Blindside (Michael Bennett)

by James Patterson

  Then she saw something else. Jennifer Chang was up and running for the other door. It was too perfect. Everything lined up. Her bright blouse was like a target with her purple-streaked ponytail swaying against it.

  She knew she didn’t have much time. Alice lined up the shot carefully. Then fired one time. She felt a wave of satisfaction as the computer programmer flew off her feet and slid into a wall.

  Alice moved away from the tables with the pistol up. Now she was looking for Christoph and Ollie.

  A shadow from outside fell across her face. She risked a quick peek over her shoulder. It was the last clear view she would ever have.

  Ollie had slipped out the door and had his machine pistol pointed at her from outside.

  He showed no emotion as he squeezed the trigger.

  Alice heard the first few shots, then everything went black.

  CHAPTER 47

  HARRY GRISSOM MET me at the Columbia University Medical Center. Jennifer Chang was in surgery. I didn’t know what else to do but wait right here.

  Harry was wearing a suit and looked like a lawyer from Wyoming. He shook his head as he approached me in the back of the waiting room. There was no one else in the dull, clean room. I sat at the edge of the only couch. I’d been staring at the seven empty metal chairs spaced along the opposite wall. A TV, hung high on the wall, played CNN, but I hadn’t been listening.

  Harry shook his head and said, “Jesus, what happened?”

  I shrugged. Just like I’d told an investigating detective, “I have no idea what happened. I didn’t recognize any of the shooters. I didn’t see where anyone went. And the one person I was trying to keep safe ended up shot in the back.” I looked up at my lieutenant and said, “What’s it like at the coffeehouse?”

  Harry said, “We’ve got the dead couple who were part of the shoot-out and two dead civilians. We have four more with serious wounds.”

  I cringed. People buying coffee shouldn’t have to worry about being blasted by a gun. This was crazy. I looked at Harry and said, “It has to be related to the mayor’s daughter. The woman aimed at Jennifer as she ran away.”

  Harry said, “And she had a homemade garrote in her purse.”

  “Like the one used to kill Tommy Payne near Penn Station?”

  “I’ve already called Ed Arris. We think it’s the murder weapon.”

  “Harry, this shit has gone from doing a favor for the mayor to a full-blown conspiracy. We have to do something. We have to find Natalie Lunden. She’s in real danger.”

  Harry put his hand on my shoulder. “You need to get some rest. That’s all you need to worry about right now. Spend a little time with that beautiful family. Someone will call you as soon as there’s news on Jennifer Chang.”

  Reluctantly I agreed with my friend. I waited until Harry left, then I waited a while longer. I checked with the nurse one more time.

  I had to fight the feeling that Harry had lost faith in me. I felt like I’d let people down. Especially Jennifer Chang. I wondered if anyone would even keep me up-to-date on the shooting. Technically I wasn’t suspended. But cops rarely like to be seen talking to a detective sent home for any reason.

  I was sure rumors about me would spread quickly. They’d revolve around some imagined confrontation I had with management. No one would believe that my friend of almost twenty years had suggested I go home and see my family. Instead, I would go home after I was sure Jennifer Chang was out of danger.

  CHAPTER 48

  I WALKED THROUGH the front door of my apartment completely drained. It’s easy to imagine that a homicide detective always feels drained when arriving home. That’s not accurate. I usually get a bolt of energy anticipating seeing my kids and Mary Catherine. I love coming home to my family.

  Tonight it was different. I had absolutely no energy and I couldn’t focus. I wondered if the cumulative effect of the shootings had finally caught up to me.

  I had lingered at the hospital until I found out Jennifer Chang had made it through surgery and was in recovery. A young surgeon named Susan Jones had come out to talk to me, even though she knew I wasn’t family and wasn’t the detective on the case involving Jennifer.

