Going Dark(99)
“Reverse it, McIvey. Get out of here.”
Nicole slipped the shifter into park, drew out the ignition keys, and dropped them at her feet.
“Oh,” Sheffield said. “That’s how it is.”
“Run, Frank? Really?”
“Hey, what do we do, Shef?” Dinkins speaking for the others.
A slender woman with short hair, holding a revolver at her side, stepped into the headlights. A giant muscled-up guy moved beside her, held his hand up to block the brights, another guy hanging a few steps back.
“So how’s this supposed to go down, McIvey? You save the day, win a Medal of Honor? Because, boy oh boy, I’d pay good money to see that.”
Another man with a ponytail, lean and athletic, loped into the shadows to their right.
“Pauly Chee,” Frank said. “Our bomber.”
“We being carjacked?” Dinkins said.
“Worse,” said Frank.
“Bad night to be unarmed,” Dinkins said.
Chee was at his window, tapping on the glass with his Glock, motioning him to crank open the window.
“Or I’ll smash it,” Pauly yelled.
“These the ones from Prince Key?” Dinkins again.
Sheffield told him, yeah, it was them, the fucking peaceniks.
Looking out his window at Pauly Chee, Frank said to Nicole, “I’m curious. The boathouse, that first night. Was it real? Or just to set this up?”
“It felt real, didn’t it, Frank? Isn’t that what matters?”
McIvey pressed the electronic lock release on her door panel.
“All this just to get past Portia? That’s nuts. You know that, right? How crazy you are.”
“Fuck you, Frank.”
“We tried that. Didn’t work out so well.”
Frank’s door swung open.
“Which one of you is Sheffield?”
Frank waved a hand.
Chee grabbed his shoulder and dragged him out onto the dark road.
Then Pauly stuck his head back inside the SUV and said, “The rest of you stay put or this shitheel dies.”
* * *
Leslie kept ordering Pauly to stop. No, no, no. But he ignored her. Taking charge.
Thorn watched as Pauly dragged an agent from the passenger side of the big SUV and shoved him into the glare of the headlights.
And good Christ, it was Sheffield. The feds had sent the first team.
Twice in recent years Thorn had observed Frank in action, seen up close what he was capable of. A smart, savvy guy, grace under devastating pressure. Not the man you wanted on the other side of the ball.
“Cuff him.” Pauly left him with Prince and returned to the big SUV.
“Now one by one,” he called out. “Step out of the car. Driver next.”
Cameron wrestled Frank’s wrists behind him and clipped the flex cuffs on. When he was done, Sheffield took a couple of steps toward Leslie and Prince grabbed his arm and yanked him to a halt.
“This is a serious error, Levine,” Frank said. “Yeah, yeah, I know who you are and I know what you did. Faked your death so Mom would have a story to tell your little girl, Julie, when she asks about you someday.”
Thorn saw her stiffen, the pistol rising, aiming at Frank.
“Am I right?”
“My daughter has no part in this.”
“Of course not, but I bet dear old mom has a clue what you’re up to, which is what we call conspiracy. It’s enough to ship Julie off to foster care. That what you want?”
“My mother knows nothing.”
“We’ll sort that out later,” Frank said. “Meanwhile, best thing you can do right now, put away the guns and we sit down, figure how to handle the next part. So far, I don’t see any major crimes committed. Nothing a good lawyer couldn’t help you out of.”
Pauly had come back to Sheffield’s side. “Stop talking. All of you.”
“And you, you’re Pauly Chee, went AWOL from your SEAL unit three years ago. Ripped off a stockpile of high explosives when you deserted.”
Pauly stared into Frank’s eyes for a long moment, then raised his pistol and slashed it across Frank’s face, drove him to his knees.
Thorn lunged past Leslie and shoved Pauly away. “Back off. No reason for this.”
Thorn stood with his arms spread, shielding Sheffield. Chee just smiled. The first one Thorn had seen on Pauly’s lips. The tolerant grin of a grown man challenged by a child.
Sheffield’s men threw open the rear doors and gathered at the front of the SUV, readying for a charge. Pauly turned to face them, his pistol rising.
“They’re unarmed,” Frank said. “Don’t shoot.”
The driver’s-side door came open and a woman, dressed like the others, stepped out and moved away from the car into the shadows beyond the dazzle of headlights. Only her white reflective armband showed her location.