Nicholas said without preamble, his voice hard and low, “We know you’ve been lying to us, Ms. Pearce. We know the young man you called Kevin Brown this morning wasn’t an old employee. We know he was your brother, Adam. We have a warrant out for his arrest, and every law enforcement official in the tri-state area has been informed of his acts of treason against this country. They won’t go easy on him when they find him. Trust me on this, you want us to be the ones who take him into custody. Now, tell us how to find him or we’ll arrest you as an accessory to murder.”
Nicholas had taken her off guard. Mike watched Sophie Pearce press back against the chair, maybe a bit afraid now, but then she got hold of herself. She even sat forward, ready to face him down. She said very deliberately, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He leaned forward as well, their foreheads nearly touching. He looked ready to strangle her, but still, she didn’t move, didn’t pull back. “Of course you do. We don’t have time for any more evasions, any more lies. You will tell me where your brother is.” He sat back suddenly, tapped his fingers on the tabletop, loud in the silent room. “Don’t you understand? After your father’s murder this morning, we learned we aren’t the only ones looking for your brother. It’s clear his life is in danger.”
Mike was right, this was the way to get to her. He saw a flash of fear in her eyes.
Mike said from behind him, “I know you love Adam, Sophie, and that’s why you’re protecting him. Believe me, I respect that. You’ve lost so much today. You shouldn’t have to go through this, too. And—”
Nicholas cut her off, his voice steel-edged. “If you don’t tell me everything, you’re going to lose not only your father, but your brother, too. So where is he, Ms. Pearce? Where is Adam?”
She’d wavered, he’d seen it, but now she looked him straight in the eye and said flatly, “I don’t know.”
Nicholas slammed his fist on the table, making her jump. “You’re lying. I can see the pulse in your neck race faster with every single lie.”
Mike said quietly, “Sophie, you know what this is about. You know the men who killed your father are trying to get to your brother. You don’t want his blood on your hands. Help us, Sophie. You know we’re the good guys. We don’t want anything bad to happen to Adam. I have a brother, too. I’d do most anything to protect him. Maybe even go so far as to try to hide his identity to keep the cops from arresting him. But if he was in danger, I would stop pretending I didn’t know where he is.”
That did it. Sophie cracked wide open. She jumped to her feet, splayed her palms on the battered table. “What was I supposed to do, give you his real name? He’s a hacker, he has a record. You know he’s wanted. You’ll put him in jail. Adam isn’t the reason my father was killed, he isn’t.”
Nicholas said, “You think not? Where is he?”
She shook her head. “You don’t understand. Adam wouldn’t, couldn’t, be the reason my father was killed.”
Nicholas shoved the transcript Ben had given him toward her, knowing it looked official. “It’s all here. Your father was lured down to Wall Street this morning with a text message from someone calling himself EP. EP, Sophie. Eternal Patrol, your brother’s underground call sign, which you know very well. Your brother asked your father to meet him. Your father was killed doing so. It doesn’t take a genius to see what’s happening here.”
“But you said the men who killed my father are searching for Adam.” She looked at Nicholas, right through him, and her face suddenly turned hard.
“I see now, you’re lying to me. You’re playing me. You already know who killed my father. You never thought his own son could have done it, you’re not that stupid. No, you want the boy hacker who’s made your lives a misery because he’s so talented, so smart, much more than any of you.”
She jumped to her feet. “I won’t help you put my brother into prison! I’m through speaking now. I’d like to call my attorney.”
She stood there, her arms crossed over her chest.
“You’re not under arrest, Sophie,” Mike said, pushing away from the wall. “You’re free to leave, but please understand, your brother is in imminent danger. Help us find him before it’s too late for him, for both of you.”
“Your father’s dead, Sophie. Don’t let Adam be next.”
Sophie closed her eyes and swallowed. Finally, she said, “You don’t need me. I know how you work, you can track Adam off his phone.”
“We can’t because your brother doesn’t use the same kind of phone as most people,” Nicholas said. “You know he unlocks them, puts his own operating system on them, adds programming to make them untraceable, and the phones themselves are disposable. Think, Sophie. We can’t protect him if we can’t find him, and that’s what’s most important right now.”
