The End Game (A Brit in the FBI 3)

44

KNIGHT TO C3 CHECK

CIA—bloody bollocks, I should have known. You’re a bloody spook.” Nicholas wanted to punch him a couple more times, but he heard Ben and the other agents laughing behind him. He backed off. “All right, you bleater, show us some ID.”

“I’m all the identification you’re going to get, pal. I don’t carry creds like you federales. They call it being undercover for a reason.”

True enough, Mike had to give him that. Mike waved to all the weapons. “I suppose this traveling armory is part of your undercover job?”

“We’re not supposed to use our personal vehicles, but it was a bona fide, true-blue emergency. I loaded up and made it a tactical vehicle, had no clue if it would be needed. No choice, I had to hurry.”

“Mike,” Ben called out, “I imagine the NYPD are outside the garage as we speak, wondering what to do. Tell you what, since you’re having so much fun with our CIA brother, we’ll go upstairs and handle things for you.”

“Ben, you stay here,” Mike said. “Tommy, Lynn, could you go upstairs and deal with the NYPD?”

The agents disappeared back into the elevator.

Nicholas said to Swanson, “You registered the car in your girlfriend’s name? Kinda dumb, dude.”

“Hey, I’m not picking on your methods.”

“Your girlfriend thinks you’re in Paris and doesn’t know you have a Suburban.”

“No, I didn’t tell her that, she didn’t need to know. She’s part of my cover.”

Mike’s eyebrow went up. “Does she know about the weapons stashed down here?”

“Certainly not; it would scare the crap out of her. But she is part of my world and she’s good. I’ll bet she convinced you guys she was as straight as an arrow, all cute swagger in those Doc Martens of hers.”

Mike said, “Yes, she sure did.”

“Let me wipe the blood off my nose.” Craig snagged a rag out of the back of the Suburban and pressed it to his nose. “It doesn’t feel broken, that’s good. Having Melody, it’s one of the perks of working for the Agency, you get to tell the people you love what you do. She knows to tell anyone who comes asking that I’m a chef, studying the restaurant business. Helps for when I need to make overseas runs. And I am an excellent cook, no lie there.”

Mike said, “Like I told you, she was good, believable; she lied right to our faces, smiling all the while. Hmmm, I think I might go back upstairs and pound on her.”

For the first time, Swanson looked alarmed. “Nah, please don’t, she’s a sweetie, bought into the whole deal, plus she thinks I’m very cool. However, this time it doesn’t appear she did a good enough job, since you’re here poking around, looking for me.”

“No, she’s a very good liar,” Nicholas said. “We saw you pull the Suburban into the garage. You didn’t even bother to check your surroundings before you led the FBI right to your doorstep. Now, enough fun and games. What were you doing in Brooklyn last night? Who’s the redheaded woman you took away? Where is she? We know she’s involved with COE, so that means you aided and abetted a terrorist, and you better believe I will light you up like a Christmas tree in two seconds flat if you even try to lie to me.”

Swanson stopped cold, held his hands palms out in front of his face. “Listen, you want more, you gotta talk to my boss. I’ve said all I can. Trust me, mate, we’re on the same side.”

Nicholas turned to Ben. “His girlfriend is up in 1507. Go arrest her on obstruction.”

He turned back to Swanson. “You got something to say to me before we arrest Melody?”

Swanson said, “No, no, don’t arrest her, she didn’t do anything. Seriously, that’s a low blow. Leave Melody out of this. All right, I’ll talk to my boss.”

“And who might your boss be?”

“Let me use my phone and I’ll call him. He can debrief you from here. Please, don’t arrest Melody.”

“Not a chance in Hell, mate. You give me names, I run a background to make sure you aren’t lying, then you can talk to him.”

Swanson pulled the cloth away from his nose, saw no new blood, and managed a sneer. “And here I thought all you FBI types were nerds and wing tips. But not you, you’re a real tough guy.” He touched his fingers to his nose. “I gotta say, you have a mean right hook.”

“The contact, now, or you’ll see my left jab, and trust me, you won’t like it.”

Swanson spit blood onto the garage floor. “All right, all right. Lighten up. My boss is going to rip you a new one, not me.” He read off a number.