  She was in her scrubs with more than a few blood smears and other stains. Her hair poking out from under a surgical cap was limp with sweat, and wide perspiration stains had seeped from under her arms. No one could ever tell me that surgeons weren’t athletes on some level. To stand and concentrate for so many hours without a break takes real determination and stamina.

  Dr. Jones motioned me to sit down on a couch. I think it was more about her getting off her feet than delivering bad news to me. She said, “I’m very impressed you waited here for her. I heard you tried to shield her from the gunfire. That’s brave, even for a cop.”

  “Is Jennifer going to recover?”

  “She lost a lot of blood. The bullet entered about four inches from her spine but worked its way through her torso. Her stomach was perforated and her left lung collapsed. She’ll be in the ICU for days, maybe weeks.”

  I sagged in my seat.

  The doctor touched my arm and said, “You’ve done all you can. There won’t be an update for some time. Please go home and get some rest. I don’t even know you and I have to say, you look terrible. Please forgive me.”

  She gave me a weak smile and then was gone.

  I’m not even sure how I made it back to the apartment. I was on automatic pilot.

  Now I stood in the doorway and still couldn’t shake all of my fears about Natalie Lunden. Whoever she was involved with meant business. I believed she was in Estonia. In fact, I knew it. But I had no idea if she was there by consent or if she’d been forced to go.

  This was troubling on a number of levels. Having my oldest daughter, Juliana, greet me at the door only emphasized my fears. How would I feel if Juliana disappeared like Natalie? I’d be calling in all the favors I could. I was starting to understand the mayor a little better.

  I made my rounds in the apartment, greeting each kid individually. I could tell that Mary Catherine was still worried about me. Sometimes I wondered if she and Harry Grissom secretly traded phone calls about my mental state and general health.

  Eventually I found myself next to the computer with Eddie. After I caught up on his daily life, school, and basketball, I got to the point. “Eddie, I’m having a little trouble comprehending some kids who are drawn to working with a certain hacker in Estonia. I know the money is pretty good, but is there something else?”

  Eddie’s face positively lit up. “Dad, you have no idea. It’s the closest a kid like me will come to having a superpower. Just because I understand computers and most people really don’t. Once I found out I understood what hackers were talking about, it was easy. I follow a couple of forums online and read some blogs by hackers. It doesn’t surprise me the hacker is based in Estonia.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Estonia is considered the most wired republic in Europe. The government views access to the internet as a human right. They spent a fortune on infrastructure to attract high-tech companies.”

  “Most kids your age don’t even know where Estonia is. I’m very impressed.”

  “We studied it in history class. How, after World War II, the Soviet Union essentially took control of Latvia, Lithuania, and Estonia. That makes their rise as a computer power all the more impressive.”

  I sat for a moment, thinking about Holy Name. I knew it was a good school. I’ve sent all my kids there. But I didn’t remember learning anything like that when I was in school. Of course, my interest in history didn’t come on until I was in college.

  Then Eddie explained to me the draw of young people to crack security systems at different companies or government facilities. It was the cyberpunk’s version of climbing Mount Everest. Basically, they did it because it was there.

  I settled back in my chair and said, “Eddie, would you mind showing me some of the forums and blogs that you read?”
/>   By the smile on my son’s face you would’ve thought I’d given him a Jet Ski. He loved this kind of stuff.

  CHAPTER 49

  AT EIGHT O’CLOCK, we all gathered around the speakerphone on the breakfast nook counter. I’d bought the phone at Best Buy specifically for these nights. Sure, it was a little crowded with twelve people trying to get close enough to both hear the speaker and be heard when they spoke.

  This was our weekly call from Brian. It was the one night no one ever argued about what we were going to do. No one wanted to miss even a moment of talking to their brother.

  Mary Catherine and my grandfather, Seamus, always sat in two straight-backed chairs closest to the phone.

  At one minute after eight, the phone rang and Seamus hit the button within a second. He looked like a gambler in Las Vegas asking for another card.

