“Uh, sure, absolutely.” Then he added, “The unnamed thing only goes so far, but it’s a start.”
“Well, I can also give you names of people who will go on the record. There’s plenty off pissed-off people at work who don’t give a shit anymore.”
“My favorite kind.” Rook grinned.
“I’ll be your whistle-blower.”
“One of your specialties, as I recall.” He chuckled, then stopped himself, suddenly mindful of Nikki’s stare.
Heat got out her notebook. “Maybe we should start talking about why he was kidnapped.”
“See?” said Rook. “She’s all in.”
Heat watched the sky empurple across the Hudson, just like the sunset she had glimpsed twenty-four hours prior from the Verrazano Narrows, except the bridge she was seeing it from now sat atop an NYPD Harbor Unit vessel. “There’s your MD600,” said the skipper, aiming the bill of his cap to ten o’clock so she could pick the chopper out amid the reflective glass of the West Side high-rises.
Nikki acknowledged him, then stepped out of the pilothouse to where Rook was riding the thirty-five-knot chop, bracing himself against a bulkhead. “So far, so good with Yardley. She said his Gulfstream filed a flight plan from DC to Teterboro, and now here he is.”
“Yardley’s solid, don’t worry.” As usual he was attuned to Nikki’s feelings—this time, her anxiety about getting things right.
Together they watched the blinking lights of the helicopter descend gracefully onto the fantail of the SwiftRageous. A minute later the diesel twin tens of the Gladding-Hearn throttled back and the V-hull settled down into the river with a peaceful sigh.
While the captain angled the rescue recess toward the transom of the luxury yacht, Tangier Swift arrived and stood waiting to meet them personally, although not alone. His security crew flanked him. This time, however, instead of matching polo shirts, everyone, including Swift, wore serious suits from a day in the capital. “I saw your rooster tail from the six hundred,” he said. “You might as well have sent up magnesium flares.”
Heat said, “This isn’t a tactical raid, Mr. Swift. But I’d like permission to board.”
“No.”
She held up a warrant. “I’ve got a golden ticket.”
The billionaire nodded once. Three of his companions moved aft to accept the mooring lines from the Harbor officers. On the deck above Heat and Rook, a squad from the Hercules Unit appeared and lined up along the rail, a statement of power made with black helmets, heavy armor, and submachine guns cradled at rest. The bodyguards were cowed, and should have been.
“Not a tactical raid, huh?”
“Last time we talked you kinda threatened me.”
“Heat, this is bullshit, and you know it.”
“Maybe you should write your congressman,” said Rook. “No wait. We can make that easier for you.”
Tangier Swift’s mouth actually gaped when Congressman Duer emerged from the bulkhead door and stood between Heat and Rook. “Hey, Kent,” was all Swift could manage. None of this fit his algorithm.
“You going to invite me aboard, or not?”
While the SwiftRageous crew assisted the senior representative aboard, Swift approached Heat and stared at her bandage. “What happened to your face?”
“This?” she said. “It’s my game face.”