Deadly Heat

“Help me with your name again?” he said, barely able to hide his smile.

And then she said, “Jameson Rook. Holy fuck.” The two moved to shake but, halfway,

opted for a hug. Then Yardley Bell surprised Nikki—and Rook—by kissing him. Sure,

she planted it on his cheek, not his mouth, but—a kiss.

Heat forgot her DHS beef for a moment.

Yardley Bell pulled back, but not far. She still cupped his shoulders with both

hands while she laughed and said, “I’m sorry. That wasn’t very professional, was

it?” Rook just gaped, speechless for a change. Then Callan, Heat, and Rook sat.

Agent Bell chose a spot to lean against the wall behind Callan’s chair at the head

of the long table. Nikki considered the power message that signaled.

“Detective Heat,” she began, “I’m visiting from our team in DC. I came up here

to liaise with Special Agent Callan on bringing this Tyler Wynn business you

stumbled upon to a happy conclusion. I’m aware of your emotional connection to this

case, and you have my deep sympathies.” She paused only briefly and rolled onward.

“However, make no mistake, this is The Big Show, no lone wolves. We have more of a

handle on this than you know, and a big-picture strategy that cannot concern you as

an outsider. But—if you choose to smarten up and join the team—you may get an

answer to your question. What do you say?”

“Agent Bell, is it?” said Heat. “It’s a real pleasure to meet you. But I think

my visit is about over. Special Agent Callan, thanks for the tour.” She rose. Rook

hesitated slightly but got to his feet as well.

They were almost out the door when Bell said, “Don’t you want to know about Salena

Kaye’s phone call from the helicopter?” Nikki hated herself for it, but she

stopped and turned. A jumbo LED flat-screen on the wall came to life with a series

of animated graphs scanning a map of Lower Manhattan and Brooklyn. Yardley Bell

moved beside the giant touch screen and swiped the map with her fingertips to

magnify detail of the East River. An oblong box of rolling numbers in the upper

right corner time-stamped the grid search.

“This was recorded at the time Kaye escaped from you and borrowed the general

aviation chopper.” She touched an icon on the side of the glass, and bright green

crosshairs found the middle of the river and blinked steadily. “This is the perp’s

cellular signal crossing over toward the Brooklyn Navy Yard at twenty-five MPH.”

Another light flashed on the screen. “This is the cell tower in Red Hook that

picked up the call. The trace, as you can see, is bouncing to about eight cellular

repeaters in Queens, Staten Island, back to Brooklyn, and so forth.” Bell stepped

aside while the lights flashed and pinged around the screen like a second-gen video

game, then died. “This indicates four things. It wasn’t a burner cell. It was an

encrypted cell. And it was a sophisticated digital transmission designed to be

untraceable, then implode.”

“That’s only three things,” said Heat.

“Oh, right. Number four. You’re over your head. You can join us and have access to

resources like this, or stay outside and chase your fucking tail.”

At the sound of a hot button getting pressed, Bart Callan got to his feet and

injected himself into the conversation. “That’s not about you personally.” He

stood close to Nikki, giving her his most conciliatory smile. For a military type he

had true warmth, and it had a calming effect.

Heat held the brake on her anger. “What’s it about then?”