Various replies—all indicating that no one had eyes on the shooter.
Vail snuck a peek over the top of the sedan. “Any idea which direction it came from?”
Uzi came around the edge of the car to get a look at the shattered windshield then craned his neck toward the buildings. “Gotta be in front of us, two o’clock.”
DeSantos was taking his time, scanning the rooftops. In the background, Vail heard men yelling, calling out orders.
“Not likely the municipal building or city hall—security’s too tight and I’m sure they’ve been checking rooftops. Not saying a sniper can’t get in, but if we’re looking at most likely scenarios …”
“I don’t see anyone,” Uzi said. “One shot. He had his shot, took it, and missed. He’s gone.”
DeSantos straightened up tentatively, eyeing the vicinity. “I agree.”
The calls of “all clear” were heard as the law enforcement officers of multiple agencies moved back into the streets, some heading for the neighboring buildings to close off the exits and execute a thorough search.
Good luck with that. The municipal building alone is a block long and forty stories tall.
The three of them continued to scan the rooftops as they talked.
“Is it a stretch to think I was the target again?” Uzi said.
DeSantos holstered his handgun. “I was thinking the same thing. If we’re right, it’s safe to say they were serious about the threat they pinned to that woman’s chest.”
Vail leaned back against the nearby car. “Can’t say for sure the bullet had your name on it, but it’s the most obvious. Especially after what happened in Times Square.”
Uzi pulled a toothpick from his jacket pocket and ripped it from its cellophane wrap. “Let’s get out of here, go visit my father. See if we can get some answers.”
AS THEY HEADED BACK TO UZI’S TAHOE, he could not shake the thought that, once again, only one person knew for sure that he was en route to the crime scene. Well, two: Knox and Mahmoud El-Fahad. Could Fahad have tipped both snipers that Uzi was going to be onsite?
As he mulled this disturbing thought, he pulled out his key fob and hit the unlock button.
The SUV exploded skyward, blowing glass and metal and rubber in all directions.
The three of them hit the pavement nearly simultaneously, instinctively covering their heads with their hands in an almost useless gesture.
Car alarms blared in all directions as men and women came running toward them.
“They’re seriously pissed at you, Boychick.”
“Ya think?” Uzi pushed himself up and yawned twice, trying to restore his hearing.
“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Vail said, pulling on her ears, “but maybe you should go back to DC, lock yourself in your house and not come out till we catch these bastards.”
Uzi dusted off his leather coat. “Not gonna happen.” He looked around. “But we are going to need a new ride.”
30
They arrived at the home of Roey Uziel just after 4:00 PM. They had borrowed a Chevy Suburban from the New York field office motor pool then headed toward Roey’s residence.
Despite their repeated questions about what had caused Uzi’s relationship with his father to deteriorate, Uzi refused to discuss it—nor did he want to call ahead to see if his dad was at home. Vail knew the two things were related—but she did not need her detective skills to reach that conclusion.
As they pulled in front of Roey’s apartment house in Greenwich Village, Uzi shoved the gear lever into park and sat back in the seat. “After Dena and Maya were killed, I withdrew from everyone and everything. It was a really tough time. You know that. But I didn’t even talk to my father. I should have, but I didn’t. I couldn’t talk to anyone.”
He turned away and stared out the driver’s window. “Anyway, I never returned any of his phone calls. He came to my house once and I was home but didn’t let him in. I’m pretty sure he knew I was there. Time passed and I never contacted him. He tried once or twice a year later, but by the time I was able to talk about it, I was embarrassed that I hadn’t wanted anything to do with him. I can’t explain it.” He glanced at Vail. “I’m sure you can. If I’d had the chance, I probably would’ve eventually discussed it with Dr. Rudnick.” Uzi popped open the door.
“We all make mistakes,” Vail said. “But he’s your father. He’ll forgive you. You two just need to talk it out.”
Uzi seemed to think about that as they walked toward the apartment building entrance.
