Manhunt (Michael Bennett 10.50)

Santos continued. “We’re covering the leads on the step-van truck—which was a rental—immigration, current gripes against the US government, and even city emplo

yees. The last group is because the dump truck at the intersection was too far to one side, allowing the attacker to slip past.

“I know we have a lot of different agencies working together, but there will be an FBI agent in each group. They will document everything you do, brief me, and handle evidence.”

He closed his notebook and straightened up to glance around the room. “Are there any questions?” He shot a dirty look at me in an effort to keep me quiet.

As everyone broke into their small groups with different assignments, Dan Santos walked over to me and Darya and said, “I’m on your team. We’ll be handling a lot of different things. But no matter what we do, neither of you are to run down any leads without me. Is that clearly understood?”

I was preparing a smartass answer when Darya said, “I sorry. My English not so good. Let’s hope I make no mistake.” She turned to me, winked, and shot me a little smile.

I was liking this Darya more and more.

Chapter 11

I felt like I’d found a kindred spirit in Darya Kuznetsova after she stood up to the FBI agent, Dan Santos. It wasn’t just what she did, but how she did it—it was playful yet said, Don’t mess with me.

That’s why I was comfortable sitting down next to her away from everyone else in the corner of the conference room. She seemed pleased that I had chosen to speak with her. She gave me just a hint of a lovely smile, but her sharp eyes didn’t miss anything.

She said, “Do you always carry two pistols? I thought the NYPD usually carried only one gun, their duty weapon on the right hip.”

“I decided a backup .380 on my ankle was a good idea considering how tough this suspect was. How did you pick up on it?”

“You dragged your left leg ever so slightly and I noticed your ankle holster. Your duty weapon on your hip is obvious.”

“You don’t approve of guns?”

“On the contrary, it’s smart. The Kazakhs tend to be of a rougher sort than most Russians. It would be similar to someone being raised on the frontier in the Old West.” She grasped my right hand and held it up to examine it. “Just like I could tell you were not raised on the frontier.”

I gave her a smile, though she had subtly just called me a wimp. “New York City is its own kind of frontier.”

Darya considered my comment for a moment and said, “Were you ever pressured to join a group and commit crimes?”

I thought about mentioning the Holy Name basketball team when I was a kid. We’d been a tough bunch, and on a dare I’d stolen a bag of M&M’s from a grocery store on the corner. But that probably wasn’t what she meant, so I didn’t mention it. Besides, I had gone back the next day to give old man Rogers, who ran the place, money for the candy.

I changed the subject and said, “I know we talked about this, but how did you get this assignment?”

“Part of it was that I happened to be here in New York and my English is better than most Russians’.”

“Your English is better than most New Yorkers’.” It was satisfying that the comment earned a smile.

“I was raised in Maryland. My father was in the diplomatic corps in Washington, DC. Then I attended MIT on a student visa.”

“What did you study?”

“Engineering. I still get to use it occasionally. What about you? Did you go to college?”

“Right here in New York. Manhattan College.”

“What did you study?”

“Philosophy.” That one earned a little bit of a smirk.

“Do you ever get to use your degree?”

“That depends. If my studies did, in fact, open my mind to help me better understand the human condition, then yes, I do. If I was merely sucked into the factory of higher education designed solely to make money, I still use it every day.”

“What do you think we will be doing on this investigation? Will the FBI try to hinder us?”