The Storm Protocol (19 page)

‘You look lonely,’ she stated in a voice like honey. ‘Would you like some company?’

‘No,’ I said. ‘But I would like to find this guy?’

She took the picture and studied it. If I hadn't been watching her intently, I would have missed it, but there was the merest flicker of recognition, before she masked it with her cleverly constructed charm.

‘Sorry,’ she replied
, ‘but I can't help you.’

‘I think you can,’ I said, making her blink in surprise.

‘I told you,’ she said, with a trace of annoyance in her voice. ‘I can't help you. Now leave me alone.’

‘I don’t believe you,’ I responded
flatly.

Her mouth dropped open. She wasn’t used to the punters talking back to her, obviously.

She inclined her head slightly, and I felt rather than saw the dark shape detach itself from the shadows of the building behind me. I turned and he stepped around to face me. He was a very large man, and I detected a trace of an eastern European accent as he addressed me.

‘I believe you are bot
hering this young lady,’ he growled.

The menace in his voice was unmistakable.

‘I’m not bothering anybody,’ I said evenly, smiling at him.

He telegraphed the punch from a mile away. My eyes never left his as I deflected the intended blow to one side, putting him off-balance for a second.

‘I really wouldn't do that again,’ I said pleasantly.

If anything, the retaliatory fist was signalled from even further away this time. Using the impetus of his forward movement, I deflected his forearm again, this time with a bit more snap
, so he spun around unsteadily with his back to me. I inserted two fingers into the open gap between his neck and his collar and pulled smartly backwards. He fell awkwardly onto his backside with a crunch, prompting an involuntary giggle from the girl, which didn't help my cause.

This time when he got up, there was a new purpose in his eyes and a switchblade in his hand.

‘Not so tough now, are you,’ he said, waving it around in front of him.

‘We’ll see,’ I responded
, matter-of-factly.

Too late for him, I saw a shadow of doubt flitter across his face as he lunged towards me. I had anticipated nothing less and stepped forward to meet him. He was not expecting it and tensed up. I parried the knife hand easily and with the same arm, moved it up around his neck. At the same instant I pulled my right leg back, sweeping his leg from under him as I used the elbow around his neck to throw him towards the ground.

He landed so hard that I heard the concrete paving slab crack, or maybe it was his back, I couldn't be sure. The knife clattered harmlessly to one side. He turned his head toward me, his eyes misting with pain as I picked up the knife and hefted it in my hand.

‘Nice weapon,’ I said conversationally. ‘Good balance to it.’

I threw it into the air suddenly, the blade glinting in the soft amber glow of the streetlights. It seemed to arc and tumble in slow motion. I caught it cleanly by the handle and jammed it deep into his throat, right up to the hilt, in one fluid motion. I stood up and brushed myself down.

‘He won't give you any more trouble,’ I said to the incredulous girl, as the man scrabbled weekly with his fingers to
try and extract the knife.

It was like watching a fish out of water. The gurgling cough got weaker and the thrashing of his limbs and torso became ever so slightly less energetic with each passing minute
, until all movement and sound ceased. I stooped to check his pulse; nothing. I turned back to the girl.

‘Now, where were we?’ I asked pleasantly. ‘Oh yes, this man; tell me who he is please?’

I handed her the photograph again. She looked at me, this time with real fear in her eyes.

‘They’ll kill me,’ she whispered.

‘And you think I won’t?’

I was lying of course, but she didn’t know that.
I indicated the body on the floor and she shuddered. I almost felt sorry for her, before I heard footsteps behind me and turned quickly. As he skidded to a halt, his incredulous gaze took in the scene.

‘What the fuck?’ he said
forcefully and I could see the rage in his eyes.

‘You bastard!’ he shouted, throwing himself at me.

Bad move. I easily sidestepped and caught him on the side of the head as he went sailing past. Palm strike; much more effective than a punch. He was unconscious before he hit the ground. I might even have killed him; I wasn’t exactly sure how much power I had put into the blow.

I turned back to the girl, realising that I’d made my first mistake of the evening. I saw the vaguest flash in my peripheral vision and a shape rounded the corner. I looked down at the discarded heels; clever girl.

I broke into a run and skidded through the junction, trying desperately to keep my feet as I turned into the curve. I saw her about fifteen yards ahead. If she had kept her head down she would have got away, but she turned and caught sight of me.

Whatever happened, she seemed to momentarily slow down or freeze. She wasn't looking where she was going and her bare toes seemed to connect with an uneven part of the pavement. I was gaining with every stride, and as she tumbled, I hit her from behind with a rugby tackle, pulling her to the floor as gently as I could.