They climbed five slate steps to a weathered wood door that had been repainted dozens of times during the past several decades.
Uzi led them to a narrow hallway with two doors at the end, where a small window stood above a radiator that piped out warm air. Vail held her fingers over the heat and felt the blood return. I need to put gloves in my go bag.
Uzi faced the door to the left and balled his hand into a fist, as if ready to strike its surface. But he just stood there.
“This the place?” DeSantos finally asked.
“Yeah.”
DeSantos glanced at Vail, then reached out and knocked firmly.
“I was gonna get around to it.”
“We don’t have all day, Boychick.” There was a sharp, loud bark, but otherwise no suggestion of movement inside the apartment.
“Your dad have a dog?” Vail asked.
Uzi shrugged. “Don’t know.”
A few seconds later, Uzi rapped his knuckles against the wood. “Dad,” he said, dipping his chin, as if out of embarrassment, “open up. It’s Aaron.”
The door opposite swung open, revealing a woman in her late sixties, some sagging of the face but an otherwise bright complexion and a friendly smile. She was wearing a spandex running suit.
“Roey’s not home.”
Uzi turned. “You know my dad?”
She stepped into the hall. “You must be Aaron.”
“My dad’s mentioned me?”
“No. I heard you yell your name.” She must have noticed Uzi’s shoulders slump slightly—Vail did—because she said, “Just kidding. Of course he’s talked about you. He’s very proud of you.”
Uzi just stood there, staring at her.
“Nice to hear,” Vail said, filling the void.
“But you really should come around more. Or call. He hasn’t heard from you in years.”
Clearly this woman is a good friend of Roey’s. “Do you know when he’ll be back?” Realizing that it might be odd that she was asking the question rather than Uzi, Vail extended her hand. “Karen Vail. Uzi—Aaron’s friend.”
“Helen Goldschmidt.” She pulled her door closed and sorted out the wires of her iPod. “Roey works lunchtimes at the food bank a few blocks away then goes over to Washington Square Park to play chess with Sal.” She turned to Uzi and frowned. “If you were in touch with him instead of ignoring him, you’d know that, Aaron. He needs you.”
With that, Helen stuck the headphones in her ears and strode off down the hall.
“Well,” Vail said, “that was pleasant.”
DeSantos gently slapped Uzi in the chest. “I assume we’re going to Washington Square Park.”
Uzi was looking down the now-vacant hallway. “Huh? Yeah. Okay.”
“We can handle this,” Vail said, “if you’d rather not see him.”
“No, no. I’m good.”
Yeah, I can tell.
THEY WALKED TWO BLOCKS TO THE PARK, which was best known for the imposing marble arch that served as a gateway to the nearly ten acre parcel.
“Looks like the Arc de Triomphe,” DeSantos said.
Vail laughed. “That’s because it was designed to look like it.”
They walked beneath the structure, a sculpture of George Washington adorning both piers.
“Ever been there?”
“Nope. But Robby and I have talked about Paris for our honeymoon.”
“Too clichéd, if you ask me.”
Vail touched his forearm. “Actually, I wasn’t.”
“Ow.”
Vail noted that Uzi was quiet, scanning the park, presumably looking for his father. He stopped and studied the fountain ahead of him, which was spewing water a few dozen feet into the air. Tourists were gathered around the periphery taking photos. In the warm weather kids would be in the surrounding pond, playing and finding refuge from the oppressive humidity.
Uzi turned left and led them down a paved path alongside the barren trees and a row of benches. He headed toward a brass statue on a stone pedestal and stopped twenty feet short of two men seated at a folding table, a chess board between them. Only a queen and two bishops remained.
They stood there a moment, Vail and DeSantos slightly behind Uzi’s right shoulder, until Roey Uziel leaned forward, moved his queen, and said, “Checkmate.”
Roey, wearing a full facial grin, sat back and caught sight of Uzi. His smile faded instantly, his lips parting in surprise.
