Whistleblower

by Stefanie Pintoff

  Likewise, Santa’s hefty paunch—where it was possible that extra nerve agent could be stored—had to be avoided.

  The only shot available to Mace was the kill shot.

  Right between the eyes.

  Something nobody wanted if there was any other alternative. Not in front of all these people. Not on live TV.

  It was a job so much better suited for García.

  He whispered to Eve through his secure headset: Do I take the kill shot?

  The reply came within a second: Stand by.

  Mace listened as the tune continued. Santa Claus is coming!

  He focused his eyes.

  Prepared to fire.

  Prayed he wouldn’t have to.

  —

  Under the cover of Santa’s blanket, Donovan put every ounce of strength into his right arm—and pulled.

  The loose ring that held his right cuff broke free.

  It made a clinking noise as it fell to the ground.

  But between the cheering crowds and blaring Santa Claus music, Donovan’s nemesis didn’t notice a thing.

  Donovan was ready for action.

  First he turned his face to the masses. Pulled out the earpiece that connected him with Eve.

  And tossed it out of the sleigh.

  Chapter 87

  Nearing Herald Square

  Nine minutes until parade’s end.

  Eve had raced downtown to Herald Square. Now she fought her way through the crowds—flashing her FBI shield to the various security detail officers who wanted to stop her. When she reached the sidewalk, she stopped.

  Molly the Mongoose was passing Thirty-seventh Street—with Wholesome Minds and Santa’s float Skyward tailing close behind.

  Eve’s first question was for Eli. “All confirmed?”

  Eli answered immediately. Yes.

  Eve’s second question was for Donovan. “Do you have this?”

  Silence.

  “Donovan?”

  Nothing. A technical glitch? Temporary, she hoped.

  Her last question was for Jan, who’d been acting as her liaison with other law enforcement. “Everyone’s on board?”

  Jan’s voice crackled in her ear. All set. We need this to work.

  “Haddox?” she asked.

  I’ve got the protocol to jam his detonator, he confirmed. It will require disrupting all wireless transmissions in the area, including emergency response. Are you sure?

  The music on Santa’s sleigh was blaring. “Here Comes Santa Claus” was repeating for the umpteenth time. Children and adults alike screamed in anticipation. In moments, Santa would arrive in his sleigh—and confetti would blanket the air.

  On a large screen overlooking Herald Square, WJXZ’s live coverage was being broadcast. Gwen Allensen was talking about how Santa’s float was the largest in the parade, at sixty feet long, twenty-two feet wide, and three and a half stories tall.

  The red star-shaped balloons that hung on Santa’s sleigh taunted Eve: Believe!

  She had three options to secure the Soman and protect the public. Allow Haddox to hack the technology. Rely on Mace to take the kill shot. Or trust that Eli could accomplish the same goal, with the least collateral damage, if the commissioner failed.

  She made her decision. “Haddox, stand by. Mace, continue to stand by. Eli, on my mark, we are five, four, three, two, one.”

  Mark set, came his response.

  —

  Donovan flung off the blanket that had covered his lap with his now-free right hand. There was a flash of metal as the handcuffs were still attached to his wrist.

  He whipped his right arm forward; connected square on with Santa’s chin.

  Two hundred forty pounds of muscle, fury, and primeval vengeance.

  Santa’s jaw shattered and his head snapped back; then he went down, hard and vertical.

  “Feel good?” Sam managed to ask through a mouthful of blood.

  “Feels great. After everything I did to help you, you took my daughter. You messed with my job. Now you’re threatening this city with a chemical weapon—and I want that detonator.”

  Sam balled his hands into fists. “You stupid bastard. You’re going to have to fight me for it. This is your third task. Showing the world just how far you’ll go.”

  Donovan stopped a moment—and stared. Working hard to make sure he understood exactly what Sam Heath was offering.

  —

  I’m all set, Eli said over the radio. Everyone around me is on board.

