Contents (84)
- 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
- SIXTY-NINE
- SEVENTY
- SEVENTY-ONE
- SEVENTY-TWO
- SEVENTY-THREE
- SEVENTY-FOUR
- SEVENTY-FIVE
- SEVENTY-SIX
- SEVENTY-SEVEN
- SEVENTY-EIGHT
- SEVENTY-NINE
- EIGHTY
- EIGHTY-ONE
- EIGHTY-TWO
- EIGHTY-THREE
- Acknowledgements
THIRTY-NINE
Joe Dempsey hung up his cell as he walked away from the United Nations building. He was halfway to zipping the handset back into the jacket pocket of his bike leathers when he remembered that he had one more call to make.
The phone’s log showed six outgoing calls in the last thirty minutes. All but the most recent had been to the same number. And all of those had gone directly to voicemail.
There could be any number of innocent reasons for that. Perhaps Michael Devlin was out of range. Or had turned off his phone. Maybe it was just that the battery was dead.
All perfectly good explanations. But after what had happened with Tom Quilty, he was taking no chances. Especially when his watch told him that it was not yet 3 p.m., and so before 8 p.m. in London.
Too early for him to be asleep.
Dempsey kept the phone to his ear as Michael’s recorded voice came through again. For once, Dempsey would take Michael up on the invitation to leave a message.
‘Michael, it’s Joe Dempsey. Look, this thing’s taken a turn. They’ve started tying up loose ends. One of my sources was taken out this morning. You’re on their radar too, Michael, so take precautions. None of your heroic shit this time, mate. These people, they’re well out of your league. We need to get you and Sarah somewhere safe. OK? Call me when you get this.’
Dempsey tapped the disconnect icon and slipped the handset back into his pocket, just as he reached his bike. Moments later he had his helmet on and the engine purring. A few more and he was turning left out onto United Nations Plaza, following the one-way system round to the right and then onwards in the direction of First Avenue and Manhattan’s Yorkville.
*
‘It’s him.’ Cobb took the slim digital spyglass away from his eye as he spoke. He turned in his seat to face Braddock.
‘You sure?’
‘It’s him.’
Cobb’s tone left no room for doubt. Not for Braddock, anyway. They had worked together long enough that it was all the reassurance the lead agent needed.
‘What’s he driving?’ Braddock asked as he turned the ignition on their Lincoln Continental, bringing the car to life and ready to move at Cobb’s instruction.
‘Gold and grey Triumph Daytona bike,’ Cobb replied. ‘About ten years old.’
‘A bike?’ Eden Grace sounded unimpressed. ‘That means a helmet. How the hell can you be sure it’s him?’
‘Because he put the helmet on when he got to the bike, Princess. Before that he was on his cell. Satisfied?’
‘Not in the least, no,’ Grace replied. ‘But looks like I’m outvoted, doesn’t it?’
‘Looks that way, yeah.’
Cobb turned his eyes back to the road. Seconds later they watched as traffic began to come to a halt on the United Nations Plaza, to allow for left turns from East 44th Street. Exactly where they had been parked for over an hour.