NYPD Red(67)

“Spence, it’s Zach,” I said. “Don’t even turn around.”

He let out a long moan.

I stood behind him and stared at the front door. I had been right about the booby trap. Five feet to the right of the doorjamb, a block of C4 was molded to a table leg. There was a wire running from the doorknob to the charge.

Like a lot of cops, I had a few hours of basic post-9/11 bomb training under my belt. I didn’t know a lot, but I knew that if Kylie had opened the front door, it would have triggered the detonator, and the three of us would have been blown apart in an instant.

Spence couldn’t get out of the apartment until someone disarmed it. I sure as hell hoped I was that someone, because right now I was the only option he had left.





Chapter 76



MICKEY HAD BEEN right—rigging the explosives was not complicated. But it sure as hell wasn’t easy peasy. Sweat poured off The Chameleon’s face, and the white shirt under his waiter’s uniform was soaked through as he inserted the remote detonator into the C4 on the starboard side of the yacht.

“One down, two to go,” he said to the semiconscious seaman who was trussed, gagged, and secured to a six-inch-wide stainless-steel pipe. “According to my friend Mickey, all it takes is three perfectly placed charges, and you can sink this tub without a ripple. Let’s hope he was right, God rest his soul.”

The man pulled hard at his bonds, straining the veins on his neck and forehead.

“Don’t do that,” Gabriel said. “You’ll give yourself a stroke or some kind of a brain hemorrhage. Relax. Stick around for the fireworks.”

Connor stopped squirming.

“Good,” The Chameleon said. “You know, if you and I had met under different circumstances—I don’t know, like in a bar or something—I bet we’d have hit it off great. We’ve got a lot in common. You’re down here in the goddamn boiler room and all the stars are up on deck. That’s the kind of shit I have to put up with. I’m either a guy reading a newspaper in the back of a bus, or a businessman getting out of an elevator, or a dead soldier on a battlefield. Never the hero. Never the big star. You know what I’m talking about?”

The man’s only response was the tear that streamed silently over his duct-taped mouth and onto the floor.

“I know,” The Chameleon said. “It’s a crying shame the way they treat us. But that’s all going to change. Tomorrow morning’s newspaper, you and me—we’re going to be headliners.”





Chapter 77



SPENCE’S BREATHING WAS labored. One look at his bloodied face and I knew why. His mouth was taped shut, and his nose had been shattered. This time my little pocketknife was more than enough. I pried out the blade and cut through the layers of duct tape behind his head.

I had no time to be delicate. “This is going to hurt,” I said and yanked the tape off hard, taking hair and skin with it.

Spence hungrily sucked in a mouthful of air. “Bomb to the right of the front door,” he gasped.

“I see it,” I said, walking over to it. “Not very sophisticated.”

“Zach, Spence, what’s going on in there?” It was Kylie on the other side of the door.

“He’s okay,” I said, which was seriously stretching the truth. “Hang on. I’m trying to disarm the booby trap. In fact, I want you to stand in the stairwell…just in case.”

“I thought you said you knew what you were doing?” she said.

“I do,” I lied. “It’s just a precaution. Now, back off, dammit.”

“I’m going. Hurry up. We have less than eight minutes.”

Spence’s face was contorted with pain. I had no idea how he might help, but I was out of my element, and since I was about to do something that could kill us both, I figured two heads were better than one.

“Spence, can you focus?” I said. “I need you to track my thinking.”

“I’ll try.”

“Okay, the front door is the trigger. Opening it pulls the trip wire. Trip wire activates the blasting cap.”

“And then we’re dead. Makes sense.”

“Now logic would dictate that if I pinch the wire and cut the piece closest to the door…”

“You take the door out of the equation,” Spence said. “No trigger.”

I pinched the trip wire between my thumb and index finger.

“Do it,” he said.

I cut the wire. One half fell to the floor. I opened my fingers and let go of the other half.

“We’re still here,” he said.

I opened the door and yelled out for Kylie.

She ran down the hall, then stepped into the apartment cautiously, eyes glued to her husband.