“You’re kidding.”
“You’re going to be watched every step of the way. Air support. Snipers. Even a police marine unit. We’ll make sure nothing happens to you.”
I thought about my AMT backup, safe in the ankle holster, and then handed her the Colt.
“Now the backup piece.”
I made my face blank. “What backup piece?”
“You gave up the.38 too easily. That means you have a backup.”
Smart lady. I should have thought of that.
“I need to have a gun on me, O’Loughlin.”
“You’ll address me as Superintendent or ma’am. Now give me the backup.”
“What if I refuse?” I added, “Ma’am.”
“Then I call over some men to take it from you, and at the end of the day I fire you.”
“And then I go to the media and tell them all about you paying the Chemist off.” I looked at Davy. “Think that would be good for PR?”
“That would be bad,” Davy said.
O’Loughlin got in my face. “You do what you have to do, Lieutenant. I’ll do what I have to do. And right now, I have to take your piece.”
We played stare-down for what seemed like twenty minutes, but was probably only a few seconds, and then I gave her the AMT.
“If I get killed, it’s on your head.”
“I’ve got a lot of deaths on my head right now, Lieutenant. Do I have to frisk you for any more weapons?”
I lifted up my arms. “If that’s what turns you on.”
For a moment, it looked like she was going to do it, but then some SRT guys came over with a big yellow suitcase and interrupted our tête-à-tête. A tall one with a unibrow handed me something silver.
“This is a tracking phone programmed with your number. It sends a GPS signal to the Mobile Command Post, and we can pinpoint your location to within three feet. It will also transmit the number he’s calling you from, and we can trace that number to either an address or to a cell phone within twenty yards.”
“And if you find him, you’ll do what? Deliver a pizza?”
“After we’ve deemed it safe, we’ll get the guy,” the super said. “He won’t get away with this. He’ll pay.”
Another SRT cop, a black guy with biceps larger than my waist, opened up a map of Chicago.
“There’s a chance he’ll run you around town, to try to lose any tails. That’s pretty much impossible with the GPS, but we have teams stationed around the city, all with receivers.” He pointed out a dozen red dots on the map. “We also have people stationed at O’Hare and Midway in case you’re required to get on a plane. Plus three teams dogging your every move. We won’t lose you.”
I wasn’t worried about getting lost. I was worried about the guy dosing me with something lethal before any of the ten thousand cops around me could do anything to stop it.
But I said, “Thanks, Officer,” just the same.
They wired me up with a radio headset/walkie-talkie combo, gave me an extra GPS tracker, and an extra phone.
“Do you want armor?” Biceps asked.
“No need. He’s not a shooter. But I could use some of this.”
I sidled up to Unibrow and put my hands on his utility belt.
“May I?” I asked, taking a can of pepper spray.
“Help yourself, Lieutenant. It’s rated at five million Scoville heat units. Hit him anywhere on the clothing, or just get the stream close to him, he’ll feel it.”
“Thanks. A girl needs her protection, right, Superintendent?”
The super didn’t seem amused, but she didn’t prevent me from tucking the pepper spray into my holster.
“So now we wait,” Biceps said.
The wait wasn’t long. Less than a minute later, my tracking phone rang. A blocked number. I nodded at the group, and said, “It’s showtime.”
Then I answered the call.
CHAPTER 27
“GOOD MORNING, JACK. HOW are you feeling?”
His voice provoked a reaction in my stomach normally reserved for warm oysters and cheap tequila.
“Nervous. I’ve got all this money, and no one to give it to.”
“I don’t see the suitcase. Hold it up.”
I fought the urge to look around. He could be in one of the surrounding buildings, in a car, in the crowd, on the street, or even in the Daley Center itself. Ultimately, it didn’t matter where he was. We were going to let him go anyway.
I hefted the yellow bag, surprised by its weight. Forty, maybe forty-five pounds, and bulky. I had Biceps hold my phone, then I pressed the suitcase up over my head, made sure it was balanced, and did a 360-degree turn.
Biceps had casually plugged in an earpiece, and Unibrow casually walked back to the Mobile Command bus.
“Good,” the Chemist said when I got the phone back. “Here’s how it is going to work. I’m going to call you, and tell you to go to an address. When you get to the address, you’ll wait for me to call again with more instructions. You’re to go alone, no escort. I don’t want to see any cops with you, near you, or following you. If I do, I’m calling it off, and many people will die. Understand?”
“Yes.”
“I saw that SWAT guy give you some things. A radio. An extra phone. And what was that black thing?”
“Pepper spray.”
“Naughty girl, Jack. Don’t you know that chemicals are dangerous? But I’m not referring to the spray. I’m referring to the small black box, looks like a PDA.”
“That’s a GPS tracker.”
“Put all of those things on the ground.”
I complied.
“The pepper spray too. I wouldn’t want you hurting yourself.”
I made a face, but added that to the pile.
“Very good. Now, I know that you’re going to try to find me. That you’ll try to trace the calls. I’m sure that large phone you’re talking on right now has all sorts of tracking goodies on it. So we’re going to switch phones. Walk over to the Picasso. Bring the suitcase with you, and make sure everyone keeps their distance.”
This was getting better and better.
“Everyone needs to stay here,” I informed the group. The super nodded at me, either a good luck nod or a you’d better follow orders nod. Then I yanked out the telescoping handle and pulled the suitcase behind me, grateful for the wheels.
“Look by the base of the sculpture. There’s a coffee cup. Put down the phone you’re talking on and pick up the cup.”
I saw it immediately, stark white contrast to the brown metal of the Picasso. As I stared, it began to ring.
I didn’t want to touch anything the Chemist had touched, but I took a chance, assuming he wouldn’t kill me this early in the game. I set down the tracking phone and gently lifted the cardboard cup by the rim. Inside was a cell phone, an older, larger model.
I answered the call.
“I found it.”
A pause. Then, “Walk east. I’ll be watching. If I see anyone approach you, this is over, and people will die. Keep the line free for further instruction. If I try calling, and it’s busy, people will die. Remember the rules.”
And then silence.
I had no choice. I began to walk.
In a way, this was all pretty funny. The Chemist was working damn hard to make sure no one arrested him, when all he had to do was knock on the mayor’s door and His Honor would gladly sign over a personal check. Unfortunately, I had a hard time seeing the humor when I had no backup, no radio, no GPS, and no guns. I assumed my fellow officers would still be able to follow me, but that didn’t mean they would. The city of Chicago had made it abundantly clear that the payoff was more important than my personal safety.
I walked east to Dearborn, went right, then continued east on Washington. The day was hot, muggy, in the upper eighties. The sun hurt my face, still pink from the rough scrubbing the hospital had administered. I moved the sunglasses from my head to my eyes, and kept my pace casual even though my heart rate was set on sprint.
After a block, I had an unhealthy film of sweat covering my body, and a really good feeling I was being followed. A yellow cab, creeping along ten yards behind me, matching my pace. I stopped, pretended to adjust the suitcase handle, and looked at it over my Ray-Bans. The taxi also stopped. I couldn’t see inside very well-the sun glared off the windshield-but the cab was hired and it looked like a single occupant in the backseat.