The Final Twist
- Автор: Дивер Джеффри
- Серия: Colter Shaw #3
- Год: 2021
- Язык: английский
- Год: G.P. Putnam's Sons
- ISBN: 978-0-525-53913-1
- Жанр: Триллеры
Электронная книга - «The Final Twist». Краткое содержание книги:
Following the enigmatic clues his father left behind, Shaw plays cat and mouse with the company’s sadistic enforcers, as he speeds from one gritty neighborhood in the City by the Bay to another. Suddenly, the job takes on a frightening urgency: Only by finding the courier bag can he expose the company and stop the murder of an entire family — slated to die in forty-eight hours.
With the help of an unexpected figure from his past, and with the enforcers closing the net, Shaw narrows in on the truth — and learns that the courier bag contains something unexpected: a secret that could only be described as catastrophic.
Russell muttered, “You flank, the alley.”
Shaw nodded.
His brother didn’t bother with the subtle approach. He went for a frontal assault. He stepped out the window and balanced briefly on a ledge. He then judged angles and leapt onto the roof of the one-story building below.
Hiding his gun under his jacket, so as not to startle residents in the building and earn a 911 report, Shaw closed and locked the window his brother had just climbed through and then walked into the hallway, now empty. He was in a hurry, yes, but took the time to double-lock the door. He jogged to the stairwell that would take him to the exit in the basement.
On the street it was soon obvious that a firefight was not forthcoming.
The two tactical ops were gone.
Shaw joined Russell, standing beside the car and examining the damage, which was considerable. A six-inch hole had been blown in the door near the lock. It seemed like an efficient, if messy, way to enter a vehicle, but they hadn’t known about the extra steel plates. The door held.
“What happened?” Shaw asked.
“They saw me and my weapon and decided not to engage. They had a van waiting up the street.”
“BlackBridge? Or one of your customers from the Oakland operation?” Shaw was thinking of the hidden room in the safe house and his brother’s maps of the docks across the Bay — which had a decidedly tactical theme about them.
“BlackBridge or Devereux. My other project? No one is a risk anymore.”
“How’d they make us?” Shaw asked.
“I’ve got some thoughts on that.”
But he didn’t explain just now. He tilted his head, listening.
Sirens wailed in the distance.
“I’ll have to talk to the cops.” Russell was the epitome of calm.
“You have weapons inside?”
“Won’t be a problem.”
“Who’s it registered to?” The smoke was acrid, Shaw’s eyes burned. The breaching charge involved manganese or phosphorus.
“A company. Offshore. Done this before. Go back upstairs.”
Shaw nodded.
He turned and left, walking back to the front door of the residence. The back one, through which he’d exited, was self-locking. And while he could jimmy it, there was no reason to. Shaw entered the building and climbed the stairs. Survivalists tended to avoid elevators. For one thing, he recalled his father’s rule:
Never miss the opportunity to strengthen limbs in everyday life.
For another, in an elevator you’re subject to someone else’s control.
On the second floor, he walked to their unit and undid both locks.
He stepped in and closed the door behind him. He was only three or four feet inside when he glanced up to where he’d hung the Davis & Sons frame, containing the halfway decent sketch of the stark view from Echo Ridge.
The wall was now bare.
56
They’d tagged him.
That’s how Droon and Braxton had found the new safe house.
Tagging.
“Got the back of your jacket.” Russell scanned the garment with a handheld device that looked like a noncontact thermometer. The display lit up with little yellow dots.
“How?”
“Where were you when you met with Devereux?”
“The backseat of the Rolls.”
“They coated it. RFID dust.”
Radio frequency identification.
In the Compound, where there was no high-tech, the three children were not exposed to the basic internet, much less the universe of other digital esoterica. In the years since he’d been out in the real world, as a reward-seeker, Shaw had embraced much that was electronic and he’d heard of RFID dust. It was a common technique used by security and military forces — those from countries with sophisticated SIGINT — signals intelligence — operations, and sizable budgets. Radio frequency tracking systems were complicated and worked only with state-of-the-art equipment. Satellites and drones were involved.
Once tagged, you could be trailed even when you ducked out of sight and moved via underground passages. Algorithms compared geographic mapping systems to predict where you would emerge. When you did, another sensor would pick you up again, then hand off to others.
Really remarkable.
“There was a passenger in the seat before me, one of Devereux’s dates.”
“She got tagged too but there was plenty to go around.” Russell added, “He maybe brought her along so you wouldn’t be suspicious.”
“You’ll have to dump your jacket and jeans. Dry cleaning doesn’t kill them. Your boots’ll be okay.”
So Devereux had indeed been lying. Braxton and Droon knew about his meeting and had arranged for the dust in anticipation of it.
Well, Shaw himself hadn’t been the model of honesty with the billionaire.
Shaw went into the bedroom, stripped and tossed his clothes into a garbage bag — the second set of clothing he’d lost in the space of twenty-four hours. He changed into new jeans and a black polo shirt, untucked to keep his Glock concealed.
He found his brother on the phone. Russell nodded to a spot by the door and Shaw dropped the bag there. When he disconnected, his brother said, “I’m going to swap out the SUV. There’s a place in South San Francisco we use. I’ll take care of this.” He picked up the bag. “I’ll let you know if Karin gets anything on Blond.” With that, he was out the door.
He didn’t bother to call the management of the Pacific Heights residence. Shaw was sure that there was no maid service in this particular building at this particular time of day. The woman in the hall was no maid, but a BlackBridge employee.
The brothers could now return to the safe house on Alvarez Street. Why not? They weren’t at risk any longer, since Devereux, Ian Helms and Braxton had the document in the plastic frame.
And what was happening with the vote tally now?
Shaw guessed it was already en route to Sacramento, probably via private helicopter or jet. The legal department of the state assembly would be gearing up to consider how to handle an issue that none of them had ever had to face in their collective years as legislators: a century-old amendment to the state constitution that allowed corporations to hold public office. There would be the matter of authentication and a flurry of behind-the-scenes meetings. Shaw had no doubt that Devereux was pulling strings and disbursing cash to key players in the legislative and judicial branches of government. Wielding threats too. BlackBridge would be putting its skills at blackmail and extortion to work to gin up support for the amendment.
He sat down at his laptop. A fast search of the internet revealed that Devereux, the governor, and the chief justice of the California supreme court played golf together with some frequency, and Banyan Tree employed one of the largest lobbying firms in the state.
He wondered what the reaction would be — in California, the United States, the world.
The intercom buzzer hummed. Police, canvassing after the shoot-out? Had somebody followed him from the Steelworks club last night?
“Yes?”
“Mr. Shaw?”
“Who’s this?”
“Connie... Consuela Ramirez. Maria Vasquez’s my dear friend. I’m Tessy’s godmother. I’m sorry to trouble you. Can I see you for a few minutes? I won’t be long.”
He hit the entry button, then pulled his jacket on and lifted his shirt hem over the gun’s grip. He could draw faster this way, rather than the two-step, which involved lifting a garment with one hand and drawing with the dominant. Sometimes seconds mattered.