Chapters (78)
- Cover
- Title Page
- Copyright
- Dedication
- Epigraph
- Prologue
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-One
- Fifty-Two
- Fifty-Three
- Fifty-Four
- Fifty-Five
- Fifty-Six
- Fifty-Seven
- Fifty-Eight
- Fifty-Nine
- Sixty
- Sixty-One
- Sixty-Two
- Sixty-Three
- Sixty-Four
- Sixty-Five
- Sixty-Six
- Sixty-Seven
- Sixty-Eight
- Acknowledgments
- Discover More
- About the Author
- Also by Owen Laukkanen
There was something absurd about using a helicopter to recover eight hundred grand’s worth of product—though, granted, that was the wholesale price. But Harwood figured it wasn’t about the product anymore; this was a grudge match for Joy and Okafor as much as it was for the Deception Cove deputies. It was just that Okafor had a bigger imagination.
“We’ll have the helicopter for two hours,” Joy continued. “The price will come out of your end, of course.”
“Of course,” Harwood agreed, though Joy didn’t look like he was waiting for agreement.
“We’ll find them. We will kill them. And we will recover the product.” Joy looked at Harwood, looked at Sweeney. “Any questions?”
Neither Harwood nor Sweeney answered, but Sweeney sure looked like he was having second thoughts. Joy picked up on it. “Something you’d like to say, Deputy?”
Sweeney went red. Kicked at the tarmac and averted his gaze, like he, too, was wondering how he’d wound up in this spot.
“It’s just one lousy shipment,” he said finally. “You couldn’t just, you know, write it off? Cost of doing business? You all look like you’re gearing up for a war right now.”
Joy studied the young deputy. Harwood waited, hardly daring to breathe, his right hand slipping down toward his holster just in case the drug man decided to get cute.
“One shipment, yes,” Joy replied. “One stolen shipment, and on its face, only a minor inconvenience to an organization like ours, yes?”
“Well, yeah,” Sweeney said.
“But an organization like this one has competitors, enemies,” Joy continued. “Ambitious men who’d like nothing more than to seize Ateke Okafor’s position at any sign of weakness. A stolen package, a missed delivery: these men wait to see how Okafor reacts. Is he a man who will tolerate incompetence? Is he a man who will brook thievery of any kind?”
Sweeney opened his mouth to reply. Joy waved him silent.
“This is more than one shipment, Deputy Sweeney,” Joy told him. “To Ateke Okafor—and, if you’re smart, to you and your colleagues as well.” He straightened. “Are there any other concerns?”
There were no other concerns.
Joy produced his car keys and pressed a button on the fob. The Suburban chirped, and the back gate opened slowly. There were boxes inside, hard plastic cases. Joy crossed to the truck, reached in, and opened the first box, and Harwood saw a couple of rifles inside, packed in protective foam.
Joy studied them for a moment. Then he closed the box, latched it, lifted it out of the truck. “Bring the others,” he told Harwood.
Harwood and Sweeney did as instructed. Each brought a box to the open sliding door of the helicopter, where Joy took them and placed them inside. The pilot was already aboard, the engine spooling up. Joy climbed into the chopper, gestured for the deputies to follow.