  Eve heaved a sigh of relief. Jan—you’re confident our next step is the best way to secure the Soman?

  Affirmative. With this big a crowd, there’s not really much choice, came the forensic tech’s answer.

  In the background, Henry Ma issued an order that would reach all media. “Cameras up! Due to an emergency situation, we need all media cameras focused on the balloons. Away from the crowds.”

  Eve made a final decision. Once the threat is cleared, I’ll send SWAT to help Donovan out.

  Doesn’t look like the commissioner needs any help. Haddox’s voice was flat.

  —

  Holy crap! From his vantage point on high, Mace had a pretty good view of Donovan and Santa going at it.

  He’d seen plenty of tough fights in his day. On the courts, after a game gone bad. On the streets, when the Bloods had to defend their turf. He’d seen nothing like this.

  For a violent, bloody minute, he watched the commissioner appear to take out all his frustrations. Santa’s face was bruised and swollen.

  Donovan sure didn’t look like a member of the police force—much less its boss.

  Rules didn’t apply.

  A bloody froth had formed on Santa’s lips.

  Mace wondered: Should I take a shot? Maybe wound ’em both—and end this? Then he looked into the crowds—remembered the detonator—and made himself keep still.

  But he couldn’t help wondering: What the hell is going on?

  —

  The moment he understood what Sam Heath was after, Logan Donovan dragged him down to the floor of the sleigh. Pinned his hands. “Where’s that detonator?” he demanded again.

  “If you don’t smile for the camera, I’m going to release the poison, commissioner.”

  Logan scrambled to search through layers of padding and red fur. Found a stiletto knife and pressed it against Sam’s throat. “Detonator. Now.”

  “Better act fast, Logan.”

  Donovan continued searching until his free hand made it through the last layer of the Santa suit. He found the small device in Sam’s left breast pocket.

  Next to it was a letter.

  Logan went perfectly still. Stared at the handwriting. It was as close as he’d get to allowing himself a gasp of shock.

  He was aware of the crowds—screaming, all around him.

  “What’d Santa ever do to you?” a voice yelled out from the crowd.

  He overheard the answer from some security officer: “Hey, kids—that’s a cop dealing with a bad Santa. Like the one Ralphie meets in A Christmas Story.”

  Logan recovered. Let the letter drop to the floor. Clutched the detonator tight.

  “I’ll bet you never knew, did you, Logan? Let’s take stock: You have the detonator. I swear that your daughter is safe.” Sam’s words were slurred. “But you don’t want to stop, do you? It feels too good.” Sam managed something approaching a grin.

  Donovan pressed the knife against Sam’s left jugular. If he severed it, Sam would bleed out in less than sixty seconds.

  “Guess I have my answer,” Sam mumbled.

  Donovan leaned low. He whispered, “I knew it was you the whole time. It had to be. Nobody else knew about the two million—or how hard I worked to squash the details of Jill’s so-called accident.”

  “But you didn’t stop me. Didn’t send in the troops to rescue her.” The words were garbled, but Donovan understood them.

  He pressed the knife harder into Sam’s skin. A drop of blood formed�
�and slid down Sam’s neck. “This is why I waited, Sam. I’m going to be the hero, not the bad guy. The top cop is about to save the city.”

  —

  Haddox watched the two figures struggling inside Santa’s sleigh. Donovan seemed to have the upper hand. And when Haddox saw metal flash in the sunlight, he got a sick feeling in his stomach.

  Donovan didn’t look like a victim. Not anymore.

  Was he really doing what was necessary to save the city from chemical attack?

  Or was Haddox watching a battle without honor or rules?

  He saw a final, desperate tangle. Then Santa went limp—and the commissioner held the detonator up high. High enough for the world to see.

  What exactly had just happened?

  —

  There were choruses of screams everywhere. Police took defensive positions, holding their riot shields to keep the crowds in place.

  It turned out they didn’t have to.

  In the same instant, the crowd’s collective vision took in the sight of Molly the Mongoose—let loose—flying higher and higher into the air.

