out, tie her up, and dump her in the backseat. But it would be easier to walk out of here together, find a car, and take care out of business outside the hotel. It was early in the morning, but sooner or later, somebody downstairs would be calling for this security guy here. They might already have. Kowalski had taken the batteries out of Mr. Vincent’s walkie-talkie, as well as the cell phone clipped to his belt. The batteries went into the tank of the toilet.
Kowalski looked at Kelly’s hand. They were mannish hands— strong wrists, slightly stubby fingers. Working-class hands.
He studied the middle finger of her left hand in particular.
“Let’s get ready to go.”
2:30 a.m.
CI-6 Headquarters (Undisclosed Location)
T he call was placed, buried, then reburied beneath a sea of thousands of other phone calls being made across the United States at any given second. It was hidden, even from DHS. She knew better than to make it from her office, an anonymous flat two-story stuccoed box with emergency staircases made of concrete. The building had been around since the 1950s; kids in the neighborhood grew up without even wondering what went on in there. She went down the street, into an apartment building, and then downstairs to a laundry room in the basement. A pay phone she knew about. She used a prepaid calling card.
God, if anyone else in CI-6 knew what she’d been doing for the past six weeks …
“We have her.”
“I’m getting on a plane now. Where am I going?”
“D.C.”
“Where is she right now?” “On her way.”
“Not in a fucking plane … don’t tell me she’s in a plane.” “I said, We have her. She’ll be here in a matter of hours.” “Yeah yeah.”
“After all this, I get attitude? Do you know how much—” “I know how much, dear.” “I wonder.” Silence.
“Where are you?”
“Close enough to be there in a few hours.” “Then I’ll see you soon.”
“When you see that slut,” the Operator said, “tell her I’m coming for her.”
2:45 a.m.
Sheraton Elevators, Right Bank, North Side
K owalski and Kelly held hands. He was still in the same outfit he’d worn all day: Dolce & Gabbana suit and dress shirt, Ferragamo shoes; she had slipped into a pair of Citizens of Humanity jeans, Pumas, and a white tank. It didn’t look like a date. It looked like the aftermath of a date. As if they’d met at Bar Noir, walked down the street for a hookup at the hotel, and now were headed back downstairs for the courtesy cab hail for her. Their eyes were puffy enough for that.
The doors closed. Kowalski tightened his grip on her hand. Specifically, her middle finger.
He’d taken her hand back in the room, even before he opened the cuffs, and warned her, “I can snap your middle fingerin a such a hideously painful way, you’ll instantly lose consciousness. I’d prefer not to have to carry you out of here, but it’s easy enough to explain. My girlfriend here sure loves her apple martinis!”
Kowalski had pulled back her finger, just as his own mentor had taught him in the early days of his CI-6 training. It required two simple actions, carried out at the same time.
“Feel that?”
She’d turned to him, God love her, and asked, “Can you do the same thing with a nipple?”
Kowalski had applied more pressure to let her know he was serious. She’d grunted. Her jaw had snapped shut instantly. She’d teared up. Kelly had gotten the point. But inside, he’d smiled. She was
good
.
The car began to descend, then stopped one floor below. Six.
Great.
The doors opened, and a guy in black running shorts, ankle-cut socks, and T-shirt emblazoned with the words TWO-WAY SPLIT stepped into the car. He was startled to discover he had company. He was holding an ice bucket. He pressed the button for five.
“Machine’s broken on my floor.”
“See, hon? Philly’s not a dead town. Everybody’s up partying.”
Kelly said nothing. She looked at the guy in the
Kowalski looked at Kelly’s hand. They were mannish hands— strong wrists, slightly stubby fingers. Working-class hands.
He studied the middle finger of her left hand in particular.
“Let’s get ready to go.”
2:30 a.m.
CI-6 Headquarters (Undisclosed Location)
T he call was placed, buried, then reburied beneath a sea of thousands of other phone calls being made across the United States at any given second. It was hidden, even from DHS. She knew better than to make it from her office, an anonymous flat two-story stuccoed box with emergency staircases made of concrete. The building had been around since the 1950s; kids in the neighborhood grew up without even wondering what went on in there. She went down the street, into an apartment building, and then downstairs to a laundry room in the basement. A pay phone she knew about. She used a prepaid calling card.
God, if anyone else in CI-6 knew what she’d been doing for the past six weeks …
“We have her.”
“I’m getting on a plane now. Where am I going?”
“D.C.”
“Where is she right now?” “On her way.”
“Not in a fucking plane … don’t tell me she’s in a plane.” “I said, We have her. She’ll be here in a matter of hours.” “Yeah yeah.”
“After all this, I get attitude? Do you know how much—” “I know how much, dear.” “I wonder.” Silence.
“Where are you?”
“Close enough to be there in a few hours.” “Then I’ll see you soon.”
“When you see that slut,” the Operator said, “tell her I’m coming for her.”
2:45 a.m.
Sheraton Elevators, Right Bank, North Side
K owalski and Kelly held hands. He was still in the same outfit he’d worn all day: Dolce & Gabbana suit and dress shirt, Ferragamo shoes; she had slipped into a pair of Citizens of Humanity jeans, Pumas, and a white tank. It didn’t look like a date. It looked like the aftermath of a date. As if they’d met at Bar Noir, walked down the street for a hookup at the hotel, and now were headed back downstairs for the courtesy cab hail for her. Their eyes were puffy enough for that.
The doors closed. Kowalski tightened his grip on her hand. Specifically, her middle finger.
He’d taken her hand back in the room, even before he opened the cuffs, and warned her, “I can snap your middle fingerin a such a hideously painful way, you’ll instantly lose consciousness. I’d prefer not to have to carry you out of here, but it’s easy enough to explain. My girlfriend here sure loves her apple martinis!”
Kowalski had pulled back her finger, just as his own mentor had taught him in the early days of his CI-6 training. It required two simple actions, carried out at the same time.
“Feel that?”
She’d turned to him, God love her, and asked, “Can you do the same thing with a nipple?”
Kowalski had applied more pressure to let her know he was serious. She’d grunted. Her jaw had snapped shut instantly. She’d teared up. Kelly had gotten the point. But inside, he’d smiled. She was
good
.
The car began to descend, then stopped one floor below. Six.
Great.
The doors opened, and a guy in black running shorts, ankle-cut socks, and T-shirt emblazoned with the words TWO-WAY SPLIT stepped into the car. He was startled to discover he had company. He was holding an ice bucket. He pressed the button for five.
“Machine’s broken on my floor.”
“See, hon? Philly’s not a dead town. Everybody’s up partying.”
Kelly said nothing. She looked at the guy in the
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