Calculated in Death (23 page)

She highlighted potential routes, added highlights to maintenance areas, security areas, offices, employees only. She studied the layout—rest rooms, viewing rooms, bars, café, vending area, food sale area, ticket sale area.

Mentally she placed cops on sectors, like chess pieces on a board.

She glanced over as the door opened, turned when Detective Yancy came in.

“Lieutenant. Baxter said you’d be in here. I’ve got your likeness. Sorry it took so long. Some wits need more time.” He offered her a printout and a disc.

Eve studied the image—the wide face, squared at the jaw; short, medium brown hair, buzzed at the crown; brown eyes heavily lidded, the slightly hooked nose, the more prominent top lip.

“How confident are you?”

“I think we’re close.”

Yancy slipped his hands into the pockets of comfortably worn jeans. “His overall impression was big, kind of surly, but he started to remember the details as we went along. It’s a strong face. It comes off surly,” Yancy added, “because that’s how the wit saw him. But the features, I think, are close.”

“Then we’ll go with it. Thanks.”

“No problem.” When he glanced at the board, his young, attractive face hardened as he scanned Jake Ingersol’s crime scene shot. “You’d have to be pretty damn surly to do that.”

“Yeah. I think he’s got an anger management problem.”

With a half laugh, Yancy shook his head. “I hear they have good programs for that on Omega.”

“We’ll do our best to get him in.”

“Let me know if you need more. See you around, Peabody.”

“I had a sex dream about him once,” Peabody said after Yancy left.

“Oh my God.”

“It was before McNab. Well, before McNab and I were together. He’s so fatally cute—Yancy, I mean. McNab, too, but—”

“Shut up now.”

“It was a really good sex dream,” Peabody said under her breath. “Speaking of,” she added as Roarke walked in the room.

“One more word, and I’ll get that hammer out of evidence and beat your tongue flat with it. Did you get the hacker?” she asked Roarke.

“Ian’s nearly there. He asked if you’d excuse him from the briefing until he’s finished.”

“Yeah. He should stay on it. Why aren’t you?”

“Because he’s nearly there,” Roarke repeated. “And I want to know what you’re planning as I have a vested interest.” He smiled over at Peabody. “Or two,” he said and made her flush with pleasure.

“Aw.”

“Peabody.”

“Aw’s not a word. It’s a sound.”

“Stop making sounds. I’ve got his face. Yancy’s confident on it. I’ll be running facial recognition, and I’m going to key in military and sports. If I’m right on either, it may cut back on the time, may bring us a quicker hit.”

Roarke took the sketch to study it. “You think if he does try to infiltrate, it’ll be as security.”

“Look at that face.”

“Yes, security’s the most logical.” He turned to the screens, scanned both. “It’s a large building, numerous points of entry and egress on both levels, and more in the basement maintenance and storage areas. The security system is good, but it’s not excellent. There’s relatively little to steal, and there are standard alarms on the doors set during vids to discourage any attempt to break in and watch for free.”

“How do you know?”

“I did a bit of research on it after you told me your plan.”

“I don’t think he’ll break in. He’ll blend in. The hacker could create a pass for him, a badge, whatever he needs. Or he could target someone legitimately on security, take him out, replace him. The security is to keep the public from getting too familiar with the celebrities, to keep them out of the theater, to be present. It’s soft duty. He could bribe somebody, but he’d probably just kill. He’s got a taste for it.”

“He’ll need to get close to you.”

“That’s right. He’ll need to get close to kill me, and he’ll need to get close so I can stop him from killing me and catch him. Remember that.”

Meeting her eyes, Roarke skimmed a hand over her hair. “It’s not something I’d forget.”

She stepped back as cops began to shuffle into the room.

Feeney headed to her. “The boy’s nearly got the location. I pulled Callendar off another duty so she can give him a hand.”

“If he hits, maybe I’ll be wasting everybody’s time for the next half hour.”

Feeney noticed the screen, pulled at his bottom lip as he studied it, as he understood where it led. “Well, crap. The wife’s really looking forward to this shindig.”

“Maybe we’ll give her a kind of double feature. Better, we can pull this off quick and quiet. Nobody notices a thing.”

