Blindside (Michael Bennett #12)(39)

As soon as he was past me, I rushed him like a defensive end. I could hear him lose his breath as I caught him by surprise and knocked him about four feet through the air. He landed on the polished floor and slid another two feet into the wall.

I had no time to admire my handiwork, though I did have a moment of satisfaction. Any time you knock down someone bigger and younger than you, it’s a point of pride.

I was going to kick him in the head to make sure he was out of the fight when the other man appeared almost right next to me. I had my right fist prepared to aim for his chin. Or should I say chins. He was sweating, and his black hair fell in every direction, like he’d just stepped out of the shower.

Before I could take any action, he said one of the few things that would freeze me in place.

“Detective Michael Bennett, we’re FBI. Stand down.”

Anyone could say that. But a seasoned cop knew when he heard another seasoned cop speak. Plus, we were in Estonia and this guy was speaking English with a Boston accent.

I kept my posture with my fist cocked.

The shorter, pudgy man eased around me to check on his friend, who was coming up onto his hands and knees. He helped him up, and they both faced me.

The shorter man said, “Put your goddamn fist down. We’re adults. We’re also Americans in a foreign country. Don’t embarrass us.”

I said, “How’d you know I’d be here?”

“Are you kidding me? You think there are no former NYPD detectives with the Bureau? You think they don’t know what’s going on with your useless Intelligence unit? I had to hump it up here from our official office in Riga, Latvia. You know how far that is?”

I didn’t know what to say, so I shrugged and said, “Pretty far.”

The FBI agent mumbled, “Asshole.” Then he looked at me and said, “You bet your ass it’s pretty far. Maybe not by US standards. But driving a shitty road three hundred kilometers is no picnic. And I had plenty to do in Riga. I hardly ever come up to Estonia.”

I thought it best to play along. “So you must have a pretty big area of responsibility. All of the Baltics and what else?”

“Don’t get me started. Three of us do the work of two entire squads. And you know why?”

“No, why?”

“Because it’s our job. We actually have jurisdiction here and work closely with the national police. As far as we’re concerned, you’re just a tourist who’s here to cause problems. Which is why we took the time to haul ass up here and meet you right at the gate.”

“That was very thoughtful of you. I don’t generally get that kind of service from the FBI in New York. Although they often deliver a similar speech about jurisdiction. Do they teach you that at Quantico? I’m sorry, I don’t even know your name.” I smiled and stuck out my hand, knowing that would annoy these FBI agents more than anything.

The tubby guy groaned in frustration. Finally he shook my hand. “My name’s Bill Fiore. This kid who can’t take a body blow is Matt Miller. We know you’re here on a case. But we’d like to know exactly what you’re doing four thousand miles from home.”

“At the moment, I’m knocking around a couple of FBI agents. Tomorrow, I thought I might do some sightseeing.”

Fiore said, “Do you think we’re idiots?”

“Is that a rhetorical question?”

“Smart guy, huh? I got news for you, Mr. Big Shot Detective, you’re not welcome in Estonia. Your ass is coming with us until we can load you on a plane back to the States.” He took a moment to run a hand through his hair and flop it back into place over his spreading bald spot. He was about forty and, on closer inspection, looked like he used to be in reasonable shape. Maybe the food in Europe agreed with him.

I gathered my thoughts. “I really don’t see what legal authority you have to send back a tourist. I’m not here on official business.”

“Bullshit. You NYPD guys think you can do anything and go anywhere because of your Intel unit. But we have legal authority to be here. You don’t. That’s why you’re getting on a plane tomorrow and heading back to New York, before you cause any problems.”

The younger guy, Miller, grabbed me by the upper arm like I was a suspect being led away in cuffs. I had to admit he had a serious grip.

Fiore fell in on the other side of me as they started marching me toward the main exit.





CHAPTER 56





IT FELT LIKE I was being marched to prison. Had my mission failed so quickly and completely? Maybe someone in the Intel unit disagreed with me going to Estonia to look for the mayor’s daughter and had tipped off the FBI. Maybe it was someone in the mayor’s office itself. Either way, my heart sank. I walked along silently. I didn’t see what I could do at the moment. I couldn’t even ask to speak to someone at our embassy. It was my own government detaining me.

I wasn’t about to hurt another US cop, no matter how much he annoyed me. All I could do was walk along. I was trying to resign myself to the situation.

A younger man in a FILA jacket walked past and bumped into Bill Fiore. Then he turned around and started shouting at the FBI agent in what I was sure was French. And he sounded pissed off.

To my surprise, Fiore answered him in French. And he sounded like every other annoyed Bostonian I had ever heard. Except he was speaking French.