  There was a chorus of oohs and ahhs.

  Cameras flashed.

  Molly was right by the Marriott Courtyard hotel—where guests pressed foreheads tight against the windows. Molly continued to rise, higher and higher.

  She was ten stories up.

  Rising to fifteen.

  Then twenty, twenty-five, thirty, thirty-five—until she had cleared the top of the hotel, shooting ever higher into the sky.

  Logan Donovan watched, too.

  When all eyes were focused on the flying balloon, he leaned down and slid the letter Sam had kept with the detonator into his own pocket. It was secure by the time the SWAT team boarded the sleigh—and took the lifeless Santa away.

  Molly the Mongoose was a yellow shooting star, high in the sky, heading toward Long Island. At last, too high in the air to cause harm.

  People on the sidewalks seemed to cram themselves closer to the metal barricades. Trying to see better, hear better, feel more part of this once-in-a-lifetime finale.

  —

  Mace joined Eli on the ground. Now they watched the commissioner—together.

  “He’s a hero, right?” Eli said. “Secured the detonator. Put down the bad guy.”

  “Guess so.” Mace took the ammunition out of his Glock.

  “Do you think Sam could have been taken alive?” Eli hesitated. “I mean, what did you see? You had the better view.”

  “My guess is: Everybody sees what they want to see. For most people, that means a guy fighting to save the public from a dangerous threat.”

  “But that’s not what you saw.”

  “Since when does anybody care what I saw?” Mace growled. “He’s the commissioner.”

  “Yeah.” Eli slugged down a gulp of a Coke one of the parade volunteers had given him. “Kind of funny about his radio going out. Right at that moment.”

  Through the crowds, Mace caught a glimpse of Céline. He waved, then holstered the Glock. “Catch you later, Red.”

  Eli shot him a sidelong glance. “You ever going to introduce me?”

  Mace’s boyish grin was slightly lopsided. “Hell, no. I like Céline.”

  WJXZ REPORTS

  This is Gwen Allensen, with live coverage from Herald Square, where I’m joined by Mayor Maureen Kelly and Deputy Police Commissioner Kepler.

  GWEN: When I spoke with the parade’s director earlier, he said that we could expect this year’s parade to be unique. Bigger and better, with fabulous floats, superstar talent, and new balloons. But this parade finale is like nothing we’ve seen before. What exactly just happened?

  MAYOR KELLY: I feel like we’ve been transported back to 1929—when all the balloons used to be released into the air at the end of the parade!

  GWEN: And when people found them deflated in their yards, days later, there was an address card inside for returning them to Macy’s. Those who did would receive a prize.

  KEPLER: Today, we do things differently. Two helicopters are flying right now, determined to intercept wayward Molly’s path—and take her to a safe, secure location.

  GWEN: Molly’s release is certainly a news story we’ll come back to, but I also need to ask you about Skyward. I understand the commissioner was involved in a security incident onboard Santa’s sleigh.

  KEPLER: I’m afraid we can’t comment at this time. Our investigation is active and ongoing.

  PART SIX

  * * *

  The Fourth Thursday in November

  Thanksgiving

  12:03 p.m. until 6 p.m.

  Chapter 88

  Herald Square

  A press conference was slowly taking form. Mayor Maureen Kelly was headed to the news podium, flanked by her deputy mayor as well as George Kepler. An interpreter for the hearing impaired trailed close behind.

  Cops and security personnel surrounded them all. Doing their job; eyes alert for anything amiss. They saluted Donovan as he approached.

  The commissioner wasn’t worried about Mo or the deputy mayor or any of the host of high-level political officials now gathering. They were lily-livered ninnies who would never take a stand until they saw which way the political wind blew.

  Besides, the moment was Donovan’s. When he ascended the podium, a half-dozen cameras and mikes turned toward his face, just like flowers stretched to the sun. His heart was pounding, but he needed to make his power play now. Take charge of the media and master the spin.