“Somebody always notices,” Feeney said, but walked off to sit, and hear her out.

She started to input the sketch disc, but Roarke took it from her. “I’ll take care of it.”

She left him to it, began counting heads. She’d need more, but she knew these cops, knew they’d run the op as she needed it run.

“Let’s settle down,” she called out. “Dickenson, Marta; Parzarri, Chaz; Ingersol, Jake. We believe this man . . .” She paused until Roarke flashed the sketch on screen. “. . . killed all three, with rapidly escalating violence. Yesterday, he attempted to kill two police officers.”

“Hell of a catch, LT,” Jenkinson said, and earned her quick applause.

She held up her hands, wiggled her fingers. “I have many skills. We’ll be running facial recognition, and we hope to ID this baby-tossing killer. Until then, here’s what we know.”

She ran it through, quick, thorough, wanting her men to understand, all jokes aside, the target was dangerous, and not to be underestimated.

“As we have yet to ID him, and factoring Mira’s profile, the very clear evidence, we’re going to expect him to repeat the attempt on two NYPSD officers, if he’s not been detained, at his earliest opportunity. He’s got one, on a platter, tomorrow night.”

She turned to the screens. “The Five Star Theater.” She outlined the schedule, briefed them on the layout, adding more highlights as she assigned specific officers to specific locations and duties.

“Each one of you will have a copy of the target’s image. He will be armed. If and when he’s spotted, we’ll move to block off his route, to separate him from civilians. If and when he’s spotted,” she continued, “I’ll move to the least congested area. Contingency one, he’s spotted outside.”

She outlined the scenario, moved to containing him inside the lobby, inside the theater proper.

When she decided she’d hit it from every angle, addressed every element she could foresee, she paused again.

“Questions?”

Baxter wagged a finger in the air. “I got one, boss. Can I bring a date?”

“Sure,” Eve said over the expected snorts. “Bring Trueheart. You look really cute together. If the op’s a go, we meet here eighteen hundred tomorrow. Attired as suits assignments. I want those assigned to security or staff detail fully prepped, outfitted, and on site by eighteen-thirty. No later.”

She gestured toward the board. “Look at what this asshole’s capable of. Don’t get sloppy. Dismissed.”

“One moment, Lieutenant, if you will.” Roarke pushed off the side wall. “There’s an after-party at Around the Park. Once said asshole is where he belongs, you’re all very welcome to attend. Again, Lieutenant, if you will.”

She could hardly
won’t
, when he pinned her that way. “It’s your party,” she said, then muttered about spoiling cops under the hoots and applause.

“Settle down. Get back to work. You want a party? Don’t screw this up.”

As cops headed out, McNab bounced in.

“Got him!” He punched a fist, gave Roarke a huge fellow geek grin. “I had to route it the way we said,” he began. “His ISP and the echo spiked, then did the flutter. But once we filtered out the—”

“McNab,” Eve interrupted. “Bottom line it. Now.”

“Sir. Tribeca. Damn juicy neighborhood, too. I did a sat-scan once I had the location, and got a bird-bead on it. It’s a big-ass brownstone. It looks like he may have the whole deal. Top to bottom. I did a resident search, too, and only got one. He’s using the name James T. Kirk.”

At Roarke’s quick laugh, McNab grinned again. “Yeah, I know, right? Kinda rocking.”

“What?” Eve demanded. “What’s kinda rocking?”

“It’s the name of the captain on
Star Trek
,” Roarke explained. “Classic old screen and vids. Classic science fiction. A hacker with humor, and some taste.”

“Yeah, but I think he should’ve gone for Chekov. He was more of an e-guy as the nav. Or Sulu. He’s the helmsman, but—”

“Geeks,” Eve grumbled. “Peabody, I want an eight-man team including the geeks here. Give me the sat-scan, McNab, on screen.”

“You got it. Holy shit!” he said to Roarke. “We’re taking down
The Enterprise
.”

EVE STUDIED THE SATELLITE IMAGE.

“A lot of ways in and out. We’ll need imaging sensors to determine if he’s in there.”

