Rook was more a boxer than a combat fighter, and she easily broke free of his
clinch, shoved him onto the floor, and started for her weapon. But as a proud
college slacker, Rook possessed a talent more formidable than jujitsu: Frisbee. From
a one-kneed kneel, he picked up a plastic dinner plate and executed a perfectly
flung scoober that caught Kaye behind the ear. She didn’t go down, but the plate
edge stunned her enough to slow her.
She turned in disbelief only to be met by a barrage of salad-bar ice he shoveled at
her frantically with both hands. Salena gave him a dismissive look, turned to get
her gun, but her feet shot out from under her, slipping on the ice cubes. She landed
hard. With no time to run to her, Rook hurled himself on his chest, slid across the
floor on a bed of cubes, grabbed her gun, and stood, holding it on her. “Citizen’s
arrest,” he said.
Heat appeared, making her way through the crowd outside, and stood in the front
doorway. “Hey, Detective,” he said. “Look what I caught.”
As he finished the words, Salena Kaye yanked the legs out from under him by the pant
cuffs, and he toppled backward onto the floor. In a flash, she scrambled through the
vertical strips of hanging vinyl leading to the kitchen. Once more, Heat couldn’t
chance a shot that might take out a cook or a clerk. Slowly, she picked her way
through the ice cubes and followed into the kitchen. The back door stood open. Nikki
brought her gun up and rolled out into the alley—and found it empty.
Heat sprinted to the end of the passage where it opened onto Pearl Street and looked
both ways. She even looked up. How did that happen?
Salena Kaye had simply vanished.
Fulton Street had become a shining river of black vehicles when Heat and Rook walked
back to Surety Rent-a-Car. SUVs and sedans with muscular engines and white US
government plates filled the block, which had been sealed off. Air support and TV
news copters circled overhead. Forensics technicians in coveralls dusted the mangled
Nissan and took photos from all angles. More of the same went on one garage level
below, with the added feature of the NYPD shooting team down there to rule on Heat’
s judgment under fire.
Heat and Rook found Agent Callan sitting in the backseat of his Suburban with the
door open and his feet on the outside running boards, talking on a secure sat-phone.
The boyish quarterback look seemed to have gained some weathering. He flicked a brow
greeting to them, but pulled the door closed to finish his call.
A minute later, he stepped out, pocketing his phone. “Detective Heat, we have just
kicked into a new era of heartache.”
Heat shook her head. “How could she have vanished off the sidewalk? I was right
behind her. There’s no way she could have disappeared into thin air like that.”
“Yeah, well a bigger whale just hit the fry pan. I’m sure you’ve been kind of
busy the last half hour, but have you done any of the math on this?”
“Sure I have,” Nikki said.
“Come on, Callan, we all have.” Rook made a perimeter check to make sure they were
out of earshot of press or civilians. “Salena Kaye’s part of a bioterror plot, and
she comes to rent a truck.”
“We can all reach the same bottom line on that,” said Heat.
“Well now we have a new figure to add to the equation.” The agent side-nodded to
the rental office. “Manager says she wanted to rent an E-350 cargo truck for this
weekend.” Nikki felt herself go weak. Rook let out a low whistle. Callan continued,
“That’s right. I just briefed the president’s national security advisor that we
have a high probability of a bioterror attack in New York City. And it’s as soon as
three or four days away.”
THIRTEEN
Special Agent in Charge Callan didn’t make it optional for Heat to join him in the
Homeland Situation Room for a meeting of his Bioterror Task Force. He drew her away
from Rook and said, “Listen, you will be there. And if there’s some personality
conflict between you and Agent Bell—”
“I think you know I’m more professional than that,” she said, interrupting him.
“I know what’s at stake, and I would never let personal feelings interfere.” And
then, for his benefit, she added, “Personal feelings on any level, about anyone.”