Was there more to it than that?
Was he aware of what was going on in the shadows? Was he fretting about getting the hostages out in time-and did he know about some dirty tricks that were going on behind the scenes?
My dad was a registered Republican. He was a fan of Reagan’s. Which could mean he might have been killed to silence him about exposing the truth, if he’d found out about it and wanted to blow the whistle-or simply to keep him quiet, if he knew about it by virtue of being part of the dirty plot.
I knew I was grasping at straws-but something felt right, like gears that had meshed into position and were now propelling my mind forward.
I didn’t have much time to dwell on it, though. I was slamming back a shot of that tequila Theo brought me when my phone buzzed in my pocket.
It was Kurt.
Kurt sat with his back slumped against the bedroom wall. Gigi lay on the floor in front of him, still out cold. The intruder had bound them both with plastic cuffs, wrists and ankles, and had just finished ensuring there was nothing within reach that they could use to free themselves. Apart from a soft glow from the bedroom and some faint ambient light from outside, the loft was dark.
His heart sank as he watched Gigi’s chest rise and fall slightly as she breathed. At least they were both still alive, he thought, which meant there was hope. Separate from the throbbing pain, which had spread across the center of his face, he felt a piercing ache in his chest so intense that he knew it had to be what people referred to as love. It had taken Gigi being cold-cocked into unconsciousness to trigger the feeling, but he knew exactly what it meant-he would do anything, anything at all, to keep her alive.
The intruder stepped back, visibly satisfied that Kurt and Gigi were secure. “Reilly. Call him.”
Even though he suspected it would be ultimately fruitless, he knew he had to try lying. “What? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The intruder let out a cold, dry chortle. “You really want to play it that way?”
Kurt felt his chest cave in as the bastard just stared at him. “No,” he said meekly.
“Good. Where’s your phone?”
“I think-I’m not sure. Maybe in the bedroom?”
The intruder walked off and disappeared out of view, leaving Kurt to try and focus his mind.
He needed to buy some time. There was no way Reilly could help them unless he knew they were in trouble. Added to that, from what Reilly had told him and Gigi, the agent had already out-thought and out-gunned the sadistic motherfucker who held them captive. They’d helped Reilly at every turn, ignoring the risk to themselves. It was time for him to help them. But what if Reilly did come back? Wouldn’t the guy just get what he needed and kill all three of them anyway?
The intruder was going to kill him and Gigi either way. And without them around to help Reilly, it was probably only a matter of time before he wound up dead himself. At least this way they had a chance, however small.
The intruder appeared again, holding two phones. “Which one’s yours?”
Kurt pointed it out.
“It’s one half of a secure pair, right?” the man asked.
“Yes. I hacked them. Reilly has the other.”
“OK.” He held out the phone, but before Kurt could take it, the intruder held it just out of reach. He aimed the gun that was in his other hand straight at Kurt’s eyes. “Tell me exactly what you’re going to say.”
“What am I going to say? ‘Reilly? It’s Kurt. We just got a hit. You need to get back here.’ That’s it.” Kurt said it without thinking, but as he said it, he knew it would work, even if it risked unraveling their plan to unmask Corrigan.
That wasn’t the priority any more.
“‘A hit?’ On what?”
“We’ve been helping Reilly with something.” He hesitated, then added, “We posted a couple of mug shots on some forums. Asked if anyone knew them. We haven’t got anything back yet. And probably won’t. But that’s what he’s waiting for.”
The bastard nodded to himself, then smiled. “You mean the sketches?”
Kurt’s mouth went dry. They’d known all along that it was just as likely that an ex-CIA agent or asset who recognized Corrigan or Fullerton would warn them as it was for someone with a grudge to give them up. There was little point in denying it.
“Yes. But we haven’t had a hit.”
“I know you haven’t,” the intruder said. “OK. Make the call”.
“Reilly? This is Kurt.” He paused for a moment, then said, “We just got a hit. You need to get back here.”
A rush of elation consumed me-then it was instantly flushed away by the feeling that a yawning chasm had blown open beneath me.
Something was wrong.
Very wrong.
Kurt had never, ever referred to himself as Kurt in any of our communications. It was part of his extreme paranoia about the heavily surveilled world we lived in. He’d used Mrs. Takahashi, Cid Raines, Green Arrow, Snake of course, Crown Prince Arthas Menethil and even once, when he was particularly excited, Lord Humungus, his hacker name from before he got himself onto the FBI’s cybercrime watch list in a commendable seventh spot.
But never Kurt.
I needed to buy some time. Fast.
“Fantastic, man. I’ll head on back, I’ve walked all the way up the park.”
“Central Park?” Kurt asked.
“Yeah. I lost track of time. I’ll hop in a cab. Should be back in twenty minutes or so.” I tried to sound as enthused as possible. “Great work, Curtis. Really great.”
I hung up, pretty sure that I’d managed to keep the doubt from my voice and hoping he’d got my little hidden counter-message, but as I ended the call, the rush of elation had been replaced by a crushing avalanche of dread.
Kurt’s brilliantly hidden-in-plain-sight message could only mean one thing. Baseball Cap was there-and he had Kurt and Gigi.
At least I’d bought some time.
Now I needed to make use of it.
52
I churned through a few desperate ideas before quickly settling on the one I thought had the least chance of turning into a disaster. I quickly put it through the wringer a few times, made sure I hadn’t missed anything, and decided I had to go for it.
I pulled out the burner phone and called Deutsch’s personal phone. She answered immediately.
“It’s me.”
Her voice jumped, even as it went lower. “Where are you?”
“I’m close. Listen, Annie. I’ve got a hostile holding two friends hostage here in the city. Not far from Twenty-Six Fed. It’s the same motherfucker who killed Kirby and I think he killed Nick too-”
“What?” she interrupted, in shock.
“I’m convinced they killed him, Annie. And a bunch of other people too. And this guy wants me, and you can imagine how badly I want him, but I can’t take him alone. Not with him holding them. The guy’s a pro. A black ops pro. And he’s sanctioned. I need your help, but we have to do it my way. My friends’ lives are at stake.”
“Jesus, Sean-”
I didn’t have time for any kind of debate. “Annie, are you in or out? I need to know right now.”
Even as I said it, I knew she would help. She’s already gone out on a major limb for me by getting me the drawings instead of handing in the Bureau. For reasons only Deutsch could explain, I guess-and in spite of my inflicting the worst kind of humiliation on her when I escaped from her custody-it was clear she believed my version of events.
I heard her take a steadying breath. “I’m in.”
“OK. I need to get a SWAT team to West Twenty-third, between Seventh and Eighth.’
“A SWAT team?”
“Yes. And I need them there in the next fifteen minutes. The guy’s good, I can’t take him alone, not when he’s got my people in there with him.”