“He’d be set up for that,” Roarke told her.

“Has to be.” Beside Roarke, McNab nodded. “Any kind of a probe, scan, snoop’s bound to set off an alert.”

“And likely a jam, divert and evade. Hacking’s his world,” Roarke explained. “He’d have programmed a system to block and disable any attempt to do the same to him. He’s good. He’ll have spent considerable time and money to be certain all his doors are bolted, all his windows latched and screened.”

“Is he better than you?”

Roarke shifted his gaze. “If you think using my ego will help you, you’re mistaken. Facts are facts.”

“True’s true, Dallas.” McNab’s hands slid into one of his countless pockets, jingled something inside. “The best hackers are paranoid because, hey, they
know
nothing’s beyond reach. If we try imagery or bypass, he’ll know.”

“And he very likely has a rat hole to bolt into,” Roarke added. “If he’s in there, you won’t get to him by conventional means. Unless we have time. We’d find a way around his system eventually. Nothing’s beyond reach,” he repeated to McNab and made the e-man grin like a kid on Christmas morning.

“Oh man, would that rock it out? Hack the Mole. We could run a hypo-analysis of his system factoring known and spec data.”

“Yes. Extrapolate from that, reform, test the layers—in and ex. Play a dual and diversion.”

“Man, I
love
that shit.” McNab danced his fingers in the air, boogied his hips.

Considering, enjoying, Roarke rocked back on his heels as he studied the image. “We have samplings, the fingerprint, and the exterior views here. It’s certainly doable.”

“How long?” Eve demanded.

“Oh, with some luck and another two skilled men, maybe a week. With more luck, three days.”

“Crap. Does it look like I have a week?” She paced away, then back. “I’ve got the resources of the entire EDD, I’ve got the ridiculous resources of the biggest, slickest, most conniving e-geek on or off planet—”

“Thanks, darling.”

“And you need a freaking week to
out
geek some skinny hacker who likes to call himself the Mole?”

Roarke only smiled at her. “That’s about right, yes.”

“Dallas, the freaking
Enterprise
,” McNab reminded her. “You have to understand the complexities, the filters, the—”

“No, I don’t.” She pointed at McNab. “You do.” She pointed again, more vehemently when he started to speak again.

“I
got
it!”

Eve swung around toward Peabody. “What?”

Peabody waved her PPC triumphantly. “It’s the Kirk thing,
The Enterprise
thing. It reminded me I’d hit this name that made me snicker when I was running the van—the Cargo. Here it is. Tony Stark.”

“Oh, baby.” McNab blew her a double-handed kiss. “Good call.”

“It’s gotta be, right?” Peabody said to McNab. “It’s his style.”

“Who the hell is Tony Stark?” Eve demanded.

“Iron Man,” Roarke told her. “Superhero, genius, innovative engineer, and billionaire playboy.”

“Iron Man? You’re talking about a comic book guy?”

“Graphic novel,” Roarke and McNab said together.

“What do you bet it’s him, Dallas?” Peabody asked. “Heroes from classic novels and vids. It fits. They used his van. It’s Milo’s van.”

“Possibly. Okay, from the looks of you three, probably. We’ll push on it once we have him, but first we have to get him. Now let me think.”

So she paced, and she plotted. There was no way in hell she’d get this close and surrender to some ferret-faced electronic asshole who used aliases based on fictional characters from science fiction and comic books.

A geek, she considered. And one who liked to see himself as the hero, the smart one. Billionaire playboy? The one who got the women.

“Your high-tech can’t beat his high-tech? We go low. We go goddamn classic. Peabody, ditch the jacket.”

“My jacket?”

“Ditch it.”

“Okay.”

When Peabody took it off, Eve fisted her hands on her hips, took a hard study. “Unbutton the shirt.”

Peabody’s eyes popped, shocked brown balloons. “What!”

“Two—no three buttons down. Jesus, Peabody.” Eve strode over to do it herself. “We’ve all seen tits before.” She arched her eyebrows at the fancy lace number Peabody wore under the shirt, which nearly matched the color that currently heated her cheeks. “We could get blown up or something, and this is what you want people to see an NYPSD detective wearing under her clothes?”

