Silent Night - By Tom Barber Page 0,59
the room.
‘Sir, I just spoke with Jorgensen,’ she said. ‘He found Ray Creek at his home.’
‘Alive?’
‘Far from it. Six gunshot wounds to his head and chest. He’d also been tortured. CSU used ballistics fingerprinting to compare slugs and cartridges from the scene with those at Dr Tibbs’ apartment. They also compared wound pattern. They were a match.’
‘So whoever killed Creek killed Tibbs.’
‘Yes, sir. CSU checked CCTV at Tibbs’ apartment building but they couldn’t find anyone entering the building who didn’t live inside. They think whoever killed Tibbs used the fire escape. Unless another resident capped him.’
‘OK. Tell Jorgensen to get back here.’
‘Yes, sir.’
She turned and walked out, passing Archer who was standing on the walkway. He’d just finished dialling a long number and put the phone to his ear.
Walking up through Tribeca, Jacobs swore and ended another attempted call. Bleeker still wasn’t picking up. His entire future and the safety of his son depended on this deal going down tonight. If Bleeker pulled out or got cold feet, Jacobs would go find whatever rock he was hiding under and drag him out. If he had to, he’d tear apart the city looking for him.
Turning right, he walked down Worth Street, headed towards 111 and his apartment. From upstairs he could log into the law firm’s admin database and find Bleeker’s address. He’d go over there himself and get the information he needed. As he walked, he decided to quickly check his emails. He opened the Internet browser, but a Breaking News banner on the homepage caught his eye.
He read it as he pushed back the glass door and walked into the building.
Breaking: Macy’s evacuated after morning bomb threat. Chemical accident by Seaport kills 59.
He froze.
Then he looked up and saw two cops in uniform standing there in the lobby.
The two men were looking straight at him, their expressions hard.
Jacobs sensed movement behind him and turned.
Two other cops had walked through the doors, blocking him off.
The four police officers stood there, boxing him in, the clips on all four holsters undone, their hands resting on the grip of each pistol.
Oh shit.
TWENTY EIGHT
Up on the walkway at the Counter Terrorism Bureau, Archer swore and called the number again. He’d been trying to get through for over five minutes, but the guy on the other end was an unreliable correspondent at the best of times and wasn’t picking up. Archer checked his Casio. It was mid-afternoon, just coming up to 3pm which meant it would be around 8 pm in the UK.
C’mon, he thought, Jacobs on his mind. Pick up, idiot. We need information on this guy.
Finally, someone answered.
Abruptly.
‘What?’
‘Is that any way to answer the phone?’
‘Archer!’ Chalky said. ‘Jesus Christ, you withheld your number. I thought you were an ex-girlfriend.’
‘How are you?’
‘Not bad. Yourself?’
‘I’ve had better mornings.’
‘Yeah, I saw the news. There was a bomb threat at Macy’s? And a load of people died at a clothing store?’
‘Rings a bell.’
‘You all OK?’
‘Yeah, we’re fine. But the thing at the store wasn’t an accident. And I need your help with something.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Five vials of a pneumonic virus were stolen from a lab in Manhattan last night. It’s some seriously nasty shit. We’ve secured all but one of them.’
‘OK.’
‘But one of the bombers has a message on his cell phone. It sounds like someone else is involved. And he’s English.’
‘Oh dear. What’s his name?’
‘Alistair Jacobs. You heard of him?’
‘No. But someone else on the team might have.’
‘Are you at the station?’
‘Yeah. Nightshift.’
‘We’ve got this guy’s file up on the screen here, but it’s looking pretty clean. A little too clean, if you know what I mean.’
‘Tell you what, I’ll get one of Nikki’s team to run a search. Gimme a couple of minutes.’
‘OK. Thanks.’
Archer ended the call. He turned and walked back into the briefing room, re-joining Shepherd, Josh and Rach.
‘I’ve got someone pulling information on Jacobs. I’ll call him back in a moment.’
Shepherd nodded. ‘Good.’
Marquez appeared, re-entering the room. ‘Sir, they just picked up Jacobs at his apartment building. They’re bringing him in now.’
‘Great. Background information on Rourke and Sway?’
‘Agent Faison arranged for their ATF files to be transferred to us. They should be here already.’
Rach looked down at her terminal, then pulled up a large file she’d been sent from next door. The team watched as she opened it and pulled up both men’s jackets, side by side on the screen. They saw vital statistics, addresses, known family, felony records and a mug-shot of each man. Both were in orange jumpsuits, standing up