  It had been hard to convince Kim to help her, but she couldn’t see any other way around it. She needed to leave the house undetected, and she needed transportation that wouldn’t raise suspicion. Kim and Giorgio had arranged to go out to a movie, and it had presented Tess with an opportunity she couldn’t pass up.

  She hadn’t yet told her mom or Alex about Reilly’s predicament—not about his capture, nor his escape. She decided she’d wait to see how tonight played out before doing so. Kim, on the other hand, now knew something was seriously wrong. When she’d come in to Tess’s bedroom to tell her about the weird message she’d received, Tess had closed the door behind her and led her into the bathroom. Talking low out of paranoia regarding long-range listening devices, she’d whispered her instructions to her daughter. Once she’d thought up the rest of her plan, she’d then told Kim about it, but hadn’t said any more than what she needed to say to get her daughter to play ball. It hadn’t been easy. The repeated hushed protests about missing out on her date were hard to put down. Eventually, though, Kim had grudgingly agreed.

  Presently, Tess had to get into gear.

  She went downstairs and announced that she was going to run a bath and get some “me time”, all while avoiding her mother’s dubious, probing look. She said she’d make herself a bowl of granola afterwards and left her mom to sort out dinner for just herself and Alex, since Kim was about to head out to a movie and, most likely, a pizza, with her boyfriend. Tess then headed back upstairs and began setting the scene.

  She filled the bath, leaving the door open so the sound of the running water percolated downstairs. While it was running, she hastily put on Kim’s oversized tan parka, her signature beanie, snow boots and thick polka-dotted scarf, then she checked herself in the mirror. It was odd to see herself dressed like that, though there was nothing shocking about it. It was hardly an embarrassing MuDAL moment—yet another of the hip acronyms Kim had taught her with a roll of the eyes, Mutton Dressed As Lamb. Not in that garb. Had this been summer, things might have been different, but she was too covered up for the cold to feel even a tinge of a Peter Pan Syndrome moment—another one of Kim’s useful lessons.

  Once she was done, she switched on the speaker system by her bed and selected a calming Coldplay playlist on her iPod. She then turned off the bedroom lights, dimmed the lights in the bathroom, and, after checking the front of the house for any signs of life from the window, she waited.

  Right on cue, Giorgio’s old Jeep pulled into up outside.

  She grabbed the backpack and stepped into the hallway, where she called out to Kim.

  “Honey, G’s here.”

  “OK,” came Kim’s halfhearted attempt at an enthusiastic reply.

  “I know it’s Saturday night, but don’t be back too late,” Tess said out loud as she took the stairs down to the front hall. A wall shielded her from the couch and the TV, and she tensed up for a second as she reached the door, hoping her mom didn’t get up or come out of the kitchen to say goodbye to her granddaughter. She was clear as she stepped outside, the hood of Kim’s parka pulled over her beanie.

  She did her best to imitate Kim’s teen gait as she made her way down the path to Giorgio’s waiting car. Without glancing back toward the FBI sedan or the van further away, she climbed into the car.

  Giorgio’s face went all wide with surprise. “Mrs. Chaykin?”

  “Just drive, Giorgio.”

  “But—”

  Tess shot him a firm look and pointed ahead. “Drive, will you? I’ll explain later.”

  Giorgio put the Wrangler into gear and pulled away from the house. Tess hazarded a discreet glance back, although given the darkness and the steam obscuring the rear windshield, there was little chance the agents staking out the house were going to recognize her.

  She allowed herself a small smile. It had worked. No one was following. She nodded to herself, pleased at how she’d been inspired by both Reilly’s recounting of Daland’s arrest and the fact that she still had the physique to pull this off. It helped that Kim was now less than an inch shorter than her own five foot seven.

  She stared ahead, heart pounding at the thought of being able to feel Reilly’s arms around her again shortly.

  From the unmarked sedan down the street, Lendowski watched Tess Chaykin’s daughter climb into the Jeep and head off.

  Deutsch had already run the plates while the car idled outside the house. The information had matched the data coming back from Stingray, telling them the car was the girl’s boyfriend’s.

  “Dad’s on the run and wanted for murder and she’s going out on a date,” he said with disdain. “Kids today. Christ.”

  “Maybe she doesn’t know,” Deutsch said.

  Lendowski just let out a sarcastic shrug for an answer.

  His target was still inside the house. As he kept his gaze fixed on it, he wondered if Reilly would really be stupid enough to try meeting with Tess. You didn’t need to be Sherlock Holmes to know about the astonishing number of fugitives who were caught simply because they made contact with family members.

