Текст книги "The Warrior"
Автор книги: Ty Patterson
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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 11 страниц)
Chapter 14
‘I got them,’ Connor shouts at Zeb on the phone as they are all driving back the next day, back to the city and urban frenzy.
‘Those emails that incriminate Hardinger? They got sent to my office yesterday and are with our expensive lawyers. I haven’t seen them yet, but my editor says they’re explosive, and hence the discussions with the suits. It’s game on now, baby.’
Over Connor’s excitement, Zeb can hear Lauren’s anxious voice, ‘Now the pressure on you and us will really start.’
‘Let it. This is what I do for a living, and I love it,’ replies Connor impatiently.
‘Zeb, can you guys – Broker, Bear, and Chloe – come over in a day or two? I’d like your opinions on what can be done to deal with the threats and nuisance once the story hits.’
‘Okay.’
Broker calls minutes later. ‘Did you get the Connor invite?’
‘Yup.’
‘Should we get involved?’
‘I am involved because they’re Cassandra’s neighbors.’
‘Then we’re involved, too. And Roger and Bwana say they’d like to help kill weeds in this garden.’
* * *
Before departing from the mountains, Broker and Bear met with Bwana and Roger in the woods. Bwana had been his usual subtle self.
‘Pond scum belongs in the pond. Tell Zeb I’ll be happy to help.’
‘Behind me,’ Roger had broken in.
‘When are you planning to meet Connor?’ Broker asks Zeb.
‘Whenever he calls. I don’t have anything on my plate right now.’
As Connor drives, he looks at Cassandra in the mirror.
‘Cass, what’s it that Bear was going to say before Chloe burned his hand? I know she did it deliberately.’
Cassandra looks at him and then away. ‘I wouldn’t know.’
Connor lets the silence build, hoping it will get her talking, but she has nothing further to say.
He smiles, remembering that she lived and worked in Washington and knows how to keep a secret.
Zeb checks into a seedy hotel in Harlem, returns his Jeep, and then visits his apartment in Jackson Heights to check it out. His fingerprint, laid across the bottom of the door and jamb is still there, as is a thin film of dust in a specific pattern across the side.
He steps in, moves to the right, and stands still to feel the sound and smell of his apartment, finds nothing out of the ordinary, and goes to his arms cache. It’s time to redistribute it across the city, considering that he’ll be spending a lot of time in hotels till he sorts out the Holt issue.
He’s always used a network of storage boxes in any city he lives in and already has such a network here, but he wants to supplement it.
It’s late in the evening when he heads back to his hotel after topping up his stores. He’s thinking over ways to get Holt to emerge when Connor calls him and suggests they meet the next day.
* * *
‘Wow, this place is bursting at the seams with hard cases,’ Connor jokes, referring to Zeb, Bear, Chloe and Broker at his place.
Connor hands over a sheaf of papers to Zeb. ‘They were delivered here when we got back. The suits have approved publishing, and now it’s down to me to write the mother of all stories.’
The papers were emails between RH and someone named Vince Spadea – several of them over more than a year.
‘RH is the Senator obviously; Spadea was his head of security in Africa at that time, responsible for the security of all Alchemy’s African businesses.’
Zeb reads the emails, passing each page to the others once he’s through with them. In one mail Spadea complains that there isn’t enough labor to staff the mines, to which RH replied, ‘Who said the laborers have to be adults? Pay the natives and get kids, old people, anyone. I don’t care.’
In another email Spadea replied, ‘Boss, we’re going into dangerous territory. We can’t use kids. There’s no more labor to be recruited. We just have to accept reduced output.’
To which RH came back, ‘Fuck that shit. Minerals are at an all-time high. We need labor, and kids can get the rocks out as well as anyone. Let Joop handle it.’
‘Boss, getting Joop in is going wild.’
‘So? We’re in the jungle, in case you forgot. Wild is normal.’
Another thread of mails starts from Spadea.
‘The natives are getting restless. One of the children working in the mines died.’
