Shadows in Death (In Death #51) - J.D. Robb Page 0,104
he’s going, we can not only have authorities at the ready, but we can beat him there. He boosted an LR-3—and it was in for some maintenance.”
“It’s not safe?”
“Safe enough, but it needs work. We have a 10, and she’s prime.”
“You could’ve told me you were getting a shuttle.”
“Things moved fast,” he said as he taxied to the runway. “And they’re about to move faster.” He shot her a grin. “Wheels up,” he said.
She set her teeth as the shuttle gained speed, and thought how much she hated this part as they left terra firma behind.
20
When they were in the air, and her stomach caught up with the rest of her, she swiveled to the cockpit’s mini-AC, programmed coffee for both of them.
“Thanks.”
“Yeah. We don’t have passports, or the authority to pursue Cobbe to wherever the hell we pursue him.”
“I could assist with the first part, though it would involve some less-than-official means. I’d suggest having Abernathy tug some lines.”
“I figured to. I need to keep in contact with the trackers.”
Roarke gestured to another earpiece. “They’ve lost him for now—but anticipating that, they’ve set up POS and bounce teams.”
“What does that mean?”
Roarke spared her a glance. “Do you really want me to explain the technology?”
“No. What does that mean as far as I need to know?”
“They’ll track him off and on—and if I can get a good enough signal from them, hold it long enough, I can set up what you’d call an echo, or bounce, that’ll keep him on my internal tracker more often than not.”
“Feeney said he’s working on something that could track.”
“That would be very helpful.”
“I’ll get the status.” Before she got up, her comm signaled. The tunnel teams reported one split led directly to the shuttle terminal. They found Cobbe’s vehicle at the end of it.
“Smugglers,” Roarke reminded her when she clicked off. “Move what you want to move, in and out, using the tunnels. By water, by air, all underground. It would’ve been quite an expense to build those tunnels, but a very solid investment.”
“Fuck it all.” She got up to relay the information to the team.
“It’s how he got there ahead of us by enough of a margin to access a shuttle, evaded security. Privet’s going down,” she said to Abernathy.
“Yes, and that will be very satisfying.”
“We don’t have passports or local authority, wherever local turns out to be.”
“I’m working on that.” He smiled a little. “It will be helpful, considerably, to know where we need that authority.”
“You’ll know when I know. Are you getting anywhere with the tracking?” she asked Feeney.
He, McNab, and Callendar sat at a table with e-guts, tools, furrowed brows. “We’re jury-rigging a POS box with a bouncer. Don’t ask.”
“Wasn’t going to. Roarke said he just needs a solid signal, and to hold it for—he didn’t say.”
“Yeah, yeah, we got it.”
“Relaying with ground control,” Callendar told her as she worked. “We’ll hook with their spotters once we put this together.” She glanced up at Eve. “Never been on a private. They are plushy-lushy. You think maybe we’re going to Europe?”
“Can’t say.”
“Never been.” The bloodred lettering on the black shirt under her black bibbed baggies read: ASS-KICKING GEEK.
“Been to Mexico and Jamaica for fun and Canada on a family trip that wasn’t so much fun. But never been over the big water. Frosty. You gotta take the frosty when it lands on you. Got a green here, Cap.”
“Good, good, keep it going.”
They sat, working away, Feeney in his saggy shirt—that already had a coffee stain—Callendar in her ass-kicker, and McNab with his glittering earlobe.
The rest of the team, operational black—but she spotted Peabody’s pink coat over a seat.
Is this what they meant by motley crew? she wondered.
“Okay if we hit the galley for some chow?” Baxter asked her.
She threw up her hands. “Who’s going to stop you?”
“Dallas, our search team in Cobbe’s hole found another hidden, secured area. Like a panic room. It has full comm capabilities, with unregistered equipment. They’ve verified it’s been used in the past forty-eight hours,” Peabody added, “and are working with EDD to decrypt.”
“Who they got on it?” Feeney demanded.
“Detective Waver.”
“Okay, good, but have them call in Yin. Waver’s good, Yin’s better.”
“I’ll relay it.”
“Eat if you need to eat, then get some rack time,” Eve advised. “Once we work out his most probable destination, I need everybody sharp. If you’ve got departmentally authorized boosters, fine. Otherwise, it’s coffee.”
Feeney gave a hoot. “We got it, we got the sweet son of a bitch. Tell Roarke we’ve got