He was lucky to be alive.
More than lucky.
Eamon raised his eyebrows. “Did you tell her the part about it being a machine taking over?” He took a swig from his beer.
“Not yet.” Jake looked out the window at a dumpster beneath them. The sun was high in the sky now, and the heat was coming, too. A wind sprang up, warning of rain from black clouds on the horizon. “I don’t know. I wasn’t expecting to see her.”
“Sounds like you don’t believe it yourself.” Eamon took another swig of beer.
Jake rubbed the stubble on his face. “Maybe I don’t.” In the light of day, sitting in the outskirts of Schenectady—listening to the cicadas whine in the distance—it felt like a fairy tale. Right now he needed Elle to believe him.
“They’ve issued a Federal arrest warrant for you, for me, even for Elle. That 2nd Circuit Court judge has us in his sights, little brother.” Eamon took another drink from his bottle.
“You think I don’t know that?”
“So what’s your plan? Are we going to blow the cover off?”
That had been Jake’s plan. To get back in the country, show up for court, then email the New York Times with all the information he had. Something like that. He knew it wasn’t a great plan, knew that Sean had failed at something similar, but he didn’t have any other ideas.
Now, with the Federal arrest warrant and murder charge, cops might be as likely to shoot him as arrest him. Maybe that was the plan. Jake’s access to the outside world was even more restricted. And if his enemy was trying to get him arrested, then they—or it—weren’t afraid of him going public. What nasty surprises might be in store once he was behind bars? Jake sighed. “I don’t know. I need to think.”
“Better think fast.”
“Yeah.” That was the truth. What was he going to do? He needed some sleep. Jake pointed at the VOIP phone Dean gave him to give to Eamon. “So you have my number?” Jake had to write his number down on a piece of paper. After spending most of the last decade in jail, his brother wasn’t up to speed on the latest in cellphones.
His brother picked up the phone. “I got it.”
“And you’ll use that to call me?”
“I will.” Eamon rolled his eyes in response to Jake’s arched eyebrows. “I promise.” He finished off his beer and dropped it on the table. “So you want a gun, huh?”
“I do.” Jake wasn’t a fan of them, but he needed to be able to defend himself. And his family. “What would you recommend?”
“A 12-gauge pump shotgun would be my first choice. Effective and reliable, and the odds of having to use it again after pumping it once are slim.” Eamon smiled at his brother. “Lethal at close range, no aim needed.”
“I can’t carry around a shotgun. Something smaller.”
“Ah.” Eamon nodded. “In that case, there are two good alternatives, the first being a .45 1911. The design is a hundred years old, still popular because it works well.”
Eamon might not know much about cellphones, but he was an expert in firearms.
“Can I hide it?” asked Jake.
Eamon wagged his head side to side. “In that case, I’d suggest one of the smaller polymer pistols, something like a Ruger LCP. It disappears in a pocket. Cheap, light and works great out of the box. Fires a less powerful round than the .45, but will kick much more due to the lack of mass. You can put a Band-Aid at the top of the grip, under the slide, to lessen the sting of firing it.”
A car pulled up while Eamon was speaking.
“Who’s that?” Jake asked, standing to walk forward and look over the railing.
Eamon didn’t get up. “Just my guys. Something must be up.”
Two men got out of the car and looked up at Eamon. He nodded. They started coming around the side and up the stairs.
Jake sat back down in his chair. “I thought we agreed we weren’t going to tell anyone I’m here?”
Eamon shrugged. “Something must be up. Maybe the cops are on their way.” He got to his feet. “Hey guys, what’s up?” he called out. One of the guys was huge, his suit bursting from the muscles beneath it.
“Not much, Eamon,” the lead one replied. “We need to talk to Jake for a second.”
Eamon gave them room to pass. “No problem.”
“What can I do for—”
The first one cocked his fist and punched Jake in the mouth. Jake was too surprised to react. “What the hell?” he managed to get out as he was pinned to the wall.
