Reyes’s suit was rumpled and grass-stained at knees and elbow. His neck was mottled with bruises. He looked as if he hadn’t slept or showered. When he spotted Cameron through the Caddy’s windshield, he stopped short.
“Jesus, boss, that girl’s a mess. You didn’t-”
“Of course not,” Yancey snapped, irritation masking his fear. “She was like that when I picked her up. Near as I could tell, it was justified-she did a number on the men who apprehended her.”
“If you say so,” Reyes replied doubtfully. “Who is she? What’s her connection to our POI?”
“Sorry. All I’m authorized to say is, she means enough to the guy who snatched our prisoner from us that he’s agreed to make a trade, so if we’re lucky, all three of them will be in custody by day’s end.” Yancey had no intention of allowing any of them to be taken alive, but he needed Bellum’s resources to get him close enough to put them down. If that meant feeding Reyes a heaping helping of bullshit, then so be it. “Did you do as I requested?”
“Yeah. Local law enforcement’s on the lookout for the man who attacked us at the Broussard house. They’ve got strict instructions to inform us if he’s spotted but to keep their distance. I leaked his picture to the press too and warned he might be planning follow-up attacks; there are stories posted online already, and his photo will be on TV within the hour. The Feds assure me they’re going to funnel anything credible that comes in via the tip line straight to us. And I’ve stationed Bellum teams throughout the city, so we can move on him wherever he pops up. Not as many as I’d like, since some of our guys are busy doing God knows what-”
Yancey raised a hand to stop him. “Look. You’re frustrated. I get it. Being out of the loop sucks. You gotta understand, though, you’re still new to the organization, and you’ve yet to prove your worth. This op could be your chance to do just that, but first, I need to know that I can count on you. So whaddya say, Reyes: Are you in, or are you out?”
Reyes eyed the girl inside the Cadillac and frowned. “I’m not going to lie to you. None of this makes any sense to me-and when it’s over, I expect some goddamn answers. But Bigelow’s in the ICU right now, and Weddle’s been in surgery all night. The bastard responsible should be made to pay for what he’s done. If, as you say, this girl’s our chance to make that happen-”
“She is.”
“-then I’m in.”
39.
HOW YOU HOLDING up, kid?”
Hendricks was clearly trying to keep his tone light, his demeanor confident. But Cameron could tell, even through the tinny speaker of the cell phone, that he was worried, and it terrified her.
She looked at Yancey. He nodded. “I-I’m okay,” she said.
“I assume Yancey’s listening in.”
“Yeah. You’re on speaker.”
“How many men did he bring with him?”
“Don’t answer that,” Yancey snarled, and then, to Hendricks: “You never said to come alone.”
“No,” Hendricks replied mildly, “I didn’t. Listen, kid, do you know where you are right now? Can you see any street signs or anything?”
Again Cameron deferred to Yancey, who said, “What the hell’s that matter?”
This time, Hendricks wasn’t so mild. “Yancey, if you ever want to see Segreti again, you’ll shut the fuck up and let her answer.”
Yancey frowned but didn’t object.
“We’re in the parking lot of some old UCSF building in Laurel Heights,” she said.
“Okay,” Hendricks said, and he fell silent for a moment. “I want you and Yancey to walk to the bus stop on the corner of California and Laurel. An eastbound bus will be there in three minutes. Be on it, both of you. Leave the goons behind.”
“Then what, smart guy?” Yancey asked.
“I’ll call you back shortly. I expect to talk to Cameron when I do.”
Hendricks disconnected.
Yancey turned to a man holding a tablet computer with rubberized edges, built for field use. The guy’d perked up when Hendricks called, but he was scowling now. “Anything?” Yancey asked him.
“Not yet.” He opened the rear door of a nearby Humvee with an oversize antenna on top and fiddled with an electronic device inside. It was a StingRay, Cameron realized, her stomach acid surging as panic gripped her. StingRays were cell-phone surveillance devices. They worked by sending out a pilot signal that outcompeted the nearest cell tower’s and convinced cell phones in the immediate area to connect to the StingRay instead. Once a phone connected to the StingRay, it could be tracked by its GPS coordinates. “I’m picking up the conversation clear as day via the girl’s phone, but wherever he’s calling from, he’s too far away to track. I’ll need to get closer to lock onto his position.”
“All right, then. We’ll play his game for now. Me and the girl are getting on the bus. You follow with the StingRay. I want additional units no more than two blocks away to our north, south, east, and west. The second we have a bead on him, the nearest team moves in. Remember, this asshole’s ruthless and well trained, and he’s proven he won’t hesitate to act. If you get a shot, you take it. That’s an order.”
His men muttered their assent and started piling into Humvees.
“Reyes,” Yancey continued. “Take the Caddy and cover my six. Make sure you’re not spotted. You’re my insurance policy in case shit goes sideways.”
“You got it.”
“But he said we were supposed to go alone,” Cameron protested.
Yancey grabbed her by her shirt and raised his hand as if he meant to slap her. “You insolent little shit. I thought I warned you about speaking out of turn.”
Cameron flinched and stammered unintelligibly.
“Easy, boss,” Reyes said. “She won’t do it again-will you?”
She shook her head emphatically. Yancey released her with a shove. “He told us to get on the bus alone-he didn’t say fuck-all about anybody following. Now, Your Highness, can we go, or do you wanna talk this out some more?”
Cameron swallowed hard and said, “We can go.”
“Good,” Yancey said. He stuck a Bluetooth earpiece in his ear and said, “Let’s move out.”
It was early Monday morning. Sunrise had failed to burn off all the fog. The air was cool and clammy, the sky above, a hazy white. By the time they reached the bus stop, the driver had already closed the doors and seemed disinclined to reopen them. Yancey banged until he acquiesced then spent a minute digging through his pockets to find exact change for their fare. The driver glared at him with thinly veiled irritation.
The bus was half full of morning commuters, blue-collar types, mostly. Their eyes were wide and furtive. Their features were taut with stress. Cameron, bruised and bloodied beneath her hat and sunglasses, felt the weight of their attention as Yancey nudged her toward the nearest open seats, which turned out to be behind an older Asian woman in multicolored scrubs who watched them closely as they passed.
When Cameron sat down, the woman twisted in her seat and opened her mouth to speak, a look of concern on her face, but Yancey stopped her. “Turn the hell around, lady. There’s nothing to see here.”
The woman looked at Cameron, who nodded slightly. With obvious reluctance, the woman did as Yancey said.
Morning traffic lurched along. The route became more clogged with every stop. Cameron counted eleven in total before Hendricks called them back.
“You two alone?” he asked.
Hendricks was off speaker now since there were civilians around. Yancey held the phone to Cameron’s ear and tilted it so he could hear as well. When Cameron hesitated, Yancey elbowed her in the ribs. “Y-yes,” she said.
“Good. Get off the bus at the intersection of Clay and Van Ness. Then cross the street and hop the northbound bus toward Fisherman’s Wharf.”
Once Hendricks hung up, Yancey put a finger to his earpiece and said, “You get all that? Good. Were you able to get a lock on him this time? You’re kidding me. What the fuck am I paying you for?” As he spoke, his voice rose to a shout. The other passengers turned and stared. Yancey reddened and fell silent.