  We settled down to a near silence. After Brian said hello and told us how everything was going, everyone got to say hello and one other thing. It took about ten minutes to work through the whole family.

  I was touched to see how excited the kids were to talk to their brother. It meant I’d done something right raising them. Ten kids in a family was difficult enough. If some of them didn’t get along, it could be brutal. I found it was easy enough to keep everyone happy if they were busy. Sports, clubs, family playdates—it all added up. And right now I appreciated that arithmetic.

  Trent told Brian about basketball and sports. Chrissy told him about our cat, Socky, who now was producing solid poop after a week of diarrhea. I never tried to edit what my kids were going to say.

  Finally I got to ask some questions that were important to me. “How do you like Fishkill Correctional?”

  “Compared to Gowanda, it’s great. I’m taking a bunch of classes. I already told you I earned my GED. Now I’m working on getting certified as an air-conditioning repair mechanic. They have the population separated by security risk so I’m in with a bunch of younger, nonviolent offenders.”

  I thought I might cry. Here was my oldest son. Along with his sister, Juliana, my first treasure. A year ago I was afraid he’d thrown away his whole life because he made some poor choices. Now he was making good choices. More important, he hadn’t given up on his life. He’d just made a detour or two. He had some goals, and I was so proud of him I couldn’t speak for a moment. Luckily, plenty of other people were there to fill in.

  Seamus said, “What are you doing for fun?”

  “This place gives us full TV privileges at night. As long as we follow the rules and don’t have any marks against us, we can watch whatever we want. I’ve been reading a lot, too.”

  Jane, our resident super reader, was quick to ask, “Who do you like to read?”

  Brian didn’t hesitate. “Elmore Leonard, and a newer author named Mark Greaney. Can’t get enough of either of them.”

  Now I was at a loss for words. I’d never known Brian to read for pleasure. And he sounded excited about his studies.

  Brian said, “This place is so much better than Gowanda I can’t believe it. But I still miss home. I miss all of you. If I get home, I promise to keep reading, and I’ll get a job. I swear.”

  I was quick to say, “Buddy, you don’t have to make any promises. We want you home as much as you want to come home.”

  Eddie said, “I’m trying to teach Dad about computers and hacking.”

  Brian laughed like we were playing a prank on him. Then he said, “Really? I’m impressed, Dad. You won’t be sorry you picked up a new skill. We even have computers available to us here. One guy from Schenectady got arrested again for stealing credit card numbers using the computer from our class.”

  Mary Catherine took a moment to tell Brian all the meals she would cook for him as soon as he got home.

  The call ended after our allotted twenty minutes and we had been forced into quick good-byes. If anything, it made me consider the mayor’s offer of help more seriously.

  CHAPTER 50

  DETECTIVES AT THE NYPD have an unusual relationship with one of their own units, known as Intel. The Intelligence Bureau has a mysterious aura about it. Generally the unit recruits the best and brightest from all the NYPD divisions to provide command staff with intelligence about growing crime trends and potential catastrophes.

  Since the 9/11 terror attacks, the unit has grown and wields more influence. One thing most people don’t realize about it is that it has offices outside New York, too. In fact, the NYPD has offices outside the US. Some of those offices are in Europe and the Middle East. It’s hard to imagine an NYPD officer roaming the streets of Madrid, but in the new millennium, that’s a reality.

  I learned a long time ago that Intel is an incredible resource for a detective. The staff are smart and helpful, and don’t care about claiming credit for a case. That cuts down on turf wars.

  I’d given all I had on Natalie Lunden and the cases surrounding her to my friend in Intel, Lieutenant Tony Martindale. I gave up telling him what to do with information years ago. He’d talk to sources and other agencies, especially with connections overseas, and somehow he always worked magic with everything I gave him.

  Once, when I had nothing on a homicide except a partial fingerprint, Lieutenant Martindale had a source in the Guatemalan military who matched the print to one of their former soldiers. As a result, I made the arrest and also helped Narcotics bust up one of the bigger drug-running groups in the city. The former sergeant in the Guatemalan army confessed to the homicide and would be in Sing Sing until the middle of the century.

