“I had him,” Reagan said. “If the ship hadn’t wrecked—”
“Be silent.” Yousef’s voice was calm in that way which was somehow worse than if he’d shouted. “You let him get away. Details at this point do not matter.”
Reagan’s jaw muscles worked in frustration. Yousef could sense the anger ready to boil over. The young man had skills, but his attitude made him a liability. Payne had picked him. Yousef would not have.
“Maybe he drowned,” Reagan said.
Yousef shot him a look that said, Yes and maybe he rode away on a unicorn.
Reagan at least had the good grace to look away, embarrassed.
Yousef and the others had returned just in time to take Reagan off the sinking vessel. They’d found a dock and had tied up the dinghies and Jet Skis and were attempting to assess the situation and regroup.
The acute sensation of an opportunity lost nagged at Yousef. The ploy had worked to draw Sparrow into the open, but the government man had still managed to outwit them. It had been a close thing, and Yousef now regretted the order to take their prey alive. Reagan could have put a bullet in the man’s head and it would have been finished.
One of Payne’s goons returned from the end of the dock with a Windbreaker in his fist. “This was all there was.” He handed it to Yousef.
Yousef turned it over in his hand, examining and frowning. He searched the pockets and came out with a wet, folded piece of paper. He unfolded the sheet of paper, slowly, careful not to rip it. He read it:
Cops in the hotel. They found the Escalade in the parking garage.
L
Yousef’s eyes shifted to the top of the letterhead. Royal Empire Hotel.
That was information Yousef filed away for later. He asked, “Who’s the man we left back at the marina?”
“Ramirez.”
Yousef took out his cell phone. “Give me his number.”
* * *
David was sopping wet.
He staggered up the bank, gasping for air and taking stock. Guns lost on the yacht. Phone and Bluetooth at the bottom of the East River. Without a doubt, his endeavors aboard the Avenger had resulted in an all-around net loss.
He wasn’t even sure if he’d swum ashore at the right spot. But he stumbled between the pilings until he found himself in the light, looked up, and saw he was back at the marina.
So at least I’m not lost.
He patted his pocket quickly and was relieved to feel the car keys still there.
He slunk into the shadows again and circled back to the Dodge Aspen. Thirty feet from the automobile, he squatted behind some trash cans and watched. A man leaned against the Dodge, just waiting. He lit a cigarette, puffed, glanced at his wristwatch.
I could just leave, David thought. But the logbook he’d taken from Jerry’s was in the vehicle. Too valuable to leave behind. He stayed there a moment, thinking about rushing the guy but wishing he had some kind of advantage. He reached into his pocket and found he still had the leather blackjack. That was something at least. He needed to pick his moment, catch the guy unaware and put him down fast.
He scanned the rest of the marina, but didn’t see anyone else. He wondered if Amy had tried to text him again and felt a pang of anxiety. It was probably at least some comfort to her when he texted back proving he was still alive, but with the phone lost in the river—
A sharp bleeping sound drew his attention back to the man next to the Dodge.
He took a phone out of his pocket and answered it.
This is probably the best diversion I’m going to get.
David came in low, beelining directly for the man on the phone. In this situation, David elected for speed over stealth and the crunch of gravel under his shoes gave him away. Just as he raised the blackjack to strike the man at the base of the skull, the guy turned, confusion in his eyes at seeing David suddenly upon him.
David brought the blackjack down hard across his face, bone and teeth cracking. The guy spun around and slammed against the side of the Dodge, the phone flying out of his hand.
The guy didn’t quite go down, braced himself against the car, trying to push himself up, head flopping around and spitting blood. David took more care this time, placed the next slap of the blackjack at the base of the man’s skull like he’d tried to do the first time. This time the guy went down and stayed there.
David scanned the ground until he saw the man’s cell phone. He picked it up and put it to his ear.
“—you there or not?” An accented voice. “Ramirez, I said to get back to the penthouse if he doesn’t show up within the hour. Do you hear me?”
David ended the call and put the cell phone in his pocket.
“Hey!”
David’s head jerked around to a man coming toward him down one of the docks. Flashlight beam swinging in front of him. He caught sight of a khaki shirt, the glint of metal over one pocket. Security guard.
David didn’t have time to get tangled up with a rent-a-cop. He already knew his next destination. He turned back to the Dodge, taking the keys out of his pocket, moving deliberately but not rushing as he climbed in behind the wheel.
“Hold up, buddy! What are you doing over there?”
David ignored him, started the car, and drove away.
The voice on the phone had mentioned a penthouse, and a penthouse was exactly where David had been heading when he’d changed course to investigate the Avenger. In David’s world, it was an annoying truth that two plus two did not always equal four, but in this case, he figured it was a safe bet.
He ran the next two red lights getting there.
* * *
Yousef frowned at his cell phone.
“What’s the matter?” Reagan said behind him. “Didn’t he—”
“Quiet,” Yousef said. “I’m thinking.”
He thought for two more seconds before rapidly dialing another number.
Dante Payne answered. “Did you get him?”
“Get out of the penthouse,” Yousef said. “Now.”