The big man behind the first one wrapped his arm around Jake. “Don’t make a sound. We don’t want to have to hurt your family.”
“Sorry, Jake.” Eamon shook his head slowly, following them as they walked down the stairs. “It’s the only way, little brother.”
27
Outskirts of Schenectady
New York
Garbage littered the second floor of the abandoned warehouse. Wind through the shattered windows blew stray bits of paper around Jake’s feet. In one corner was a pile of rank blankets, the nest of some homeless person. Jake guessed whoever it was had been not-so-politely asked to leave by the three men in dark suits, their hair slicked back, who now glared at him.
They looked like gangsters.
The place stank of urine.
After what had to be a minute of standing and staring at each other, Jake finally asked, “Should I know you?”
He tested his lip. It was swollen, the metallic taste of blood still filled his mouth from being punched at the motel.
What was he doing here? He glanced at his brother, standing off to one side, but Eamon stared at the ground. When Eamon stared at the ground, it meant something bad.
The man in the middle snorted. Smaller than the other two, but obviously in charge. Enunciating each word slowly and carefully he said, “Should he know me?” He laughed. Shook his head and looked back and forth at the two gorillas flanking him.
Jake grimaced. “Did I say something funny?”
The small man smiled and looked at Jake. “Sort of.” He nodded at the big guy on his right, who stepped forward and punched Jake hard in the gut.
Doubling over, Jake gasped, the wind knocked out of him. He almost threw up. Putting down one hand to steady himself, he gritted his teeth. “I don’t know what you want,” he wheezed. “Who are you?”
“He don’t know what we want,” the small man laughed, his voice rising as if he was amazed. “Who am I? This guy don’t know anything. Let’s see if we can remind him.”
With his left arm, the large man who’d punched Jake grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, lifted him off the ground, and in the same motion landed a crunching blow across his face with his right hand.
Jake crumpled onto the pee-stained floor.
“Hey!” Eamon yelled. “You said you weren’t going to do anything to him.”
“I’m not going to kill him. Not yet.” The small man knelt to look Jake in the eye. “Tell me again you don’t know who I am.”
Jake tried to lift himself off the concrete but couldn’t. He groaned and tried again, managed to get onto his knees. A food wrapper stuck to his face and he blew it off, bloody spittle coming out. Black spots danced before his eyes. He hadn’t been hit like that in years.
“I’m Joey Barbara, you sack of shit,” the small man continued. “But who I am isn’t as important as why I am out here, in this shithole, like some errand boy. Tell me again you don’t know who I am.”
“Wait, wait.” The name. Barbara. Jake held out one shaking hand as the big man advanced. “Joseph Barbara. Mr. Barbara. You left me messages, and I set up that meeting with you. Danny Donovan told me to cancel it.”
“Ah,” Joey Barbara looked skyward. “Now he remembers. And do you remember why I wanted to meet with you?”
“I don’t know.” Jake coughed, gasped, and got to his feet. The big man took a step toward him. Jake backed away. “Hold on, because he owes you money.”
“Very good.” Joey Barbara snorted.
“And not just me. You and your buddy Donovan said it was a no lose deal. Your words.”
What did he mean, my words? “Donovan was my boss, I just worked for him.” But his confusion transformed into a cold jolt in his stomach, as he suddenly understood what was going on. “Whatever happened, I wasn’t a part of it.”
Joey shook his head. “Hit him again.”
The big man nodded and raised a fist.
This time Jake knew it was coming. He shifted his weight onto the balls of his feet, and ducked underneath the blow. Bending his knees, he exploded upward with an upper cut that caught the big man square on the chin. The big man staggered back, shocked, and reached under his jacket. Jake glimpsed an oversized handgun under the suit, but Joey Barbara held out a hand, stopping the big man from pulling out his weapon.
“I told you, we haven’t spoken before,” Jake insisted.