  His BlackBerry vibrated. He glanced at the screen’s caller ID. He glanced at Deutsch and gestured back at the van with his thumb as he picked up. “What’s up?”
r />   “Something’s off. We think she’s on the move.”

  Lendowski didn’t get it. Why the hell would they be tracking the girl’s phone? “I know, I just saw her leave.”

  “Chaykin?”

  “No, numbnuts. The daughter.”

  The Stingray operator in the van clarified. “Not the daughter, doofus. Chaykin herself.”

  “Negative. I’ve got eyes on the house. Chaykin’s still at home. That was the daughter.”

  “Then how do you explain the stream of Facebook and Instagram messages flying back and forth from her laptop?”

  Her laptop? “What about her phone?”

  “It’s powered down. We can’t track it.”

  Which didn’t make sense. Why would the girl switch off her phone? What teenager did that—ever?

  Lendowski scowled as he realized what had happened. The bitches were playing him.

  “Hang on.” He turned to Deutsch. “Something’s wrong.” He thought fast. “Check the house, see if Chaykin’s still inside. I’m going after the boyfriend’s car.”

  Deutsch didn’t argue. “Damn it,” she muttered as she hurried out.

  She’s barely slammed the door shut as Lendowski was already powering away from the curb.

  Sandman was sitting in the darkness of Aparo’s apartment when his encrypted phone vibrated with an incoming text message.

  It read:

  CHAYKIN’S ON THE MOVE

  He deleted it, then settled back into the uncomfortable armchair that faced the front door. As he checked the silenced handgun in his lap, he ran through his plan once more, making sure there were no wrinkles.

  The location Reilly had chosen to meet his woman was going to be a boon. After all, Sandman mused, what better place for an agent to commit suicide than the apartment of his recently deceased partner? A death for which, in his delusional, troubled state of mind, he could conceivably blame himself.

  29

  It didn’t take long for Lendowski to catch up with the Jeep. Mamaroneck was a small town and there weren’t too many options if one was aiming to leave it. North or south on the Boston Post Road if you wanted a slow amble, or the thruway if you were on any kind of schedule. Most people going anywhere took Mamaroneck Avenue up to the thruway’s on-ramps.

  He caught up with the Jeep just as it was turning onto the Post Road and stayed well back, not wanting to give his quarry any chance of knowing he was there. Then he remembered his cash-only employer and what he’d been asked to do. As the Jeep turned left onto Fenimore, he pulled out his phone and dialed the number.

  As before, the man answered promptly. “What’s going on?”

  “I’m on Chaykin’s tail,” Lendowski told him. “She’s on her way to meet Reilly.”

  “We know,” the man said. “We have an asset waiting there.”

  This surprised Lendowski. “Waiting? Where?”

  “In the city. Where the meet is going to take place. It should be taken care of before Chaykin gets there.”

  This didn’t fit. “The city?” Lendowski asked. “That was the message in the text?”

  “Correct.”

  Something was definitely off. “She’s not heading into the city.”

  “Say again?”

  “She’s not going into the city,” Lendowski said. “Look, if that’s where she was going, she’d be jumping on I-95 or taking a train in. And I can tell you she’s not doing either. She’s turned off the road that leads to both of them as we speak.”

  The voice hesitated, then asked, “You’re sure about this?”

  “I’m on her fucking tail,” Lendowski fired back. “She’s going somewhere else. Somewhere local, by the looks of it. This road leads nowhere.”

  “We could have a serious problem here,” the man growled. “All right. Stay on it. I might need you to step up. I’ll call you right back.”

  Which was timely, as Lendowski now had a call waiting from Deutsch.

  “She’s gone,” Deutsch said, her voice breathless. “They faked us. You got them yet?”

  Lendowski thought fast. He was alone, following Chaykin, who was likely to lead him straight to Reilly. His employers—who seemed to have deep pockets—sounded like they were in a bit of a panic. The bit about him stepping up to the plate was still ringing in his ears.

  He thought he might have an opportunity here.

  “Nothing yet,” he told Deutsch, thinking he should buy himself some time. “I’ll call you as soon as I have anything.”

  “I’ll put out an APB on the Jeep,” Deutsch said.

  “No,” Lendowski countered. Last thing he needed right now was interference. “Let’s not spook her yet. She could well lead us to Reilly. I’ll find her. Just give me a bit more time.”

  Deutsch audibly hesitated, then said, “OK. Call me the second you know, either way.”

  “You got it.” He hung up.

  In Aparo’s apartment, Sandman was livid. “Is he sure? How reliable is he?”

