Silent Night - By Tom Barber Page 0,55

‘And forget M16s and boxed ammunition. If we catch them in possession of a lethal virus, that takes it to a whole new level. Not only do we secure the virus, we’ll bury the entire Chapter for good. I’ll call the New York office and get a Task Force on stand-by. We’ll stake out the camp with your team. If we can confirm the virus is at the location, we’ll move in and take ‘em all.’

‘And I’ll go back undercover,’ Peterson said. ‘Try to find out what’s going on.’

‘The rest of them won’t wonder where you’ve been?’ Archer asked.

Peterson shook his head.

‘I had to get arrested to get to you. It’s given me a window.’

‘What did you do?’

‘Slugged a cop in Hoboken.’ He looked up at Faison. ‘How is he?’

‘Broken nose and pissed off that I got you out. I’d send him a Christmas card.’

‘I’ll tell the group that my girlfriend posted bail,’ Peterson said. ‘My story will check out.’

Shepherd nodded. ‘OK.’

‘Before we continue, there’s something else,’ Faison said.

‘Which is?’

‘This needs to be ATF’s collar.’

Shepherd looked at him. Both men knew that ATF already had jurisdiction, but Shepherd appreciated the courtesy. He nodded.

‘Agreed. At the campsite, the ATF will take the lead. The NYPD will offer back-up.’

‘Appreciate that.’

Shepherd glanced at the hate tattooed on Special Agent Peterson’s arms.

‘You’ve definitely earned it,’ he said.

Peterson rose. Shepherd did the same and shook hands with him and Faison.

‘Do you have any other leads on where this last vial could be?’ Faison asked.

‘We’re following up on one right now,’ said Shepherd. ‘When I know more, I’ll fill you in. When Sergeant Hendricks arrives, we’ll brief his team and draw up a game-plan. Can you both sit tight until he gets here?’

Both ATF agents nodded.

Faison pulled his cell phone. ‘I need to make some calls.’

Fourteen miles to the west at Kearny Medical, Bobby Rourke stood side-by-side with Wicks and Drexler, watching the kidnapped doctor working inside the lab. They had their arms folded and were all standing in line. To the right, Drexler glanced at her watch.

‘How long’s this gonna take?’

‘He’ll be done by sunset.’

‘You know we could have done this ourselves,’ Wicks said.

Rourke shook his head.

‘Pointless risk. This is dangerous shit. And I need him later anyway.’

There was a whistle from an office to their right. The trio walked forward and found Finn watching a television. It was NY ONE News running the bulletins from the day.

‘Check this out,’ he said.

Breaking: Chemical Pipe ruptures in clothing store by Seaport, kills 59.

They watched the pictures in silence, showing a clean-up operation down by the waterfront. The shot was filled with NYPD cops, detectives, ESU officers and lab teams.

‘Chemical pipe my ass,’ Rourke said.

‘At least we know it works,’ Wicks said.

The headline rolled to another. Two suspected neo-Nazi extremists killed in police raid in Astoria. The shot changed and they watched footage from outside a house off Ditmars Boulevard. The news cameras were being kept well back, but two body-bags had been wheeled out. CSU teams had taped off the area and were moving in and out of the property.

‘So that’s where they were hiding,’ Wicks said.

‘Good job pigs,’ Finn said. ‘Save us the trouble.’

As the others watched the television, Drexler glanced out of the window to her right, which was overlooking the front of the building.

‘Hold up,’ she said. ‘We’ve got company.’

The group all looked out of the window.

A car was pulling into the parking lot.

Mary Bale wasn’t one to cause a fuss, but her husband hadn’t been answering his phone all morning and she’d wanted to arrange a good time to bring in his lunch. They only lived a fifteen minute drive from the lab complex so the journey wasn’t an ordeal. She saw all the familiar cars of his team outside the building, including her husband’s new pride and joy, a Mercedes CL-Class. She pulled into an empty slot, then applied the handbrake and turned off the engine. She picked up a brown bag beside her containing a couple of cold-cut sandwiches and some chips. Jonathan’s favourite. It was after 2pm but they could still enjoy a late-lunch together before heading out to see their daughter at her home in Elizabeth this afternoon.

She stepped out of the car, shutting the door, then walked towards the entrance. She entered the building and saw a lean, slender guard with a short mullet haircut behind the front desk.

‘Good afternoon, ma’am,’ he said, with a Southern accent and a smile.

TWENTY SEVEN

In the Battery Park area of Lower