‘Use Joop. He’ll know what to do.’
‘That’s a last-ditch option. Are you sure?’
‘Yes, I am fucking sure.’
‘Chief, we have to be careful. The company is much more visible because of your public profile; we can’t go around doing shit like this.’
‘Listen, asshole, I pay you to manage security not to be my conscience or my PR agent. Joop knows how to deal with the natives. Let him. You just make sure the work continues.’
Zeb finishes reading all the papers, which contain many more emails in a similar vein, hands them across to the others and sits watching out of the window.
Broker looks at Connor. ‘These are genuine?’
‘All verified, authenticated by some of the best cryptos in the country, guys who analyze IP addresses, that kind of stuff.’
‘Well, hell, we just lost a Senator, then.’
Connor notes Chloe’s troubled expression. ‘Something bothering you?’
‘How is it that he wrote all this so openly? Surely he isn’t that stupid?’
‘He isn’t. He’s one of the smartest people on the planet. However, his blind side is that his wealth and power make him believe he’s untouchable, and it’s gone to his head. Power makes people do stupid things and behave as if they’re bulletproof.’
Anne, who has joined them, looks shaken. ‘This is so vile…so monstrous. It makes me feel sick that he can hold political office and go about his business while those he’s affected have no future or are dead.’ She sniffs and scrubs a tear away.
‘What will happen in all probability is someone from his office will lean on your editors, hush this up, and his life will continue on its merry way. Either that or he’ll denigrate your credibility, your sources – everything to discredit this story. You know it’s happened before.’
‘Won’t happen this time. For one, the NYT is not known for buckling under pressure. For another, this email trail is fully authenticated and verified by all kinds of technology specialists. There is absolutely no way Hardinger can deny he sent those mails. And finally, if the NYT does give in to pressure, then I’ll publish the story on the Internet. It’ll go viral and in many ways be more powerful than traditional publishing.’
He passes another sheaf of papers to Zeb. ‘This is as much of the story I’ve written so far. It still needs some editing and some tweaks, but is almost ready to go to press.’
Zeb speed-reads through the story and finds it a hard-hitting exposé of the mining industry in Africa with a special focus on Alchemy. Connor has neatly laid out Alchemy’s activities without resorting to emotion, letting the facts and the photographs tell their own story. The story is backed up by interviews, statistics and the damning email trail. Connor has also interviewed the specialists who have verified the emails.
Connor hands over a bunch of photographs. ‘These are going with the story. Not all of them will be printed. Most of them will go on the online edition.’
In several photographs, Connor has circled key characters and described their relationship to Hardinger and their role in Alchemy.
Broker takes some of the photographs and starts going through them and grabs the rest of the photographs that Zeb tosses over. Zeb goes to the windows and looks out, suddenly wondering what he’s doing here. He’s pretty sure Connor got them together so that he can have a sounding board and at the same time has some heavies around him to reassure Lauren and Anne.
The more time he spends here, the more time Holt gets to secure his witness protection status with the FBI or escape from the country.
He senses the sudden stillness behind him before he turns around.
Broker is staring hard at a photograph, and the rest are looking at Broker’s face.
Zeb strides across to him, and Broker hands him the photograph.
It’s a bunch of people gathered around Hardinger, all of them smiling or laughing as if Hardinger had cracked the funniest of jokes. There’s Hardinger’s head of security, Spadea, neatly ovalled by Connor, various security guards, and mining personnel. The photograph was taken at one of the mines, and Zeb can see the equipment in the background, the Kleig lights standing sentinel over them all.
None of those interest Zeb after he gives them a cursory glance. It’s the figure in the corner of the photograph who is shielding his face from the camera, unsuccessfully, who has his attention.
Carsten Holt.
Chapter 15
Connor sees his fingers whiten on the photograph, then relax, and curious, he steps across to look at the snap himself. ‘What’s it that has got you guys in a tizzy?’
‘Who’s that guy?’ Broker asks.
‘That? That’s Joop.’
