Any Means Necessary (a Luke Stone Thriller-Book #1)

Chapter Fifteen

7:12 a.m.

Ali Nassar's Apartment - Manhattan

"Down! Stay down!"

Luke was face down on the stone floor of Nassar's office. They had taken the gun from his shoulder holster. A cop's shoe was on the back of his neck. The cop was heavyset, over two hundred pounds. His bulk could snap Luke's neck, if that's what the man decided to do.

With one hand, Luke held his badge above his head. "Federal agents!" he shouted, trying to match the volume of the cops.

"FBI! FBI!" Ed screamed beside him. This was the dangerous moment, when good guys tended to shoot other good guys by mistake.

Someone snatched Luke's badge away. Rough hands pulled his arms behind his back and cuffed him tight. He felt the cold steel bite into his wrists. He made no attempt at resistance. In other rooms of the apartment, cops were still surging through, screaming and shouting.

"Stone, what are you doing?"

Luke recognized the voice. He craned his head around to see who it was. Ron Begley of Homeland Security stood over him, surrounded by uniformed cops. He stared down at Luke with an expression probably calculated to convey disgust, or maybe pity. Begley wore a long trench coat. With his big gut and his coat, he looked like a TV producer's idea of an alcoholic Irish detective. Standing with him was Three-Piece, the NYPD counter-terrorism officer from this morning, the one who didn't like being treated like a servant. It took Luke a moment to remember his name. Myerson. Kurt Myerson.

In a sense, Luke was glad to see them.

"The man in the chair has been operating a terrorist cell located here in New York. We have evidence tying him to the group who stole radioactive materials from Center last night."

Begley crouched near Luke's head. "The man is no longer in the chair. We just cut him loose. I guess you must know that he's a diplomat attached to the Iranian United Nations contingent, right?"

"He's hiding behind diplomatic immunity," Luke said. "That's what allows him to—"

"We're on the verge of war with Iran, Stone. That much is true. But starting the war is outside of your job description." Begley paused. The squat seemed to take his breath away, but he stuck with it.

"Can you even imagine the amount of shit that's about to come down from this? The United States of America is going to have to issue a public apology to Iran. This is because you took it upon yourself to invade a diplomat's home, strip him to his underwear, and subject him to questioning that at first glance appears to meet the international definition of torture. The President is going to choke on his Wheaties when he hears about this. And a rogue agent from a secretive FBI unit no one has ever heard of is going to go around and around in the twenty-four-hour news loop, just in case there was anyone left in the country who thought government spying wasn't out of control."

"Ron, listen."

"I'm done listening to you, Stone. What good does it do? You're out of your mind. Right now, I've got people contacting Don Morris. Since he's the only person you seem to listen to, he's going to personally relieve you of your command. At this point, you're way past worrying about job security. That man in the next room is very likely to press charges, and if he does, I think you're going to see some jail time. No one is going to protect you. No one is going to stand up for you."

Begley lowered his voice. "I'll be honest with you. People are already questioning Don's judgment for bringing you up here. The Special Response Team is Don's pet project, right? The whole thing could get broken up and scattered to the winds faster than I even thought it would. You did me a favor today."