twenty-four

In addition to shopping for a more detailed map to give them a closer picture of the three states, Vaslik raised the question of food. They couldn’t go on burning reserves all day without eating something solid and hope to remain effective.

“A burger,” said Ruth, her stomach reacting to the idea with approval. “I’d love a good burger.”

“You got a red meat craving going on?” Vaslik grinned as they went down in the elevator. “Must be the hunting instinct kicking in.”

“A bit. Isn’t New York supposed to be the home of great burgers?”

“Actually, I think California has the edge. But that’s only my opinion and don’t repeat it outside this box or you’ll get me lynched.” He screwed his face up in thought. “Right. I know just the place. We’ll get the map first, then eat.”

He led her to Penn Station, where they found detailed maps of Nebraska, Oklahoma, and Kansas, then through a maze of side streets until he stopped outside the front of a plain-looking restaurant.

“It’s not a burger bar,” Ruth pointed out.

“You’re right, it’s not. Which is why it’s the best-kept burger secret in the city.”

Inside, they joined a short queue at a counter in the rear and Ruth left the ordering to Vaslik.

“Trust me,” he said, “you won’t regret it and you’ll never forget it.”

“Well, I never had a man say that to me before,” she murmured.

It turned out the burger was every bit as good as Vaslik had promised, and Ruth felt a whole lot better.

“Okay,” she said, wiping a speck of juice off her cheek, “back to basics. I have a slight concern now that Brasher’s gotten himself involved—”

Vaslik looked at her and raised a hand. “Did you just say gotten?”

“Yes, I did, and may God and my old English teacher, Mrs. Stubbs, forgive me. I’ve been infected. Anyway, Brasher’s involved and I appreciate what he’s doing—running down the fingerprints on the knife and hard hat, chasing up the drones and the despatcher, and trying to ID the men we’ve picked up pictures of so far.”

“Yes. So?”

“Well, what about our job? We still have a responsibility to track down James Chadwick. I don’t want us to lose sight of that in the FBI’s big-picture view.”

He nodded. “I agree. But having Brasher on our side is a big step forward. All that stuff you just mentioned, we couldn’t check it out because we don’t have the resources. But Brasher’s got the muscle to get things done and that gives us the freedom to concentrate on searching for Chadwick. And Brasher knows this looks like more than just a kidnap or a guy who’s simply ducked out of sight for a while after the pressure of work or a busted marriage. And he’s already thrown up a name with extremist connections and the missing shipment of drones, which my blood tells me is connected. I don’t know how yet, but it’s a feeling.”

Ruth stared at him so hard he reached up and touched his face. “Have I got grease on my chin?”

“No. What did you just say?”

“A lot. I was blabbing. Which part?”

“Something about Brasher having muscle and what it gives us.”

“I don’t know … oh, yes—the freedom to search for Chadwick. What about it?”

She dropped the napkin she was holding and jumped to her feet. “Come on—we need to get back and check the maps.” She suddenly felt a surge like electricity going through her, but it would need a careful study back in the office to make sense of it.

“Hey, come on,” Vaslik said, following her out into the street. “Tell me what I said. If I had a moment of brilliance, at least allow me to enjoy it.”

“You said ‘Freedom,’” she told him, walking at a rapid pace back towards the office.

“So what? It happens to be one of the core principles of our constitution.”

“Not that kind of freedom. Freedom with a capital F. Chadwick had written that word in the margin of the map and underlined it. I think it’s a place, not a concept.”

By the time they arrived back at the office, Vaslik was punching the keys of his cell phone. As the elevator slowed to a stop on the sixth floor he said, “Do you know how many places called Freedom are in the continental US?”

“No idea. Hit me.”

“Fifteen. Can you believe that?”

“Of course. It’s a reflection of what early settlers felt on reaching the New World, with the promise of religious, political, and social freedom. They were big issues back then. And then there was Hollywood, of course, but that came much later.”

“Funny,” he muttered dryly. “So how come you’re an expert on American history?”

“I hate to point it out,” she reminded him with a deliberately condescending smile, “but it was our history before it was yours.”

They were in the office poring over the maps when Reiks stuck his head round the door. “It’s Brasher—and I think you’ll want to hear this.” He nodded at the phone. “Press the conference button.”

Vaslik did so and said, “We’re listening, Tom.”

“Hi. We have information on two issues,” said the FBI man. He sounded tense. “The first is about Borz Dortyev, the FedEx despatcher in Memphis. His name came up when we fed it into the database search engines. We already knew from FedEx company employee records that he used to live in Queens, but now we have a docket on him. And guess who he’s a known associate of ?”

“No idea,” said Ruth. That wasn’t strictly true because she knew there could only be a couple of possibilities. She could see by the expressions of Vaslik and Reiks that they had the same idea, but didn’t want to puncture Brasher’s balloon.

“One Bilal Ammar,” Brasher announced. “The bodybuilder type. They attended the same mosque at the same times and Dortyev was picked up and processed on the same day as Ammar but at a different location where an anti-jihadist protest was being prepared. That’s enough to make us think they were acting together with others in a group.”

“Nothing on the mystery man named Paul?” Ruth knew he must be the key to this; the other men might lead to him, but if it followed the examples of most previous cases of extremist group structures, they would most likely prove to be minor players compared to him.

“We’re still crunching the data on that.”

“Okay. What’s the other thing?”

“I’m not sure if this is as helpful, but we picked up some details about the company that manufactured the stolen drones. They’re called EuroVol and based in Toulouse, which is an aviation and technology center in southwestern France. Their CEO and technical whizz is named Patric Paget, and he’s in New York right now. I think you should talk to him.”

“What’s he doing here?” asked Vaslik.

“Trying to save the business. It’s a small but go-ahead company and the failed delivery could cost them dear. They’re working round the clock to deliver a replacement batch and he came over to keep the customers happy. If he stays in business and the client’s prepared to wait, this could take his company up to the next level.”

“I agree we should talk,” Ruth put in. “When and where?” She doubted Paget would be able to help much with finding the missing drones, but if he was the top technical man, he might shed some light on why his machines had been the focus of a heist. There were plenty of manufacturers here in the US, so why steal from a French company?

“I’ve asked him to come by our office in Federal Plaza in forty minutes. He’s on his way to the airport back to France, so he doesn’t have much time. If you can make it down here, I’ll buzz you in.”

She looked at Vaslik, who nodded. The maps would have to wait. “We’re on our way.”