Apprentice in Death (26 page)

“He knew what she was, what she had in her. He can pretend he didn't, but he did. And he used it when it served his sick purpose. Maybe she'd have killed without him at some point, but he gave her the skills, the weapons, and the reasons. They'll both have a long, long time to think about who led who.”

“If he signs,” Peabody said, “she'll be out in under three years.”

“Let him sign. Then we'll see.”

“It's a crap deal,” Peabody said. “I know you were playing to him with Reo in there, but it's still a crap deal.”

“If it helps us find her before she takes out another twenty-five civilians, not so crappy. And she'll go for more next time. She's keeping score. She'll be watching screen, too, see what we're saying about her, reading between the lines. Change her appearance a little bit. Go more for the boy look maybe. Or get herself a wig—go all girl. She's planned it. Her father's daughter.”

“I want another guarantee,” Mackie said to Reo. “I want a guarantee she'll be brought in alive and unharmed.”

“Mr. Mackie, I'm an APA, not a police officer. I can't guarantee what may happen during the attempt to apprehend her. If she resists, if she fires on officers or civilians—”

“They bring her in, alive, or no deal.”

“I can amend the deal this way. I can promise that every attempt will be made to bring your daughter in alive. That no officer will use excessive force or give a termination order. If I told you I could do more, you'd know I was lying to you. I'm giving you the best chance for her.”

“Add that in. Add that in and I'll sign it.”

“Let me clear it. Reo, APA, Cher, exiting Interview.”

She stepped out, took a breath, whipped out her 'link. And as she spoke to her superior, held up a hand for Eve to wait.

“That's right. Yes, sir. I have the primary right here, and she understands the additional terms. Done.” She clicked off, nodded at Dallas. “Done. They'll add it in, send the amended agreement. Can you enforce it?”

“I'll make it clear. I want her alive, Reo. I want her in the same box as he is. I want to look in her eyes and tell her she's finished.”

“And when she's eighteen?”

Eve merely smiled, flat and cold. “Go pick up your paperwork, then we'll see what he has to say.”

Eve turned away to answer her own 'link. “Dallas.”

“Heating up, boss,” Baxter told her. “We caught a whiff of her heading east on Fifty-Second this morning. We're heading back to her old neighborhood.”

“Ask around that ice cream place. Divine. She's got a weakness.”

“On it. Can always use a scoop of Chocolate Sin in a sugar cone. How's it going there?”

“Closing it up. I'll be in touch.”

She waited for Reo.

“I've got your chickenshit right here,” Reo said.

“Then let's make it work. We think she's got a hole back in the place her father had them before the first strike. Let's see if he can get us closer before she kills somebody else.”

Eve stepped back in, restarted the record. Mackie's skin had gone transluscent under a sheen of sweat. He needed a fix, Eve thought, was hanging on by a thread.

“You can get her a free ride.” Eve poured disgust over her tone. “Save her life, and maybe—though you don't give a cold shit—save innocent lives.”

“Three years inside isn't a free ride,” Reo said briskly and, sitting, offered the amended agreement to Mackie.

“Tell that to the twenty-five dead, and the ones left behind to mourn them.” Eve slapped her palms on the table, leaned into Mackie's sweating face. “You think my hands are tied? Only for now. When she gets out, I'll be on her. I'll know when she sleeps, when she eats, when she farts. And I'll be right there when she makes a mistake. Remember that. Count on it.”

“The priority here is to find Willow Mackie before she harms anyone else. It should be yours, Lieutenant.” Reo offered Mackie a pen.

“You sign first,” Mackie said.

With a nod, Reo signed in her pretty, perfect penmanship.

Mackie snatched the pen, managed a shaky, jittery scrawl.

Reo put the agreement and the pen in her briefcase, closed it. “Mr. Mackie, where is your daughter?”

“She should be on her way to Alaska. We worked out three routes. She was supposed to take a bus to Columbus, then choose one of three routes west.”

“But she isn't on her way to Alaska, is she?” Reo kept her voice reasonable. “Where is she? This agreement is null and void unless you offer information that leads to her arrest.”

“She's strong willed, determined. The girl's a winner.”

Eve's sound of derision had Mackie's blurry eyes cutting up to her face. “You don't know her.”

“If you do,” Eve shot back, “where is she?”

“She wants to finish what we started. She's no quitter.”

