Clemons was holding back. “So far nothing truly shocking. What’s a little grift and graft in the NYPD after all? We have known about Castillo for months. But then there’s this.”
Agent Clemons flipped over the last photo, revealing Shirokov sitting across from a slim, middle aged man in a cheap suit and an American flag pin on his lapel. The face looked familiar but Bollier could not identify him.
“Who is this with him?”
“That… is New York State Senator Marvin Greene having a power brunch with Vladimir Shirokov.”
Bollier felt a numb, tight, sinking sensation in her chest like her breastplate was caving in. She picked up the photo and stared at the State Senator, and then up at Agent Clemons.
“We’re still working on the connection but the fact that Greene is meeting with Shirokov in broad daylight is about the most unsettling thing that I’ve seen in this office ever. When you came in here you told me that you needed a favor. Now you do one for me…”
Agent Clemons closed the folder and returned it to the chaotic slush pile of evidence threatening to overrun the office like a feral weed. He sat down next to Bollier and put his hand on her shoulder.
“Be careful out there.”
Walking out of the FBI offices in Kew Gardens, detective Bollier was shaken to the core. On the way to the parking garage she felt a lurch in her stomach and barely made it to the trash can in time to throw up. Bollier told herself it was because she’d had so much strong black tea on an empty stomach but recognized the lie immediately for what it was. If a State Senator could be bought the next logical jump could explain why the District Attorney wanted Jordan Ross to be found and brought in so badly. Bollier dismissed the idea as ludicrous, paranoid. She had a job to do and indulging in that kind of nihilism would not help anything.
Bollier gathered herself together and put a breath mint in her mouth, then boarded the elevator which took her up to the fourth level of the parking garage. The sound of her high heels on the concrete echoed through the whole floor.
The new Taurus on loan from the precinct was parked at the end of the main aisle, facing east to the outside. Bollier clicked the button on her keychain which unlocked the trunk and sprung it open. When she reached the car Bollier tossed her purse in and closed the trunk. For a moment she stood there, watching the gray peaks of Manhattan’s mountainous skyline, tracing the lazy flight of a sea gull riding a current of wind out over the bay.
A hood pulled down over Bollier’s eyes and two strong pairs of men’s hands grabbed her arms from behind. She kicked out and managed to scream “NO” just once before the chloroform seeped into the hood sent the detective into a bright warm oblivion.
Chapter Six
Detective Leslie Bollier woke up to the sound of broken French being spoken. Her eyes opened to a world of complete darkness and for a minute of consuming horror Bollier believed that she had been poisoned and gone permanently blind. A hand removed the hood covering her head and Bollier took stock of her surroundings. She was restrained to a metal folding chair by both hands and feet, and a gag was fitted to her mouth.
Several tall men in leather jackets were circling her in the interior of what looked like an abandoned warehouse. Tin barrels were stacked five deep and two high around the walls. The roof was forty to fifty feet high, crossed by iron beams and ringed by a scaffold all the way around. Smoking cigarettes, more men patrolled the scaffold carrying automatic weapons. There were no windows anywhere to be seen. Inside the warehouse the air was cold, a crisp draft coming in from somewhere. Zip tie handcuffs bound her hands together behind her back. Bollier tried rubbing her palms together to get the blood flowing and warm them up but it wasn’t easy.
Out of the din of conversation, a jovial voice rose above the others.
“Detective! I am so
Agent Clemons flipped over the last photo, revealing Shirokov sitting across from a slim, middle aged man in a cheap suit and an American flag pin on his lapel. The face looked familiar but Bollier could not identify him.
“Who is this with him?”
“That… is New York State Senator Marvin Greene having a power brunch with Vladimir Shirokov.”
Bollier felt a numb, tight, sinking sensation in her chest like her breastplate was caving in. She picked up the photo and stared at the State Senator, and then up at Agent Clemons.
“We’re still working on the connection but the fact that Greene is meeting with Shirokov in broad daylight is about the most unsettling thing that I’ve seen in this office ever. When you came in here you told me that you needed a favor. Now you do one for me…”
Agent Clemons closed the folder and returned it to the chaotic slush pile of evidence threatening to overrun the office like a feral weed. He sat down next to Bollier and put his hand on her shoulder.
“Be careful out there.”
Walking out of the FBI offices in Kew Gardens, detective Bollier was shaken to the core. On the way to the parking garage she felt a lurch in her stomach and barely made it to the trash can in time to throw up. Bollier told herself it was because she’d had so much strong black tea on an empty stomach but recognized the lie immediately for what it was. If a State Senator could be bought the next logical jump could explain why the District Attorney wanted Jordan Ross to be found and brought in so badly. Bollier dismissed the idea as ludicrous, paranoid. She had a job to do and indulging in that kind of nihilism would not help anything.
Bollier gathered herself together and put a breath mint in her mouth, then boarded the elevator which took her up to the fourth level of the parking garage. The sound of her high heels on the concrete echoed through the whole floor.
The new Taurus on loan from the precinct was parked at the end of the main aisle, facing east to the outside. Bollier clicked the button on her keychain which unlocked the trunk and sprung it open. When she reached the car Bollier tossed her purse in and closed the trunk. For a moment she stood there, watching the gray peaks of Manhattan’s mountainous skyline, tracing the lazy flight of a sea gull riding a current of wind out over the bay.
A hood pulled down over Bollier’s eyes and two strong pairs of men’s hands grabbed her arms from behind. She kicked out and managed to scream “NO” just once before the chloroform seeped into the hood sent the detective into a bright warm oblivion.
Chapter Six
Detective Leslie Bollier woke up to the sound of broken French being spoken. Her eyes opened to a world of complete darkness and for a minute of consuming horror Bollier believed that she had been poisoned and gone permanently blind. A hand removed the hood covering her head and Bollier took stock of her surroundings. She was restrained to a metal folding chair by both hands and feet, and a gag was fitted to her mouth.
Several tall men in leather jackets were circling her in the interior of what looked like an abandoned warehouse. Tin barrels were stacked five deep and two high around the walls. The roof was forty to fifty feet high, crossed by iron beams and ringed by a scaffold all the way around. Smoking cigarettes, more men patrolled the scaffold carrying automatic weapons. There were no windows anywhere to be seen. Inside the warehouse the air was cold, a crisp draft coming in from somewhere. Zip tie handcuffs bound her hands together behind her back. Bollier tried rubbing her palms together to get the blood flowing and warm them up but it wasn’t easy.
Out of the din of conversation, a jovial voice rose above the others.
“Detective! I am so
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