Page 88 of Nobody's Hero
‘Sorry.’
‘What are you doing in New Silloth, Rachel?’
‘There’s a guy we’re keen to find. His last known location was here.’
‘When?’
‘When what?’
‘Whenwas his last location known? If you know the where, you also know the when.’
Rachel had told him. Willy Deeker nodded. As if he’d been expecting it.
‘There were three of them. They were hanging around not far from where we are now. Looked like they wanted to be noticed. They were waiting for something.’
‘Did you see what?’
‘A NorseBoat 21.5. Good condition. Soon as it appeared, a truck turned up. They trailered it right out of the water. Seemed like an odd time to be doing something like that, so I went over for a look. Acted the fool so they wouldn’t worry.’
‘And?’
‘The story they cooked up about moving the boat from the Atlantic to the Pacific was a crock of shit. The Australian who piloted the NorseBoat was the only one who knew what he was doing. The guy in charge didn’t even know what the drain plug was for. The others didn’t speak. The big guy didn’t even look like hecouldspeak. Anyway, they were breaking no laws I could see, so I went on my merry way.’
Rachel doubted that. If Deeker was ex-BPD, there was no way he’d have left it like that. ‘I sense a “but” coming . . .’
‘But not before I saw the guy in charge take everyone’s cell phones and drop them in the sea.’
‘That was . . . suspicious.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘I don’t suppose you happened to get the truck’s licence plate, Willy?’
‘I went one better than that, Rachel,’ Willy Deeker had replied. ‘I got a photo.’
Rachel called in what she’d discovered. Draper’s tech guy had back-doored his way into Maine’s automatic licence plate recognition database and tracked the truck to the New Hampshire border. New Hampshire only allowed licence plate data to be retained for three minutes, so he’d bypassed the Granite State and headed straight to Vermont, where he picked it up again. As soon as he’d figured out the truck’s general direction, he cast ahead until he’d found them in Kansas and plotted out their journey, interstate by interstate, until he lost them in California, fifty miles outside San Diego.
He’d then waited for the boss to get a signal.
Chapter 93
Koenig took charge when they got to JFK. Securing prisoners was bread and butter to an ex-marshal. There would be noCon Airescapades on this flight.
He wanted to talk to Margaret first. It was the right play. Nash was a subcontractor. A hired gun. She hadn’t seen the bigger picture. Margaret seemed more involved. She could add colour to Tas’s operation. Context. And Koenig thought context would be important when it came to questioning Nash. Hobbs had said she hadn’t understood the significance of what she’d overheard. That it had meant nothing to her. But it was important enough for Margaret to break cover and stop him stone-dead. Literally. So when Nash told him what it was she’d overheard, he needed to already know what Margaret knew.
He pushed Nash to the rear of the plane, where he fitted her with leg cuffs and rigid handcuffs, which he fitted to a belly chain. Hannibal Lecter had fewer restraints. Koenig then strapped her to the table. It looked like she was on a gurney.
He returned to the front of the Gulfstream. He didn’t close the door that separated the two sections. He trusted the restraints, but he didn’t want to take his eyes off Nash. Not for a second. He’d hunted the worst America had to offer, but he hadn’t seen anything like her before.
Margaret was in the same seat she’d used on the flight to New York.
‘You want her cuffed, Koenig?’ Draper asked.
‘Have you checked her for another hairpin?’
‘She’s clean.’
‘Then I don’t want her cuffed.’