The other man—presumably Sal—turned and saw the three of them standing there. It was clear to Vail that Sal did not know who they were, but identified them as law enforcement. “Everything okay?” he said to Roey.
“Yeah. This is my—it’s nothing, it’s all good. But would you mind if I left you to pack everything up?”
Roey walked toward his son, who just stood there, voiceless and stiff.
“Mr. Uziel, I’m Karen Vail and this is Hector DeSantos. We’re friends of Aaron’s.”
He sidestepped Uzi and shook their hands. “Has my son lost his tongue? You know, I haven’t heard from him in seven years. A lot can happen to a person. And I’d never know.”
Vail wanted to nudge Uzi, shove him, stick him with a stun gun—something to get him talking.
Roey turned to face Uzi. “Have you lost your ability to speak?”
“We’re here on business.”
“I can see that,” Roey said. “I’m a pretty perceptive guy.”
“We’ve got some questions.”
Jesus, Uzi. You’re making this painful for all of us.
“So do I,” Roey said, his gaze steady, fixed on Uzi’s.
“Yeah, well, I don’t have to answer yours. But federal law says you have to answer mine.”
“All right,” Vail said. “Enough. Father and son, I realize you’ve had a disagreement over something. That’s your business. But for now, we need to put aside whatever problem you have with each other and get to why we’re here.”
“We need your help,” DeSantos said.
Roey’s eyes narrowed. “You FBI?”
“Department of Defense. Karen’s FBI.”
Roey nodded slowly. “Why don’t we head back to my place. I assume this is something that requires some discretion.”
Perceptive guy indeed. “That’d be a good idea.”
“Aaron, that sit well with you?”
Uzi licked his lips. “Yeah.”
As they walked out of the park and toward the arch, Roey said, “You been okay? Healthy?”
Uzi nodded.
“How’s your head? Mental stuff, I mean.”
“Better.” Uzi glanced at Vail. “I’m doing okay.”
“I heard you were with the FBI.”
“He runs the Bureau’s DC Joint Terrorism Task Force,” Vail said.
“Where’d you hear I was with the FBI?” Uzi asked.
Roey continued walking a few steps before answering. “I googled you. There was an article two or three years ago about you working the case of the vice president’s helicopter—Marine Two. The crash. That was your case, no?”
“Me and about three hundred others.”
“Yes, it was his case,” Vail said.
Uzi gave her a look.
They reached the apartment building and climbed the stairs.
“So, how well do you know Helen?” Uzi asked.
Roey paused before he passed through the door. Without turning around, he said, “We’re dating.”
“Serious?”
“Yeah. Kind of.”
“Hey, Boychick. She could end up being your stepmother. Not bad.”
Vail elbowed DeSantos.
Roey entered his apartment and tossed his keys on the bureau to his right. The place was well kept. Ahead on a large wall in the living room there were two dozen frames: photos that showed a younger Uzi, a woman that was undoubtedly his mother and one who looked to be a sister—slightly junior to Uzi—and a dark haired, handsome Roey, from years past. Vail saw the resemblance: square jaw, olive complexion, penetrating eyes.
Vail’s gaze settled on an 11x14 photo of Uzi and his wife and daughter. They were laughing, seated at a picnic table. She pulled her eyes away from it and noticed that Uzi was fixated on the same picture.
DeSantos saw it too, because he nudged Uzi and said, “We’ve got some things to square away.”
Uzi faced them, his eyes glazed with tears, and nodded. “Dad, we’re working a sensitive case that we’re told relates to something you know about.”
“Coffee?” He asked as he stepped into the adjacent kitchen.
They all accepted.
Roey reached into the cabinet and pulled out a coffee maker. “Who told you I know something?”
Uzi scratched his head. “Well, this may sound strange, but the FBI director.” He exchanged a look with Vail and DeSantos then faced his father and chuckled slightly. “Like I said.”
Roey stopped, a coffee scoop in his right hand, and considered this a moment. “Okay.”
