“Monitor, this is Red Leader,” I said. “We’re parked. Can we get out of this box or not?”
“Negative. Everything is total gridlock. Hold on—you can skirt the accident if you’re on foot.”
Now we had no choice. “Red Team, this is Red Leader,” I said. “Abandon your vehicles and move out. Now. Monitor, I can’t track the targets when I’m on the run. Keep me posted.”
Kylie and I jumped out of the Ford and started running along the steel roadway. The SWAT team was right behind us in full tactical gear. A few drivers rolled down their windows, yelling at us to run faster and get the goddamn traffic moving. You’ve got to love New York. There’s always someone around to tell you how to do your job.
“Red Leader, targets just turned off Jackson onto Crane Street. It’s a dead end, so that may be where the hostage is.”
“How far is it from where we are?”
“One point three miles. Can you commandeer a vehicle once you get past the accident?”
“We’re coming up on it now,” I said. “It’s total chaos. No first responders, but this whole stretch of roadway is a construction zone, and you have hard hats with fire extinguishers assisting. I can hear fire engines approaching, but negative on commandeering a vehicle, Monitor. Even if there were a troop transport waiting here, traffic is stretched all the way out to Queens Boulevard. This is the fastest way. I’m guessing ten to twelve minutes before the whole team is in place on Crane Street.”
“Red Leader, I don’t know if you picked up their last transmission. They plan to kill the hostage and run. I don’t think you have ten minutes.”
“Then I have to buy us some time,” I said.
I stopped short. The elevated Queensboro Plaza subway station was overhead. I leaned against one of the graffiti-covered, steel-reinforced concrete pillars, pulled out my cell phone, and dialed.
Dave Casey answered on the first ring. “Zach. What’s up? Did you find her yet?”
“No,” I said, trying to keep my heavy breathing from giving me away. “But Calvin Vidmar, the doorman at Rachael’s apartment building, just confessed to murdering Kimi O’Keefe. We found corroborating proof at his apartment. I thought you and Bell should know it. Rachael O’Keefe is innocent.”
He didn’t say a word.
“Dave—did you hear me? Did you process what I said?”
“Yeah…I heard you. Heard you just fine. Thanks for calling.”
He hung up, and I broke into a run. Kylie and the SWAT team were already in front of me.
Chapter 79
“Did you hear the radio?” Gideon asked.
Dave shook his head, still trying to process his conversation with Zach Jordan. “No, I was on the phone. What’s going on?”
“That explosion—a ten fifty-three on the off-ramp of the bridge. A bus hit a truck and blew the gas tank.”
“Anybody hurt?”
“Dave, who gives a shit? The point is, the whole fucking bridge is shut down—we got here just in time. Let’s do what we have to do and get moving.”
Dave got out of the car, opened the garage door, and rolled the gate back in place as soon as the SUV was inside.
“Who called you just now?” Gideon said, stepping out of the car.
“Jordan.”
“And?”
“He said O’Keefe is innocent. He said the doorman from her building confessed to killing the kid.”
“Bullshit! He’s playing us.”
“What do you mean?”
“Put it together, man. Jordan, MacDonald, Cates—they’re all playing us. First they call us in about this bogus phone call that we know was impossible for O’Keefe to make. Then we drive to Queens, and they follow us. They followed us, Dave.”
Dave peered through one of the two grimy, wire-reinforced windows. “Then where are they?”
“They’re on the other side of the goddamn explosion. They can’t get here. That’s why Jordan called you with another bullshit story. This time she’s innocent? They’re trying to buy time. Let’s get our shit and get the hell out of here. You load the video equipment. I’ll get the stuff from the back room.”
“What about Rachael?”
“Same as before. She can identify us. We kill her. End of story, Dave.”
“What if she really is innocent?”
“Dave, they’re screwing with your head. She’s guilty. We know she’s guilty. You load the car. I’ll take care of Rachael. Then let’s get the hell out of here.”
“Let’s not,” a voice said.
They turned, and a giant of a man had stepped out from behind the false wall at the far end of the building. Dave knew a lot about guns, and he recognized the Smith & Wesson 5946 nine-millimeter pistol as soon as he spotted it. This one was fitted with an eight-inch Infiniti silencer on the business end.