The difference this time: Tyler Wynn was really dead.
The paramedic switched off the monitor and knuckled the glass behind the front cab.
The ambulance driver killed the siren and slowed for the remainder of the trip past
Columbus Circle to the ER. Nikki looked at the old spy’s body then out the window
as they pulled up to Emergency at Roosevelt Hospital. If Wynn had told her the
truth, a terror group was somewhere out there right now—busy making other plans.
ELEVEN
Heat stayed with the body until Lauren Parry arrived to do the preliminary
postmortem. The medical examiner had been at Jersey Boys when she saw the text alert
after the show and responded that she would handle it herself, since she was merely
seven blocks from Roosevelt Hospital. But the real reason didn’t need to be
articulated, the part about knowing the deep significance to her friend, Nikki.
“Dr. Parry, now, you double check to make sure he’s dead,” said Rook as the ME
pulled a surgical gown over her evening dress. “Use a wooden stake if you have to.
This one has a nasty habit of coming back from the grave.”
While the medical examiner went to work, Heat closed the door to an empty exam room
and briefed Agents Callan and Bell on what she had been told on the ambulance ride.
Bart Callan asked the same questions they all had. “Was he specific? Did he say
what kind of terror event? Did he say when? Or where? Did he say who was behind it?
”
“It’s not like I’m holding back,” said Heat. “Wynn flatlined before he could
give it up.”
Rook chimed in, “So annoying. This guy always does that. Gets you all sucked in and
then dies before he finishes the story.”
Callan began texting as he spoke. “This just popped to a new level. I’m getting
NYPD Counterterror in on this right now.”
“Is Tyler Wynn even credible?” asked Agent Bell. “I mean, come on, look at this
guy’s history.”
“Really?!” Heat whipped her head to Yardley. Maybe it was the stress of it all. Or
the raggedness of this ending and its denial of closure. But something roared inside
Nikki. “Are you really going to stand here and pretend to tell me—tell me—about
this guy’s history?”
Instead of pushing back, Agent Bell gave her a passive stare. Then she broke it off
and sauntered to the door, speaking coolly. “Agent Callan, I’ve got work to do.”
When she walked out, Callan said, “Let’s take a breath. It’s been a crazy day. I
’m going to set up a task force debrief down on Varick Street first thing in the
morning. I want you there with us.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Come on, don’t let some petty friction keep you outside.” They both turned and
watched Yardley Bell thumbing her BlackBerry outside Triage. “Nikki, I could use
you.” And then, reading her reaction to the personal tone of his appeal, he added,
“Oh, and as far as that other thing I mentioned? That’s off the table. This is a
new game.”
Nikki said, “Thanks, anyway. But I’ll be in touch if I learn anything. You do the
same.”
On their way to the exam bay to check with Lauren Parry on Wynn’s prelim, Rook
said, “Nikki, a task force. We could be on an actual task force.” When she didn’t
acknowledge him, he asked, “What was Callan talking about? What other thing?”
“Rook, do you really want to help me?”
“Name it.”
“Blow that off, OK?” Then she tugged a Velcro strap loose from his body armor.
“And lose the stupid vest.”