When the clerk pushed the device back through, her fingers grazed his. She suddenly looked up and blinked. “Oh! That’s… quite all right.”
The charming smile returned full force and Drake kept her mesmerized while he smoothly ran his fob across the pad, motioning behind his back for Nick to quickly follow. Before the brunette could tear herself from his gaze, the ID photo from Nick’s stolen fob had replaced Drake’s. Nick turned and walked to the evidence table, sitting down with his back to the girl. Between his cap and the collar of his jacket, only the nape of his neck was visible.
The clerk checked her screen again. “What’s up with Constable Gale?” she whispered.
“Oh, he’s all right. He’s self-conscious about his complexion.” Drake circled a finger in front of his face. “Sudden hormonal imbalance. Very disturbing.”
While Nick played the part of Constable Gale’s back, Drake convinced his newest feminine fan to locate the Paternoster Square evidence boxes for them. “This is Detective Sergeant Mercer’s case,” she said as the file data replaced the ID picture on her screen. “Are you two working for him?”
Drake hesitated and Nick realized his teammate had not been formally introduced to their captor. He coughed an affirmative.
“Uh… Yes,” said Drake. “Yes, we are.”
“You poor dears.” The clerk stood up to retrieve the evidence. “That man is a total git.”
There were three file boxes. The first contained their empty satchels and overcoats. The second held their phones, fake ID wallets, cash, and all the equipment taken from the coats and satchels — everything tagged and bagged in ziplocks. Nick checked over his shoulder. The clerk had returned to her romance novel. He nodded to Drake and they quietly emptied the bags and pocketed what they could.
The third box contained only one item — a blackened thumb drive, also bagged and tagged. The tag, filled out by Mercer himself, noted that the drive had been recovered from the rubble in the Exchange server room. Mercer had added a statement postulating that it was the source of the computer virus.
“Where are the weapons?” Drake turned the last box over as if he expected their Berettas and MP7s to fall onto the table.
“They must have a separate lockup for firearms.”
Drake glanced back at the clerk. She looked up from her book and waved to him, wiggling her fingers. He waved back, wiggling his own. “I can get them. No problem.”
“If there’s a second lockup, she doesn’t run it, chucklehead. No, we’ve already pushed the envelope too far.” Nick stuffed the thumb drive into his jacket pocket, bag and all. “It’s time to go.”
He waited in the hall while Drake returned the boxes to the lockers and checked out with the clerk. On the way to the elevators, the big operative handed him a slip of paper. “She gave me this.”
The block print showed the names McCormick and Gale, the evidence file numbers, and the in-and-out times. “It’s just a receipt,” said Nick.
Drake gave him a sly grin. “Flip it over.”
On the back was a cell-phone number, circled with a heart. Nick slapped the paper into Drake’s chest. “You sicken me.”
As they reached the bank of elevators, one of the cars opened and a man in a black overcoat started out. He looked up from the smartphone in his hand and froze, staring at the two Americans. “You!”
Detective Sergeant Mercer reached for his Glock but he never got the chance to draw. Nick grabbed his wrist and clapped a hand over his mouth, heaving him back into the car until his head slammed against the rear wall. The detective slumped to the floor.
Nick pressed the button for the lobby and then snapped his fingers, holding out an open palm that Drake promptly filled with a CO2 injector he had recovered from their satchels. Nick jammed it into Mercer’s neck and released the charge. Then he pulled the detective’s Glock from its holster and tucked it into his own waistband.
A few seconds later, the elevator bell rang, and the doors opened to a view of New Scotland Yard’s gray marble lobby and the freedom of the London night beyond. “I guess that makes you even,” said Drake, glancing back at the drooling detective as he stepped out of the car.
Nick hit the out of service button, smashed the detective’s phone under his heel, and squeezed out through the closing doors. He looked up at his teammate with a thin smile. “He had it coming. That man is a total git.”
CHAPTER 42
Nick’s good mood was short-lived.
He and Drake moved quickly through the barrier outside Scotland Yard and crossed the street, turning toward an Underground station less than a half block away. They had only gone a few paces when Chaya Maharani stepped out from the dark doorway of a closed café and blocked their path.
“It’s about time you two got out of there.”
When Drake tried to step around her, she sidestepped with him and pressed in closer. She traced a finger down the black lapel of his police jacket. “This is new, but isn’t it sort of a demotion from that whole Interpol thing?”
The pointedly indiscreet level of her voice caught the attention of a patrolman walking the beat outside police headquarters. He looked the three of them over as he passed.
Drake gave the bobby a nod and tipped his cap, but Nick’s eyes dropped to the radio on the man’s belt. For now, it remained silent. That wouldn’t last. It could be seconds, or it could be an hour before one of the three stricken cops was found and the manhunt began. Murphy favored the first one.
Once the patrolman was out of sight, Nick grabbed Chaya by the back of the arm and spun her around. “Keep quiet and walk,” he hissed, propelling her toward the Underground station.
“Oh, no. Not more trains,” exclaimed the lawyer in a breathless, singsong voice. “My wardrobe can’t take it.”
Nick tightened his grip on her arm. “I said keep quiet.”
The evening commuter traffic had long since faded. Only a small pack of teens haunted the station, and none of them wanted anything to do with a pair of Met policemen. They avoided eye contact with Nick and Drake and drifted out into the street. Nick sat Chaya down on a bench next to the ticket machines. “How did you find us?”
“You were arrested by SO15. Where else would you be?”
“He means how did you find us at the square,” said Drake.
“She knows what I meant.” Nick sat down next to her. She tried to scoot away, but he gripped her arm and jerked her back, jabbing the barrel of Mercer’s Glock into her side.
The lawyer’s glib demeanor fell away. “What are you doing? You’re hurting me.”
“Save it. I’m tired of your games. You and your father are both working for the Hashashin.”
Chaya clenched her fists and glared back at him. “That’s not true. I got lucky, okay? I’m a solicitor. My firm is in the financial district.”
“So?”
“So I work less than a block from Paternoster Square, you idiot. After you dumped coffee all over me, I went home to change and then headed for my office to see what I could dig up on you. On my way there, I saw you in front of St. Paul’s.”
Drake folded his arms. “And you called the cops?”
“Wouldn’t you?”
An automated voice from the tracks below announced that the next train was about to arrive. “We’re leaving,” said Nick, releasing the lawyer and standing up. Chaya tried to stand up with him but he shoved her back down by the shoulder. “Not you. You’re staying here.” He went over to the ticket machine and bought two zonal passes, using cash. There was no guard watching the turnstiles here, but there would be down the line at Cannon Street, a much larger station. When they left the Tube, he and Drake would need to slip through without drawing attention to themselves.