Mike rolled her eyes. The idiot. “My turn,” she said, and bolted after him. She caught him quickly, tackled him from behind, drove him down into the concrete floor as the elevator doors opened and Ben Houston ran out with five agents on his heels.
Nicholas lifted Mike off his back and hauled Surfer Dude to his feet one-handed, threw him back against a car, got into his face. He jerked off his baseball cap, then grabbed his shirt and shook him like a dog.
Mike yelled, “Nicholas, hold him still. Good grief, does he look familiar to you?”
Nicholas hauled him up close. “Bloody hell, even with the bloody face, you’re that guy in the photo, Melody Finder’s boyfriend. You’re supposed to be in Paris, studying how to chop onions and debone chickens.”
Surfer Dude was panting hard, but he still managed a grin, even with the dribble of blood coming out of his nose. “I tried to tell you before you started pounding my face in. I know who you are, too, you big bastard.” He stuck out a hand sporting bloody knuckles. “Craig Swanson, CIA.”
44
KNIGHT TO C3 CHECK
CIA—bloody bollocks, I should have known. You’re a bloody spook.” Nicholas wanted to punch him a couple more times, but he heard Ben and the other agents laughing behind him. He backed off. “All right, you bleater, show us some ID.”
“I’m all the identification you’re going to get, pal. I don’t carry creds like you federales. They call it being undercover for a reason.”
True enough, Mike had to give him that. Mike waved to all the weapons. “I suppose this traveling armory is part of your undercover job?”
“We’re not supposed to use our personal vehicles, but it was a bona fide, true-blue emergency. I loaded up and made it a tactical vehicle, had no clue if it would be needed. No choice, I had to hurry.”
“Mike,” Ben called out, “I imagine the NYPD are outside the garage as we speak, wondering what to do. Tell you what, since you’re having so much fun with our CIA brother, we’ll go upstairs and handle things for you.”
“Ben, you stay here,” Mike said. “Tommy, Lynn, could you go upstairs and deal with the NYPD?”
The agents disappeared back into the elevator.
Nicholas said to Swanson, “You registered the car in your girlfriend’s name? Kinda dumb, dude.”
“Hey, I’m not picking on your methods.”
“Your girlfriend thinks you’re in Paris and doesn’t know you have a Suburban.”
“No, I didn’t tell her that, she didn’t need to know. She’s part of my cover.”
Mike’s eyebrow went up. “Does she know about the weapons stashed down here?”
“Certainly not; it would scare the crap out of her. But she is part of my world and she’s good. I’ll bet she convinced you guys she was as straight as an arrow, all cute swagger in those Doc Martens of hers.”
Mike said, “Yes, she sure did.”
“Let me wipe the blood off my nose.” Craig snagged a rag out of the back of the Suburban and pressed it to his nose. “It doesn’t feel broken, that’s good. Having Melody, it’s one of the perks of working for the Agency, you get to tell the people you love what you do. She knows to tell anyone who comes asking that I’m a chef, studying the restaurant business. Helps for when I need to make overseas runs. And I am an excellent cook, no lie there.”
Mike said, “Like I told you, she was good, believable; she lied right to our faces, smiling all the while. Hmmm, I think I might go back upstairs and pound on her.”