screens to a city camera, just a mini-surveillance unit the neighboring businesses used to keep tabs on the comings and goings along the sidewalk. Stephen would cause havoc along this particular street and Marsh wanted to watch.
Zoe leaned across, trying to get a better view. “So what else are we going to do today?”
Marsh stared. “Isn’t this enough for you? And you do suddenly seem a little soft, somewhat malleable, for a woman invited to join the big bad Pythians, Miss Zoe Sheers. Why is that? Is it because you like the mad in me?”
“I think so. And more than just a little. Maybe the champagne is going to my head.”
“Good. Now shut up and watch.”
The next few moments unfolded as Marsh wanted them to. Normal men and women would flinch at what they saw, even tough ones, but Marsh and Sheers viewed it with cold detachment. It then took Marsh only five minutes to save the footage and video-message it to the Englishman with the attached note: Send this on to Homeland. I’ll be in touch shortly.
He wrapped Zoe up in one arm. Together they studied the chase’s next scenario, which would have the Englishman and his three stooges actually knowing they would arrive too late before they even began. Superb. And the mayhem at the end . . . priceless.
Marsh remembered then that there were other people in the room. Ramses’ primary cell and its members. They were sitting so quietly in a far corner of the apartment that he barely recalled their faces.
“Hey,” he called. “The lady has run out of champagne. Would one of you drifter types be able to freshen her up?”
A man rose, his eyes filled with so much contempt that Marsh squirmed. But the expression was quickly masked and became a fast bobbing of the head. “Sure can.”
“Excellent. One more bottle should do it.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Drake watched Mai rip open the guard’s jacket as she searched for a list of demands. Alicia and Beau searched the gathering crowds, almost certain the last remaining member of the third cell would make some kind of move. Homeland were en route, only two minutes out. Sirens shrieked nearby as the cops gathered. Drake knew that by now the culminating incidents would have all New Yorkers on edge, and sightseers rattled. It might not be a bad thing if people stayed off the streets, but what more could the White House actually do?
Drones with radiation detectors were looping through the skies. Metal detectors were stopping everyone who merited attention and many who didn’t. The Army and NEST were here. So many agents were roaming the streets it felt like a veteran’s reunion. If Homeland, the FBI, CIA and NSA were doing their jobs correctly, then Marsh would surely be found.
Drake checked his watch. It was somewhat over an hour since this nightmare began.
Is that all?
Alicia nudged him. “She found something.”
Drake watched as Mai removed a folded sheet of paper from Gonzales’s ruined jacket.
The New Yorker winced at her and picked up a tattered sleeve in each hand. “Will the city give me comp . . . compen . . . compens—”
“The city can give you some advice,” Alicia said dead-pan. “Next time use a little warm oil. Don’t pay for bad company.”
Gonzales shut up and slunk away.
Drake moved over to Mai. Marsh’s demands had been printed on a white A4 sheet in what appeared to be the biggest typesetting. All in all, they were pretty straight forward.
“Five hundred million dollars,” Mai read out. “And nothing else.”
Beneath the demand was a sentence written in a contrasting small script.
“Details to follow shortly.”
Drake knew exactly what that meant. “We’re about to be sent on another wild goose chase.”
Beauregard watched the crowds. “And we remain under surveillance, no doubt. It is certain this time that we will fail again.”
Drake lost count of the cellphones being held up among the gathered throng, then heard the dull buzz of his cell’s message tone and
Zoe leaned across, trying to get a better view. “So what else are we going to do today?”
Marsh stared. “Isn’t this enough for you? And you do suddenly seem a little soft, somewhat malleable, for a woman invited to join the big bad Pythians, Miss Zoe Sheers. Why is that? Is it because you like the mad in me?”
“I think so. And more than just a little. Maybe the champagne is going to my head.”
“Good. Now shut up and watch.”
The next few moments unfolded as Marsh wanted them to. Normal men and women would flinch at what they saw, even tough ones, but Marsh and Sheers viewed it with cold detachment. It then took Marsh only five minutes to save the footage and video-message it to the Englishman with the attached note: Send this on to Homeland. I’ll be in touch shortly.
He wrapped Zoe up in one arm. Together they studied the chase’s next scenario, which would have the Englishman and his three stooges actually knowing they would arrive too late before they even began. Superb. And the mayhem at the end . . . priceless.
Marsh remembered then that there were other people in the room. Ramses’ primary cell and its members. They were sitting so quietly in a far corner of the apartment that he barely recalled their faces.
“Hey,” he called. “The lady has run out of champagne. Would one of you drifter types be able to freshen her up?”
A man rose, his eyes filled with so much contempt that Marsh squirmed. But the expression was quickly masked and became a fast bobbing of the head. “Sure can.”
“Excellent. One more bottle should do it.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Drake watched Mai rip open the guard’s jacket as she searched for a list of demands. Alicia and Beau searched the gathering crowds, almost certain the last remaining member of the third cell would make some kind of move. Homeland were en route, only two minutes out. Sirens shrieked nearby as the cops gathered. Drake knew that by now the culminating incidents would have all New Yorkers on edge, and sightseers rattled. It might not be a bad thing if people stayed off the streets, but what more could the White House actually do?
Drones with radiation detectors were looping through the skies. Metal detectors were stopping everyone who merited attention and many who didn’t. The Army and NEST were here. So many agents were roaming the streets it felt like a veteran’s reunion. If Homeland, the FBI, CIA and NSA were doing their jobs correctly, then Marsh would surely be found.
Drake checked his watch. It was somewhat over an hour since this nightmare began.
Is that all?
Alicia nudged him. “She found something.”
Drake watched as Mai removed a folded sheet of paper from Gonzales’s ruined jacket.
The New Yorker winced at her and picked up a tattered sleeve in each hand. “Will the city give me comp . . . compen . . . compens—”
“The city can give you some advice,” Alicia said dead-pan. “Next time use a little warm oil. Don’t pay for bad company.”
Gonzales shut up and slunk away.
Drake moved over to Mai. Marsh’s demands had been printed on a white A4 sheet in what appeared to be the biggest typesetting. All in all, they were pretty straight forward.
“Five hundred million dollars,” Mai read out. “And nothing else.”
Beneath the demand was a sentence written in a contrasting small script.
“Details to follow shortly.”
Drake knew exactly what that meant. “We’re about to be sent on another wild goose chase.”
Beauregard watched the crowds. “And we remain under surveillance, no doubt. It is certain this time that we will fail again.”
Drake lost count of the cellphones being held up among the gathered throng, then heard the dull buzz of his cell’s message tone and
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