“Text that to me,” said Agent Bell. “I’ll get it circulated to everyone
here.”
Someone with a bullhorn in the park called out, “No justice, no business! No
justice, no business!” The crowd picked it up and chanted it back. “Crap,” said
Callan. “What time are they scheduled to move?”
Commander McMains said, “In thirty minutes, at nine o’clock.” Hearing the time
nudged Heat to make a scan of the area, wondering if Glen Windsor lurked out there
and, if he did, what he had in mind. They gathered around a map as McMains unfurled
it on the hood of a nearby patrol car. “Their permit calls for a parade from where
they are now, proceeding up Broadway, and terminating at City Hall Park.”
“Side streets?” asked the special agent.
“All closed. And we have pipe barricades to keep them off the sidewalks. I’ve also
closed the Four and Five subway station to cut off new arrivals.” McMains took a
ballpoint from his uniform chest pocket and drew brackets mid-route. “Most of our
assets are set up here to keep them from getting any ideas about taking over Wall
Street or Exchange Place.” Just as the commander voiced the notion, the “No
justice, no business! No justice, no business!” chant punctuated it.
Callan closed his eyes as if having a conversation with himself. Then he clapped his
hands together once and said, “That’s where we put everything. Wall Street is the
vulnerable part of the whole circus. If that virus gets released up there, we’re
not only talking mass casualties, a quarantine would shut down the New York Stock
Exchange, maybe even the Federal Reserve Bank. Can you imagine the ripple effects of
that?”
“Let’s not,” said Agent Bell.
Since nobody had spotted the Boz Brigade fire wagon, not even the choppers, Callan
and McMains formed a plan to hustle agents and uniforms up the route of the march
and throughout the Wall Street financial blocks to check parking lots and garages
for the vehicle. All the detectives from Heat’s squad had arrived and would join
her on the search, as well.
“And do not tell me I have to wait in the car,” said Rook.
Heat replied, “I won’t. Because you’re going to stay here.”
“You really think I’m going to be in the way?”
“Not really. But I don’t want you up there if something bad comes down. We have it
covered, end of discussion.”
“I’ll be fine, I have this.” He held a gas mask over his face and breathed
loudly. “Luke, I am your fa—”
She pulled the mask away. “You’re staying here.” Then she left with the others.
Rook stood off moping to the side of the staging area and watched a contingent of
uniforms in riot gear and gas masks attempt to form a containment barrier with
orange plastic netting while a lieutenant addressed the crowd, asking them to stop
the march and disperse for their own safety. They drowned him in boos.
At nine sharp, an organizer raised an air horn and gave it a long blast. Cheers
erupted and the mob moved forward, slowly pushing past the lines of police for the
march up Broadway.