The Final Cut (A Brit in the FBI 1)

Savich grinned at him. “Let’s see where she went.”

Mike said, “You hacked into the secure New York City CCTV network?”

“No, that would be illegal,” Savich said. “This is the live, public, and very unsecured tourist cam system. It shows every intersection in the area. Perhaps even a better view than our official cameras, since they’re bogged down with the new license-plate technology. Let’s see where the Fox went.”

He backed up the feed and started searching. Mike followed each frame closely. “Wait, Dillon. Right there.” She pointed at the top-right quadrant. With a click, it filled the computer screen. He backed it up and hit play, and Victoria Browning’s pretty boots walked into the frame and hopped in a cab.

Mike said, “She changed out of her ball gown and back into her work clothes so she’d be less conspicuous on the street. Got her at the corner of Fifth and East Eighty-fifth at 9:39 p.m. She’s headed across town.”

Savich freeze-framed the camera and zoomed in, then started typing again. “The cabbie’s hack license is NY670097. Running it now.”

Zachery came into the room. “Bomb squad team leader called. They’ve finished dismantling the rest of the device Browning planted. They said to tell you well done, Nicholas. Took some quick thinking to throw on your jammer.”

Savich said, “Here we are. The cab is registered to a Daneesh Himsah. I’ve got his cell, calling it now.”

“Told you Savich was good,” Bo whispered to Nicholas.

“Yes, and he’s on a roll. Let’s see how far he can get.”

A man’s voice came out of the laptop’s speakers.

“Hello?”

“Mr. Himsah, my name is Special Agent Savich, with the FBI. You had a fare an hour ago, a woman you picked up at the corner of Fifth and East Eighty-fifth. Where did you take her?”

Click.

“Can you believe that—he ended the call.” Savich sounded so surprised everyone laughed.

Nicholas said, “Let’s get the NYPD to pick him up. Maybe a face-to-face will—”

A ring interrupted them. Savich clicked the laptop screen. Words scrolled down. “The taxi driver is texting us.”

Fare in cab. Thru the CT border booth. Drop off at Tweed.

Zachery said, “That’s the airport in New Haven, Connecticut. Tell him to keep it up. We can intercept. Thank you, Savich.”

Mike read over his shoulder as he typed in a message to the cabbie.

Proceed as planned. Police will intercept at airport. Thank you for your cooperation.

She said, “Nicholas, you and I will go. I want to see Victoria Browning’s face when we arrest her. First, though, I need to change my red gown for jeans.”

33

An MD-530 Little Bird was ready when they arrived at the FBI helipad. Zachery had pulled a tactical unit for them, six men bristling with weapons, silent as the grave, awaiting their orders.

Overkill, Nicholas thought, and said, “Mike, surely they won’t be needed.”

Her face was set, her tone cold. “She already tried to blow us all up. I’m not taking any more chances.”

“Actually, all she had to do was call the number before I disarmed it and we’d all be playing harps. She didn’t. She waited until she had to know we’d have disarmed the bomb.”

She frowned at him. “Not the point.”

They strapped themselves in and put on headsets so they could hear the pilot and speak to one another. The bird lifted off, twisted slightly, then banked right and headed north.

Nicholas looked over to see a grin on Mike’s face a mile wide. Her voice crackled in his ear, distorted by the headset. “I love this chopper. I don’t get to do intercepts like this very often.”