Josh walks over to the nurse’s station and starts going through the motions to discharge himself. I take out my phone and call Agent Wallis. I figure Chambers could do with a break.
“Wallis? It’s me,” I say as he answers.
“What have you got for me?” he asks.
“We just stopped someone from trying to kill Manhattan,” I explain. “Pellaggio sent them to finish him off.”
“Oh, shit! Really? What happened?”
“The guy’s out cold on the floor. Manhattan’s fine. We had a nice little talk.”
“And?”
“Bottom line is, we don’t know what Pellaggio’s next move is. Manhattan has no idea.”
“And you believe him?”
“I do. What I do have is a name—Gregovski. Mean anything to you?”
“No. Should it?”
“Dunno. He’s a Russian who hates Russia, apparently, and he’s going to be the poster boy for Pellaggio’s big finale. Their idea is to frame Russia for whatever it is they intend doing in the hope it causes an international incident.”
“Why? What’s Pellaggio got against Russia?”
“He blames them for the death of his entire family.”
“I thought that was your fault?”
“Me too. I did kinda do all the hard work… But he blames the circumstances surrounding my motivation on the Russians, so...”
“Christ... Okay, I’ll run the name Gregovski, see what comes back. Good work, Adrian.”
“There’s one more thing,” I say. “About Pellaggio.”
“What?”
“The guy’s insane.”
“I could’ve told you that,” he says with a little laugh.
“No, I mean, genuinely, medically, certifiably fucking nuts.”
“Oh, I see. That’s… not good.”
“No, it’s really not. It’s all been a nightmare so far, but knowing he’s mentally unstable and the worst is yet to come, I think we need get some contingencies in place.”
“I’ll pull his medical records from last year, see if there’s anything in there.”
“Good idea. Me and Josh are on our way to you now, so I’ll see you soon.”
“Okay,” he says before hanging up.
I pocket the phone as Josh walks over.
“I’m free to go,” he announces.
“They okay with that?” I ask.
“Not really, but they can’t stop me.”
“Very true. You sure you’re alright? It’s okay if you need to rest up, y’know.”
“I’m fine,” he says, waving his hand dismissively. “You tell them about Agent Green?”
“No, I’m going to save that little revelation for when we get there,” I say.
09:25
We left the hospital and, realizing we had no transportation, set off on the forty-five minute walk over to the FBI Field Office. I offered to call a cab, but Josh said he’d prefer the walk and the fresh air, after being in hospital for the last couple of days. He was moving comfortably enough, considering.
We spent the first twenty minutes or so catching up some more, throwing theories around and generally trying to get back into our rhythm, so we’re ready for battle. Whatever’s coming from Pellaggio, we all know it will likely be pretty big, and we need to be ready for anything.
We passed a McDonalds, and Josh said he could ‘eat a dead horse between two rusty bread vans’—which I assumed was some kind of British euphemism for him being hungry. We walked in and stood in line for ten minutes, and then ordered a breakfast bagel and a coffee each. We picked some seats across from the side entrance and sat down.
We’re sitting opposite each other on a table for four, not far from the counter. It’s pretty busy—as McDonalds typically is, regardless of the time of day. A mixture of singles, couples, families and groups, all chatting and laughing and eating like there’s nothing wrong with the world. Ignorance really is bliss—I wouldn’t wish my current list of stresses on anyone.
In front of us is a pillar with a trashcan and shelf for empty trays built into it. Over on the right hand wall is a mounted plasma TV, with the news on. I look over at it and notice that whatever news channel’s on is reporting from outside the warehouse on Pier 17 that I got blown out of yesterday. I walk over and turn up the volume, standing and watching intently, despite some protests from people sitting nearby. Josh appears next to me. The female news reporter is mid-broadcast:
“...and while officials are keeping any details to themselves at the moment, early reports from both police and FBI agents on the scene lead us to believe this could’ve been a terrorist attack. There’s also speculation this could be related to the recent attacks around the city, but so far there has been no evidence released to support that.
“We have some video surveillance footage of the blast, being shown now for the first time, exclusively on WKRN, which seems to show three people being caught in the explosion. We’d like to advise viewers that they may find this footage disturbing...”
The screen shows a very poor quality, black and white video feed of me, Chambers and Wallis being blown into the Bay in slow motion.
“Is that you?” whispers Josh.
“Sadly, yes,” I reply.
“Jesus!”
“See what happens when you’re not around?”
“Adrian, that happens when I am around. You're a magnet for random explosions.”
“Yeah... lucky me.”
The news reporter comes back on the screen.
“The police are urging anyone with information about these people to come forward.”
I go to turn and walk back to my seat, but Josh grabs my arm to stop me, pointing to the screen again.
“Wait a sec,” he says.
The reporter continues:
“In other news, preparations are under way for the parade and celebrations later today on board the S.S. Jeremiah O’Brien, which you can see docked just behind me, further along the Bay. It’s the seventieth D-Day anniversary, and a large turnout is expected, with both serving and veteran military and naval personnel being commemorated. The service will begin at around eight o’ clock this evening, and will finish with an address by the U.S. Secretary of Defense, Ryan Schultz, followed by a fireworks display. Security will obviously be high in light of recent events, but it’s expected to go ahead as planned. For WKRN, I’m Shelley Prince.”