She gave it up. “He stays in the Village when he comes to town. If I need him, I leave word at the Starbucks on the Lower East Side, on Delancey between Allen and Orchard. His girlfriend, Allie, works there, she knows how to find him. He thought it was safer if I didn’t have the address.” She stood up. “I’m leaving now.”
Nicholas rose. “Thank you for your help. And Sophie, I’m sure we don’t need to remind you to be very careful out there.”
A hint of panic, but only for an instant. She straightened her shoulders. “I always am.”
28
East Village
4:00 p.m.
Nicholas and Mike left immediately for the Starbucks on Delancey. They didn’t wait for agents to back them up, no time, and both of them knew it. Adam Pearce would be there or he wouldn’t. If they needed help, they’d call in.
Agent Lia Scott was the eyes and ears on Sophie Pearce and was monitoring all calls, e-mails, and communications from Adam Pearce when they found him. She called Mike as they parked a block from Starbucks.
“Lia, what’s up?”
“Hi, Mike, a quick update. We have the trap set up and live on Sophie Pearce’s phone lines, so we’re listening and watching. Our girl is calling all over town, looking for her brother. So far, she hasn’t managed to locate him, but with this many people beating the bushes, he’s going to know you’re coming, and probably run.”
“Did she alert this Allie we’re about to see at the Starbucks?”
“Not that I can tell, but we had a ten-minute lag time while the paper cleared on the phone tap. It’s possible.”
“Where is Sophie now?”
“The phone shows her back at her apartment in the Alexander. As long as she keeps her cell phone on her person, I can trace her steps around town pretty easily. She’s parked right now, and so am I.”
“She doesn’t know we’re listening, so she should keep her phone on. Thanks, Lia. Let me know if she goes on the move.”
“Will do.”
All eyes behind the Starbucks counter were on them the moment they walked in. It was, Mike thought, like they were wearing a sign. She marched up and flipped out her badge. “I’m looking for Allie.”
A handsome young black man with a Mohawk immediately stepped forward. “Allie McGee? She’s not in today. She called in sick.”
“Who’s your manager?”
“I am. Stephen Torres. What’s the problem, ma’am?”
“We need her home address, right now.”
He didn’t move. “Is she in trouble?”
Mike leaned on the counter with both arms. “She’s going to be, if you don’t tell me how to find her.”
One of the baristas said, “I’m Shelley. I’m her best friend. She’s over on Avenue A. One-oh-seven Avenue A, apartment five. She’s probably not there, though, she has school today. She had a huge midterm today, and our work schedule was set last week. I traded shifts with her so she could take her test.” The girl shot her manager a guilty look. “We’re not supposed to trade shifts without getting permission first.”
“NYU. She’s a computer science major.”
“She have a boyfriend?”
The look on Shelley’s face told them the answer to that.
“Does he live with her?” Nicholas asked.
“No, not really. In fact, I haven’t seen Adam in a long time. Allie said he was in California. She doesn’t talk much about him, I don’t know why.”
Mike said, “What’s her phone number? Right now.”
Shelley gave Mike the number.
Torres said, “Hey, Allie’s a good kid. What did she do?”
Mike gave her best scary Fed smile. “Don’t worry about it. Thank you, Shelley, for the info. Now, can I have two grande skinny vanilla lattes and two cinnamon scones? To go.”
“Surely, ma’am. On the house, for New York’s Finest.”
She left a twenty-dollar bill on the counter, aware of the phalanx of eyes on their backs as they walked out. They got in the car and Mike devoured the scone in three bites, Nicholas in two. He wiped his mouth. “That was well played, Special Agent Caine.”
“Thanks. You so owe me a real meal, Nicholas. An apple, a scone, and a latte ain’t gonna cut it.” She brushed the crumbs off her lap, took a deep gulp of the latte, burning her tongue in the process.
“Let’s go to her apartment,” Mike said. “If I were on the run, I’d hide out at my girlfriend’s place. It doesn’t appear that Allie even told her best friend that Adam is a big bad wanted hacker.”