Broker and Bear look at Zeb, while Connor, Lauren and Anne look increasingly puzzled.
‘Someone you know?’
‘Yup.’
‘Connected to whatever you’re doing now?’
No answer.
Zeb is still, yet Connor can sense something powerful swirling inside. ‘Zeb?’
Zeb tells him.
The story sounds grimmer when told in the middle of Manhattan, the background sounds of New York present though muted, with an uninflected voice-over by Zeb. Lauren disappears during his narration, and they can distantly hear sounds of her throwing up.
Zeb resumes when she returns, and the silence and the darkness in the apartment grows deeper. Connor lets out a long, loud breath when he’s finished and paces around the apartment, saying nothing. ‘So all this while…’ He begins and then stops.
‘You mean to say this guy and the others…’ He has no words. ‘Oh, fuck it,’ he finally says and pours himself a triple scotch. He offers the bottle to the others, then replaces it when all of them decline.
He composes himself and asks Zeb, ‘So this guy is here in New York? And being protected by the FBI?’
Zeb nods.
‘And you know where he is?’
‘We think we know where he could be,’ says Broker.
‘Just who’s this guy in Hardinger’s world?’ he asks Connor.
‘Joop is some kind of freelance Mr. Fix-It for them. He’s not an Alchemy employee, and he’s not a security contractor either – I wasn’t able to work out how he got paid, but he was always around when Hardinger was there and was very close to the security people. I never spoke to him. He took great care to distance himself when I was there.’
Broker looks at Zeb. ‘That’s why we couldn’t find him.’
‘Now what?’ asks Connor.
‘Nothing,’ replies Zeb, getting up and preparing to leave. Broker, Bear and Chloe start moving out along with him.
‘You go ahead with your exposé, but you leave Joop or Holt, or whatever name he goes by, to us.’
‘My story has wider implications now, hasn’t it? Now I can also prove that Hardinger associates with monsters. And there is the FBI angle, that they’re protecting this guy.’
‘Sir, Hardinger will just deny that he knows this person in the photograph. He can just as easily say that the Joop he is referring to is someone else. It’s not that uncommon a name in that part of the world. Don’t forget that there’s no record of this guy on Alchemy’s payroll or the payroll of its contractors. Broker checked that out thoroughly. As for the FBI, the Patriot Act was made for them. They can do anything under the name of terrorism prevention.’
Broker smiles grimly. ‘This guy is dangerous. I strongly suggest you don’t involve him in your series. Leave this guy to the authorities or to us.’
‘How about my going to the police or challenging the FBI with my story?’ Connor asks.
‘I can’t advise you on what you should do, other than telling you that if I were you, I would think twice about involving Holt in this story. The police? This is beyond their jurisdiction, I’d say. The FBI might just arrest you for obstruction of justice or whatever they can think of. We tried going to them and were warned off. Whatever you do, I strongly suggest that you get yourself and your family well protected.’
Broker nods in Lauren and Anne’s direction. ‘This is why Zeb’s got Bear and Chloe hovering around Cassandra,’ he adds as they file out of Connor’s apartment.
Once outside Connor’s apartment, Zeb turns to Bear and Chloe and asks them to be even more vigilant with Cassandra. ‘I’m not convinced Connor will leave this alone, and if he includes Holt in his story, then that crazy might do anything.’
Turning to Broker, he adds, ‘It might be good if you kept your distance and got back to your information business. You’ve neglected it long enough.’
Broker gives him the finger. ‘I’m sticking closer to you than a wart on your ass. Focus on how we deal with Holt now. I don’t think the FBI are going to release Holt, so how long are you going to play nice?’
‘I’m going to the DRC’s mission at the UN and tell them everything. I expect them to burn the wires to Washington or wherever and lodge this issue with the Secretary-General.’
‘Well, hell, why didn’t you do this before?’
Zeb shrugs. ‘Time was on our side. Now it isn’t.’
‘I think I’ll tag along. You have a habit of finding trouble…even your shadow steers clear of you.’