“Say, Adrian,” says Josh. “Doesn’t that look like something a terrorist might consider a worthwhile target?”
“It really, really does, Josh,” I reply.
We look at each other, both seeing the other’s mind racing, trying to think of and assess every conceivable outcome of a theoretical attack against that ship. No scenario ends well.
Shit!
How did the biggest naval event the city had seen in years not cross people’s minds as something Pellaggio might be interested in?
Shit! Shit! Shit!
“I think we have a very big problem,” I say.
“I think you’re right,” he agrees.
“C’mon, we’ve got to let people know.”
We rush out of the doors, not bothering to go back to our table.
09:51
This time, we did hail a cab. We pull up outside the Field Office, clamber out of the taxi, and sprint through the main doors. We ride the elevator up to the eleventh floor. The doors ding, open, and we head toward the conference room where we’ve spent much of our time. I figure people will be there or thereabouts.
We rush into the open office space, and everyone stops and turns to stare at us.
“Where’s Agent Chambers?” I ask the room, unfazed by the attention.
“She’s in a meeting,” says a female agent on the left who’s standing next to a computer terminal.
“Okay… Agent Wallis?”
“He’s with her,” she says.
“Shit. Where?” They look a little unsure about telling me. “Goddammit, where?” I shout.
“They’re in a meeting across the hall with the ASAC.”
“Thank you,” I say, running out with Josh behind me.
“Hey!” I hear them shout after us. “You can’t just...”
I ignore them. I’m not going to hang around so someone can tell me I can’t do something, when they can’t stop me from doing it.
We head back down the corridor and turn left into the larger office area. It’s bustling with the noise of activity and we move unhindered through the maze of desks toward the far end. There’s a large room with a window that runs floor to ceiling. The blinds are down but open, and I see both Chambers and Wallis sitting side by side looking unhappy. I can’t see who they’re talking to.
“C’mon,” I say to Josh.
“Adrian, maybe we should wait ‘til they’re done?” he suggests.
“Why? Pellaggio fucking won’t!”
He sighs. “Fair point…”
“Wait here if you’re going to be such a woman about it,” I shrug.
I walk over to the office and open the door without knocking. I walk in and they both turn to look at me; their faces both confused and a little embarrassed.
I quickly look around the office. It’s very nice—lots of dark wood everywhere. The desk in front of them, in particular, looks really expensive. Behind the desk is a very broad man, probably late forties. He has thick dark hair with flecks of gray above the ears. He’s leaning back in a big leather chair, his elbows resting on the arms and his fingers bridged together in front of his face, like he’s deliberating over something. He looks up at me, but doesn’t look shocked or confused—and certainly not embarrassed. He doesn’t make a gesture to stand up and he doesn’t look questioningly at either Chambers or Wallis. He simply regards me, silently.
“We have a big problem,” I announce.
“Adrian!” hisses Chambers. “Now really isn’t the time!”
“It’s alright, Agent Chambers,” interjects the man behind the desk. “It’s obviously something Adrian Hell deems to be of great importance, so let’s hear him out.”
His voice is deep and powerful. I imagine he’s used to commanding respect from people. But I pick up on something in his tone that I don’t like. I turn to Josh, who’s standing behind me just outside the room.
“Josh, was he just being sarcastic? I’m not sure,” I ask.
“A little bit, yeah,” he says, stepping inside and waving awkwardly at everyone.
“Okay, I don’t know you, therefore I don’t trust you,” I say to the man behind the desk. I make a point of turning my back on him to face the others.
“Adrian, he’s my boss,” says Chambers, quietly and more embarrassed.
“So? He’s not my boss. Listen, guys, I think I know what Pellaggio is planning.”
“What?” asks Wallis, speaking for the first time since I’d walked in.
I look at them both in turn. “I think he’s going to launch an attack on the S.S. Jeremiah O’ Brien tonight.”
21.
09:58
I’VE NEVER HEARD so many people say ‘Shit!’ in such a short space of time.
Pellaggio’s target is glaringly obvious. The U.S. Secretary of Defense, along with a who’s who of military and naval personnel, are going to be in the same place at the same time—aboard a ship, celebrating seventy years since we kicked ass against half the world. And because everyone was so concerned with me being the main target, no one’s thought outside the box and considered the bigger picture.
Chambers and Wallis exchange worried and frustrated glances.
“Shit!” they say in unison again.
They look at their boss, silently asking permission to leave. He thinks for a moment into his bridged fingers, then nods. They both stand but I hold my hand up to stop them.
“There’s one more thing…” I say.
Josh steps inside and closes the door behind him.
“Grace, do you trust your boss?” I ask.
She frowns and looks over at him. “Yes,” she says. “Absolutely.”
I trust her judgment and I look over at Josh, who nods his agreement.
“Okay,” I say, looking at everyone in the room in turn. “Before we left Manhattan, I asked him how Pellaggio managed to stay one step ahead of us this whole time. He said Agent Green is working for him.”
