Blindside (Michael Bennett 12)

AFTER HIDING OUT in a tourist welcome center for a while, I hailed a taxi and told him exactly what Gunnar, the janitor, had told me. Twenty minutes later, I saw Toit’s City café and a series of office buildings and warehouses across the street. This had to be the place.

I was literally like the dog who’d chased a car and caught it. Now what to do with it? I was standing there, looking at a likely location for the infamous Endrik “Henry” Laar, and only then did I realize I needed backup. Damn. Good luck and a little help from a priest had put me in a position to find Natalie, but I didn’t think it was smart to barge in. I did have a gun, but only sixteen rounds of 9mm ammo, and there was no telling what was inside the warehouse.

I stepped into the café. A few minutes later, I was seated with a cup of coffee for my own version of surveillance. I had no vehicle, no official authority, and no backup. Suddenly my brilliant plan looked like a six-year-old’s idea.

I pulled out a paper napkin and made a few notes on it. If nothing else, once the FBI caught up to me, I could give it to them. But I wasn’t ready to surrender just yet.

I kept watching the windows of the building across the street. There was definitely someone inside. So far, I had counted only two men. One matched the general description of Henry. Well under six feet, around thirty, neatly groomed, and wearing a blue T-shirt with some sort of emblem on it. The other man was older and heavier. If there were just two men, I might have a decent chance if I got inside.

I wondered if that was my attempt to build confidence. But I had no chance of finding Natalie if I didn’t at least go into this warehouse. I did, for about thirty seconds, consider how it might screw up Fiore’s operation if there was a large-scale investigation into the cybercrime organization.

I’d seen these conflicts of interest a dozen times, like when the FBI arrested someone on a minor fraud charge who the NYPD had under surveillance for a major RICO charge. Even within the NYPD, different units would step on one another’s feet; more than one homicide surveillance I had conducted had been interrupted when the Nar

cotics unit made a quick bust.

But I decided I had to take the chance. Sorry, Fiore.

CHAPTER 66

CHRISTOPH ALWAYS WOKE before his roommate and business partner, Ollie. Even if they were just taking a midday nap. Christoph wondered what would happen if he weren’t around. Would Ollie sleep twenty hours a day, like a house cat?

Often Christoph used the time to work out or run, to counter the effects of all the partying they did. Not today. He woke from his little nap with a brutal headache. He needed something to take the edge off and started to look through the apartment.

Christoph was astounded when he opened the medicine cabinet, looking for aspirin. The cabinet was a stoner’s dream. There were at least twenty ounces of pot organized by different strains. Even the strains were divided between indica and sativa so Ollie would know what would relax him and what would give him energy.

Ollie also had at least six eight-balls of heroin. They all looked to be from the same batch of Brown Sugar.

And on the bottom shelf, Ollie had bottles and bottles of pills.

Christoph smiled. Ollie was nothing like he appeared. He was organized and deliberate, even if he looked like he perpetually just woke up.

Their apartment in Tallinn was nothing special, a two-bedroom with a nice living room. Someone from Henry’s operation had managed to hack into the neighbors’ Wi-Fi and entertainment package so they could stream movies while they were high and watch Blauw-Wit Amsterdam football. The apartment, in Maakri, wasn’t far from either the Olympic Park or Grand Prix Rävala casino, with easy access to bars.

They’d stayed on the American cop after his discussion with the Estonian national policeman, following him with another man in the green Peugeot. They called the plates in to Henry’s people; the tag came back as from some holding company in Latvia. They wondered how to get a better fix on who could be driving the cop around.

Then the weirdest thing happened. They followed the Peugeot to St. Laszlo’s Church in Sikupilli. Bennett and the driver got out and greeted a priest who came out the main door. After a ten-minute wait, Christoph and Ollie saw the driver rush back out of the church, followed by the priest. The driver was clearly furious and jumped into the car. Where was the cop? Had Bennett escaped from this man? The way the man was dressed and acting made it seem like he was some kind of government official.

They had no way to figure out where Bennett had disappeared. They weren’t about to question a priest. Instead, they decided it was time to eat. And then they had come to the apartment. Christoph knew they’d find a way to follow the cop again later.

A text came in from Henry saying he’d need them shortly. With no aspirin in sight, Christoph downed some Vicodin instead. They had to show up to demonstrate to their boss that they were reliable. Even if sometimes they weren’t.

Christoph took a few minutes to gather his stuff. The pistol that had been provided, some extra cash, and a four-inch combat knife he always left at the apartment when they went back to Amsterdam. He liked the feel of a knife in his hand. He also liked the effect it had on people when he questioned them.

Now that he was ready, Christoph knocked on Ollie’s bedroom door. “C’mon, Ollie. We’ve got to earn our pay.”

A minute later, Ollie stepped out of his bedroom dressed in the same clothes he’d worn the day before: an AC/DC concert T-shirt with a hole in it and off-brand blue jeans.

Christoph said, “Why don’t you ever try to dress a little better? At least wear clean clothes.”

Ollie looked placidly at his partner. “It’s my image. I have to sell it. No one expects a sloppy, fat guy like me to be a killer. You, you look like a professional. Tall, handsome. You scare people. I’m an asset when I look like this.”

Christoph saw his point. He said, “Henry’s expecting us. I’m sure he wants us to do something with the cop.”

Ollie said, “I think the American is too risky. He doesn’t look like any kind of pushover. Henry hasn’t offered any bonus for this job, either.”

“Are you saying we should pass on the job?”

“I’m saying, as professionals, we need to evaluate the assignment, not just agree to everything Henry says. If you haven’t noticed, he’s become a little unhinged. He’s into feuds and grudges. He may not be our best choice of employer going forward.”