“She wants more than that. You know she wants more than that or you'd never have signed that agreement.”

“The asshole her mother married's always on her case.”

“So, naturally, he has to die. If you want to save her life, the life of that little boy, tell me where the fuck she is and stop making excuses for her.”

“If we ever got separated, or she needed to regroup, couldn't get out of the city right off, she was to go back to the apartment—to the area we'd scoped out. Where she knows the lay of the land, where she's a familar face so nobody much notices.”

“You want us to believe she went back to the place we've already nailed down?”

“It's got a basement, a storage room, an old laundry room. Machines are busted down there so nobody uses it. We laid in some supplies.”

“You think we didn't go through that building, pull in those supplies,
and seal it up?” Eve dropped down into a chair. “You're wasting my time.”

“If she couldn't get into the building or if she felt it was being surveilled, there's a flop on Lex, between Thirty-Ninth and Fortieth. If she needed time to regroup, or wait for me, or let things cool, she'd go there, lay low. Wait it out.”

“What's she carrying?” When he hesitated, Eve leaned forward again. “You want her taken alive? What's she carrying?”

“She's got a Tactical-XT, military, with long-range scope. Night-vision option. Two hand blasters, a police-issue stunner, pump laser, six flash grenades.”

“Sharps?”

“Combat knife, flip sticker, telescope baton with bayonette.”

“Body armor?”

“Full body. Plus helmet, of course.”

“If you've left out so much as a penknife and she uses it on one of my people, that agreement isn't worth jack.”

“She's got a multitool. It's got sharps. Tell her I said to stand down. Tell her that her father said to stand down and live. The basement of the apartment or the flop on Lex. Those are the planned retreats.”

“Then you'd better hope we find her. Interview end.”

—

S
he turned him over to uniforms, with instructions to put him on suicide watch. She let Reo deal with the legalities. Lowenbaum had already moved out of Observation, barking orders into his comm.

“You want to ride with us?” he asked her.

“No, I've got my own to set up. I've got two detectives in that area already. If she's there, I don't want her making them and popping off strikes. Get your op set up—odds are on the flop. She could get into the
basement, but it's a wrong move when she knows we've been in that location. She wouldn't make that wrong a move.”

“Agreed, but we'll sweep for heat source—if I can pull your EDD team with us.”

“Take them.” She pulled out her own comm as she strode toward her bullpen. “Baxter,” she began, then filled him in.

“Reineke, Jenkinson, suit up. Uniform Carmichael, pick six and do the same. Santiago, Detective Carmichael, you're second unit, full suits. Suspect is Willow Mackie, age fifteen. She is armed and dangerous. Weaponry includes military-grade Tactical-XT with scope and night vision, two blasters, stunner, pump laser, flash grenades, various sharps. Do not, repeat,
do not
let her age deter you from stunning the living shit out of her. We want her alive. SWAT is moving in to surround and secure. Peabody, get a fricking map of the sector on this half-assed screen.”

Eve worked it out as she went. “She won't go easy, and if she spots us or Lowenbaum's team, she will attempt to pick us off. She's not in the fricking basement,” Eve muttered. “It's bad planning. She'd want higher ground, an eyeline. We'll clear it, but that's not where she is. The flop . . .”

“Would you like the building's details?” Roarke said from behind her.

“Helpful.”

He stepped over to Peabody, interfaced his PPC with the comp. “Post-Urban construction,” he told Eve. “Currently an SRO primarily used by low-level LCs, transients, addicts, and petty criminals. Eight stories, twelve rooms per story. A small lobby with droid service. Cash only. Rooms by the half hour, hour, night, and week. No soundproofing, no privacy screening.”

“Got it. Heat sourcing will give us occupied rooms—and anyone who's alone. She won't have company. Ears may help.”

She paced back and forth in front of the image. “We'll hit the droid, get verification. If she's in there, we'll get people out—if possible. Single room, single window, single door.”

“She may have the door booby-trapped, LT,” Reineke said.

“Yeah. I would. I don't like it.” She paced again. “It's not a basement, but where the hell's her out? Fire escape? She'd know we'd have the exterior covered.”

“She may believe she can fight her way out,” Mira put in. “She's fifteen. Indestructible, and the star of her own personal drama.”

“Maybe.”

But it niggled at her, niggled as she refined the op, as she prepared to move out.

