Agent Martin
Uniformed officers have a perimeter 50 yards from the burned car. Until SpectraCom Security arrives, only the highest ranking police officials are allowed to do anything but man the barricades. In places, that still does not seem enough to keep out the press that has swarmed at the rumor that Becki Murphy and her abductor may be charred sticks inside that car. They push and crowd and use each other as spring boards to jostle for a view.
The gawkers and reporters make way for the black Hummer that doesn't consider stopping should they choose not to move. Four men in black hats and suits climb out. Pete Stringer was in the passenger seat, and I can't get out of the way fast enough to avoid his recognition.
"John!" he shouts, abandoning the squad that appears to be under his command. They all wear black uniforms with no markings but the badges on their hats. The sunglasses are not enough to mask the confusion on their faces as Stringer pushes through the people. "John, have you seen it yet? Are they in there?" This, of course, turns all eyes and cameras on us.
I pull down my hat and lead him toward the barricade, where his credentials get us and the rest of his men through without question. The other SpectraCom officers are breaking out fingerprint and sample kits while they walk. The car is is obviously empty.
Stringer snorts. "Idiots." He bends to look through the frame of the windshield. "There's nobody in this car. Sonsofbitches told me they had Murphy!" His people go to work without orders, dusting surfaces and measuring tears in the metal. "We can get at least some of these asshole reporters out of here. Hey Brian, go tell the press the car is empty."
Brian stands, and I say, "No, wait!" Brian is confused. This is a man unaccustomed to contradicting orders. I ask Stringer, "How long can you keep anyone from finding out?"
Stringer shrugs and points to Brian, who returns to work on the car. “Eventually we'll have to turn the investigation over to local authorities. No doubt most of them are already aware of the truth."
"You have to hold it up as long as you can," I say.
Stringer takes off his sunglasses. "You want me to do what?"
"Let the world think she is dead, and I can put Becki Murphy and the man who took her into your hands." I look him in the eye. "All I need is one day. I know who Anton Lazarus really is."
Stringer shakes his head. "Don't start telling me about Eleazar..."
"It's him, Pete," I say. "I've been following them since Atlanta, and I know where they are going. If you tell those reporters the truth, Eleazar will take her underground and Becki Murphy will never be seen again. If the world thinks she's dead, Eleazar will be free to move openly."
"People will notice Becki Murphy walking down the street."
"Not if she's dead. I don't need long, Pete. Come to the City, tonight, and we'll bag this bird. You hear?"
Stringer is skeptical, and silent a moment before saying, "I took a lot of shit for you about Eleazar. You were gone, and someone had to take the blame..."
"And it will all be worth it when you get that big promotion for turning in Becki Murphy."
Stringer grins. "And film rights! Hope you don't mind, I'll have to tell them I did everything myself."
"Least of my concerns, though I can't leave Eleazar alive for anyone to let out of prison again."
"Least of my concerns." Stringer grabs my hand. "You ain't gonna screw me, are you?"
"Eleazar will know I'm still looking," I say. "We have to be careful. Come to Manhattan tonight. I'll find you."
"You'll find me?" he asks. He puts the sunglasses on his face. The sun will be high enough to need them soon. I back into the crowd and he loses me. "Good luck," he says, but I'm gone.
Go to Chapter 38
The gawkers and reporters make way for the black Hummer that doesn't consider stopping should they choose not to move. Four men in black hats and suits climb out. Pete Stringer was in the passenger seat, and I can't get out of the way fast enough to avoid his recognition.
"John!" he shouts, abandoning the squad that appears to be under his command. They all wear black uniforms with no markings but the badges on their hats. The sunglasses are not enough to mask the confusion on their faces as Stringer pushes through the people. "John, have you seen it yet? Are they in there?" This, of course, turns all eyes and cameras on us.
I pull down my hat and lead him toward the barricade, where his credentials get us and the rest of his men through without question. The other SpectraCom officers are breaking out fingerprint and sample kits while they walk. The car is is obviously empty.
Stringer snorts. "Idiots." He bends to look through the frame of the windshield. "There's nobody in this car. Sonsofbitches told me they had Murphy!" His people go to work without orders, dusting surfaces and measuring tears in the metal. "We can get at least some of these asshole reporters out of here. Hey Brian, go tell the press the car is empty."
Brian stands, and I say, "No, wait!" Brian is confused. This is a man unaccustomed to contradicting orders. I ask Stringer, "How long can you keep anyone from finding out?"
Stringer shrugs and points to Brian, who returns to work on the car. “Eventually we'll have to turn the investigation over to local authorities. No doubt most of them are already aware of the truth."
"You have to hold it up as long as you can," I say.
Stringer takes off his sunglasses. "You want me to do what?"
"Let the world think she is dead, and I can put Becki Murphy and the man who took her into your hands." I look him in the eye. "All I need is one day. I know who Anton Lazarus really is."
Stringer shakes his head. "Don't start telling me about Eleazar..."
"It's him, Pete," I say. "I've been following them since Atlanta, and I know where they are going. If you tell those reporters the truth, Eleazar will take her underground and Becki Murphy will never be seen again. If the world thinks she's dead, Eleazar will be free to move openly."
"People will notice Becki Murphy walking down the street."
"Not if she's dead. I don't need long, Pete. Come to the City, tonight, and we'll bag this bird. You hear?"
Stringer is skeptical, and silent a moment before saying, "I took a lot of shit for you about Eleazar. You were gone, and someone had to take the blame..."
"And it will all be worth it when you get that big promotion for turning in Becki Murphy."
Stringer grins. "And film rights! Hope you don't mind, I'll have to tell them I did everything myself."
"Least of my concerns, though I can't leave Eleazar alive for anyone to let out of prison again."
"Least of my concerns." Stringer grabs my hand. "You ain't gonna screw me, are you?"
"Eleazar will know I'm still looking," I say. "We have to be careful. Come to Manhattan tonight. I'll find you."
"You'll find me?" he asks. He puts the sunglasses on his face. The sun will be high enough to need them soon. I back into the crowd and he loses me. "Good luck," he says, but I'm gone.
Go to Chapter 38
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