Red Alert(NYPD Red #5)(56)

“Nathan—don’t move,” I called out as I got closer.

He looked up when he heard me. Cates had guessed right. Hirsch had pissed himself. And he was crying.

Please, God, I thought, don’t let this fat bastard be the last thing I ever see during my time here on earth.

“Hold still,” I said, lowering his cuffed wrist so I could rest the briefcase on the steps. I took a look at the bolt cutters I’d been dragging along like an appendage. They were a flimsy government-issue piece of crap, and I remembered John Glenn’s famous words: “As I hurtled through space, one thought kept crossing my mind: every part of this rocket was supplied by the lowest bidder.”

Somewhere in my pocket was a key ring with half a dozen keys on it, one of which might open the cuffs. Or it might not. I hoped I didn’t have to find out. I opened the bolt cutters wide, positioned the blades over two steel links, and, with every ounce of strength I had left in my travel-weary body, I slammed the two handles together.

The chain snapped.

“Run, Nathan, run!” I commanded.

He didn’t. Or maybe he couldn’t. He froze.

And he was too fat to carry.

I grabbed him by both arms, pulled him toward me, and put my mouth to his ear. “Listen to me, asshole. I’ve got a girlfriend I’m going home to. You either move or you can stay here and die.”

He moved.

He navigated the steps like a pregnant sow, and I braced myself for the explosion that would hurl the two of us into the federal court building on the other side of Lafayette.

It never came. No boom. Just the whoops of the onlookers as I helped the gasping lawyer waddle across Centre Street toward the bedlam and finally passed him into the arms of a team of uniformed cops.

“Have the paramedics check him out,” I said, “but don’t let him wander off until he has a heart-to-heart with Selma Kaplan at the DA’s office.”

One of the cops put her hand on my shoulder. “What about you?” she said. “You okay?”

“I’m fine. Just get me away from these fucking cameras.”

I followed her to a mobile command center that was parked on Worth Street, stumbled in the door, shut it behind me, dropped to my knees, and, half sobbing, half laughing, I thanked a God I hadn’t been in touch with for longer than I care to admit.





CHAPTER 53



There were four white-shirted cops in the command center. Brass. Two of them were barking into satellite phones. I’d picked the wrong place to duck into for quiet reflection. I took a few slow deep breaths, centered myself, and looked up.

One of the white shirts was looming over me. I recognized her immediately: Barbara O’Brien, a public information officer. I stood up.

“You’ve got balls, Detective Jordan,” she said.

Coming from anyone else, that would have felt like a compliment. But not from her. I nodded, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“You got a warrant to go with those balls?” she said.

“Ma’am?”

“You disabled the cell phone service for tens of thousands of civilians. The press is going to ask me if you came up with that little rescue mission on your own, or did you have a signed warrant?”

“I believe my partner was working on a warrant.”

“Working on? For your sake, let’s hope she got it.”

“Lieutenant, I have to go. Captain Cates is expecting to hear from me.”

“Tell her she’ll be hearing from me, too.”

I’d walked into the command center to the sound of a cheering crowd. I walked out a minute later at the top of somebody’s shit list.

Within seconds after I stepped back outside, the crowd let out another joyful roar. But this one wasn’t for me. Their cell phones had come back on.

“I see that you restored their cell service,” I said to Kylie as she made her way toward me.

“It’s more like I restored their lives,” she said. “Another few minutes without a dial tone and these people would have gotten ugly.”

“So now the bomb is hot again.”

“No problem. The guys in the bomb squad live for that shit. They’ll be fighting to see who gets to disarm it. Besides, Segura’s not going to set it off without anyone to blow up. Now that he’s got a cell signal again, he’ll probably call back and congratulate you. As will I.” She threw her arms around me. “You’re a hero, partner.”

“I don’t think so,” I said, “but I need the hug.”

“You don’t think so? Zach, just because people couldn’t make phone calls doesn’t mean they couldn’t shoot videos. That hundred-yard mad dash of you running toward a bomb will be all over the internet. By tomorrow this time, you’ll be a YouTube sensation. You risked your life to save someone most people wouldn’t think was worth saving. Trust me: you’re a rock star.”

“Tell that to PIO O’Brien. I just ran into her in the command center.”

“And what did that hard-ass want?”

“An inquiry into why two cops violated a federal law that prohibits police departments from operating a cell jammer without express authorization.”

“And what makes you think we don’t have authorization?”

“Because we don’t.”