Once they were clear of the airport it took about thirty minutes to cross the river into Manhattan and the Midtown South Police Precinct on West Thirty-fifth.
Adams took Ben directly back to an interrogation room with only a small steel table and two chairs. “Are you going to cooperate or will this get difficult?”
“Your call,” Ben said.
“Goddamnit, you threatened a friend of mine, and I want to know what the fuck you’re up to.”
“A friend of mine was kidnapped by two Russians and probably taken somewhere in Brighton Beach. I came up from D.C. to find her.”
“She’s at lunch with another friend. Maybe she dumped you.”
“Let’s get this over with, okay?”
“It’s not going to be that easy. A formal complaint has been lodged against you. And like I said, I listened to the recording.”
“I have a recording of my own. How about we make an exchange?”
Adams took the cuffs off. “Everything out of your pockets and on the table,” he said.
Ben did as he was told, and the sergeant motioned for him to sit down, then made a phone call.
“Have Sid come in,” he said and sat down across from Ben. “You claim to be a former Navy SEAL, that right?”
“Yes.”
“Thanks for your service. What are you working at in D.C.?”
“It’s classified.”
A gruff-looking young man with a scorpion tattoo on the right side of his neck came in, and Adams gave him Ben’s cell phone. “There may be a recording on this thing, make me a copy.”
“It’d be too bad if something happened to my phone, even though I don’t need it,” Ben said.
“You’re full of threats.”
Ben sat forward. “Cut the bullshit, okay? I didn’t come up here on a government jet to play games, nor did I want to get the police involved, because I’ve dealt with the kind of people who took my friend. They don’t give a shit about local cops, who they think of as only minor annoyances. It’s why they still operate in front of your noses. So let’s get on with this so I can get on with finding her and get out of your hair.”
“Tough guy,” Adams said. “But even if you’re telling the truth, which I doubt, what makes you think you could go up against these Russians of yours?”
“I can.”
“Have you ever killed a man?”
“Yes.”
“More than one?”
“Yes.”
“I meant more than one at a time, on your own, with no team to back you up.”
“Yes,” Ben said.
Adams sat back, and after a moment or two shook his head. “I believe you,” he said. “Problem is, you’re not going to run around my town killing people.”
“Whatever it takes to get my lady back.”
“Cassy Levin, that her name?”
“Yes.”
“The other problem is that my friend thinks that you could be a real threat to his safety.”
“If he’s involved with Cassy’s disappearance, then he’s right.”
“So what do we do?” Adams said. “Butch told me that the young woman—who he calls a gigantic pain in the ass—went to lunch with a friend of hers, and that she’s not back yet. But when she does return he’ll have her give me a call.”
“She doesn’t answer her cell phone.”
“Lots of people switch off at lunch.”
Ben said nothing.
“If you’re released, will you promise not to try to contact Mr. Hardy?”
“He’s the first one on my list, because he knows what happened and where in Brighton Beach she was taken.”
“Then I’ll have to hold you overnight, at least,” Adams said.
The man who’d taken Ben’s cell phone came back with it and handed it to the sergeant. “Nothing on it. I think the SIM card was probably damaged.”