But unlike the 60th Precinct, which was tasked with patrolling the streets and walking the beat, the Bureau took advantage of this special opportunity by parking one of its state-of-the-art surveillance vans fifty feet from Kozlov’s house in an attempt to spook him. Initially, his high-powered attorney had tried to argue harassment - after all, Kozlov was a businessman to be ‘respected’, not a criminal to be ‘persecuted’ - but a federal judge dismissed the motion after the Bureau’s attorneys argued that they were watching the house, not the man. It was a technicality that stood on weak legal legs, but the judge agreed with the distinction.
That was why the van never moved.
And why Koontz was bored silly.
Sensing a chance for some privacy, he did everything he could to agitate his partner. ‘Seriously, what did I say that was so wrong?’
‘Everything!’ Callahan explained. ‘First of all, half of his men aren’t Russian. They’re Ukrainian. And Chechen. And Georgian. Furthermore, how can they be less Asian than the Triads when most of Russia is in Asia?’
‘Whatever.’
‘Don’t “whatever” me! I get enough of that from my kids and my ex-wives. I don’t need it from you, too.’
Koontz rolled his eyes, agitating his partner even more. ‘Fine, but you’re like a broken record. I know Kozlov’s men aren’t all Russians, but calling them “multi-ethnic motherfuckers” doesn’t have the same zing to it. Of course, you’re probably quite familiar with ethnic insults. You’re Irish.’
‘That’s it! The final straw!’ Callahan took off his headset, which had been wrapped around his neck, and threw open the back door. ‘I need some fresh air.’
Koontz smiled in victory. ‘Fresh air, my ass! It won’t be too fresh with a cigarette in your mouth!’
Callahan slammed the door in frustration. He knew damn well his partner was trying to piss him off, but it didn’t make it any easier to deal with.
If anything, it made it worse.
If Koontz needed a few minutes to himself, why didn’t he ask for it? Why did he have to resort to childish games to get what he wanted?
Irritated beyond belief, Callahan decided to take a walk.
He hoped a long stroll would calm his nerves.
Instead, it put his life in danger.
2
The intruder floated effortlessly above the buildings, indistinguishable from the nighttime sky. Tethered by a line that had been anchored more than three hundred feet away, the kite-like contraption hovered over its target. The offshore breezes kept the slack taut while the intruder completed her graceful descent to the rooftop below.
She landed without making a sound.
With the flick of her wrist, she unhooked the kite from her harness and then tossed the assembly into the air, as if she were freeing a giant bird. No longer burdened by her bodyweight, it immediately took flight. She watched as the line and the device shot out of sight. It had served its purpose well: delivering its cargo undetected.
Unfortunately, this was only her first obstacle.
There would be many more to come.
She would have preferred to land on top of Kozlov’s oceanside house, but the sharp peak of his roof had prevented it. Instead, she was forced to make do with the flat roof of a neighboring property - a three-story townhouse that served as a bunkhouse for his guards and his newest recruits. On a mission like this, the guardhouse was less than ideal, but what choice did she have? Had she approached the house on foot, she would have been spotted by Kozlov’s men and by the Feds in the surveillance van.
She couldn’t risk either.
For her to escape, she needed to avoid both.
Thanks to the crescent moon above, she was virtually invisible as she scampered across the guards’ roof. Her matte-black bodysuit absorbed light, leaving no trace of reflection. To complete her outfit, she wore black shoes, black gloves, and a blank mask. Not just black, it was actually blank. No eyes, no nose, and no mouth. Not even ears. They were all tucked behind an elastic, cutting-edge hood that allowed her to breathe, hear, and see, but prevented her features from being detected.
The effect was beyond creepy.
Slowing to a stop near the edge of the roof, she studied the structure that she intended to breach. Styled like a Colonial home, its walls were made of the highest quality bricks, which had been expertly laid in both curved and straight swaths. She noticed the limestone accents and the two-tone stucco before she rested her gaze on the rear balcony. The place was handsome, but not ostentatious. It was cleverly designed to seem commonplace, but full of elegant architectural touches for anyone in the know.
And she was definitely in the know.