The Kill Room

Pulaski asked, “How’d you beat the polygraph?”

“Oh, that’s tradecraft one oh one. See! That’s my point. This business isn’t about pushing buttons and playing computer games.” He sat back. “Oh, hell, just arrest me and have done with it.”

CHAPTER 87

“Sca

The whispering probably wasn’t necessary. The men were in a wooded area well out of earshot of anyone in Spencer Boston’s house.

“Roger that,” Jacob Swa

No transmissions, no signals. This was good news. If there had been other officers around to back up Boston’s arrest, the chatter would have shown up on Bartlett’s sca

“Any visuals?”

“No, they came alone. The woman detective – Sachs – and the uniform with her.”

Made sense, Swa

Swa

He now checked his Glock, which was mounted with a suppressor, and the extra mags, inverted, in his left cargo pants pocket. On his utility belt, of course, his Kai Shun chef’s knife. He pulled down his black Nomex tactical face mask.

Nearby a commercial tree service was chipping a tree they’d just taken down. The roar and grind were loud. Jacob Swa

“Position,” Bartlett said, and the same message was delivered a moment later by the other member of the team, a broad shouldered Asian American named Xu, whose only substantive comment since they’d rendezvoused had been to correct Jacob Swa

Xu.

“Like Shoe. ”

I’d change it, thought Swa

“Scan, interior,” Swa

A moment later: “Have three souls, all ground floor. Right of the front door, six to eight feet, sitting. Right of the front door, four to five feet, sitting. Left of the front door, four to five feet, standing.” Their electronic expert was sca

Swa

“Negative,” transmitted the Shoe. The houses on either side of Boston’s were out of range of the infrared but they were dark and the garage doors were closed. This was afternoon in suburbia. Children in school, moms and dads at work or shopping.

Another convenient roar of the chipper.

“Move in,” Swa

The others acknowledged.

Bartlett and Swa

Leaving his backpack in the bushes, Jacob Swa

Fifty feet from the house, then forty.

Sca

Thirty feet.

Looking around the lawn, the houses.

Nobody.

Good, good.

Twenty five feet.

He would–

And then the hurricane hit.

A massive downwash of breathtaking air slammed into him.

What, what, what ?

The NYPD chopper swept in fast, dropping, cantilevering to a stop over the front yard.

Swa

The wood chipper. Oh, hell. The police had ordered it – to obscure the sound of the helicopter.

Goddamn.

A setup. They knew all along we were coming.

CHAPTER 88

“Drop your weapons! Lie facedown. Or we will  fire.”

The voice was clattering from a speaker on the helicopter. Or maybe from somewhere on the ground. Hard to tell.

Loud. And no nonsense. The commander meant what he was saying.

Swa

The voice from on high: “You, on your feet. Drop your weapon and lie facedown! Do it now!”

A debate.

Swa

He tossed his gun to the ground and got down on his belly, smelling the piquant scent of grass. It reminded him of Chartreuse, the strident liquor that he used in one of his few desserts – peaches in Chartreuse jelly, part of the tenth, and last, course on Titanic ’s first class menu. As the helicopter lowered he gripped the key fob he’d been holding. He pressed the left button once and then the right for three seconds. And closed his eyes.

The explosive in the backpack, which he’d hidden nearby, detonated with more force than he’d expected. It was a diversionary charge only – for eventualities like this, to draw an enemy’s attention, get them to turn away momentarily. But this charge, right at the edge of the trees, exploded in a massive fireball, pitching the helicopter sideways a foot or two. The craft wasn’t damaged and the pilot controlled it immediately but it had bobbled enough that the gunmen lost their targets.

Jacob Swa

Inside, Swa

The explosion had surprised Boston, Sachs and the other cop and when the smoke grenade bounced into the room they’d scrabbled away for cover, apparently expecting not covering haze but another bang.

Hostages. That was all Swa

“Amelia,” came a voice from somewhere on the other side of the spewing grenade. The young cop’s. “Where is he?”

Swa

“Amelia!” came the voice from the distance once more.

As they grappled fiercely – she was stronger than she looked – she shouted, “Shut up, Ron! Don’t say anything more!”