Allie McGee’s apartment was only a few blocks away. Mike checked in with Ben, told him where they were going, told him to be ready for a call if they saw something hinky. “And Ben, find out who owns the lease on this apartment.”
Even though all they wanted to find was a nineteen-year-old boy, she and Nicholas had come prepared, vests, comms on the off chance they ran into trouble. She and Nicholas geared up while Ben ran the property record.
He said, “It’s in the name of Allison McGee. Bought last year, for eight hundred thousand dollars.”
“Pricey place for a kid in school, working at Starbucks on the side. Did her parents fund it?”
She heard tapping. “It was paid for in cash. Full purchase price.”
“Interesting. Have the financials come back on Jonathan Pearce yet?”
Ben said, “As it happens, yes. Pearce is a very wealthy man. Both the son and daughter have healthy trust funds. And lookee here, there was a withdrawal for one million dollars from Adam Pearce’s trust right before the apartment was purchased.”
“Gotcha, thanks, Ben.”
“Call if you need backup. Wait up, here’s Gray.”
Gray Wharton’s voice came loud and clear. “One more thing, Mike, Sir Nicholas—Jonathan Pearce is a viscount. The Tenth Viscount Chambers, to be exact.”
That got Nicholas’s attention. “Chambers? Who is Pearce’s father?”
“Looks like his dad’s name was Robert, son of Leo, son of—no, wait—it looks like Leo was adopted by William Pearce way back in 1917, before the end of the war. As to who Leo’s real father was, I’m going to have to dig to find that out. Do you think that could be important?”
Nicholas said, “No clue, Gray. I doubt it, but if you happen to see it, let me know. Thank you. Quit calling me ‘sir.’”
It was a secure building, requiring either a code or a buzz in from an apartment to open the doors.
Mike cupped her hands against the glass to get a better view of the lobby setup. “I don’t see a doorman. We’re going to have to buzz Allie’s apartment.”
Nicholas pressed the button for 2A. Nothing. 2B answered, though, and Mike adopted her best young girl voice. “Hey, it’s five, I left my keys upstairs.”
“Not again,” came a harassed voice, but the door buzzed, and clicked open.
Mike gave Nicholas a grin. “Works every time.”
Nicholas shook his head. “You’d think New Yorkers would be more careful.”
“No kidding.” They’d looked at the apartment floor plan, saw Allie’s place was rear-facing, with a sectioned fire escape that let down into an alley.
They took the elevator to the fifth floor. Apartment five was the last door down a narrow, elegantly modern hallway with stained teak floors and small wheatgrass installations along the wall, the embedded lights reflected by beveled mirrors, giving a lovely glow to the space.
“Nice to have a rich boyfriend these days,” Mike said.
They were at the door now. Nicholas leaned in, listened. It was quiet, too quiet. He whispered, “Something doesn’t feel right.” Didn’t smell right, either. He smelled the sharp pungent odor of copper and that meant blood, a lot of it.
Not good, not good. Mike pulled her Glock from its clip at her waist, called Ben. “Ben, come down, something’s not right here.”
She knew they should wait, but she knew to her gut something was very wrong. She stood to the side of the door, and banged her fist three times, yelled, “FBI. Open up.”
Nothing. There were no sounds.
Nicholas reached for the doorknob. Unlocked. He met her eyes, nodded. Mike called out again, then he opened the door and went in, quick and fast, Mike behind him, her Glock high, his low.
And everything around them seemed to explode into movement.
29
107 Avenue A, Unit 5
4:30 p.m.
The light was blinding, the force from the blast knocked him sideways against the entryway wall. Nicholas shook his head, trying to get his vision and his hearing back. Mike was beside him, shaking him, shouting something at him, but he couldn’t hear her. He felt a trickle of wet from his ear; his hand came away red. He numbly realized someone had thrown a flash bang.
You’re getting slow, Drummond. Maybe it was the aftereffect of being Tasered this morning, but he couldn’t seem to get anything moving right.