“This guy, I can’t believe this guy.” Joey Barbara stared at Jake. “Is there something wrong in your head? We’ve spoken on the phone at least a dozen times. We even did one of those frickin’ video chats that you Wall Street guys love.”
Jake shifted his stance, one foot forward and one back, centering his weight. Fighting was like riding a bike for Jake. Maybe he hadn’t done it in years, but it came back fast. “Mr. Barbara, you’ve been taken in by a scam, the same people who are framing me—”
“Framing you? You’re some angel, huh? Sticking it to your office girls, and I seen the fraud indictments. You’re a slime ball.” Joey Barbara shook his head in disgust. “And they call us organized crime. The real organized crime happens on Wall Street. Stealing from pensioners, stealing my hard-earned money.” He straightened his tie. “Anyway, I don’t give a shit about that. What I want, what I need, is my money back.”
It was futile to try to deny anything. Jake needed information. “How much?”
“Fifty million. Maybe that’s chickenfeed to you, but I’ll tell you who doesn’t think so. It was all I could do to keep the Rizuttos from whacking you up in Montreal. I know you went up there.” He nodded at Eamon. “The Five Families, my friend, the Chicago outfit, the A-team, they’re all breathing down my friggin’ neck.”
“The A-team?” Was this some twisted joke?
“The Clerkenwell crime syndicate out of London,” Eamon whispered. “Tommy and Eamon Adams, the Adams family, the A-team.”
“Shut up,” Joey Barbara spat at Eamon. “Me and your brother are talking.” He paused to smooth down the lapels of his suit. “I told you, we don’t lose money. So I don’t care how you do it, but you get that money out of Atlas Capital and back into my hands.”
Jake wasn’t going to repeat that he’d never spoken to him before, so he tried another tack. “If you hadn’t noticed, I have a Federal warrant out for my arrest. It’s a bit difficult for me to operate right now.”
“Do I look like I care?” Joey Barbara held open the palms of his hands to Jake. “I wouldn’t normally do this, but that nice family of yours, you want it to remain a nice family, right?” It was rhetorical. “Me? Maybe I’d just kill you, but these people I work with… Well, we don’t want to go there, Jake. Get our money. And you better not get arrested before you do.”
With a flick of his chin, Joey Barbara indicated that it was time to leave. The two bodyguards retreated to wing their boss. They walked to the stairwell in formation. Joey paused before the open doorway, then turned to look at Jake. “That Federal arrest warrant, that’s the least of your problems, my friend.”
Jake slumped against the wall. “Tell me something I don’t know.”
28
Central Pier Complex
Hong Kong
“Where are we going?” Jin gasped. It had to be well past five in the morning, the assassin bet was in less than an hour.
A large man had just dragged her out of the car she’d been stuck in for the night, hauled her across the pavement and onto a large wooden boat. They were in the Central Piers, and judging from the smell, it was a fishing boat. Red and white netting covered the floor, dotted with bright orange floats. Above her, in the pre-dawn twilight, she recognized the glass-and-metal tower of the Financial Center.
Wutang sat in front of her, silent, a grim look on his face.
The race across Hong Kong seemed like a frenzied dream now.
Wutang had literally dragged Jin out of the apartment, then pushed her into the back of a waiting limo that squealed away seconds after she got into it, gunfire erupting amid screams in the street. Wutang rode in the front, leaving her alone with the two thick and thuggish men in the back who pulled a black hood over her head.
They’d locked her in the car, left her there for hours. When they finally returned and took off the hood, she refused to get out until she was given an explanation, at which point one of the men had grabbed her, picked her up kicking and screaming, and deposited her in the boat.
The man who carried her down the docks reappeared from the main cabin. He glanced up at the buildings lining the piers, squinting, then nodded at Wutang and disappeared. The engines of the boat fired up, and Jin felt the vibrations rising up through the floor and bench, moving into her body.
The look in Wutang’s eyes. Something was wrong. Had he been forced into this? She grabbed his hand. “Who are these men?”
Wutang shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he repeated.