‘Don’t. I’ll go alone. You try to find out where Holt is holed up. Do another search, this time for houses or apartments that have been leased out in the last two to three months to start with.’
‘I end up doing the dirty work while you get the glory,’ grumbles Broker as they part.
The next day sees Zeb struggling to get around the Congo’s bureaucratic reception desk to set up a meeting at their mission in the UN. Exasperated, he puts his phone down, thinks for a moment, and then dials a number he thought he would never have to use.
‘Hello,’ says the dry precise voice.
‘Sir, this is Zeb, Zebadiah Carter. We met–’
‘I remember, Major. How can I help you? I didn’t think I would hear from you again,’ says the Secretary-General.
Zeb explains his predicament to him and goes silent as the Secretary-General thinks.
‘Major, may I ask why you want to meet with them?’
‘I would rather you didn’t, sir.’
‘Is this related to Luvungi?’ and then he continues when Zeb doesn’t reply, ‘Of course – it has to be. Very well. Someone will be in touch with you.’
A couple of days later, Zeb gets the call from the DRC mission asking him to meet with the Permanent Representative of the DRC in the UN.
Jimmy Atoki, a tall African with regal bearing, is waiting for Zeb once he has cleared security. After introductions, he leads the way silently to his offices, and once there, he regards Zeb, expressionless.
‘Major, I have taken time to meet you because I got an intriguing call from the Secretary-General suggesting that meeting you would be worthwhile to my country.’ He gestures to Zeb, saying, ‘Make it worth my while.’
Zeb looks around, taking his time to frame his words, knowing that the PR’s office would be recording the conversation.
The PR observes him with a knowing look. ‘You requested this meeting, Major. It’s a bit late to be thinking about blowback.’
Zeb looks back at him and does something he has never done in a long time: takes a leap of faith. He tells him everything, without naming the agency or the key players in it.
The PR sits without moving, without emotion, looking right into Zeb’s eyes as he listens.
‘An interesting story, Major. Luvungi happened, but why should I believe it happened the way you say it did? Back home the story is that it was a bunch of rebel soldiers who committed the atrocities.’
‘Sir, there is no reason for me to spin a story and waste your time and mine. I have been to your country a few times. There are a few people in your current government who can vouch for me.’
Atoki’s eyebrows rise as Zeb mentions a name. He gestures towards a telephone and lifts it when Zeb gestures a ‘sure’ back.
Atoki speaks in rapid-fire French to the person at the other end, raises his eyebrows, then hangs up the phone.
‘You are well connected, Major,’ he says in French, the official language of the Congo.
‘Requirements of the job,’ Zeb replies in the same language, impressing the PR twice in as many minutes.
‘So you want us to shake your FBI tree and be a nuisance so that you can deal with this Holt? And what will you do with Holt once you capture him?’
‘That will depend, sir, upon how we capture him.’
A silence fills the room, and then Atoki smiles faintly. ‘And if you arrest him as he is jaywalking?’
‘I shall hand him over to you.’
The smile grows brighter and then fades as Atoki stares into the distance, letting the silence build, noting that Zeb is relaxed, yet alert. ‘Very well. We’ll see what falls out when we shake that tree. No doubt you’ll discover how successful we are through your connections.’
He escorts Zeb out, and as Zeb is leaving, he calls out, ‘Major.’
Zeb turns back.
‘We are a nation rich in minerals and yet a poor nation. Our people fight one another and others while our women and children die of hunger. Many here’ – he indicates the UN – ‘look down on us and deem us unworthy of their attention. But we are also a proud nation. We would not want to see Holt live a comfortable life.’
Zeb looks at him, tall, dark and hard angles, comfortable in a Western milieu but equally comfortable in the warrior’s garb in the plains of Africa.
‘You are Zande?’ Zeb asks.
Atoki inclines his head.
‘Holt will not live.’
Atoki looks at him. Zeb is standing relaxed, something in his eyes that Atoki recognizes, another warrior who would be equally comfortable in the African plains. Atoki nods.
