“Only what’s in the vending machines. Candy bars, and whatnot.”
“Candy bars are high in sugar, high in calories, and low in nutritional value. They are not an appropriate snack, Detective McHenry.”
Skylar intervened. “Is there somewhere we can stop on the way?”
He eyeballed her incredulously. “You’re not serious.”
“Any deviation from his regular routine is a genuine hardship for him.”
“Whoever those guys are coming after you, they’re out here looking for you. Right now. You get that, right?”
“I do.” Realizing she was never going to reach him with compassion, she took a more practical approach. “It’ll only take a minute, and you’ll find him a lot less annoying.”
Butler couldn’t help but shake his head, eyeing the road ahead for the nearest convenience store. The New York Police Department had finally caught a break in their investigation of the subway gas attack, the headline story of every national paper for the last three days, and the lead detective on the case was about to stop and buy graham crackers and milk.
CHAPTER 39
Harmony House, Woodbury, New Jersey, May 27, 1:11 p.m.
Barnes watched the pursuit from his office. Hirsch and Lutz’s car was quickly closing in on Skylar and Eddie.
Inside the pursuit car, Lutz finally got close enough to catch a glimpse of the driver. It was not Skylar. “Son of a bitch.” He slowed down quickly and cranked a U-turn, heading back to the bar.
Barnes called within eight seconds. Hirsch answered, “It was a decoy. We’re heading back to the bar.”
“Don’t waste your time. They’re already gone.” Barnes’s tone was ice. He glanced at his computer screen, where an array of personal information about Detective Butler McHenry appeared. Former US Army Ranger, 1998–2004. Member of the NYPD since 2005. Decorated twice. Suspended once. The more Barnes read, the more he didn’t like it. McHenry had both training and experience. Barnes needed to find Skylar and Eddie now, before this situation escalated any further. “If cops are driving her car, McHenry is now driving them. Keep your eyes out for a blue Chevy Tahoe, New York plate George-David-Romeo-six-seven-zero-three. I’m sending you directions to his residence.”
“You really think he’s that dumb?”
“He’s a cop, isn’t he?”
CHAPTER 40
Jorge’s Quick Stop, Queens, New York City, May 27, 1:17 p.m.
Eddie followed behind Skylar and Detective McHenry as they walked quickly up and down the narrow aisles inside Jorge’s Quick Stop, looking for graham crackers. They were still in Queens. The bare fluorescent tubes above them flickered intermittently. Eddie was the only one of the three who didn’t seem to be in a hurry. “Where are the graham crackers, Skylar?”
Skylar tried to break the news gently. “I think they’re out of them.”
“This is bad. Very bad.” His breathing grew more rapid as he started to panic. McHenry watched with increasing concern.
Skylar knew Eddie was about to lose it. She moved so that she could look him directly in the eyes. He tried to look away, but she managed to keep his gaze. “If they don’t have them here, we will find them somewhere else. I promise.”
Eddie veered abruptly away from a grape-juice display, keeping his distance from the stacks of purple beverages.
Butler picked up a box of Nilla Wafers. “How about these?”
“Those are not graham crackers.”
“I know they’re not graham crackers. I was offering you an alternative.”
“I don’t want an alternative. I want graham crackers. And milk.”
The detective had lost his patience. “Well, that’s just too bad.”
Eddie paused uncomfortably. “I don’t like it here.”
“Then we’ll go to another store,” Skylar reassured him.
“I won’t like it in there, either, Skylar. I don’t like it anywhere outside Harmony House.” His hands twitched. Ready to claw himself.
Skylar moved abruptly toward him. “Eddie, look at me. Right now. Look at me and nothing else.” She was right in his face. Studying him. But not touching him. She kept his gaze until the tension finally left his body. “Better?”
Eddie nodded, only to realize, “I’m still hungry.”
Butler went up to the Puerto Rican clerk behind the counter; his name tag read Jorge. Butler confirmed what he already knew. The store had plenty of booze and cigarettes, but not the one item they needed. Butler turned to Skylar. “Does it have to be graham crackers?”
Eddie corrected him. “Graham crackers and milk.”
At least they carried milk, so Skylar quickly paid for a carton. It was larger than the ones served inside Harmony House, but Skylar assured Eddie she would pour him the proper serving.
Butler shook his head. “Let’s go.”
CHAPTER 41
American Heritage Foundation, Alexandria, Virginia, May 27, 1:22 p.m.
Caitlin McCloskey’s office inside the American Heritage Foundation displayed the kinds of images typical of a young working mother: photos of her two small children and her lawyer husband, and their family Christmas card from last year. She looked like an accountant or a private-school teacher or a corporate communications director. In fact, early in life, before she came to understand what her father actually did for a living, Caitlin was quite certain she was going to be one of those things. But from the moment her father, one of the seven original founders of the Foundation, pulled back the curtain and revealed what he did—and the opportunity she had within the firm—there was never a thought about another career. The power and control were addictive. Especially on days like today.
She was on the phone with a man whose real name she did not know. She did not want to know it almost as much as she didn’t want him to know hers. Because this man killed people for a living. He and his partner had done the job for them at least a dozen times that she knew of. The two men had no idea who their employers were, because it was inconsequential, as long as they were paid. Half upfront, the other half upon completion.
The pair’s former general had made the anonymous introduction shortly after both were honorably discharged from the United States Army, using only code names the assassins had chosen: Phillies fan was “Giles,” and Mets fan was “Murphy.” One party had an urgent need; the other party had a unique skill set that could fill that need, which was all either side wanted to know. The general had suggested a standard fee of $50,000, which both parties accepted. The pair’s first assignment for their unknown employer was a relatively easy breather: a troublesome investigative reporter needed to disappear on a camping trip in Canada. They were told who the subject was and when and where the job was to be done. The mission went off without a hitch, and thus began an exclusive relationship that was going on eight years now.
The general had made it clear to both parties that, going forward, special circumstances could warrant a loftier price tag. New York congressman Henry Townsend was a good example. Due to the high-profile nature of the subject, and the urgency with which the job had to be handled, the price was $250,000.
Every job would start like this: A call was made to a particular encrypted mobile phone in the killers’ possession, which was never used for any other purpose. No one else had this number. The caller would describe the job and all pertinent details. The service providers would evaluate the task and respond with a price. There was never any negotiation.