“Seem to be. And Heiner Veblen, the gentleman you beat to a pulp, is currently in a coma at Bellevue Hospital. Ben is there, in case he comes to and decides he wants to have a come-to-Jesus talk. Though the doctors don’t think that’s likely, since he suffered a brain bleed.”
Zachery met Nicholas’s eye. “Did you have to put the man in a coma, Drummond?”
“One look at me and you’ll see he was a vicious fighter, and tried to kill me. Fortunately, I’m a good fighter as well. I didn’t hit his head, sir, everywhere else, but not his head. He fell down hard on that last kick, and his head smacked hard against the asphalt.”
Zachery studied Nicholas’s battered face, the swelling, the blood splatter on his shirt. He looked at Mike, imagined her with a gun to her head, and saw the aftermath, the man’s blood speckled on her white shirt. He’d chew their butts tomorrow about having a team with them at all times, even if they were visiting an old man in a nursing home. They’d believed they were going to pick up a boy, nothing more. Well, so much for that fine analysis. It had been too close. Would a team have made a difference? He didn’t know. He said, “Drummond, you do realize this is an all-time record for a junior agent?”
Nicholas went stiff. Mike didn’t know if it was Zachery’s tone or him calling Nicholas a junior agent. Or both. She said, without hesitation, “Sir, Nicholas did everything right, everything by the book. You would have done the same thing if you’d been there. You know these guys were pros, not some lowlife drug dealers. The German, Siegmund Brasch, he would have killed me if Nicholas hadn’t acted. I’d be good and dead, my head blown off.” She swallowed, seeing it. “He saved my life, sir. And Mr. Olympic, that was a fluke, Dr. Janovich surely told you it was. Nicholas did nothing wrong. Because of him, I’m alive.”
Zachery gave her a long look. “And I expect you to say exactly that tomorrow morning, Agent Caine, when the Shooting Incident Review Team from Headquarters arrives for the inquiry. I believe both of you acted exactly right, but I have to make the call because I have no choice. Drummond, you are suspended, pending the results of the SIRT hearing. I need your gun, and your creds.”
Zachery said nothing more, held out his hand. “Per regulation, another weapon will be assigned to you. You need to collect it, then head on home for the night. We’ll sort all this out in the morning.”
Without a word, Nicholas put his weapon and his freshly laminated credentials on the coffee table. He wondered what his former boss, Hamish Penderley of New Scotland Yard, would have said in Zachery’s position. He probably would have grabbed one of his prized antique foils and run him through.
Zachery nodded briefly. “The SIRT hearing will be at eight-thirty tomorrow morning. Neither of you be late.”
Nicholas saw Mike was about to blow. He caught her arm, shook his head.
“We’ll be there, sir. Thank you. Is that all?”
“I’m glad you’re not fighting me on this.”
Nicholas shrugged. “Rules are rules, especially when it comes to the FBI. I knew that when I signed up. As a brand-new junior agent, I’m on probation for ninety days, and there are no special favors to be given because exceptions were made for me to join the FBI. I understand, and I will be back in the morning to explain my side of things.”
“Good. Now go home, clean yourselves up, eat something, go to bed. As I said, we’ll get it all sorted out in the morning.”
Nicholas nodded, turned to leave.
Mike said, “But, sir, we can’t afford to
lose the time. Adam Pearce is on the run. He’s in danger, and we have to find him. We think he’s the key to what’s happening.”
Zachery narrowed his eyes at her. “There’s a team in place working on this, Agent Caine. You’re to see Agent Drummond home, do you understand me? And get a good night’s sleep yourself.”
Her back was ramrod straight. “Am I being disciplined as well, sir?”
He shut his eyes, shook his head and gave an exasperated sigh. “Mike, you’re being protected by getting your ass out of this building for the night. Read me?”
“Loud and clear, sir.”
“Good. You two, out of here, now.”
32
Mike called Ben while Nicholas went to get his replacement weapon.
“Please tell me the German is out of the coma and talking.”
“Nope, the lights are still out. There’s swelling, they put in a stent, so hopefully it will help things. He’s pretty messed up, Mike. Nicholas did a real number on him.”
“Thank goodness, otherwise it might have been Nicholas in the damned coma.” She’d been there. She’d seen the fight, hands and fists flying, kicks and punches, the guy finally down, then in a flash, Nicholas facing her, firing point-blank, fast and unquestioning, and she wondered for the hundredth time exactly what kind of spy work he’d done for Britain’s Foreign Office.
She refocused, shook it off. “Any chance they found an implant in the dead guy’s noggin?”
“No. Clean as a whistle. Janovich did an X-ray first thing, no implant.”
“All three are German, but probably only the one has an implant? That’s interesting. Listen, Ben, call me if anything changes there at the hospital.” She wasn’t going to tell him about the inquiry tomorrow, but of course he’d find out soon enough.