“I'm with you,” Roarke told her.

“Okay.” Distracted, she frowned at him. “Why?”

“Is that a personal or professional question?”

“You'd be more use with EDD.”

“Not necessarily. Particularly as you don't think she's where they're going.”

“I don't see why he'd lie. Why he'd go through the whole agreement deal just to lie. He wants her to live, and it was the right angle, pushing the brother, her plans to do the kid, the others. I could see him take it in, see he knew she'd go there. But he wants her to live, and he wants her to get out, to know she'll only spend a few years inside.”

“She's his child.”

“He wasn't lying, but . . .”

“Take a minute.”

Shaking her head, she pulled a combat knife from her drawer, slid it from the sheath, back in. “Clock's ticking,” she said as she hooked it to her belt.

“And Lowenbaum is even now putting men in position to pin her
down. Take a moment, and let whatever's brewing in that head of yours out.”

“It's more gut.”

But she stopped, sat, put her boots on her desk, stared at the board.

When Peabody started in, Roarke held up a hand to silence her.

Head, gut, instinct, sixth sense, or cop logic—whatever it was, he knew it was working inside her.

They'd
wait.

She should be on her way to Alaska—but she wasn't.

She was supposed to take a bus to Columbus—but she didn't.

They had a mission—but she had another of her own. Hidden from her father, her teacher, her mentor.

He wants her to live. She wants to kill.

He tells her to run, stay safe, wait it out.

Running? Safety? For losers. Waiting takes too long.

She wants to kill.

“She's not going to listen to him,” Eve murmured. “It's not because she's fifteen. Maybe that plays a part, but that's not the crux. It's just not. She knows she's better than he is. He's lost his physical edge, and hers is still sharp. He's weak, isn't he?”

She shoved up then, paced, her eyes on the board.

“Who accomplished that? She did. Not him. Stay safe? She doesn't want safe, she wants action. She wants the excitement, the points, the targets.

“Her targets.”

“Where would she go?” Roarke asked her.

“Not to some mangy flop with whores and junkies. Not to some hole to curl up and wait until whenever. It's all now. It's all today. It's about her. She's the center. She wants the center. If she wanted safe, she'd be gone. She's not gone because it's now, and it's about what
she
wants. Her mission now. She'd go home.”

“If she's at the apartment—” Peabody began.

“That's not home. That's HQ, her father's HQ, and that mission is done, at least for now. The townhouse. Her mother's house.” She turned around, and Roarke saw it in her eyes. Instinct became knowledge.

“It's comfortable, it's hers. Clothes, food, entertainment. Again an area she knows—and right now, an empty house. And better, more important, fucking vital? They'll come back. A few days, a week, but they'll come back, the three people who top her list. That's something she'll wait for.”

“We sealed it.”

“She'll get in. Her father would've taught her how to get around and through a seal. She can have the place to herself—privacy screens down. She can watch the screen, judge when the media play eases off. Tuck up somewhere and wait. They come in, they feel safe, or safer. She just has to hole up, just wait until the house is locked up tight, until it's all quiet. Take the stepfather first, then the mother, then the kid. Then take what you want, whatever you want, and walk away. Find somewhere else to kill.”

“Should I pull the op?” Peabody asked.

“No.” As she weighed percentages against instinct, Eve dragged her fingers through her hair, pulled at it. “I could be wrong. I'm not, but I could be. Let it play.”

“The three of us then.”

Eve nodded at Roarke. “If you're up for it.”

“Personally or professionally?”

“Funny. Peabody, bring that location on screen.” She pulled out her comm. “Reineke, I'm peeling off.”

It was a risk, Eve thought after she'd checked out her weapons, after they'd gone down to the garage. She loaded a laser rifle, a scope, the equipment Roarke would use in her deceptively ordinary DLE. The earbud kept her in constant communication with the others teams.

If the percentages proved true, she could be with the main team in minutes. If her instincts were on target, she could pull in the main team fast.

EDD reported no heat source in the basement, none in the apartment. They continued to identify sources in the flop.

Carmichael would pose as an LC, Santiago as her mark. They'd enter the building, and deal with the droid.

“I can send backup,” Lowenbaum told her. “I can send you a couple of guys.”

“We've got it for now. One of us is going to be in the right place. When we know, the other gets their ass there fast.”

“I hear that.”