It was all he’d said to her, over and over, all night. “Wutang, you can’t do this.” Panic flooded Jin’s veins. She’d trusted Wutang, but perhaps she made a fatal mistake.
The engines gunned and the big guy threw the bowlines. Jin glanced at the back of the boat. The gunnels were low. One or two quick steps and she could jump onto the dock. With a belch of blue fumes, the engines roared and she felt the boat begin to move. She slid sideways and tried to jump up, but Wutang grabbed her. He clenched his jaw, his fingers digging into her arm.
“Stop,” Jin cried. “You’re hurting me.” She tried to pull away. “Whatever you’re doing, you have to stop.”
“Be quiet.” Wutang pushed her back, knocking her onto the bench. The boat pulled away from the dock. She tried to get up again, but Wutang blocked her.
“They killed Shen Shi!” Jin yelled. The engine roared, fumes poured into the air as the boat accelerated. “Wutang, you can’t do this, you need to—”
Wutang slapped her across the face. “Shut up!”
▲▼▲
From the docks, hidden, Chen watched the boat pull away. He watched in amazement as Wutang slapped Jin across the face. Who was this person? He’d known Wutang for years, ever since they were kids growing up in Shenzhen, but this seemed like a completely different man.
The fishing boat pulled away from the dock, and he watched Jin and Wutang in the back. There wasn’t much he could do. After he ran out of the apartment to call his friends, he saw Jin dragged into a limousine by Wutang and two large tattooed men. Not Chinese. Japanese. The moment the limo door closed, gunfire erupted from a nearby black Escalade. Four men jumped out, automatic weapons blazing.
Chen called his friends right away, flagged down a taxi to follow the limousine. He watched from the roof of Central Ferry Building Number 6, observing from a distance as he waited for his friends to arrive.
They’d be able to help.
They could track the boat.
It was still dark—sunrise was in half an hour—but the area around the harbor was lit by the pier lights. Chen watched the fishing boat pull farther into the harbor, into the busy traffic of the ferry lanes, when a flash caught his attention from the corner of his eye. Glancing to his left, he watched a trail of smoke shoot out of the third floor of the Central Ferry Building Number 5. Sweeping right, his eyes followed it as it ran a course straight into the fishing boat. The boat erupted in a massive ball of orange flame, and a half second later the shock wave and concussion of the explosion thudded into Chen.
A roiling black cloud rose into the sky above the flaming boat as it tipped sideways, its
engines still churning, turning it in a tight circle. Then another explosion rocked the boat and it tipped all the way over. In a matter of seconds, it tilted up like a cork, its stern high over the water, and then disappeared under the waves.
Chen looked at the time on his watch. Exactly six a.m.
29
Super 8 Motel
Schenectady
Jake clicked the bathroom’s light on, and in three buzzing pops the bare fluorescent tube in the ceiling hummed to life.
The left side of his face was swollen and red, with purple bruises underlining both eyes. He leaned in closer. His left eye had hemorrhaged, leaving a bright red corona around his china-blue iris. He sighed.
How had he ended up here?
How had it come to this?
And, what, exactly, was this?
“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” Elle asked.
She sat at the small table in front of the air conditioning unit at the front of the motel room, playing solitaire. The curtains were pulled closed. They had two connecting rooms, one for sleeping and one they used for meeting. Anna was asleep in the other room. “Did Eamon do that to you?”
She’d roused from her nap only to discover Jake was gone again.
Eamon’s guys had assured her everything was okay, but then Jake returned with fresh bruises and cuts. Elle freaked out, but she gave him some space when he said he didn’t want to talk about it. Let him sleep for a few hours. Now she needed answers.
“No, Eamon didn’t do this,” Jake replied half-truthfully. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her put her cards down.
“Jake, I know you O’Connell men love the tough guy routine, but please.”
Jake turned on the hot and cold faucets together. Water bubbled into the sink, and he pushed the cracked rubber stopper into the drain. He needed a shave. “It wasn’t his fault.”
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