“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?”