“I wasn’t planning on getting blown up today. Or undressed by my partner.” She lifted a hand to draw the shirt back together. Eve slapped it away.

“Shove them up,” Eve ordered.

“What?”

“Shove them up there.”

“I’ll do it.”

“Stand down, McNab,” Eve said mildly. “You know what I mean. Pump them up some.”

When Eve started to do it for her, Peabody jumped back. “I can do it myself, thanks.” Muttering, she turned her back. Her shoulders wiggled. And flushing furiously, she turned around again.

“Mmm. She-Body.”

Ignoring McNab’s comment, Eve circled her partner. “It’s going to work.”

“Classic,” Roarke said.

“What’s going to work? What’s classic? I want my jacket.”

“Forget it. You’re going to walk right up to Milo the Mole’s front door, and he’s going to answer.”

“I am? He is?”

“Damsel in distress, right?” Eve said to Roarke.

“A very alluring damsel. Clever, Lieutenant.”

“Oh, okay. I get it. I look like I’m in trouble—all alone, unarmed. Harmless. Girl. He opens up to find out what’s what. You should do it,” Peabody told Eve.

“You’re the one with the tits. Men are stupid for tits.”

“Harsh,” Roarke observed. “But largely true.”

“Plus, you’re the type, obviously, who appeals to skinny geeks.”

“Oh yeah,” McNab confirmed. “Completely.”

“Maybe a short skirt and ankle-breakers. Somebody around here has to have them. All he sees is the half-naked woman with big tits knocking on his door. Lucky day. And while he’s focused on the tits, we take him.

“McNab, go find me the skirt and shoes. Peabody, go slut up your face and hair and don’t try to tell me you don’t know how. I’ll get the warrant and put this together. Move it.”

As they moved it, she pulled out her ’link to arrange for the warrant. “You know how these guys think,” she said to Roarke. “Help me put this together.”

“Delighted.”

•   •   •

W
ithin the hour, Eve sat in the back of an EDD van a full two blocks from the target’s building.

“We can’t know he’s inside.” And she hated the uncertainty. “If he doesn’t fall for the She-Body gambit, we move in, take down the door, clear the building.”

“We’ll need that ninety seconds to two minutes,” Roarke reminded her, “to scan for booby traps, explosives. He’s very likely built in some traps and self-destructs in the event of a forced entry.”

“You’ll get the time, but we go through the door.”

“My money’s on Peabody.” McNab adjusted his screen. “She looks
whoa
.”

“For all we know, he may go for your type,” she told McNab. “Or yours,” she said to Roarke. “For now, we go with the classic. The second the door opens, we move in. Roarke and McNab complete the scan. Peabody, you copy?”

“Affirmative.”

“Baxter?”

“Right here.”

“Roll it.”

“Whee!” Peabody called out, and Eve heard the car engine rev. “Baxter’s got totally mag wheels.”

“Stop looking happy.”

“I’m working up some tears, because my boyfriend’s so mean to me.”

With a laugh in his voice, Baxter responded. “We’re rounding onto the block. Target’s in sight.”

“Give her room, everybody,” Eve ordered. “Give her time. McNab, let’s ease closer.”

When he signaled the driver, the van pulled out, joined the traffic flow.

Directly in front of Milo Easton’s building, Baxter peeled over to the curb. He sat, snarling in case Milo monitored the street. “At a stop,” he said while Peabody snarled and pouted back at him.

“Give him a show,” Eve directed.

“Sorry, Peabody.”

He grabbed her; she struggled. For a few minutes they wrestled in the front seat. She slapped him, pulling the contact at the last second.

“Sorry, Baxter.”

Face furious, eyes sheened with tears, Peabody shoved out of the car. She wrapped her arms protectively around her torso, and stood shivering—no coat, no bag. “You’re a big prick with a little dick,” she shouted.

Baxter shot a hand out of the window, speared up his middle finger, and sped off.

As instructed, Peabody chased the car for a few feet, teetering on high heels. “Come back here, you fucker! You’ve got my bag. You’ve got my ’link!”

She feigned a turned ankle, then began to limp back the way she came.