It wasn’t only the flash bang, he’d also taken a shot to the chest, center mass, and thank the good Lord above he was wearing a Kevlar vest, at Mike’s insistence, or his first day with the FBI would have been his last.
Mike was yelling at him. “Can you get up? Are you okay? Come on, Nicholas, talk to me. There’s no one here, I checked, well, except—can you get up?”
With a huge wheeze, air filled his lungs and he was able to move again, his hearing and sight returning. Mike’s hand was gripping his arm, helping him up. “That’ll teach you for going in first,” she said, and punched him.
“Better me than you.” He managed to get up. “Okay, I’m fine now. Knocked the wind out of me, is all.”
She closed her eyes for a moment. “Stop doing that to me, Nicholas. What happened?”
“A guy started shooting when I opened the door, then he tossed a flash bang at me as he went out the window.”
“Was it Adam Pearce?”
“I don’t know, the flash was too quick. We gotta go after him, now, before he gets away.”
She drew a deep steadying breath. “There’s something else, Nicholas,” and she pointed. He looked into the living room, only fifteen feet away, directly to his right, and saw a dead girl, long brown hair spread about her head, lying on her side, near a pale blue sofa, her eyes blank.
“It’s Allie McGee, has to be,” Mike said as she ran to the side window that gave onto the alley.
She spotted the man climbing down the fire escape, not fast because he had to unlatch and lower each section as he went. Nicholas said, “I’ll go down the fire escape, you take the stairs. There may be more of them.”
As he went through the window, she speed-dialed Ben. “Allie McGee’s been murdered, Nicholas is chasing a guy down the fire escape. Hurry, Ben.”
It had all happened in only a few seconds, she thought blankly, only two snaps of the fingers. It had seemed a lifetime.
She looked back at Allie McGee, felt anger fill her gut and headed for the stairs. They should have brought backup, should have—Ben would be here fast. Besides, Nicholas wouldn’t let the man get away.
He’s going to get away. Nicholas saw the man had nearly reached the second floor. He’d lost precious time. Nicholas shook the rest of the cobwebs clear and went after him. He didn’t have to unhook the fire escape sections as he went, so he could run flat out down the rusted metal steps. He saw a flash of dark hair, saw the man look back up at him. No way was Nicholas going to let him get away. He grabbed the edge of the second-floor ladder and slid down eighteen feet, landed hard, rolled, and jumped to his feet only seconds after the man had hit the ground and begun to run. He was limping, but he could still move fast. Good thing he was no Mr. Olympic. Nicholas caught up with him quickly.
He heard Mike shouting, running around the building toward him. Before she could get there, the man turned and lashed out with his leg, trying to catch Nicholas in the stomach. Not Adam Pearce, and not as young as Nicholas first thought. This guy looked like a hired thug, vicious, hard, a bright red scar slashing down his face. He looked no-holds-barred, a veteran of many a fight before, some he’d lost, given the ferocious scar on his cheek.
He saw the kick coming, turned so Scarface’s foot hit his hip bone, a numbing shot that would have put him down if it had caught him full-on. Scarface was fast, and agile, whipping around for another kick, but instead he sent the edge of his hand to Nicholas’s throat. Nicholas jerked back and the meaty fist glanced off his cheekbone, followed by Scarface’s right fist smashing into Nicholas’s shoulder. His damned limp didn’t seem to be bothering him at all now.
Nicholas was bigger than Scarface, as well trained, and as dirty. He whirled around, leg out, tripped him, but the moment his back hit the ground he sprang back up like a jack-in-the-box and came at him again, forcing Nicholas back, ever back.
Nicholas countered every move grimly, and they danced together, arms and legs clashing hard, blood running freely from Scarface’s nose. Nicholas gave up finesse and went for brute force, slamming both fists on his shoulders, pushing him hard. As he stumbled backward, Nicholas found his opening. He got a good glimpse at the surprise on his scarred face as his fist crashed into the wide, whiskered jaw. Scarface went down, out cold, falling hard, his head bouncing on the asphalt. He was down, finally, no longer a threat.
The Lost Key Page 12