Zeb leaves the building. At the gates he sees Broker waiting in a Jeep.
He knows immediately.
Broker speeds off without a word as soon as he seats himself.
‘What?’
‘Lauren and Rory.’
Chapter 16
Broker looks at Zeb out of the corner of his eye. No reaction, not a single muscle twitch on his face, just a quiet stillness surrounds the most lethal man he has ever come across.
He sends the Jeep barreling through New York, through red lights and pedestrian crossings, controlled madness at the wheel, motion unleashed on the streets. The streetlights whiz past, etching streams of light on Broker’s face.
‘He made a big mistake,’ Zeb says finally, and Broker just nods.
It is time to rectify the mistake.
Bear and Chloe are outside the apartment and nod in greeting. They are alert, and the bulges under their jackets are reassuring.
Inside, Connor is slumped over in his armchair, with Anne and Mark fussing over him when they reach his apartment.
Cassandra briefs them calmly.
Lauren and Rory had gone to play in the park after Rory’s return from school, and they never returned. Connor organized a frantic search for them when he came home from work, but he couldn’t find any trace of them.
Before he could call the police, he received an anonymous call. The message was chilling.
Lauren and Rory had been abducted, and Connor should stay by his phone for further instructions.
‘I should have listened to you.’ Connor looks at him with dull eyes. ‘I wrote my story the day you told me about Holt and included him in it. I contacted Hardinger, wanting to get a quote from him before running it. He denied knowing Holt, just as you said he would. In fact, he denied everything in the story and said he would sue me into oblivion.
‘I then told him that there were eyewitnesses to Holt’s atrocities in Africa and the photograph linked him directly to Holt. My ego got the better of me, and I mentioned you by name.
‘I returned home and…’ He trails off, waving his hand around helplessly.
‘What did the caller tell you?’ Broker asks.
‘That I should stay by the phone and not call the police. That I should await instructions.’
Broker turns to Zeb. ‘He’s moved fast in just one day. Assuming it’s Holt.’
‘It’s Holt. He said he was Holt,’ says Connor.
Zeb nods and looks at Broker. ‘Can you–’
‘Of course I can. I have everything in the Jeep.’ Broker cuts him off and heads out.
‘Shouldn’t we be calling the police, the FBI?’ Anne asks.
Zeb looks at Connor. ‘Yes.’
Zeb drifts outside and joins Broker in his Jeep.
Broker is looking at some graphical image on his laptop. ‘I narrowed down the recently leased houses in Williamstown to about ten, and I’m looking into who rented them.’
‘If a phone got turned on in any of those houses, would you be able to pinpoint which house it was?’
Broker looks up and catches on where Zeb is going with this. ‘Do fish fuck in the ocean?’ He narrows his eyes. ‘What are you doing out here? Shouldn’t you be creating an action plan with Connor? And why are we doing this shit, anyway? The NYPD or the FBI can hunt Holt down and rescue them. This has gone way beyond WITSEC now. The FBI can’t stand by their witness protection story anymore.
‘Oh, all right,’ he growls when Zeb continues to stare at him, and gets back to his laptop. ‘I’m into the systems of the different cell phone networks and am using a better system than the FBI or the NYPD use to triangulate. If a call originated from those houses, we’ll know which house it came from.’
He looks up when a sedan approaches them and parks in front just a few feet away from the nose of their Jeep. Isakson gets out and strides inside without noticing them, followed by a couple of agents.
‘The cavalry to the rescue. Now the world will be saved,’ Broker sneers. ‘I bet he asks us to disappear.’
‘They’ll come to us.’ Zeb reclines in his seat and closes his eyes.
‘Did a little angel whisper that in your ear? You know that how?’
‘Figure it out for yourself.’
An hour later they’re back in the apartment after one of Isakson’s agents summoned them.
‘Like we’re his flunkies,’ grumbles Broker.
‘How can we help you, sir?’ he asks Isakson politely.
‘Our profilers have been working on Holt, and they think he’ll want to talk to you or meet you.’