“That’s the way,” Eve guided when they picked her up on screen. “Pissed, but a little desperate. What do I do? Poor me. That’s good, spot the house, don’t even think about it. You need somebody to help you.”

Her heart hammered with excitement and a little panic. Don’t blow it, Peabody ordered herself. Don’t blow it.

She pressed a buzzer, pretended to search for the intercom. “Hello!” she shouted, trying for a raspy, sexy voice. “Is anybody home? Hello? I’m in trouble. Can you help me?” She angled herself toward the cam, leading with her chest and willed a couple of tears down her cheeks. “Hello? Can I use your ’link?
Please
.”

She shivered again, no need to feign that. She felt her nipples standing at attention, but maybe he wasn’t even in there. Maybe her girls were on display for nothing.

“It’s so cold. I don’t even have my coat. My boyfriend dumped me out without anything. Can’t somebody help me?”

“No way he could resist that,” McNab declared. “He must not be there.”

“Give it another minute.” One more minute, Eve thought, then she’d clear Roarke and McNab to do the probe and scan.

“There. Do you see that, Ian?”

“I see it.” McNab nodded at Roarke. “He’s in there.”

“How do you know?” Eve demanded.

“He’s doing a sweep.” McNab tapped his monitor. “Checking.”

“Can he make us?”

“No, we’re on the down-low. We’ll read as standard comm.”

“She can’t keep buzzing and calling. Peabody, you need to look like you’re giving up. Start to turn away, then just sit down on the step and blubber some.”

“What am I going to do?” Sniffling, Peabody knuckled a tear from under her eye. “I don’t know what to do.” She started to turn, then she heard it. The faintest hum from the intercom. Forcing herself not to react, she took another step away.

“What’s going on?”

“Oh, thank God!” She spun back toward the door, remembered to limp just a little. “Hello! Hello! Please, can you help me? My boyfriend left me. He took my bag. It’s got my ’link, my money. Everything. It’s so cold out here. Can I come in for just a minute? Can I just use your ’link? I could call Shelly. Maybe she can come get me.”

“Who are you?”

“Oh. I’m Dolly. I’m Dolly Darling. I dance at Kitty Kat, over on Harrison? You know it? It’s a nice place. It’s classy, you know? Shelly’s working this shift, so she could get off and come get me if you just let me in. He took my coat with him. I’m so cold.”

“Did you have a fight?”

“I found out he was cheating on me. With my ex–best friend. Why did he want to do that? Why did he want to be so mean to me?” She put on her best sultry (she hoped) pout, and took an enormous breath to bring her breasts up to full potential.

“I’ve been sweet to him. I did
anything
for him. Honey, please? I’m so awful cold. Maybe you could just lend me a coat or something. I could trade for it, just for a loan. Give you a freebie, maybe. I’ve got a license. Well, not with me, because Mickey took my purse.”

She
was
freezing, Peabody thought, and worked up some fat tears.

Her head came up when she heard the electronic click of locks disengaging. “Are you opening the door? Oh, thank you! Thank you. I owe you so big, really, really big.”

The door opened a few inches giving Peabody—and the team—their first up-close look at Milo the Mole.

He’d had some work since his last ID shot. Chin implant, Eve deduced, which he’d opted to spotlight with a narrow, horizontal strip of sandy blond hair. His eyes, an eerie green, couldn’t stop drifting down to the display of Peabody’s generous breasts. He’d chosen a neon rainbow of long dreads for his current hair style and wore what Eve thought of as typical geek baggies in pumpkin orange with a sunburst T-shirt that sat just as baggy on his skinny frame.

“Hi.” Peabody gave the syllable a breathless, baby-doll huff, smiling into those eerie eyes as she heard the orders to close in, move in, through her earbud. “I’m Dolly. I really like your hair. Abso-mag. Can I come in for, like, two minutes? I’m just frozen. See?”

She held out a hand, palm up so he’d see it was empty. Then expanded her lungs yet again when he set his own on it. “Oooh, you’re so warm. And so cute. Please, can I come out of the cold, use your ’link? I promise I won’t bite, unless you want me to.”