They turned right, towards the corner of 74th and York.

‘Where’s your cell phone?’ Dempsey asked.

‘In my pocket.’

‘Anyone you’ll need to call when we’re away from here? Family? Husband?’

‘I don’t have any family,’ she replied. ‘Just my, erm, my partner. We’re engaged.’

‘You know his number? In your head, I mean?’

‘No. It’s stored in the phone.’

They began to cross York.

‘Then you should note the number down.’

‘Why?’

‘Because you’ll need to contact him once we get going, but you need to lose that cell first. Before we leave.’

‘Lose my cell?’ Grace’s momentary surprise was immediately overtaken by understanding. ‘Shit, yeah.’

‘Exactly. It’s a damn homing beacon. Mine too.’

They reached the front of the bodega on the opposite side of the street. The door was closed.

‘Give me your wallet.’

Grace did as Dempsey asked and watched as he rifled through its contents. He pulled out the cash, handed it to Grace and threw what was left in the trash.

‘They could have a tracer in your Secret Service ID,’ he explained. ‘Plus the chips in your credit cards are as easily located as your cell.’

‘I know,’ Grace replied. ‘I’m not new to this, Dempsey.’

‘I’m just trying to keep us alive, Agent Grace.’

It was all the explanation Dempsey offered as he reached out, took Grace’s cell and dismantled it piece by piece. Done, he crushed each separate cell component against the trash can, throwing them inside as he was done.

Grace could already hear sirens in the distance. She had no doubt where they were headed.

‘Do you hear that?’ she asked. ‘We don’t have much time.’

‘I know,’ Dempsey replied. ‘Let’s get inside.’

He tried the bodega door. It was locked. A single bolt on a rickety frame. It stood no chance as Dempsey struck the frame hard with his open palm.

The door swung open and Dempsey stepped inside, closing the door once Grace was through.

The place was empty, which was hardly a surprise. With the street outside turned into a war zone, it was likely that every shop, bar, restaurant and apartment building on the block had barricaded their doors.

‘What now?’ she asked.

‘Ali!’ Dempsey shouted. ‘It’s Joe Dempsey. I need you to come out.’

For a moment there was no response. But then Grace could hear movement coming from the back of the shop. A few seconds later she saw a thick-set, dark-skinned Asian man move carefully into a far aisle.

‘Mr Joseph?’ He seemed surprisingly calm. ‘You’re OK?’

‘You saw?’

‘How could I not? But you’re OK?’

‘I’ve been better. And I’m in trouble, Ali.’ He indicated to Grace. ‘We both are.’

Ali nodded.

‘Who were they?’

‘They were government agents.’

‘But you work for the government, Mr Joseph.’

‘Not every government can be trusted. Turns out this government is one of them.’

Ali nodded again. His only reaction.

‘We need to run, Ali. Can you help us?’

‘Me? Why would you—’

‘Cards on the table, Ali,’ Dempsey interrupted. ‘You know what I am. And I can tell what you were. So I’m asking you, one soldier to another: will you help us?’