“Try not to kill her, Lowenbaum.”

“Same to you.”

Eve handed Peabody a visored helmet. “She'll aim for your head.”

“That's comforting.” Peabody slid into the backseat.

“I'll drive,” Eve told Roarke. “You work the portable. She can't keep watch out the windows 24/7, but she may have cams set up to give her a view of the street, the sidewalks.” She glanced at Roarke as she pulled out. “How close do you want me?”

“The boys in the van snagged the best toys, but I can make do with this. Try for within fifty feet of the building.”

Eve drove, considered. Contacted Nadine on her wrist unit. “Get ready to go on with a bulletin.”

“What?” Nadine shoved a hand at her hair—tied back in a short tail
and far from camera ready. “How hot? I got home an hour ago after doing spots on last night, on Mackie's arrest, on the manhunt for his daughter. Have you got her?”

“Just be ready when I tag you back.” She cut Nadine off, whipped around a Rapid Cab. “She'll be ready.”

“For what?” Peabody wondered.

“To go on with a bulletin that will pull our suspect's attention away from the street, the sidewalk.”

“You're going to blow the other op,” Roarke concluded.

“Not if she's there. Not if I'm wrong. And not while there's a cop unsecured. But . . .”

“If she's not there, you're not wrong, and the rest are secure, you'll feed Nadine the other op. As if it's going down.” Roarke smiled as he fiddled with the sensor. “She'll be very annoyed with you, our Nadine.”

“She'll get over it when I give her the exclusive on this op.”

“This helmet's heavy. And it echoes.”

Eve flicked a glance in the rearview mirror at Peabody with the black helmet and visor in place. “Take it off until you need it. You look ridiculous.”

“Not at all.” Roarke smiled back at her. “Sexy Stormtrooper.”

“Really?”

“Stay on point,” Eve warned. “I'm still figuring out how to get in without giving her time to kill us.”

“I have every confidence,” Roarke said, continuing his work on the portable, hoping to boost its range.

“I don't want to double park, drawing her attention when people start blasting horns and bitching. How much inside fifty feet?”

“I think I can get a read at sixty now. It's worth a try.”

Eve considered the option of using a building, flashing the badge and getting Roarke set up in a neighboring house. But she spotted a curbside barely big enough for a mini. She could make it work.

Making it work meant using the DLE to nudge another vehicle up to the bumper of the one in front of it, and doing the same to the one behind. With that, and a lot of maneuvering, she squeezed in.

“This is more like sixty-five than sixty.”

“If you can't do it from here, why didn't you say so before I got here?”

“I didn't say that. Just give me another minute.”

She put a hand to her ear. “Yeah, go,” she said to Jenkinson.

“Santiago and Carmichael are in. The check-in droid gives a negative on the suspect.”

“How reliable a negative?”

“They say it's wonky, so Feeney's sending Callendar in to work on it. We got about a dozen single heat sources. Feeney's done some calculation and takes four of them out. You can't get accurate height and weight, but his calcs say those four are way too big for the suspect.”

“Good enough. We're about sixty-five feet from the target location. Roarke's working on scanning for heat sources. We'll let you know.”

She ended transmission, shifted to Roarke. “Well?”

“You understand this is meant to work at much closer range, which I'd already managed to increase before you added to that range, so bugger off a minute.”

She buggered off by tapping her fingers on the steering wheel.

Better if they nailed her at the other location, Eve thought. Better if they had that flop surrounded, took her there.

But . . .

“All right then, let's see if I've performed a small miracle.”

Roarke programmed the coordinates, tapped in codes, scanned the small screen.

“Geeks rule.” With her chin on the back of his seat, Peabody studied the screen through her visor. “You've got a read.”

“Now let's see if there's anyone home.”

He began a slow scan, starting with the main floor.

“A narrow basement area beneath, in case you didn't know. Nothing there, nothing on the main floor. Starting scan of second floor.”

Nothing flared as he scanned slowly foot by foot.

“Second floor clear. Starting scan on third level.”

Here or there, there or here, Eve thought, waiting for one of her team to report back. Waiting for something to flare.

“Ah. Geeks and cops rule, it seems. There she is, Lieutenant.”

“I see her,” Eve noted, and watched the flare of the heat source on screen.

“Stretched out. I bet she's bored. Watching the screen, watching monitors. We're going to give her some excitement. Lowenbaum!”