‘No shit. That must have been a very hard deduction given that Zeb has been hounding him for ages and Mr. Balthazar went ahead and mentioned Zeb to Holt.’
Isakson’s face darkens, but he controls himself. ‘Will you take his call if he asks for you?’
‘Yes,’ replies Zeb for the first time. ‘How did all this happen?’
Isakson looks away. ‘We don’t know. He came in every day to our offices and was giving us good intel. A couple of days ago, he stopped coming. We tried calling him but got no response. We suspect he found out about Mr. Balthazar here and his story through the Senator and cut loose. The Senator has been called in for questioning.’
‘Your story’s got him.’ Broker nods in Connor’s direction.
Connor laughs mirthlessly. ‘The script didn’t read like this.’
‘Why didn’t you surround Holt’s freaking place, tear it down, and bust his ass?’ Broker growls at Isakson.
‘We didn’t have his address,’ Isakson admits, clearly embarrassed, but also angry.
He sees Broker’s disbelief and continues, ‘We tried tracking him down, but he always ended up giving us the slip. We tried slipping monitoring devices on him, but he detected those and threw them away. As you know, one of the conditions of his intel was that he’d get witness protection, but we never reached that stage. We thought he was holding back on some vital intel, and hence, we were going slowly on WITSEC.’
A long silence fills the room.
‘Bastards. Surely you lowlifes were not too dumb to see that this was a car crash waiting to happen. That Holt would do anything to either get away from Zeb or go after him?’ Broker throws up his hands.
A muscle in Isakson’s face begins to tic. ‘This is not the time for recriminations. We should focus on negotiating with Holt and securing the safe release of Lauren and Rory. I’m expecting our profiling and negotiating team shortly to help us on this. All I’m asking is for you to take the call if he asks for you. Save the superstar act for another day.’
Zeb doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything, his presence filling the room, and turns and walks out silently.
‘That’s his way of saying he’ll take the call.’ Broker looks at Isakson, the ‘asshole’ at the end left unsaid but understood by all.
Zeb returns once the profilers and negotiators arrive.
‘How will you do this? Who will talk to him when he calls?’ Cassandra asks.
‘Mr. Balthazar will speak to him first. The negotiators are here to help him. If he asks for Major Carter, then he is here to take that call. There are no rules for this. Each hostage situation is driven by the circumstances, and we adapt and take control as we go along.’
Broker has set up his hardware and is going through all his feeds. One of the agents whistles when he sees Broker’s equipment.
‘Private enterprise and no red tape,’ Broker says, with a wink.
When the call comes, Zeb recognizes the emotionless voice immediately from agency tapes.
‘Mr. Balthazar, I have your wife and son here with me. You know what I want: all your photographs, your notes, your emails, and anything you’ve written on this subject so far. The original ones, please. In return you get your wife and son back…intact.’
One of the negotiating team gestures to Connor, and he asks, ‘How do I know they’re even alive?’
‘Mr. Balthazar, what good would they be to me dead? Wouldn’t I lose my negotiating strength? I’m guessing that you’re surrounded by the FBI, who are guiding you, and you have profilers looking over your shoulder reading into every voice inflection of mine.
‘Is my friend Isakson there? Hello, Isak? I know you’re there, and I know you were stringing me along. But guess what, asshole? I was stringing you along, too. Most of the shit I gave you was so old and useless that it had even stopped stinking. But I guess you guys are so desperate to find the Ts under any and every rock that you’ll bend over and spread ’em for anyone who sings about them.’
Isakson’s face becomes thunderous, and his agents shift uneasily, but he keeps quiet.
Broker is studying his laptop, trying to locate where the signal is coming from.
Holt’s voice hardens. ‘Oh, and, Mr. Balthazar, who does the exchange is important. If you want to see your wife and son again, then Carter is the one I want to bring all your shit to me. I’m betting he’s there right now. Why don’t you put him on?’
Connor looks up helplessly at Zeb, who steps forward and takes the phone.
