Читать книгу Andrew Gross 3-Book Thriller Collection 2: 15 Seconds, Killing Hour, The Blue Zone - Andrew Gross, Andrew Gross - Страница 58

Phil Cavetti took the 7:00 A.M. shuttle back to New York, heading straight from La Guardia to FBI headquarters in lower Manhattan.

The proverbial shit was hitting the fan.

As if the fact that one of his closest colleagues had been found dead weren’t enough—on top of that, one of that agent’s own case subjects was implicated in the murder. Now, in another of her cases, one of the government’s most valuable assets in the entire WITSEC Program, a man whose information had put dozens of criminals away, was MIA as well.

Cavetti was unable to connect the dots, other than to the point where his own career intersected with disaster. And he didn’t like what he saw. Forget northern Michigan—the ice fields of North Dakota seemed a more likely prospect now. It was imperative they find Raab. Even more imperative they locate Bachelor Number One.

Now, unbelievably, Kate Raab was missing, too.

Nardozzi and Special Agent Alton Booth were waiting in the small conference room on the fourth floor of the Javits Federal Building when he arrived.

“This better be important.” The prosecutor put down his cell phone, looking plenty annoyed. “I’ve got a junior attorney stepping in to do a cross on a Pakistani cabdriver who’s accused of plotting to blow up the TKTS counter in Times Square.”

Cavetti removed three folders from his briefcase. “Trust me, it is.”

He tossed the reports he had prepared for the deputy director, marked “Restricted Access,” onto the table. They contained the FBI report on Margaret Seymour, the subsequent disappearance of Benjamin Raab, and the incident on the Harlem River involving his daughter Kate. One or two need-to-know details had been omitted.

“So how the hell is Kate Raab?” Alton Booth asked, taking a chug of his coffee.

“Gone.”

“Gone? Like in Puerto Vallarta, gone. I thought after what happened on the river you had her under guard 24/7.”

“Gone, like in left him holding the pooch.” Cavetti closed his eyes, chagrined. “She boarded a United flight two days ago for San Francisco. After that, your guess is as good as mine. She was smart enough not to rent a car at the airport. We have our guys checking cabs.”

“Cabs.” Booth stared implacably at him. “You know, this Blue Zone of yours is starting to get a little fucking crowded for me, Phil.”

Cavetti smiled. The FBI man didn’t know what was about to hit him next.

“So what’s your best guess?” Nardozzi asked. “Why would she run? And why San Francisco? Because someone targeted her?”

“We can only surmise her father’s been in touch with her. She hasn’t called in. She only left behind this vague note. There’s also the chance she’s trying to get in contact with her family.” He glanced at the FBI man. “You might want to get someone out there. Now.”

Booth scribbled something on a pad and sighed. “Gee, Phil, all this concern for the girl is downright touching. If this witness-protection thing doesn’t work out, maybe you oughta consider the Department of Children and Families next time.”

“I am concerned for her, Al. I am.”

Nardozzi’s gaze bore through him. “There’s something you’re not telling us, Phil. Why the hell are we here? Why was I pulled out of court?”

“Margaret Seymour.” Cavetti cleared his throat. Time to fill in the blanks. “She was the same case agent—”

“The same agent for whom?” Alton Booth put down his coffee and stood up.

Cavetti opened his briefcase again. This time he took out an addendum to his report, containing the need-to-know details that had been omitted. On whom Maggie Seymour was protecting. On Bachelor Number One.

He tossed it onto the table and swallowed. “I’m afraid that Blue Zone, Al, is even more crowded than you think.”