“Got you back,” he said. “Your EDD cutie's in there, working the droid, but word is his memory disc doesn't show the suspect in the last twenty-four. That's as far as he goes.”

“Because she's here.”

“Son of a bitch.”

“I want you to leave some of your men on that building. Visible, Lowenbaum, but not too obvious about it. I'm going to use your location as a distraction. Throw her off. The rest of you come in fast and quiet. We're going to take her, Lowenbaum.”

“Bet your superior ass.”

“Reineke, you copy?”

“That's affirmative.”

“Leave some of the uniforms. Make them visible. And get the rest of the team to this location. Barricades at the end of the block, both sides. Keep out of eyeline unless and until I say different. We're going to move in five.”

“Watch your ass, LT, and the rest of you.”

She tagged Nadine again. “NYPSD officers, including SWAT, are moving in on the remaining suspect in the recent LDSK murders. Lieutenant Eve Dallas is supervising a takedown of Willow Mackie, believed
to be holed up in an SRO building on Lexington. Dallas reports an arrest is imminent.”

“What kind of bullshit is this? You never report that—and you never feed the media during an op.”

“You're not just the media, are you? Go with it, go now. I can promise you, it'll be worth it. Every level worth it. Go with it, Nadine.”

“I'll go with it, damn it. You're going to owe me.”

“I've already got the payment ready. Later.”

Eve engaged her comp screen. “It shouldn't take her long.”

In fact, it took just under two minutes before Channel Seventy-Five's feed went to their hot blue and jittery red Breaking News flash.

The on-air reporter announced an important development in the hunt for the suspect in the Madison Square attack, and threw it to Nadine, whose voice came over with a photo of her in the corner of the screen.

“This is Nadine Furst reporting by remote as even now police officers and SWAT units converge—”

Eve cut off the screen, shoved open her door the instant she saw the heat source move from recline to stand.

“We got her attention. Gear up.” She tossed Roarke a helmet.

“Now, really, Eve.”

“Wear it or stay here.” She pulled out her own, shook her head at it. “Hate these. They're heavy and they echo.”

“What I said!”

“I never said you were wrong. First, we get in—that's on you,” she said to Roarke. “I take the front stairs. Peabody, you go through, go up the back stairs. If she's wearing body armor, aim for the head. Nobody sits around watching screen in one of these damn helmets. Make damn sure your stunner's on mid-range. We aren't giving her any love taps, but I don't want to risk paralysis. She doesn't go down, you amp it up. Roarke, I need you to hang back, second level, in case she gets by us. She gets by us, you take her out.”

“Backup?” Peabody asked.

“By the time we're in position, by the time we get in, they'll be here. Where is she?” Eve asked Roarke.

“Sitting, very likely on the floor of the room—third floor, front of the house, far side.”

“Watching the screen. Keep it going, Nadine. Sixty-five feet. Let's cover it.”

They moved fast, eating up the ground on a cold, clear day, with Roarke keeping track on the portable.

Not a lot of tourists on this more residential street, Eve noted. And most natives barely spared a glance at three people half jogging down the sidewalk wearing visored helmets.

But even jaded New Yorkers would gather and point at a SWAT unit. The goal? Get in before the op drew any sort of attention. Before Willow Mackie realized her location was blown.

They reached the door, crouched down together.

“Peabody, take the portable. She moves, we know it. She'd need to be at the window, angled and looking down this way to spot us. Roarke, do your thing.”

“Scanning security first.”

“Reineke, status.”

“Barricades going up. We'll come on foot from here.”

“You and Jenkinson take the back of the building. Hold there until I tell you, then come in hard. Lowenbaum.”

“Copy.”

“Target is third floor, southeast window. She's on the floor, watching screen, so if you're going to move your men, do it now, do it fast.”

“We've got her. Feeney's located her. We're moving. I'll have men on rooftops, facing buildings. Sending another team with yours to the rear. She's pinned, Dallas.”

“Pinned isn't done. We're working on silent entry.”

“She's a clever girl,” Roarke said. “She's jury-rigged a secondary alarm. I expect it signals her 'link. It's clever, but relatively basic. Just another moment.”

To give her time, to give her a heads-up, Eve thought, when the family came home.

She glanced around, scanned, caught a flash of movement on the roof of the building directly across the street.

“Peabody?”