Everyone looks at each other with a mixture of disbelief and anger. I think the thought had crossed everyone’s minds about an inside man, but that doesn’t make it any easier to accept when it’s proven.
“Do you believe him?” asks the ASAC. The nameplate at the front of his desk says Assistant Special Agent-in-Charge Webber.
“Yes, I do,” I say to him.
Webber looks at Chambers questioningly.
“How do you want us to handle this, sir?” she asks him.
“Get his ass in here,” he replies. “Now.”
“Can I suggest something?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “No,” he says, matter-of-factly. “This is an FBI matter, and we’ll handle it. Your contributions to our investigation have proven very useful, and your methods of obtaining information for us have proven effective—if not questionable at times. But we’re capable of handling our own problems.”
“Of course you are…” I say. “So why have I been working my ass off to help you all week?”
“Make no mistake, Adrian. I signed off on your involvement on Senior Special Agent Chambers’ recommendation, but don’t think for one second I approve of it.”
“Well, luckily for me, I’m not an FBI agent, and I could give two shits about your approval. You asked for my help, and I gave it. And people around here seem grateful for it. Now, I’ve got to go and stop a terrorist from killing the Secretary of Defense, but before I do, I’d like to suggest a way of dealing with your… rat problem. End of the day, he’s putting my life in danger as well.”
We regard each other silently for a moment. I can feel the tension in the room and everyone else—even Josh—seems awkward and on edge.
“I’ve read your file,” he says, casually changing the subject. “You and I have a lot in common, you know?”
“I very much doubt that…”
“We both served—I did two tours during Desert Storm before hanging up my boots and joining the FBI.”
“I joined up just as Desert Shield was starting,” I say. “I missed out on the conflict that made the headlines, but made up for it by fighting in countless wars that no one will ever know about.”
“Ah, yes—you’re referring to the large gap in your career history, I assume? What was it? Black ops? I bet those mission files are interesting to read...”
I laugh. “What files?” I say, with a knowing smile.
I hear Josh chuckle quietly behind me. Webber’s face darkens momentarily, but he glances at Chambers and eventually lightens up a bit.
“Agent Wallis, go and get Agent Green. Agent Chambers, round everybody up outside and de-brief them. If Adrian’s theory about Pellaggio’s target is correct, we need to move quickly.”
They both leave the room, leaving Josh and me alone with Webber.
“You think my theory might be wrong?” I ask.
Webber shrugs. “I’m not saying it doesn’t make sense, I just don’t want to run with something if there’s any doubt about it.”
“That’s fair enough. Mind if I stay in while you speak to Agent Green?”
“Depends on whether or not you’re going to behave yourself…”
“Well, that depends on the extent of his betrayal…”
Webber nods slowly but says nothing. There’s a knock on the door and Wallis enters, followed by Agent Green.
He eyes me wearily as Wallis shuts the door behind them and stands guarding it. I walk past him and stand with Josh at the back of the room, looking on intently.
“Take a seat, Agent Green,” says Webber, gesturing to one of the chairs in front of him.
He sits casually.
/> If he’s guilty, he’s good at hiding it, I’ll give him that.
“What’s up, sir?” he asks.
“Agent Green, I’m going to be frank. We have evidence that suggests you’ve been leaking critical information about this investigation to Daniel Pellaggio and Jimmy Manhattan. Would you care to comment on this?”
Green shakes his head wildly, looking shocked and appalled by the accusation. “Sir, that’s ridiculous!” he says, momentarily glancing back at me. “Who told you that? Him? Sir, he’s held a grudge against me ever since I arrested him the other day. He assaulted me and I went along with the FBI’s decision to overlook that. But I’m not going to sit here and be accused by this—”
Webber holds his hand up to silence him. “Agent Green, will you calm down. To clarify, are you denying these accusations?”
“Of course I am!”
“What if I was to say to you that it wasn’t Adrian who brought this to our attention?”
Green looks over his shoulder at me again and frowns before turning back to Webber. “So, who was it?” he asks.
Webber glances at me and I shrug and nod. I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t normally divulge this kind of information in this kind of situation, but we’re running out of time.
“Jimmy Manhattan,” he replies. “He named you specifically.”
From behind, I watch Green’s body language change. He slumps his shoulders slightly and shifts uncomfortably in his chair. Having just found out the guy topping up his pension fund has sold up the river by, Green’s realizing right now that he’s on his own and likely to both lose his job and face jail time.
If it was me, I know what I’d do…
I take a small step forward, anticipating his next move.
In a flash, Green stands, knocking the chair over as he reaches for his sidearm in a blind panic.
I wouldn’t panic, but that’s pretty much what I’d have done.
Before he can draw his gun, I stride toward him and kick the back of his left knee, making him buckle and lose his balance. He forgets his gun, opting to use his hands to steady himself, but I grab his left wrist in my left hand and push his left shoulder with my right, forcing him to the ground. I hold his arm at an awkward angle, putting pressure on his elbow and ensuring he stays where he is.
Hunter's Games Page 20