The End Game (A Brit in the FBI 3)

Because Trafford was experienced at never showing anything, he gave Maitland a warm smile and said, “We’ve got some of each variety. I have a few stateside. Or do you want a whole team?”

“I want whoever you have available immediately. And I want my guys to meet with yours.”

“Sure. Of course. We’ve got lots of possibles in our database, lots of bomb info from COE’s overseas work. Anything the CIA can do to help.”

Now, why don’t I believe you, you little prick? But Maitland nodded. “I’ll also inform my team about Damari’s confirmed contract on the vice president. Both of our groups should dig, see if we can find out exactly who’s behind it.” He gave Trafford a final nod, a handshake. “I’ll be in touch.”

Oh, yes, I’m sure you will. Trafford walked out of the EEOB to his waiting car. McGuiness had said more or less the same thing. Yeah, like that would happen even if there was a snowstorm in Hell.

Neither of them had any clue that he would get to the finish line first. He was already on the final lap.

34

BISHOP TO E6

Chelsea

Mike’s cell rang. Since she was driving, Nicholas put it on speaker. “Go ahead, Louisa. You find anything?”

Louisa sounded tired. “There’s nothing here helpful to us. Obviously someone was thorough when they set the fire. The second floor collapsed into the first, taking all the evidence with it. Everything’s soggy. It’ll take a week to go through it all. I did call the ME—Janovich got the body from the building. Said he was pretty crispy, but he could tell us the guy had been shot in the chest. Nothing else as yet. I’ll tell you, Mike, they did some job on this building.”

“Maybe we need to add firebugs into the profile.”

“That’s a good idea, Mike. Arsonists have as distinct a signature as serial killers.”

Nicholas said, “Louisa, please send the chemical makeup of the accelerant into our Uniform Crime Reporting database. Though arson is wildly underreported in the UCR, perhaps we’ll find a hit.”

“I can do that. I’ll also take a look in ViCAP, see if there are any arson fires near where our confirmed explosions have happened. Hey, I’m willing to try anything that will help us track down these murderers.”

Nicholas said, “Louisa, another thought. Why not a second search with the parameters extended to violent crime in the week leading up to each explosion—homicides, especially. Who knows what sort of patterns may emerge.”

“Okay, can do. I’ll tell you guys, talk about finding a soggy needle hiding in a wet haystack, we’re going to have to get out the metal detectors to find any bullet casing in this mess. But I’ll do a rush analysis on the accelerant. Since we already know it’s petrol, and we’re at an auto shop, chances are it was taken from this location, but one never knows. I can probably have something for you within the hour.”

“The moment you do, Louisa.” He hung up, turned to Mike. “Now, as soon as we find the owner of the Suburban, hopefully we’ll find the redheaded woman.”

“Vida Antonio’s sketches of the group staying at the body shop should come in soon,” Mike said, as she swerved around a taxi. “But you know, Nicholas, there’s something off here. I mean, a Middle Eastern recruit to COE?”

“It does fly in the face of everything COE stands for. Who could this man be?”

Mike hated it, but she gave in and stopped for a red light. She looked over at him, opened her mouth to say something, and what she saw made her blood freeze. She cleared her throat.

“Nicholas, you know how very elegant you looked when you came to work this morning?”

“Why are you speaking in the past tense?”

“Your beautiful suit coat has a bullet hole in it. Nigel is going to shoot you, if I don’t shoot you first for getting yourself hurt. Again.”

He cocked his head at he

r. She slapped the car into park and grabbed his arm, running her hands from his shoulder to elbow. “You lamebrain, look at this.”

In the upper sleeve of his jacket, there was a small tear in the fine wool. He cursed, lots of animal body parts that made Mike laugh. The light turned green, but Mike ignored it. “You really don’t feel anything?”

He shook his head. “I’m fine. Mike, we have lots of pissed-off drivers behind us. Best hit the gas.” He looked back at the dozen cars, drivers waving their fists, horns honking.

Mike gunned the Crown Vic. Looked to see him shrugging out of his coat.

“Well, that’s a relief.”