Silent Night (Sam Archer 4) (22 page)

But it was as if fate, or luck, or something higher had sent that man into his office that night. Jacobs still couldn’t believe it. The janitor didn’t just look at him as if he was mad.

He’d said
Yes
.
I do.

Jacobs had assumed the man was joking, but his face was serious. Unbelieving and more out of curiosity than anything, Jacobs had asked the man how.

The janitor had placed his bag on the ground, then stepped forward and offered his hand, introducing himself.
Paul Bleeker.
Taking a seat across the desk from Jacobs, Bleeker told him that he knew two men who were about to get a hold of something that was worth a hell of a lot of money. They’d put an asking price out on the street of two million dollars. Bleeker snorted, saying it was worth ten times that and proposed that if Jacobs put the money up for the item, Bl
eeker could purchase it then
let it be known in the right quarters that it was available and sell it on. They’d make enough to not only cover Jacobs’ debt but a whole lot extra.

It’ll happen fast
, Bleeker assured him.
Opportunities like this come along once in a lifetime.

Jacobs’ gambling instincts had been instantly aroused.

He’d asked Bleeker what was in it for him. The scruffy janitor had simply asked for a 50 per cent cut of the profits Jacobs would make when they sold it on. In return, he would act as a go-between and set the deal up. Bleeker wanted money. Jacobs wanted to save his son. He’d asked Bleeker what this mysterious item was. Apparently it was some kind of deadly virus.

Desperate and with nowhere else to turn, he’d suppressed any moral objections, agreed to fund the purchase and had gone to bed that night both relieved and slightly bewildered at his sudden good fortune. And yesterday, everything had gone according to plan. Bleeker had messaged him saying that the sellers were in town.

But then Jacobs and Bleeker had been scheduled to meet at his office last night to discuss the details of the trade.

And Bleeker had never showed.

Now, the day of the planned exchange, Jacobs was nervous and confused. His gambling addiction had led him into dangerous waters in the past, but the illegality and danger of what he was embarking on here was whole different territory. He didn’t even want to know the type of people Bleeker would sell this virus on to or consider the consequences. And as with all illegal dealings, he knew the usual rules wouldn’t apply. These were dangerous men he was planning on meeting with later. Bleeker hadn’t revealed much about them, save that they were coming up from
Texas
.

Watching the kids chase the ball around the field, Jacobs took a deep breath.

Relax. This time in three days
all your debts will be cleared
.

No more threats
.

Pulling out his cell phone, he turned it on. He’d left an anxious message on Bleeker’s answering machine a few hours ago. He still didn’t know where the trade would take place tonight. Checking the display, he saw that Bleeker still hadn’t called back.

Shit.

On the pitch, the referee checked his watch and blew his whistle. Jacobs tucked the phone back into his pocket and started clapping with all the other parents. All the kids shook hands with players from the other team, then his son ran over to him.

‘I scored, Dad,’ the boy said. ‘Did you see?’

‘I saw,’ Jacobs lied, ruffling his hair. ‘You’re a natural. David Beckham better watch out.’

The boy beamed as Jacobs checked his watch.

‘Some of the other kids are going to get pizza. Can we go too?’

Jacobs looked at him. ‘I actually need to head off for an hour or so, buddy.’

He saw the dismay on his son’s face.

‘Don’t worry, I’ll be back by three o’clock.’

He looked over at another of the parents, a woman called Marie. She was friendly, and from the way she looked at him Jacobs guessed that she knew he was back on the singles market. Her son was friends with Jacobs’ boy and she seemed to have overheard what Jacobs had said.

‘I can watch him for you, Ali,’ she said, giving him her best smile.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Of course.’

‘Thank you so much, Marie. I appreciate it.’

She smiled, and he looked down at his son.

‘I’ll be back in an hour or so,’ he said, forcing a smile. ‘Then we can get some ice cream, or go to the cinema if you’d like.’

The boy smiled eagerly. ‘OK, Dad.’

Jacobs turned and walked away from the soccer field, pulling his cell phone from his pocket. Heading towards the Park exit he tried Bleeker again but it went straight to voicemail.

He cursed and hung up, striding across the grass.

Bleeker, where the hell are you?

At the Counter Terrorism Bureau, Shepherd finished clarifying some extra details with Agents Faison and Peterson, then stepped out of the interrogation cell and made his way to the stairs. He saw Kruger and Maddy Flood sitting at his desk in the detective pit and took a quick detour, moving over to them.

‘How are you both feeling?’

‘We’re OK,’ Kruger said.

‘Good news. We’ve got some leads.’

‘What is it?’

‘One of the bombers, Paul Bleeker, worked as a janitor at a
Manhattan
law firm. He’s got a message on his cell phone that indicates one of his bosses knows about the virus. We’ve got two police cars on their way to pick this guy up and bring him in.’

‘What about the fifth vial?’ Maddy asked.

‘Two gentlemen from the ATF just arrived. They know the two people who we think are in possession of it. We’re trying to locate them.’

The two doctors took this in, then nodded. Shepherd turned and headed back up the stairs to the briefing room. Inside, he found Rach at her desk working with Archer and Josh. On the screen, he saw that she’d pulled up files relating to the English senior partner, Alistair Jacobs. Shepherd saw a driving licence and some press articles.

‘This is all I could find, sir,’ Rach said. ‘He’s a big-league lawyer. Judging by one of these newspaper articles, he’s also recently divorced.’

‘No charges?’

‘Nothing. Not even a parking ticket.’

Shepherd nodded. ‘Lawyers are good at making sure their records are clean.’

‘A little too clean,’ Archer said.

‘Not everyone has a police file, Arch,’ Rach said.

‘No, but he’s interacting with Paul Bleeker. That means he’s got something to hide.’

‘When did he move here?’ Shepherd said, looking at the screen.

‘According to the paper, five years ago. Before that, he was a partner at another firm in
London
.’

Shepherd scanned the screen. ‘We need to know more about this man.’

Archer thought for a moment, then rose and pulled his cell phone.

‘I’ll handle this, sir,’ he said. ‘Gimme five.’

He walked out and passed Marquez on the way, who looked serious as she entered 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.

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,
yo
u 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 against a height chart, holding a placard with their full name and prison ID in white on the front. The team paused and took a good look at the men they were hunting.

On the left of the screen, Rourke was staring grimly ahead. He looked unhealthy, his black hair messy, his face flushed. The black chart behind his head said he was five-eight. To the right, Sway was taller, over six foot with that short mullet haircut that Peterson had described. He looked lean and angry, his eyes hard as he stared into the camera like the lens would shatter if he did it hard enough. Under the vital stats came the charges against the two men. The lists were long.