  Yet the only ones who claimed any credit were Narcotics detectives. Tony Martindale never opened his mouth once, even though he was the one who had cracked the case for everyone.

  That’s why I trusted him with everything I knew, or suspected, about the hacking ring run by the mysterious “Henry” in Estonia.

  The day after the Brew shoot-out, I was in the lieutenant’s private office in a corner of the Intel unit. The office suited him. There were journals on combating terrorism, the newest firearms, police tactics, public administration, and even one on photography. This guy was like a computer. He read everything and didn’t care one way or the other if people utilized him.

  I sat in an uncomfortable metal chair as the lieutenant rolled around behind his desk on his ancient Office Depot discount chair. He was giving someone crime statistics over the phone while checking his email and answering a text. And this was a slow day for Lieutenant Tony Martindale.

  Finally he hung up the phone, looked at me, and said, “I’m sorry, Mike. As you can imagine, it’s crazy around here. But I have the information you asked about.”

  I knew not to do anything except smile and nod. I didn’t want to risk sending him off on another tangent that might take five or ten minutes. He waited for a comment, then picked up a folder from a pile on his desk like he knew exactly which one to reach for.

  He leaned back in the black chair and said, “You might’ve stumbled onto something big. This guy you asked about, Endrik Laar, has about ten aliases. He has three official IDs issued in Estonia and Latvia, but none of the three IDs has the same photo. None of the investigators I spoke with over the phone are even sure if they have an accurate description of him.”

  “What are they tracking him for?”

  “Cybercrime. The son of a bitch has a decent blackmail business going. The big corporations are terrified of hackers like him. And the young programmers flock to him. They know they can make a lot more money with him than they can at a legitimate job.”

  I asked, “Anyone have any idea about US nationals working for him? Specifically the name I gave you, Natalie Lunden?”

  The lieutenant gave me a grin. “I assume you know who her father is.”

  “I can neither confirm nor deny that I know the identity of Natalie Lunden’s father.”

  Lieutenant Martindale let out a hearty laugh. “Spoken like an Intel detective. If you ever get tired of chasing down murderers, we’ll always have a place for
you here.”

  I didn’t want to tell him that showing up at One Police Plaza every day would cause me too much stress. I’d probably end up with some rash or other disgusting reaction.

  The lieutenant said, “I’ve done a favor or two for the LFP.”

  “How’d it work out?”

  “Just did my job. He seemed okay in a pudgy politician kind of way.” He waited for me to either laugh or agree.

  Instead, I said, “We can still keep this conversation between us, right?”

  “Intel is known for its discretion. Now, here’s a list of potential addresses and associates of Mr. Laar.” As he handed me the papers bound in a small folder, Lieutenant Martindale gave me a sideways glance. “You’re not thinking of going to Estonia, are you?”

  “Why?”

  “We don’t have an office there. Would be difficult to give you much support.”

  “So I’d be on my own?”

  “I didn’t say that. I just said it would be difficult to help you. The NYPD never leaves a man behind. We’d make sure you had what you needed.”

  “What about the Estonian police? Would they help if I needed it?”

  “Who knows? They deal with the US Embassy and the FBI Legat who covers all the Baltics. It’d take a while to get official approval for your trip through the FBI.”

  “Then let’s forget our brothers and sisters who work for the federal government. Is that okay?”

  Martindale laughed again. “I rarely think of them here in New York. You’re good to go as far as I’m concerned.”

  I always appreciated my visits to the NYPD Intel Bureau.

  CHAPTER 51

  IT’S SURPRISINGLY EASY for an NYPD detective to get an audience with the mayor of New York when you have information about his daughter. Within thirty minutes of my call to his assistant, I was in Mayor Alfred Hanna’s main office in City Hall.