Deadly Heat

“Assets, plain and simple. We have the infrastructure, the team, and the

experience to do this right. What I’d like personally…?” He paused and pressed

his palm against his chest. “Is for you to join us and give us the benefit of your

insights and, frankly, remarkable skills, Detective Heat.”


Callan held her eyes with his, and a small, involuntary flutter rose in Nikki’s

chest again. She turned to Rook, wondering if he’d read it. Then she looked over at

the striking agent across the room, who seemed just to be waiting the whole thing

out, and wondered if this was a good agent/bad agent soft sell/hard sell or if

Yardley was just a plain asshole. Heat returned Callan’s pleasant smile. “This has

been very helpful, Bart. I do have to say that I have changed my mind. I came here

all pissed off to ask you why you were interfering in my investigation, and now…”

He looked at her with anticipation. “And now I am telling you to stay the hell out

of it.”

Callan insisted on riding topside with his two visitors so he could put in his bid

for another meeting, giving Nikki time to cool off and reconsider. When Heat and

Rook stepped out into the DHS lobby he stayed on the elevator, holding the door open

with his hand. “And don’t be put off by Agent Bell’s brusque style. I went

through an adjustment myself. Kinda had to cinch up my jock when she swooped in on

my case.”

“Aren’t you the ranking officer?”

“I am.”

Heat said, “Looks more to me like you’re working for her, Special Agent. And now

you want me to jump into that political dysfunction?”

“Let’s be pros. Let’s get past the pissing on trees we just saw down there. Agent

Bell has an amazing track record in counterintelligence. Just ask your friend here.

” His reference carried a whiff of animosity that made Rook avert his gaze and

threw Nikki off balance as she processed his prior relationship with Yardley. But

Nikki regained her footing and pushed back.

“I still want an answer to my question. Vaja Nikoladze.”

“OK,” said Callan, “I’ll give you this one as a gesture of good faith. The

Georgian is an informant. We’d like to keep it that way.” He cast a buffalo eye at

Rook. “I’d go on, but I don’t want to be quoted in the media.”

Rook said, “Hey, you carjack a journalist and an NYPD detective on the LIE, you’re

going to buy a paragraph in my article.”

Callan didn’t respond. He asked Nikki to think it over, then released the door for

his descent.

First thing back in the car, Heat said, “OK, spit it out. Who is Yardley Bell?”

“She is a force, isn’t she?”

“Rook, she kissed you. Start talking.”

“We met in the Caucasus five years ago,” he began. “That was when my early

reporting on the Chechen rebels began making noise.”

“Stick to Yardley Bell, Rook,” she said. “I know all about your reporting.”

“OK, so I’m in-country, sitting in the café next door to my hostel, tapping a

dispatch into my laptop, when this woman sits across from me and introduces herself

as a field producer for public radio. She said she’d been reading my stuff and

wanted to tag along to do advance work for a documentary. I thought about it and

figured, why not?”

“Because she was hot?”

“Because I’m a sucker for All Things Considered. And because someone who spoke

English—let alone was an American—was something I hadn’t encountered in six weeks

riding with the rebels.” Then he shrugged, admitting, “All right, and she was hot.



“How long until you figured out she was CIA?”

“That night. I woke up and caught her going through my laptop and Moleskines.”

“In the middle of the night,” said Nikki.

“Yes.”

“The first night.”

“Let’s review. Six weeks, American, hot.”

“Got it.”

“I had my journalistic ethics, though. I wouldn’t travel as cover for a spy. And I

sure wasn’t going to burn the cred I’d established with the warlords. So I sent

her off the next morning—OK, next night—and that was that.”