Twisted Prey (Lucas Davenport #28)(82)

Lucas: “Wait—you’re not going to promise them immunity?”

“No. Not at this point anyway, and most likely never,” Chase said. “But these papers open the possibility of putting the whole illegal weapons trade under the microscope. We’re talking about hundreds of possible deaths, maybe thousands, not two.”

“Ah, Jesus,” Lucas said. “Did you talk to Mallard about all of this?”

“Yes, and he’s with us,” Chase said. “He thinks you’re a great guy and all, but he said, and I quote, ‘Get me the guns, and fuck Davenport.’ The f-word was his, not mine.”

Lucas said, “I understand, but I might have to oppose you on some of this.”

“We’ll be talking to your director,” Chase said.

“And I’ll be talking to Senator Smalls,” Lucas said.

Chase said, “Lucas, please, I’m telling you—no, I’m asking you—if you want to fight us over the process, that’s fine. But please don’t do anything until tomorrow. Please! We’re putting these men under heavy surveillance, and we plan to pick them up after they leave their offices this afternoon or tonight so they can’t warn the Heracles people. They’ll want to bring their attorneys in, but when we begin questioning them, we’re going to use what we get for the warrants for the raid on Heracles. If you break this whole thing into the open before we get the warrants, there’ll be some bonfires in the Heracles offices tonight. It won’t hurt you to wait a day.”

Lucas thought about that, and said, “Okay. I won’t talk to anyone until after your raids.”

“Thank you. We . . . thank you. Somebody will call you in an hour or so when we’re ready to launch.”

“Will you be there? For the arrests?”

“I won’t be making the arrests myself. I’ll be observing.”

“See you there,” Lucas said.



* * *



—

BOB SAID, “Good, we’re gonna do something. These guys . . . I don’t think we need to go in heavy. Maybe keep some shit in the truck, but, basically, civilian dress.”

Rae nodded, and Lucas said, “Take your Glock.”

“I take my Glock when I go to bed,” Bob said.



* * *



—

TWO HOURS LATER, Chase’s assistant called, and told Lucas that Chase was on her way to monitor a surveillance team that was tracking McCoy in preparation for his arrest. “We believe McCoy will be leaving Heracles around four o’clock, and we will keep him under surveillance until we can pick him up. You’re welcome to observe. She knows you’re also interested in Kerry Moore, but we’ve been unable to locate him. We will serve search warrants on both of their apartments later this evening.”

“Where is Miz Chase now?” Lucas asked.

“She’s on her way. She’ll be in a communications car at the corner of Wilson Boulevard and North Veitch Street. If you go around the corner on Veitch, we’ve reserved parking for members of the group.”



* * *



—

LUCAS DROVE, with Rae in the passenger seat, Bob in back. Lucas normally didn’t like to ride with other law enforcement officers because too often everybody wound up wanting to go to different places. In this case, they’d be more observers than an action team, so it was unlikely they’d need to split up.

On the way over, Lucas said, “Her assistant said they expect McCoy to leave around four o’clock. I think they’re doing some electronic monitoring. I don’t know how, but they’re doing it.”

“Wonder where Moore is,” Rae said. “Hope he’s not in a landfill.”

“Don’t even think that,” Lucas said.



* * *



—

TRAFFIC WAS already tightening up as they crossed the Potomac into Arlington. They turned the corner off Wilson onto North Veitch and found a line of large sedans and two Chevy Yukons parked on the right side of the street, and a man in a suit who waved them away from an open parking space. Lucas pulled in anyway, got out, and held up his badge: “U.S. Marshals, here to meet Miz Chase.”

The man nodded, and said, “Okay. White Yukon.”

Chase was in the passenger seat, and Lucas, Bob, and Rae piled into the empty second row of seats, squeezing Rae in the middle. Lucas asked, “Where are we?”

“We’re looking at five men: Luther Franklin, Ray Shelve, Arnold Buckram, and your two, Kerry Moore and John McCoy. I’m worried about Moore; we’ve picked up some chatter from Heracles, and they don’t seem to know where he is, either.”

“You’re monitoring Heracles?”

Chase turned her head to glance at him, and said, “We have some . . . resources in place.”

“Hope he’s not dead,” Bob said. “They kill both McCoy and Moore, we marshals be suffering some serious butthurt, Smalls-wise.”

Chase looked over her other shoulder. “What? Butthurt? Is that a marshal technical term?” First hint of a sense of humor.



* * *



—

THE YUKON’S DRIVER was a serious young agent with a Caucasian-colored earbud in one ear, which made Lucas wonder whether the feds had other ethnically correct monitors. The man said, “Franklin’s leaving Heracles, and McCoy is with him . . . They’re talking . . . They’re splitting up. Ben’s on Franklin, Clark’s on McCoy.”