As I lay there on top of her, I could feel the soft feminine curves beneath the flimsy material of her dress, and for a second I felt a wave of desire. It had been a long time since I’d benefited from a liaison with a member of the opposite sex. She must have sensed this, because she grabbed my head and pulled it down, kissing me savagely, almost frantically, as she guided my other hand under her blouse.

As my fingers
closed around her breast, and I felt the nipple harden through the silk of her bra, the small sensible area at the back of my brain; the one that had kept me alive for twenty years, hauled me back to reality.

I removed my hand and made to get up
, but she tried ever more ferociously to keep me down.

‘I’ll be good to you,’ she whispered huskily, trying to convey sexy with the rest of her body; her frightened eyes giving her away.

‘I won’t hurt you,’ I said softly. ‘I just need to find out who this man is. It’s very important.’

She looked at me directly for a long time; he
r eyes scanning my face implacably from her prone position. Eventually she broke the silence.

‘You might not hurt me,’ she said resignedly, brushing herself down. ‘But they certainly will,’ she said, indicating the corner she had just run around.

‘They won’t hurt you, I promise,’ I said. ‘You’ve seen what I can do. I guarantee they will not touch you.’

She got slowly to her feet. I could not interpret what was hidden behind her expression and for some reason I desperately wanted to be able to do so.

‘Do you trust me?’ I asked.

She thought about it for a few seconds and then nodded.

‘Scott Mitchell,’ she answered eventually. ‘He was a drug mule; used to supply the working girls with anything they wanted.’

I secretly rejoiced. At last I had a definitive lead.

‘But you need to be careful,’ she said. ‘He works for Black Swan; when he finds out what you’ve done....’

She left the sentence hanging.

‘Thank you,’ I said softly and genuinely.

‘What did he do to you?’ she asked, her hand gently brushing my cheek.

‘They won’t hurt you,’ I repeated, ignoring her question. ‘I chased you; I tried to rape you. Before I could get too far, we were disturbed by the police.’

I ripped her blouse open suddenly, making her jump. For some reason, the sight of her bra made me feel light headed for a second.

‘I truly am sorry,’ I said with a sad smile.

She smiled back; the fear diminishing in her eyes. Merc
ifully, she didn’t see the strike to the neck with the edge of the hand; she just collapsed onto the floor with a sigh. I stayed with her, dialling the emergency services.

‘There’s been an attack; back of Connolly Hall; a girl is unconscious,’ I shouted into the phone.

I waited until the last possible moment; until the sirens were inches from the corner, and then ducked behind a car.

The squad car and ambulance skidded to a halt, and it was only when I heard them working on the girl
, that I was satisfied. At least she was safe; bruises would heal.

I melted into the shadows of the night.

15
th
May 2011 – Five days after the Storm.

Men may know many things by seeing; but no prophet can see before the event, nor what end waits for him. – Sophocles.

‘I don’t know why I’m doing this,’ squawked Dodds voice into his ear. ‘I’m only a couple years away from retirement; I don’t need this kind of crap.’

Dale blinked
, as awareness slowly returned. He was in bed and by the look of the time, he had gotten about fourteen hours of unbroken sleep. Amazing how something so simple could make you feel so good. He tried to rub the sleep out of his eyes, as his brain struggled to catch up. He held the receiver a little closer to his ear.

‘H
old on a second, Dodds,’ he responded slowly. ‘Give me a bit of time to wake up. What are you talking about?’

‘It’s in light of your
conversation
with the special agent in charge last night,’ said Dodds. ‘Regardless of what I believed, I said to myself, just drop it; he’ll come back after two weeks of vacation refreshed, invigorated and ready to concentrate on his next obsession.’

He paused for a second for breath.

‘So, imagine my surprise, when I'm talking to one of the vice guys; Gerry, you know Gerry? He has the three kids and almost got the divorce last year.’

Dale grunted.

‘Yeah, that Gerry,’ said Dodds.

‘What about him?’ asked
Dale.

‘So
, Gerry says to me; did you hear about the explosion last night? No, says I. Well get this, he says, as he pours me a coffee; apparently, one of the Mancini's warehouses was blown up last night. Down on the docks, by the East River.’

‘When was this?’ asked Dale, sitting bolt upright in bed.

‘It was no gas explosion either,’ continued Dodds, either ignoring or not hearing the question. ‘Preliminary finding from the forensic boys is that a large quantity of high explosive was used, and what's more there’s a victim,’ he finished triumphantly.

‘No ID and they couldn’t tell Gerry whether the Jo
hn Doe was killed pre or post explosion, but all the same, I said to myself, this is very coincidental,
especially
in light of my partner’s assertion to the boss yesterday. So against my better judgement, I rang you.’