  “Before I’m reunited with my daughter—and we wrap up this parade and go home to our families—I want to give you details on a serious security situation. Fortunately, it was resolved with an outcome we can all be thankful for.”

  —

  Eve intercepted the commissioner as he broke away from the crowd of police officers who’d swarmed him.

  “Thank you,” she said—and meant it. “You took on a lot of risk today to save people. You’re okay?”

  He fell into step beside her. “Nothing’s wrong that a hot shower, a good nap, and a maybe a tube of Bengay won’t cure. Where’s Allie?”

  “She’s fine. And waiting for you, just ahead.” Eve indicated the area right in front of Macy’s.

  “Listen.” He took her arm. “A couple things. First, the knife I found on Santa? When forensic analysis is complete, I’ll be surprised if it doesn’t turn out to be the same weapon that killed García.”

  “I agree. What’s second?”

  “I don’t like it when you treat me with suspicion. I’m an open book, if you just ask.”

  “Any question I want?” She watched his eyes carefully. Those blue eyes again—the ones that had seen too much.

  “Anything.”

  She knew he was working to get her on his side. That was how he manipulated people.

  She knew—because she did it herself.

  “You knew people would question Jill’s death, yet you covered up evidence. Did nothing to allay their concerns.”

  She was thinking: Prove me wrong about you.

  “Because there’s two kinds of people in this world. Those who want something from me. And those who want me out of this job. To answer them would dignify their suspicions, but I have exonerating proof on file at my attorney’s office. Just in case. You’re welcome to see it.”

  “Okay.” She understood people well enough that when their words and behavior surprised her, that only made them more fascinating. That was Logan’s appeal, she knew.

  It was also why she loved her job—right here, in New York, with its variety of cases. The result of so many people from different cultures and backgrounds. Behaving in ways sometimes heroic and other times horrific—but always unpredictable.

  He shot her the same brilliant smile she’d seen time and again on television. But today, it was meant just for her. “Jill’s illness was hard—but you know something odd? In the end, we started talking again. Real conversations. For the first time in ages. Thinking back, th
ose are some of my best memories with her. Strange, isn’t it?”

  “Maybe that’s love.”

  “At least maybe friendship.” Logan Donovan was looking at her. “Can I see you again?”

  “What would Gwen Allensen say about that?”

  “Goodbye and good luck.”

  Eve shifted her gaze to a small figure watching them. “We can talk later. Allie’s waiting for you now.”

  —

  And Haddox was waiting for her.

  “There’s a guy I know,” she said as she approached him. “He’s not like anybody I’ve ever met. He’s got this eight-eighteen rule and he doesn’t want to stick around. But he always turns up when I really need him.”

  “Is that a thank-you?”

  “Something like that.”

  “I’m leaving town.” His voice became husky, intimate. “Come with me, luv.”

  She looked into his soulful blue eyes—and was tempted. Then she thought of Allie. García. A fatherless boy recovering in a hospital uptown.

  All reminders of a different task she had yet to do.

  “Another time,” Eve said, turning away. “Right now, there’s someplace I need to be.”

  —

  The commissioner sprinted to where Allie was standing in Herald Square, right next to the Ace CyberDog float. She was clutching a small pit bull mix puppy.

  The news cameras continued to trail him.

  His hands were shaking. Something seemed to have shredded inside of him—and he almost felt tears coming on.

  To hold them back, he wasted no time. He enveloped Allie—puppy and all—in a gigantic bear hug. And let it last for a full minute and twenty-three seconds.

  “I missed you, Daddy,” she whispered.

  “It’s okay,” he soothed. “I’m lucky to have you back.”

  When he’d been handcuffed, sitting beside Santa, he’d thought of Allie. He’d pictured her at Jill’s funeral—and remembered how helpless he felt, how completely useless he had been.

  He hadn’t been able to think of anything to say. He hadn’t been able to make it better.

  “Are we going home now?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he assured her.

  “Just us? Not her.”