  “He’s a Fed,” Roos replied. “The guy knows what he’s talking about. You can’t get there in time, can you?”

  “Up to Westchester? I’m an hour away, easy. Depends on when and where they’re meeting.” He cursed under his breath, pissed off at how Reilly had played them.

  “OK,” Roos said. “Get up there. I’ll keep you posted.”

  Lendowski saw the Jeep’s brake lights flare up and watched as it pulled into the CITGO gas station just before the thruway’s overpass. He pulled over and killed his lights. Tess got out, then the Jeep came back out of the station, pulled a U-turn and headed back toward him. As it drove past, Lendowski’s phone rang again. It was his off-the-books employer.

  “OK, here’s the deal, Len. We’ve got no assets nearby and it’s likely they can’t get to you in time, so we’re going to need you to take care of this.”

  Lendowski saw Tess now walking away from the station, heading north along the quiet lane. “What do you mean?” Even as he said it, Lendowski knew what the man was going to ask him to do.

  There was silence for a moment, confirming that Lendowski had indeed guessed correctly. Then the voice said, “Fifty thousand.”

  Lendowski climbed out of the car, feeling a spike of unease at what he was hearing—and thinking. “For your Reilly problem to go away permanently? That’s what we’re talking about, right?”

  “I knew you’d see things our way, Len.”

  The strangest mixture of elation and abject terror at what he was contemplating now raced through him. “I’m not sure about this.”

  “Come on, Len. We need you to do it. And you could do a lot worse than be on our team.”

  “You realize what you’re asking me to do?” He was now following Tess, staying well back.

  “All I’m asking is for you to take advantage of the unique situation you’re in. Think about it. This’ll wipe out what you owe your bookies—something the Bureau doesn’t know about, right? Like the IRS and those wads of cash we’ve been handing you?”

  The threat was implicit. The bastards weren’t content with cajoling him into playing ball. They had to resort to threatening him. Well, screw them, he thought. Them, and Reilly. He’d turn this to his advantage, big time.

  He steeled himself, greed now pumping adrenaline all through him. “One hundred. Two if she needs to go too.”

  “I don’t have time to play games with you, Len. And I’m not the Sultan of Brunei either. One hundred I can do. Just him or both of them, that’s up to you. But it has to be clean, either way.”

  “One fifty.”

  “Len. Take the deal. It’s the clever move, trust me.”

  Shit.

  Still—this was still a big payday. Tax free, one shot, done.

  Time was pressing.

  Lendowski’s thoughts were ricocheting all over the place as he tried to make sure he had all the bases covered. “But how? I don’t know who you are. How’re you going to get me the money?”

  “Check your bank balance on y
our phone. We’re wiring in half as we speak.”

  He shouldn’t have been surprised they knew where he banked, but still the notion still made him feel sick to his stomach. “Bank account? No, fuck that. Cash only. I can’t have a deposit this big show up like that.”

  “Don’t worry about it, Len. We’ll swap it for cash once it’s done and clean it up as an honest mistake. It won’t be an issue. In the meantime, it’s yours. Consider it an advance.”

  He was screwed. They knew enough about him already to get him kicked out of the Bureau, if not put behind bars. And it wasn’t as if this was about someone he liked.

  His face set in a scowl that could force water through ground coffee at espresso pressure, he relented. “Deal,” he said. “I’ll call you when it’s done.”

  He hung up, knowing he’d need to explain his absence and his radio silence to Deutsch later. A problem with his car, maybe. Then there was another, more significant problem. His backup gun—a clean Sig P226 with the serial numbers filed off—had been concealed inside the spare of his Explorer when Reilly had driven off with it. He hadn’t yet had time to retrieve it.

  He thought he might just have to kill Reilly with his bare hands.

  30

  New Rochelle, New York

  I’d made it as far as Baychester before the urge to close my eyes had become overwhelming. I’d pulled into the Bay Plaza parking lot, smeared a couple of handfuls of halite-dirtied snow across each license plate, then slept in my stolen Caprice for a couple of hours, this crashing-out-in-cars thing becoming far too much of a habit for my liking.

  The physical exertion and adrenaline-fuelled nature of the previous few hours seemed to have conspired to mean that, instead of experiencing IMAX-style waking visions of my past lives, I was in fact sound asleep.

  Presently, I was sitting in the darkness off Pinebrook Boulevard and reminisced about happier times, specifically the time Tess was screaming at the top of her voice: “It’s all crap. I’m going to smash this laptop to pieces so I never have to write such appalling trash ever again.”