This time when Ben was taken to the Midtown South Precinct on West Thirty-fifth, he’d surrendered his clothes down to his underwear and gotten dressed in an orange jumpsuit before being locked in a windowless isolation cell.
The last time he’d managed to get a look at a clock it was five-thirty, and lying awake now on a cot, he had to figure it was at least eight or eight-thirty.
Cassy had told them that once she got to her workstation in DCSS with Chip’s laptop, it would take her at least ten minutes to download the antidote program into BP’s system, and another ten or maybe twenty for it to find the worm and neutralize it.
It meant that they would have to get there no later than nine to beat the opening bell at nine-thirty. They were running out of time.
A key grated in the lock, and Ben jumped up as the door opened.
A uniformed cop with a ring of keys in one hand and a mesh bag in the other came in and handed the bag to Ben, then went back out into the corridor.
Adams, a deep scowl on his face, appeared in the doorway. “Get dressed, you son of a bitch. You’ve got company waiting for you, and I don’t have all morning to babysit you.”
Ben took his dirty khaki slacks, light blue pullover, boat shoes, and wallet out of the bag and quickly got dressed.
Out of the cell, he followed Adams and the uniform back to the lobby, where Cassy, Chip, and a stern-looking man he didn’t recognize in a business suit, no tie, his eyes bloodshot, were waiting.
“You are making a lot of people in this town unhappy, Mr. Whalen,” the man said. “Including me.”
Adams and the uniform disappeared, and another man in civilian clothes showed up. “Sorry to drag you away like this, Mr. Mayor.”
“You’re Voight, the precinct commander here?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I don’t want another call from Washington. This matter is concluded, unless Mr. Whalen shoots somebody, and then it’ll depend on who he shoots.”
“Yes, sir.”
The mayor turned back to Ben. “Whatever you and your friends have come here to do, get it over with and go home.”
“Yes, sir,” Ben said. “And thank you.”
The mayor turned and left.
“You heard the man,” Voight said. “Get the hell out of my station.”
The clock on the wall behind the booking desk was at fifteen minutes before nine as Ben, Chip, and Cassy raced outside to where the Chevy SUV was parked.
Workday morning traffic was heavy, and Chip drove as fast as was possible, blasting through red lights whenever he had the chance.
“Are we going to run into any trouble at BP?” Ben asked.
“The cops and Bureau people are all over the place, but with any luck, the mess will be cleared up by the time we get there, and we’ll have a free ticket inside, or at least downstairs to where Cassy needs to go,” Chip said.
“What mess?”
“There’s a big shake-up. I saw them carting a body out the front door.”
“Just get me inside before it’s too late,” Cassy said. She was cradling the laptop like it was a sick child as they sped down Ninth.
After threading through rush hour traffic exiting the Holland Tunnel, Chip clipped the rear end of a Yellow Cab on Varick, sending it crashing into the side of a garbage truck, and a half block later a police car, its lights flashing, and siren on, came from behind them.
“We can’t be stopped,” Ben said.
“I know, I know,” Chip said.
He hauled the Chevy down Varick and managed to put a little distance between them and the cop car, switching down side streets whenever the lights and traffic permitted it, and reached Broadway. At City Hall they were completely bogged down.
The cop car was less than a half block behind them now.
“Get the hell out, this is the best I can do,” Chip shouted.
Ben and Cassy jumped out and sprinted the few blocks to Nassau as fast as they could run. A dozen police cars, unmarked sedans, and SUVs were blocking the street before the next corner in front of the Burnham Pike tower.
“Is there a back way?” Ben asked, not breaking stride.
“A side door on John Street,” Cassy said. “Follow me.”
They slowed their pace so as to go unnoticed as they passed by the police cordon. Around the corner, the side door was locked but unmanned, so Cassy used her pass card to get inside. It was a bit of luck they badly needed.
Instead of taking the elevator down to DCSS, they took the stairs.
The cybersecurity room was filled with the usual people, except for Butch Hardy’s watchdogs. Masters jumped up from behind his desk when they came through the door. Everyone else stopped what they were doing.
“What the hell is going on?” he demanded.
“Not now, Francis,” Cassy said, racing across to her workstation. It was just nine.
Masters came around from behind his desk, but Ben blocked him.
“Who do you think you are?”
“Let it be,” Ben said.
Cassy powered up Chip’s laptop, plugged it into her center console, and once the connection was recognized and the antidote program came up on both screens, she hit Enter on the laptop, and the program began to run.
Ben came over. “Are we on time?”
“I think so,” Cassy said, looking up at him. “I don’t know.”
“In twenty minutes, at opening bell, we’ll all know,” Ben said.