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Coleman gu
Rapp couldn't get the bad images out of his mind. He could tolerate astronomical amounts of pain. He'd been shot and stabbed, he'd broken a dozen bones and pushed his body to the point where the only thing that kept him going was the will to live, but this was different. He was close to crying. The idea of someone hurting A
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Rapp had regained his composure by the time they reached Dumond's. Ke
This was not what Rapp wanted to hear, and he could barely contain his anger. Dumond, however, had an idea that he thought might help. «When was the last time you tried this guy?»
«Around nine this evening.»
«And he hasn't answered since the first time you talked?»
«Yep.»
«Well, he's going to have to, isn't he?»
«Why?»
«If he's the one who took A
«Yeah, you're right, but I don't see where you're going with this.»
«Well, he has no way of getting a hold of you. You never left him a number.»
«And?»
«He's waiting for you to call him.»
Rapp was a little irritated with Dumond for stating the obvious. «That's what I'm pla
Dumond held up a finger. «I have a plan. I have a Smart Van on the way over. Irene authorized it.» Dumond was referring to a fourth-generation mobile digital surveillance unit that was made by Audio Intelligence Devices, a division of Westinghouse. The CIA's Science and Technology directorate customized the vehicles upon delivery.
«Marcus, you know how I hate all of this technical shit, so just give it to me in a language I can understand.»
Dumond started and stopped himself twice as he tried «I to state in the simplest terms what he wanted to do. Finally, he said, «If we have the van in the right position prior to the call, and you keep him on the phone long enough, I think I can track him.»
«You're sure?»
«No, I'm not sure, but if we get lucky and are in the right neighborhood when he takes the call, I can at the very least get us to within a few blocks,» Dumond cautioned, «That's assuming he's stationary.»
«How long until we can make the call?»
«The van should be here within five minutes.» Dumond pointed to a map on the kitchen counter, As he walked over to it, he said, «We really don't have any hits on his cell phone at this time of the day, so I can't guarantee we'll be in the right area when he takes the call.»
«What are you talking about, Marcus?» Rapp's voice was tinged with irritation.
«I pulled up his cell tower usage for the last three months and plotted it on the map. These bright yellow pieces of paper mark the top ten towers he has most frequently used.» Dumond grabbed a piece of paper lying on the map. «This lists the calls, what time of the day they were made, for how long, and what tower they were routed through.»
«Get to the point, Marcus.»
«The point is, I don't have him making too many calls after eleven in the evening, so it's going to be hard to predict what area of town he'll be in.»
«Shit.»
«In the morning we'll have a better chance.»
Coleman placed his hand on Rapp's shoulder and nodded toward Dumond's bedroom, Rapp followed him into the room and closed the door.
«What's up?»
«Are you sure you're up for this?» asked Coleman.
«What kind of a question is that?»
«It's a damn good one.»
«Have you ever known me not to be up for something?»
«I've never seen you in love.»
«What in the hell does that have to do with this?» snapped Rapp.
«It has everything to do with this. They have A
«Don't worry about me, Scott.»
«I am going to worry about you. You're out there snapping at Marcus like he's your little brother.»
«He is like a little brother to me.»
Coleman took a step back. «This isn't good, man.»
«What isn't good?»
«I'm telling you, you're too emotional. I think you should turn this over to someone else.»
«Who? The fucking feds? Yeah… let's get the HRT in here. That would go over really well, right up to the point where A
«I'm not talking about the feds, Mitch. Just calm down for a second. You need to know when to let go. This thing is going to get worse before it gets better, and you can't let your emotions get in the way of making the right call.»
Rapp was going to argue but thought better of it. «If at any time you think I'm blowing this thing, you let me know; I respect your judgment, and I'll listen.» He paused for a second and added, «With one exception. Every last one of these motherfuckers is dead, and don't try to talk me out of it.»
THE CATERING VAN pulled up in front of Marcus Dumond's four-plex. It was white with a large black chef's hat on both sides and the back cargo doors. Above the hat was the name of a catering outfit, Kip's, and beneath it was a phone number. The catering outfit was legitimate, run by a former Agency employee and his wife. The Agency had arranged some very favorable financing for the couple, and in return they had a legitimate cover for some of their surveillance vans.
Dumond climbed into the back of the van with two laptops and a bag of equipment. Rapp and Coleman joined him in the van, and Kevin Hackett and Dan Stroble followed in Coleman's Explorer. Dumond told the driver to take them to Washington Circle and closed the door. Dumond went to work immediately, getting his laptops set up and bringing the rest of the equipment on-line. One side of the van contained three pizza racks stuffed with high-tech surveillance equipment. In the middle were two color active-matrix flat panel displays. The top one was touch-sensitive and used to control a vast array of technology, and the bottom one was for video feed. Dumond sat in a captain's chair that was bolted to the floor. There was a small space under the monitors for Dumond's legs. Rapp and Coleman watched him work from a bench seat in the back.
It took almost fifteen minutes for them to reach Washington Circle. There was a luggage rack on the roof of the van. It was never used. Instead, it housed a myriad of ante
Rapp and Coleman had been discussing how to handle the call. They both need that, to start with, it was best if Rapp acted as if he knew nothing about Rielly's disappearance.
Dumond had rigged the cell phone so both he and Coleman could listen in on the call. He was also recording the conversation on a DAT. Rapp punched in the number and counted the rings. When he hit four, his heart sank for fear that the call would once again go unanswered, but then, after the sixth ring, someone picked up. Rapp said, «Professor, how are you doing?»