Uzi cricked his neck. “What do you mean, ‘okay’? I just told you the FBI director doesn’t just have knowledge about you, but he knows that you know something.”
“Yes,” Roey said with a nod. “I understand the conversation, Uzi.”
“Well I don’t understand. Why would the FBI director know anything at all about you?”
Roey dug into the Starbucks Arabica bag. The rich aroma of freshly ground coffee filled the room. “That’s a story with a longer explanation. And I believe one of you said your case was time sensitive.”
“Actually,” Vail said, “we didn’t.”
“But it’s true, isn’t it. Hmm?”
“Yes.”
Roey dumped the heaping scoops into the machine. “I make it strong. Is that okay?”
“Dad,” Uzi said a bit too firmly, “we don’t care about the coffee. Get to the point.”
“They used to say coffee was bad for you. But turns out, it’s actually good for you.”
“Dad—”
“My point, Aaron, is that things aren’t always what they seem.”
DeSantos stepped closer to the kitchen. “Care to explain that, Mr. Uziel?”
“Call me Roey. And I think it speaks for itself. Doing what you do, Hector, I don’t need to explain that to you, now, do I?”
Something tells me we’re going to find out, anyway.
Uzi’s eyes were narrowed, studying his father. “Dad, what’s going on here?”
Roey lifted his chin and whistled. A compact, powerfully built seal-and-white Boston Terrier ran into the room. “Good boy, Benny. Sit.” The dog sat.
“When did you get a dog?”
“Tell me something, Uzi. Did I ever do anything wrong to you? To hurt you?”
Uzi looked at Roey out of the corner of his eyes. “No. Why?”
Roey stopped, his finger paused over the coffeemaker’s start button. “I want to know why you stopped talking to me. Why you wouldn’t take my calls, why you made believe you weren’t home when I stopped by to see you.”
“That’s not why I’m here.”
<
br /> “You want your answers, I want mine. I don’t see you for seven years, then suddenly you show up. I want to know if I’m responsible.”
Uzi looked away, looked for the nearest dining room chair, and sat down. The others followed suit.
Benny grabbed a tennis ball and leaped into Uzi’s lap. He began absentmindedly stroking the dog’s smooth hair. “It was all me. After Dena and Maya … were killed, I felt responsible. It … it was complicated. I stopped, well, pretty much everything. I stopped living. My heart was beating but my world ended. I didn’t want to talk to anyone.”
“That was a mistake. And I would’ve told you that if you’d let me. But you didn’t let me.”
“I was embarrassed. I—when I was finally able to deal with their deaths, when I began putting my life back together and started my job at the FBI, I dove in and gave it everything I had. It became my entire life, prevented me from thinking about it. Because when I did …” He waved a hand. “I felt bad that I’d cut you off. I didn’t stop to think that you were in pain too. I’m sorry. In retrospect I handled it very badly, I know that. But at the time, it was all I could do to get through the days.”
Roey leaned back against the countertop. “I accept your apology. And you’re right, I was in pain too. I loved that little girl. And Dena, she was like my own daughter. The hole it created, I know it’s nothing like what you went through, but …” He frowned. “That’s when I got Benny. To fill the void.”
The coffeemaker gurgled and java started to flow into the glass pot.
“Anyway, I realize the reason you’re here wasn’t for us to get right, but I’m glad you’re here, whatever it is that brought us back together.” He removed four mugs from the cupboard. “Actually I think I know why the director sent you. It involves a rare archaeological find?”
DeSantos and Uzi looked at each other.
Knox wouldn’t have sent us here to discuss the codex. Is there another rare archaeological find involved in this?
Roey removed a sugar bowl from a cabinet. “I’ve only got xylitol, if that’s okay. It’s all natural—made from tree bark. No artificial chemicals. Tastes as good as cane sugar. Good for the teeth. Will that work for you?”
“Dad,” Uzi said, impatience permeating his tone.
The Lost Codex (OPSIG Team Black Series Book 3) Page 19