Джеймс Паттерсон - Lost

“What did the attacker look like?”

She gave a vague description, but when she mentioned the blue goatee, I knew who it was. I told her, “He’ll get what he deserves soon enough. You’re safe now. You’ll be back with your brother before long.”

Marie handed the teenager a cell phone and coaxed her to speak. Magda said, “Hello?” Then: “Joseph?” I heard the catch in her voice as she realized who she was talking to. She spoke rapidly in Polish, alternating between laughing, squealing, and weeping.

This was the kind of day I lived for.

Chapter 88

I HAD THE whole team meet me east of Biscayne Boulevard in the parking lot between a Holiday Inn and Bayfront Park. The H and I in the first word of the motel’s sign had faded. It had been like that for so long, some of the street people called it the “Olday Inn.” It was known for cheap rooms in an expensive city.

Stephanie and Chill pulled up about the same time and we met next to my car.

Neither of them wore completely civilian clothes. Tactical pants and polo shirts covering the guns on their hips would fool most of the public, but criminals, street people, and other cops could always spot a plainclothes cop.

Lorena Perez had had to sit this deal out. She was on a ten-day leave while the shooting on the ship was investigated, standard practice in most police agencies. I’d called her earlier in the day, and I could tell she wanted to be out here with us. I would’ve liked to have her. She’d proven how tough and tactically sound she was last night.

I remembered my first shooting. Shit, I still dreamed about it.

I’d pulled over a shitty, beat-up Dodge Charger for running a stop sign. That kind of stop, it’s simple: You give a lecture and let ’em go, unless they have attitude. For attitude, you might give the guy a ticket, although it’s not like anyone ever pays ’em. There’s a competition in parts of Miami to see how many tickets a single person can rack up. (The current record, sixty-one, is held by a lawn-service worker in Allapattah.)

As I approached the Charger, I noticed how dark the windows were tinted. I couldn’t see a thing in there. Before the alarm traveled to my brain, someone poked a TEC-9 out of a cracked-open window.

You’ve heard of an Oh, shit moment? I literally said, “Oh, shit,” as I fell back, drawing my service weapon as I went down. I don’t know how many times the asshole in the car fired. I’m not even sure how many times I fired. I just pulled the trigger on my way to the ground. Forensics later found three slugs in a parked car and one in a tree behind me.

The car squealed away, but three hours later, a twenty-two-year-old convicted carjacker showed up at Jackson Memorial with a bullet deep in his shoulder and a wounded left ear. The surgeon later told me it was almost a perfect circle in his lobe, like the wide-gauge ear-piercings kids have. The surgeon was amused. He’d seen a lot of bullet wounds, but this was the most entertaining.

Good for him, but personally, I’ve never found bullet wounds or gunfights entertaining.

I was on leave for only three days before I was cleared of the shooting, but it left me shaky. For almost six months after that, I was nervous whenever I approached a car. It didn’t help when the shooter pleaded guilty and got only a year in the county jail. There are always side effects to a shooting for a cop. And the effects are cumulative.

I hoped Lorena snapped back quickly. Like any nice Cuban girl born in Miami, she had plenty of family around her. The same family that had begged her not to go into police work in the first place. I once met her father, a dermatologist who lived in Weston. He didn’t seem like he would ever give up trying to convince his daughter that it wasn’t too late for her to become an accountant.

I briefed Chill and Steph about finding Magda, now safe at the station with my friend Tosha watching her, and told them that Miami Police had located all the other people from the container.

Chill said, “What now?”

“We can make a case against the traffickers from Amsterdam, but it’s the Russians I want to tie up in this mess. No way we can let them skate,” I said.

“Can’t let that prick Rostoff get away with shit like this.”

I agreed with him.

“How do we find the Dutch traffickers?” Steph said. “They could be anywhere.”

I smiled. “We make them come to us.” I grabbed a backpack from inside my car and started walking toward the band shell in Bayfront Park.

I intended to let the cheap tracker and wide-open sky do some legwork for us.

Chapter 89

HANNA AND ALBERT brooded on a bench near Miami Dade College’s downtown campus. Hanna had just checked on Tasi, who was recovering from her injuries at a hotel in Little Havana. Earlier in the morning, they had left her lying on a king-size bed with ice bags on her face.

Hanna had never seen her brother hang his head before, but right now, his head was drooping toward the sidewalk.

Hanna thought about Josie and started to cry. Her brother put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her tight to him. He said, “We’ll get her back.”

“How? We need that backpack.”

“I have several plans ready. By the time I’m done with Billy and his friends, there won’t be many people left in Miami who speak Russian.”

Hanna shook her head. “I can’t risk Josie. We’re going to negotiate.” She stared hard at her brother and said, “Understand?”

Albert nodded.

Hanna thought about her own teenage years, about the abuse she took from her father. Albert would always step between the two of them. She didn’t know how many beatings her brother had taken for her, but it was more than she could ever pay back. And he was still willing to risk everything for her and her daughter.

This had all turned into a tremendous mess, and Hanna had no idea how to fix it. She decided that if she hadn’t found Magda and the bag by tonight, she would meet Billy the Russian in person and see what she could give him in exchange for her daughter. It was a sobering and terrifying prospect.

Hanna wondered what she could offer Rostoff instead of the diamonds. They would probably take Albert, just so they could exact revenge. She wasn’t going to sacrifice her brother. But she would sacrifice herself if need be.

She didn’t like the idea. She’d go back to work as a prostitute, as she’d done in her early twenties, to pay off her debt to the Russians. She’d do it happily if it meant Josie was safe.

Hanna considered all the selling points she could make during the negotiation. If the Russians took her as payment, they’d have an experienced woman who could handle herself in different situations. Plus the Russians would eliminate their competition in Amsterdam. The Russians were always looking for an edge in business. She could make the argument that this would give it to them.

Albert perked up on the bench next to her. He nudged her and held up his phone. “Look, look. We’re getting a clear signal.” He held the iPhone out so they could both look at the tiny map with a flashing blue dot that had appeared on the screen.

Hanna sat up straight and said, “Is that the tracker? Where’s the signal coming from?”

Albert said, “Close by.” He raised his eyes and looked across the street, then north toward the American Airlines Arena. “She’s real close. Maybe over in that park.”

He stood up and started moving in that direction, holding the phone out in front of him.

For the first time in a couple of days, Hanna felt real hope.

Chapter 90

I SAT ALONE at a picnic table just in front of the park’s concert band shell, Biscayne Bay behind me. Marie waited in my car because this was not the right time to have her in public and meeting people. I’d been careful to place my team in the right spots. I kept up a calm demeanor, but I had no illusions about what could go wrong. It wasn’t just my safety—the whole team could be at risk. If the Russians showed up, we’d probably be outnumbered and outgunned.