Threat Level Black - Страница 46

Tyler ’s stomach knotted tighter as the Pave Low moved forward. Somebody shouted something and he winced; he whirled around, found himself staring into Somers’s face, then turned back, cringing: He knew, just knew, he would see the helicopter keeling over, in flames, gunfire erupting all over again.

But nothing like that happened. Sling attached and taut, the helicopter lifted upward and ahead, taking the North Korean robot aircraft under it as easily as a man might pluck a piece of paper from the floor. Tyler watched as the helicopter flew toward the well-secured air base to the south.

“You all right?” asked Somers after the Pave Low disappeared.

“Yeah,” said Tyler.

“That was a damn brave thing, getting those guys out of the helicopter.”

Tyler looked at Somers. “You keep saying that.”

“You’ve seen a lot of action, haven’t you, Major?”

“Not really.”

Tyler knew many, many people in the Army who had seen much more combat. And certainly when viewed against the long history of conflicts — wars that extended years rather than weeks — he had seen almost none.

“Getting to you?” asked Somers.

The question caught Tyler off guard. He liked the historian: He was a smart guy, insightful, and easy to like. But there was a line.

“It’s not getting to me,” said Tyler, turning away and walking toward the Chinook that had brought the reinforcements.

Somers caught up with him as he neared the door to the massive helicopter.

“I didn’t mean to offend you,” said the older man.

Tyler looked at him. He didn’t know how to explain what he felt and what he had done; he couldn’t describe how fear had crept beneath what just a few weeks ago had been easy conviction, how second-guessing had wrapped itself around his determination. Everything he did now he questioned. Everything he did was wrong. And he was always afraid.

To the people on the outside, it wasn’t there. Somers saw only him jumping into the chopper.

Why had he done it? Not because it was the right thing to do or the brave thing to do, but because it was the only thing to do. He had been scared — damn scared.

“It was nothing,” Tyler told Somers, then climbed aboard the chopper.

Chapter 19

Fisher leaned forward against the back of the chair, watching through the one-way glass as the two local detectives continued the interview. He’d found some safety pins to clip his torn pants together with, and had washed his face and hands. As soon as they brought his coffee he’d feel good as new.

“Got no idea who hired us,” said the man the detectives were interviewing. He’d been the one back by the car when Fisher arrived and Fisher assumed he was the driver. As a general rule, drivers didn’t know all that much about the operation they were involved in, but the two detectives apparently hadn’t learned that from NYPD reruns. They kept circling around and taking fresh starts at the same question, and the suspect kept coming back with essentially the same answer: Damned if I know.

The other two goons were in the hospital. The one Howe had wrestled with was in pretty serious condition, with internal bleeding and a concussion. Fisher thought that was a waste: If he was going to beat him senseless, he might just as well have killed the guy and saved the county some dough.

“Like I been telling you, I got no idea,” said the suspect one more time.

One of the detectives made a big show of disgust, slapping his hands down on the table and walking out, playing the first strains of the time-honored good-cop-bad-cop routine. Fisher watched the suspect twitch nervously for a few seconds, then got up from his chair. He met the policewoman who’d gone for coffee at the door.

“Just in time,” he told her.

“I’m sorry. I had to clean the cup.”

“Shouldn’t have bothered,” said Fisher. “Scum adds flavor.”

Fisher took the coffee and went into the interrogation room, where the other detective was speaking in the low, confidential tones that were considered de rigueur for the nice-guy part in the play.

Fisher had never been much of a fan of good-cop-bad-cop. It seemed to him that anyone stupid enough to fall for it wasn’t much of a source to begin with. Sure, it had worked for Eliot Ness, but Fisher suspected the brass knuckles Ness’s sidekick got to use in the back room were more responsible for success than the crumpled cigarette Ness stuck in a suspect’s mouth.

But you had to go with what you had. Fisher tossed a pack of cigarettes on the table, along with some matches.

The man looked up at him. “I don’t smoke.”

Fisher pushed out the chair and sat down, thinking they just didn’t make goons the way they used to.

“You’re with the Genovese family, right?”

