Page 87 of Nobody's Hero
The next obstacle, the only one he’d thought might be a problem, was what Nash would see on the half-landing between the third and second floor. Koenig hadn’t moved any of the bodies. There was one coming up: the body he’d thrown to knock their point guy off his feet. Stillwell Hobbs.
Nash looked at her dead father without emotion. She shrugged and said, ‘It’s what I’d have done.’
Chapter 91
They left the jammer in the apartment lobby. It was a traceable piece of equipment. It would give the NYPD somewhere to start. Draper had turned it off and called her pilot.
‘ETA thirty minutes,’ she said. A pause, then, ‘Five – two are hostiles, so get some restraints ready.’
They commandeered the van that the guys who’d assaulted the building had used. Draper took the wheel while Koenig and Carlyle sat in the back with Margaret and Nash. Margaret was smiling like they were going to the Ritz for afternoon tea. Nash was clammy but calm.
‘I’m briefing Smerconish, Koenig,’ Draper said when she stopped for a red light. She didn’t wait for permission. When the light turned green, she jammed her cell between her ear and her shoulder so she could drive and talk. ‘Andrew, we have a problem,’ she said without preamble.
She told Smerconish what had happened. Explained how Margaret had been their snake in the woodpile. That Hobbs had given them the name Jakob Tas, and his cell phone had gone dead in a fishing village in Maine. That they had narrowly survived an attack at Hobbs’s apartment and were now on their way to the airport. And no, Carlyle still hadn’t told them what the Acacia Avenue Protocol involved.
Koenig listened to Draper but kept his eyes fixed on Nash. He had never come across anyone like her. She was wrapped in so much duct tape she resembled an Egyptian mummy, but she still looked ruthless. Willing to do anything to escape. If he didn’t need to know what she’d overheard Konstantin say to Jakob Tas, Koenig would have put a bullet in her head. Same way he would a rabid fox. Safer for everyone.
‘Smerconish is worried,’ Draper said when she’d finished her call. ‘He wants us to fly to Maine.’
‘What did you tell him?’
‘That Maine was where Jakob Taswas. We need to fly to where heis.’
‘Which is?’
‘Let’s find out.’ She made another call. ‘I need an update,’ she said when it was answered. She listened for a few seconds, then added, ‘I need you to call this cell phone’ – she rattled off Smerconish’s number – ‘and tell the person who answersexactlywhat you’ve just told me. He’s a friendly, so if he has follow-ups, help him.’
She threw the cell phone onto the dashboard.
‘I hope you like surfing, Koenig,’ she said. ‘We’re going to San Diego.’
Chapter 92
Rachel, Draper’s ex-FBI special agent, had arrived in New Silloth shortly after they’d identified it as the location where Jakob Tas had ditched his phone. Rachel didn’t know what she was looking for, but she knew that a fishing village in Maine was a different beast from a megacity like New York. The first rule of New York was that you minded your own business; the first rule of a Maine fishing village was that you mindedeveryone’sbusiness. Not in a nosy-needs-to-know way, more like they watched out for each other.
And that meant strangers stood out. They were watched. Not like Edward Woodward was watched inThe Wicker Man. They weren’t sacrificed because the harvest had failed. Rachel knew if she wandered around looking a little bit lost, it wouldn’t be long before someone asked if she needed help.
The residential streets were dark and sleepy, so she’d headed to the docks where the fishermen and -women were making an early start. She stood and watched the boats. Made sure people saw her. Sure enough, it wasn’t long before someone sidled up to her. A bowlegged man in his fifties. He offered her a coffee in a chipped mug.
‘You a cop?’ he’d asked.
Direct.
‘Who’s asking?’
‘You look like a cop.’
She’d flashed her old FBI credentials. Covered the retired stamp with her thumb. Tricksy.
He’d grinned. ‘Seen that too many times to be fooled,ex-Special Agent . . . ?’
‘You can call me Rachel. You’re ex-job?’
‘Willy Deeker, Baltimore PD. Mainly worked narcotics.’
‘LikeThe Wire?’
‘I get that a lot.’