Heat flung the door with both hands, and it smacked the wall in the Observation
Room. “I can’t break him.”
“You did great,” said Callan.
Bell said to Rook, “You both did great. Couldn’t have played it better.”
Through the window, they saw Maggs slouched in his chair with his head tilted back,
eyes closed. He could have been a commuter dozing on the train to Connecticut
instead of the prime suspect in a mass terror plot. “He’s got balls,” said Rook.
“He comes just to the point you think he’s going to crack, and he sucks ’em up.”
“What’s he got to lose?” said Bell. “You laid it out yourself. An upside of
billions, if he keeps his mouth shut; life in prison if he suddenly gets a
conscience.”
“After five o’clock,” said Callan. “I say we move off traditional means and take
him for a ride to the Black Barn.”
Rook’s face lit up. “You guys really have a Black Barn?”
Callan frowned and looked at Nikki. “Is he for real?”
“Well,” insisted Rook, “do you?”
Nikki said, “He’s not going anywhere. We don’t do that.”
Behind her, Yardley Bell chuckled softly. Agent Callan said to Rook, “She’s right.
Sadly, this is US soil. Much as I wouldn’t mind doing a little tenderizing, we’re
going to have to keep working him constitutionally.” He walked to the window and
said, “Let’s take five. When we come back, I get my shot at this prick.”
Heat found her voice mail stacked with messages when she got back into the bull pen.
Lauren Parry had left word she had some interesting postmortem news to share. Nikki
saved that one in order to first return Detective Ochoa’s call.
“Where are you guys?”
“Team Roach is currently inside Brewery Boz at South Street. How’s it going with
Maggs, anything?”
“Nothing yet. He just keeps acting like he’s going to put me on some Amnesty
International list just below North Korea.”
Ochoa said, “Unfortunately we’re not going to be any help. And, trust me, we
swarmed his apartment and the brewery like an Indy pit crew. Forensics, too. That
includes NYPD and the DHS geeks with their R2-D2 vacuum sniffer things.”
“Everything’s clean?”
“Not just clean. Antiseptic.”
After they hung up, she’d just started to fill Rook in when one of the precinct
aides rushed in and interrupted. All she said was, “Rainbow.”
Nikki reached out to grab the phone. Rook surprised her by clamping his hand over
hers, holding down the receiver. “Rook.”
“Take your time. Let him wait.”
“I might get something out of him about the attack, I can’t wait.”
“Same as Maggs, if he smells that, you’re dead.” He gave her hand a gentle
squeeze and released his. “Remember what I said. You played his game; make him play
yours.”
Heat pondered that, and even though it ran counter to everything she felt—to
everything she so desperately needed at the eleventh hour—she agreed. If Rainbow
smelled desperation, Rainbow ran the table. She waited a full thirty agonizing
seconds before she picked up. “Heat.”
“What? Are you keeping me on hold to run a trace?” She recognized Glen Windsor’s
voice and gave Rook a nod to affirm. “I’m not an idiot. I know how to set up a
phone so it can’t be pinged.” And then an inspiration struck Nikki that scared the
hell out of her. She didn’t examine it, she didn’t weigh it, she simply acted on
her impulse.
She hung up on him.
“God damn,” said Rook.
Just as she felt nausea’s burn greeting her with the notion she might have just
made a fatal mistake, the line purred again. Heat snapped the record switch on the
junction box and let one more ring pass before she answered. Windsor jumped in
before she even spoke. “What the fuck was that about?” His voice cracked with
agitation. The power of the game, she thought.
“Glen, I’m busy.” It took all her effort to sound detached.