Dale had been feverishly getting dressed, but as he slipped his jumper on, he sank heavily back onto the bed.

‘Thanks for the info, Dodds,’ he said, ‘but it doesn't really mean anything. I need something more than this.’

‘Jesus, Dale,’ said Dodds sharply. ‘Am I the only one in this partnership doing any thin
king? What happened to the gung-ho, totally committed special agent I was talking to last night; the one who put his career on the line for a hunch.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘What I mean is this,’ said Dodds. ‘I am a great believer in signs; always have been. This is a sign. At the end of our interview with Sam, you took down the names of his two buddies; the waiter/kitchen porter types, didn’t you?’

Dale nodded vigorously
, even though Dodds couldn’t see him.

‘Franco Totti and Mario Massa,’ he recalled from memory. ‘It’s all in the report.’

‘Well then,’ said Dodds. ‘We go down there, ruffle their feathers a little bit, and see how many of the downy little bastards fall out.’

‘You’d do that?’ asked Dale in astonishment.

‘Don’t sound so shocked,’ said Dodds. ‘Believe it or not, I can be a conscientious law enforcement officer occasionally.’

Dale laughed.

‘You’d better be ready to go,’ said Dodds.

‘Why?’ asked Dale,
as he slipped his shoes on.

‘Because I’m sitting outside your apartment in the car with the engine running,’ said Dodds, ‘and I hate wasting gas.’

#

‘Have you ever eaten in this place Rudino’s?’ asked Dale.

‘I have actually,’ said Dodds. ‘I used to take my daughter there a lot; especially when she was younger, she just loved Italian food.’

Dodds looked across at Dale and laughed at his expression.

‘You really need to get out more Dale,’ said Dodds. ‘Just because my kid used to like pizza, you automatically think I’m connected.’ he said.

He started laughing until the tears were streaming down his face.

‘It’s not that funny,’ protested Dale, inwardly breathing a huge sigh of relief.

He knew Dodds was not connected; he was just glad he hadn’t taken offence. He needed to be very careful with the relationships he had. His sense of isolation and paranoia was beginning to
dominate his life. He needed to wrestle control back again.

‘So what’s our in?’ he asked, as Dodds managed to
stem the guffaws.

‘Oh you are too funny,’ said Dodds, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.

‘Glad I can provide some amusement for you,’ said Dale, stony faced.

‘Lighten up, Dale,’ said Dodds. ‘Anyway, I was thinking about our in, as you put it. I took these out of evidence this morning.’

He slipped something from his inside suit pocket. Dale could see that it was a small plastic bag full of white pills.

‘We
’ll play it softly-softly,’ stated Dodds. ‘We got an anonymous tip-off that someone employed in the restaurant was storing or handling drugs. We just want to talk to the two gentlemen, so that we can clear up any misunderstandings.’

‘So
, softly-softly,’ said Dale. ‘Show our ID badges, shake the tree a little and see what falls out?’

‘Now you’ve got it,’ said Dodds. ‘Hopefully a good shake will dislodge some nice rotten fruit.’

Five minutes later, they arrived at their destination. Dale waited on the pavement outside, as Dodds parked the car. He peered over the dark red drapes that were hung at eye level inside the plate glass windows. It looked like any other restaurant. He wondered what secrets and lies lay hidden behind the heavy velvet curtains.

Dodds tapped him on the shoulder and the two of them entered in single file.

‘Can I help you, gentlemen?’ asked the head waiter.

‘I certainly hope so,’ said Dodds pleasantly, showing the head waiter his federal credentials.

The man took them and studied them closely; maybe a little bit too closely for Dale’s liking. It was definitely not the first time the head waiter had studied law enforcement ID. He clicked his fingers in Dale’s direction, like he was directing a servant. Dale handed over his own credentials, secretly seething.

‘So
, what exactly does the DEA want with us?’ asked the head waiter.

‘We had an anonymous tip off,’ said Dodds. ‘One or two of your restaurant employees are handling or harbouring drugs. We were in the area
and we are just so conscientious....’

H
ere he winked at Dale.

‘
....so, we just had to come down on our lunch break and check it out.’

‘And of course
, you have a warrant for this,’ said the head waiter pleasantly, with an odious smile fixed on his face.

‘We thought we would do this on an informal basis,’ said Dale.

‘Nice try, gentleman,’ said the head waiter, ‘but I think I’ll bid you good afternoon.’

He opened the door politely and indicated they should leave.

Dodds made no move; indeed made no sign to indicate he had even heard the waiter.