“Huh?” said the man.

“Genovese. He’s trying to muscle into the D.C. area,” said Fisher, pulling over the cigarettes. He punched one out of the pack.

“What do you mean?”

“What I said. You’re on DiCarlo’s crew, right? You guys clipped some poor fuck by the river two weeks ago.”

“I had nothing to do with that,” said the man. “And I’m not with the Genovese family.”

“They don’t call it Genovese anymore, right? Those New York guys — that would be like calling it omertà or Our Thing or something, right? I mean, even the word mob, that’s no good.”

“I ain’t with fuckin’ Genovese, right? I’m not from New York. I ain’t with those guys.”

“Word is, you are.”

“What word?”

“Word I hear,” said Fisher. He took a long pull from the cigarette, held it a tick, then let it out. “Word that’s going around the street. And the jail.”

“Hey, screw you. Who are you?”

“Andy Fisher. FBI. I was doing some checking inside. You’re with Genovese.”

“I’m with Sammy Gorodino.”

“Sammy the Seal?” said Fisher. “No way.”

“Hey, bullshit on you, asshole.”

“So, what’s the story on Howe? He owes your boss money?”

The goon glanced at the Virginia detective, then back at Fisher. “You for real?”

Fisher shrugged.

“I just do what I’m told. Sammy tells me what to do and I do it.”

“Sammy’s where?” said Fisher.

“Oh, fuck you. I’m not telling you that.”

Fisher took a sip of his coffee. It occurred to him again that it might have been much better if the cup hadn’t been washed.

“I can find Sammy,” said the detective next to him. “He owns a restaurant in a strip mall out near Circleville.”

The goon’s face twitched ever so slightly.

Fisher pulled out his satellite phone and slid it across the table.

“Call him,” he told the goon. “And tell him you’re going to be released on your own recognizance this afternoon. Tell him there are some rumors going around that he ought to know about, rumors that you were talking about his auto parts business. False rumors, and you don’t want him getting upset. Because you told that asshole FBI agent nothing, and the raid that’s coming had nothing to do with any sort of information you gave out. And you’re being let go free was just some sort of trick by this jerk Andy Fisher.”

The man looked at Fisher, then at the detective, then at the phone.

“There’s a bowling alley,” he said. “It’s over by Kirdwood Park.”

Chapter 20

Alice looked much younger asleep. She had pulled her hair back and tied it so the doctors could treat the small cut on the right side of her mouth. The strands at the top of her forehead looked like the fine threads at the edge of a scarf.

Howe gazed at the down in front of her ear, a shade lighter than the trio of freckles beneath it. Her lips were a soft pink, loosely pressed together; her body moved upward gently with her breathing.

“Who were they?” she said without opening her eyes.

Howe stooped down. “ Alice?”

“Who were they?”

Her left lid opened slowly.

“I’m not sure,” said Howe. “They were after me. I’m sorry they hurt you.”

Fisher had told Howe that the goons had probably started following him sometime the day before and seen where Alice lived. They probably had left someone there to watch her as a backup.

“They thought I was your girlfriend.” Alice pushed her legs off the bed and sat up.

In the hallway Howe heard the footsteps of the detective and FBI agent who’d been waiting to see her.

“You going to be okay?” Howe asked.

“I’m okay.” She was still in her jeans and the T-shirt she’d been wearing earlier. Aside from a bruise where one of the thugs had squeezed her arm, she was unhurt.

One of the investigators pushed back the curtain behind him. “Uh, Colonel Howe,” said the woman. “Excuse us, but we’d prefer if you didn’t talk with Ms. Kauss until we’ve had a chance to interview her.”

“Protocol,” said the other detective.

“Yeah, I’m sorry,” said Howe. He looked at Alice as he spoke. “I just wanted to make sure she was okay.”

“I’m okay,” she told him.

“I guess we have to reschedule,” he said.

“Call my office.”

“I will.” He nodded. He couldn’t tell how angry she was with him, though he figured she must be very angry. “Okay,” he said, leaving.

Threat Level Black - Страница 46

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21