‘Holt?’
‘Ah, Major. We meet again, if this can be called a meeting.’
‘The first time was also not a meeting. You turned tail while I was dispatching your friends.’
Holt pauses. ‘The past. Let’s plan the exchange. Tomorrow afternoon at Grand Central. You alone, with my criminal record in a manila envelope.’ He chuckles. ‘And you can take the lovely Mrs. Balthazar and the brat back.’
‘Penn Station. The exchange will be at Penn,’ Zeb counters.
Holt laughs incredulously. ‘Back up, Major. Read the script. I’m the one with the hostages. You do as I say.’
Zeb hangs up. He looks at Broker, who mouths silently, ‘Some more time.’
Isakson strides to Zeb and shoves him away from the phone.
A blur of motion too fast for Connor to register and Isakson is lying on his back with Zeb’s foot on his throat.
Bear and Broker have cornered Isakson’s agents.
After a tense second, Zeb takes his foot off Isakson and pulls him up. He turns his back on the FBI agent, allowing him to gather himself, his dignity, and lower the tension in the room.
When Zeb turns back to them, he behaves as if he hadn’t dumped Isakson on his ass, and they all take that cue.
Broker goes back to his laptop, and Bear leaves the room.
Connor swallows his shock and asks Zeb, ‘Why did you hang up? Aren’t you risking my family by this? Wouldn’t it have been better to continue talking so that the FBI could trace his call?’
‘He’ll call back.’
‘Like fuck he will,’ replies Isakson angrily.
‘Boss, he did the right thing, not giving Holt control,’ pipes up a diffident voice, one of the profilers.
Isakson whirls on him just as Broker murmurs, ‘And these guys are supposed to protect us?’
‘I heard that,’ Isakson shouts, ‘and anyway, what are you doing in that corner?’
The phone rings. ‘Don’t fucking hang up on me, you bastard! Who the fuck do you think you are?’ Holt shouts.
Zeb hangs up again.
The third call comes less than a minute later.
‘You want to see these two dead? You know what I’m capable of!’
‘I am least interested in the two of them. I’m here just because you asked for me and I know Mr. Balthazar. As far as I’m concerned, you’re a dead man walking. You have run out of fuel and are running on fumes.’
He hangs up again, and out of the corner of his eye, he can see Broker nodding.
Isakson is peering over the shoulders of his tech guys to see if they’ve triangulated the call. From his expression he can see that the agents aren’t having much luck. Broker, on the other hand, uses tech that’s a few years ahead of the FBI or the NSA or any other agency. Broker buys start-ups that specialize in security and surveillance, takes them off the market and then uses them in his business.
The phone rings again.
‘You had better not ring again if you have any stupid demands to make,’ Zeb tells him and looks across at Connor, who is drawing in a shocked breath.
There is silence from Holt then. ‘What do you want?’
‘The exchange will be tomorrow evening at Penn Station.’ Zeb names the exact location and hangs up.
Isakson replies to Connor’s unasked question of what now? ‘The Major here will go make the exchange alone, but not really. We’ll surround the place with undercover agents and rescue your wife and son. I’m surprised that Holt agreed to this so readily, though.’
Broker snorts. ‘He won’t be there. If I were him, once I calmed down, I’d realize that I still hold all the cards. I’d go to the exchange, hide, and observe Zeb and whoever else comes with him. I’d then call him and arrange an exchange at another place. Zeb would have no choice but to comply.’
Turning to Connor, he adds, ‘With respect, sir, I don’t want you to have false hopes. This man is dangerous, and unfortunately for us, he’s smart, too. The fact that he’s walking around free after mass murder proves how smart he is. He has the FBI by the balls because they were harboring and sheltering him, and that’s something they will desperately not want to go public. Your family will be back, but it may not be tomorrow.’
That muscle in Isakson’s cheek twitches again, but he refrains from striking back. He nods reluctantly in Connor’s direction. ‘He may be right. All I can say is we will do everything possible to get your family back.’
