A block ahead to the right was W 41st Street, leading back into the city. To the left, a driveway led to Pier 81.
Daeng went left.
A guard shack stood at the entrance, just off 12th Avenue. Beyond it, the road ran under a large sign reading WORLD YACHT and continued onto the pier. The man sitting in the shack barely had time to look up as the SUV raced past.
Daeng slowed the truck as he passed under the sign. Straight ahead off the end of the pier would be the easiest choice and the one most people would make, but Daeng knew it was also the most likely to get him caught. The area was completely exposed, and though the cops had been delayed by the jam back up on W 40th, they’d still arrive in plenty of time to see him swimming back to the dock.
Tied up along either side of the pier were several large ships used for river dinner cruises. The moment he saw the opening between two of them, he hit the brakes and turned the wheel so he was aimed directly at the gap. It was wider than the space he’d sneaked through on the sidewalk but not by much.
Back at the pier’s entrance, flashing lights lit up the passageway under the WORLD YACHT sign. In his pocket, his phone vibrated again and once more he ignored it.
With one hand on the wheel and the other lowering the driver’s-side window, he released the brake and hit the gas. As the SUV flew off the dock, his side of the vehicle came within a few inches of hitting the ship.
The moment the truck struck the water, the vehicle’s airbags popped open. Daeng had the seatbelt undone as they were deflating. He shoved the bags out of his away and pushed through the incoming water into the river.
Though his lungs screamed for air, he stayed below the surface and swam back toward the pier, not stopping until he reached one of the boats. Tilting his head, he raised his face above the water just enough so he could take in a deep breath, then went under again and did not surface until he was under the pier.
When he slipped his head above the waterline, he could hear several people running on the dock and shouting. A flashlight beam hit the water where only the very back end of the SUV was still visible. Within seconds, two more beams joined it.
Daeng knew the attention wouldn’t stay focused for long on where the truck had gone in, so as quietly as possible, he made his way through the dark and slimy water under the pier to the other side. From there, he swam underneath open water to a smaller pier a couple hundred feet away, taking care each time he came up for air not to create any noise. When he reached the dock, he looked back at Pier 81. At least a dozen police cars were parked, lights blazing, with more still pulling onto the dock.
Well, Quinn had wanted him to get the cops as far away from the park as possible.
He took a breath, and slipped back under the water.
Using the tracking software installed on each team member’s phone, Orlando located Daeng driving through Manhattan. From the speed he was traveling, there was no doubt he was being chased.
On her second screen, she accessed the NYPD dispatch database and learned a pursuit was indeed in progress. Other cars had been called in to join the chase. She noted their locations and then called Daeng so she could help guide him through the city, but he didn’t answer.
When he suddenly turned onto Pier 81, she called again to find out what he was planning. The blip on her screen sailed off the dock, over the water, and winked out.
She scrambled to find a satellite feed that would give her a live image, but the best one she could locate was southeast of the city and its view of the pier was skewed.
She knew, however, that Daeng wouldn’t have driven into the river just to take a ride to the bottom. She tried pinging Daeng’s phone but got no response. The device was waterproof, so it must have been damaged in the crash.
She’d have to wait until he made contact with either her or Quinn, and could only hope he’d been able to stay free.
CHAPTER 5
Quinn checked the rearview mirror again.
“Still there?” Nate asked, his phone to his ear.
“Yeah,” Quinn said.
Quinn had long ago mastered the ability to spot a tail in a crowded city, but in the quiet, early-morning streets of New York, even an amateur would notice if he was being followed. The driver of the other car, though, clearly knew what he was doing, and it had taken Quinn several minutes before he noticed him. Once he had, he’d made a few simple maneuvers — nothing that should tip off the other car — to make sure.
They were definitely being followed.
The vehicle wasn’t a police car, not of the marked variety, anyway. So the only other logical possibility was that it was being driven by the people who’d killed the messenger.
Nate frowned as he lowered his phone. “Voice mail, again. We could just show up.”
Quinn wasn’t keen on that idea, but they didn’t have much of a choice. If there’d been time to prepare, he would have had multiple options lined up for disposing the body.
At the top of his short list of trusted local contacts was one Barry Alvarez, sole owner of Eternal Grace Mortuary in Yonkers. Given the right financial considerations, Barry would look the other way while Quinn made use of his crematorium. But Barry wasn’t answering his phone. And if they showed up out of the blue, Barry might not be as willing to help. Unfortunately, the other contacts on Quinn’s list were all much farther away, and driving around longer than absolutely necessary with a body in the trunk was not an activity Quinn wanted to partake in.
“Keep trying him,” he said to Nate.
Before heading too far north, Quinn needed to deal with their tail.
The other car, a dark Mercedes sedan, was consistently keeping half a block between them. If Quinn took a corner and shoved the accelerator to the floor, he might be able to make it to the next intersection before the car made the turn, but it would be close at best. What he needed was some help.
He eased around a corner and headed east, keeping his speed down so as not to tip his hand. It took a half mile and two more turns before he found what he was looking for.
It would have been nice if Morgan knew where these assholes were taking the body, but given that they’d already backtracked from their original course, he wasn’t even sure they knew where they were going. He didn’t think they were looking for someplace they could dump the messenger. If they didn’t care where her body was found, they would have left her in the park. No, he was sure they wanted her to disappear and were looking for someplace specific. If it were him, he’d head to one of the rivers, steal a boat, and motor out to sea. But the others didn’t seem interested in the water.
Ahead, the sedan took another turn. As soon as it was out of sight, Morgan sped up until he reached the corner, and then followed onto the new street at his previous pace. Beyond the sedan, a trash truck had just pulled out of an alley and was lumbering away from them toward its next pickup.
Maybe that was the option they were looking for — drop the body in a Dumpster a few minutes ahead of the truck and let it do the work. In a few hours the body would be buried under a ton of trash and likely not discovered for months, if at all.
“Hell, maybe they’re going to keep the damn thing,” he mumbled to himself.
“What?” Fischer asked.
He glared over at his partner. “Nothing.”
As Morgan turned his gaze back to the road, the other car suddenly pulled into the oncoming lane and raced around the truck.
“They’ve seen us,” Fischer said.
Morgan stomped on the gas. “No shit.”