‘We could leave now,’ agreed Dodds. ‘We could go and get a warrant,’ he continued, ‘but I think if we were forced to do that
, then we would make that warrant as open-ended as we possibly could.’

‘We would then come down here with an army of law enforcement officials,’ continued Dale, ‘both local and federal. We would shut this place down and then dismantle it brick by brick; tile by tile. When we were finished with that, we would then hand it over to the NYC department of health on suspected hygiene and food handling issues and let’s not beat about the bush here,’ he finished flatly. ‘They would close you down.’

The head waiter looked from Dodds to Dale and back again with a pained expression.

‘Are you threatening me?’ he asked carefully.

‘I would hate to use the word
threaten
in this case,’ said Dodds with a smile. ‘That gives it such a negative connotation. I think
giving options
would be a much more positive way to look at the situation.’

Dodds smile hardened.

‘Now where are Franco and Mario?’ he asked.

‘Through the double doors at the back,’ said the head waiter sullenly. ‘Turn to the left and you can’t miss them; they are both on duty today, you’re lucky.’

‘That wasn’t so difficult now, was it?’ said Dodds sweetly, patting him on the shoulder.

As they walked toward the doors, Dale heard a muttering behind him. In some ways
, he wished he knew Italian better, but in other ways, he was probably better off that he didn't. In fact, he was concentrating maybe just a little too much on trying to make out what was being said. He looked forward, just in time to prevent one of the swing doors whacking him in the face. He hurried his pace to keep up with Dodds.

He entered the kitchen; his partner was
already talking to a pizza chef, who was kneading balls of dough, as he listened distractedly to what Dodds was asking. When some ID was flashed, the pizza chef reluctantly looked up.

‘Franco an
d Mario, where are they?’ Dodds inquired.

‘What have those idiots done now?’ asked the pizza chef truculently
, and then brusquely nodded over his shoulder.

Both Dale and Dodds followed the direction of his nod. Two young guys were heatedly arguing in Italian.

‘Mario and Franco?’ asked Dale, as they approached the two men.

‘Who wants to kno
w?’ responded one.

Dale handed over his ID card; it was getting a lot of use that day.

‘What does the DEA want with us?’ asked the other.

‘Are you Franco or Mario?’ asked Dodds.

‘I’m Franco, and he’s Mario,’ the guy replied. ‘So what does the DEA want with us?’ he repeated.

‘Well Franco,’ said Dodds
, as Dale watched the furtive exchange of glances between the two men. ‘We’ve had a tipoff; seems that you and your buddy Mario here have been slightly naughty boys.’

‘And just who might that source be?’ asked Mario with some bravado; spoiling the effect by licking his lips nervously a second later.

‘We don’t care who it is; that’s why they call it anonymous. It shouldn’t matter to you guys either. The point is, we are trying to establish whether the information is true or not,’ said Dale.

‘Enough of this crap,’ said Dodds.

He glanced around the room.

‘Which ones are your lockers
?’ he asked, pointing to the steel cabinets in the corner.

Mario walked over and pointed out two of them, which helpfully stated
Franco
and
Mario
on the front, in stylised black and white writing. Dodds flicked the first one open with a ballpoint pen and proceeded to search it thoroughly with one latex gloved hand.

‘Well-well,’ he said, his hand coming out holding a plastic bag full of white pills. ‘What have we here?’

Dodds closed the locker slowly, so he could read the name on the front.

‘Franco,’ he said. ‘It seems our informant was right.’

Franco looked flabbergasted.

‘I have no idea how they got there,’ he said. ‘I’ve never seen them before in my life.’

‘Are you accusing me of planting them?’ asked Dodds, his face hardening into a scowl.

‘No-no,’
replied Franco hastily. ‘But someone is definitely trying to set me up.’

‘You wouldn’t believe how often we’ve heard that one,’ said Dale. ‘Looks like you are going to have to accompany us back to the office.’

‘Hold on a second,’ said Franco. ‘Let’s not do anything hasty.’

Mario shot him a warning look
, which he chose to ignore.

‘I’m sure we can come to an arrangement,’ he said.

He searched for an alternate phrase.

‘Smooth over this problem,’ he
added finally.

‘
Are you trying to bribe a federal officer?’ asked Dodds.

‘No-no, not at all,’ said Franco quickly. ‘Just merely enquiring if there was any other way we could come to a mutual understanding.’

Dale looked at Dodds, who nodded. It was time to up the ante a little bit.

‘What do you know about S
torm?’ asked Dale.

Neither answered
, but he caught the flashed look between them and recognised it for what it was; anxiety and a little guilt in equal measure.