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

Chapter Nineteen

8:19 a.m.

East Side of Manhattan

"I guess we're not high priority anymore," Ed Newsam said.

The black SUV sat parked just outside the concrete barriers of the 34th Street heliport, where they had come in nearly five hours before. Morning traffic buzzed past them on FDR Drive. The chopper wasn't on the pad, so they sat in the back seat of the SUV and waited. As they watched, a big white Sikorsky came in over the river, an executive helicopter.

It landed, and a group of outrageous young people climbed out. One man wore tight black jeans and no shirt. His hair was blue and spiked, and the entirety of his scrawny upper body was covered in tattoos. Another very thin man wore an electric blue suit, with a matching bowler hat on top. The three women with them were dressed like prostitutes from two decades before, in mini-skirts, halter tops, and five-inch heels. The whole group were stumbling, laughing, and dropping things. They seemed drunk.

Two very large older men, one white and one black, both completely bald, walked behind the young people. The big men were conventionally dressed in black T-shirts and blue jeans.

They all piled into a white stretch limousine. In a moment, the limo pulled into traffic and disappeared. Their helicopter was already gone. It had touched down, disgorged them, and taken off again.

"You worried?" Luke said.

Newsam was slumped back in the seat, his normal downtime look. "About what?"

Luke shrugged. "I don't know. Losing your job?"

Newsam smiled. "I don't think they'll fire me. It's politics, man. Somebody high up is protecting Ali Nassar, that's all. Listen, we got the right guy. You know it and I know it. If a dirty bomb goes off today, God forbid, heads will roll, but they won't be our heads. A couple of people in the Middle East will die in air strikes. Ali Nassar will turn up smoked in an alleyway in Caracas. None of it will make the newspapers. You and I will quietly get bonuses to help us keep our mouths shut. We'll never understand any of it, mostly because it doesn't make sense. And the person pulling the strings will go on the same as before."

Luke grunted. Cynical talk was widespread among intelligence agents. It wasn't something that Luke usually got into. He had always tried to keep it simple. We were the good guys. Over there were the bad guys. That worldview was the protective veil that he wrapped around himself. He had to admit it was getting a workout this morning.

"And if a bomb doesn't go off?"

Ed's smile broadened. "I guess they'll say we worked over a nice man who's just trying to make the world a better place. What does it matter? You saw those kids come in a minute ago? Rock stars, TV stars, who knows? My little girls would probably know them on sight. You see those big guys with them? Bodyguards. I did a little bit of that when I first came back stateside. The hours are terrible because the kids are like werewolves. They only come out at night. But the money is good. I would do it again, if I had to. A man like me, who doesn't get rusty, has a lot of options in this world."

Luke's phone rang. He glanced at the number. It was Becca.

"It's my wife. I'm going to take this."

"Go ahead," Ed said. "I'm gonna take a nap."

"Hi, babe," Luke said as he hit the green button. He tried to put on a cheerful voice, more for her benefit than his own.

"Luke?"

"Yeah," he said. "Hi."

"Sweetheart, it's good to hear your voice," she said. "I've been worried about you, but I didn't want to call. It's been all over the television. That's your case, right? The stolen nuclear materials?"