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“So you think this is the shooter I saw at the MetLife Building?” I said.
Evrard nodded.
“We don’t know his name,” he said. “We just call him the Brit because about all we know about him is a snatch of his northern England accent in a brief phone conversation we recorded in oh nine. We assume he’s ex–British Special Air Service, but who knows? Their Royal Marines are pretty damn good killers as well.
“We also know that he’s one of the most sought-after work-for-hire assassins in the world. The troubling thing is, like Arruda, he doesn’t care in the slightest who he works for as long as the price is right. He’s killed for the Japanese yakuza, the North Koreans, the Taliban, ISIS.”
“And he’s not just any old gun for hire, either,” said Leroux. “He’s an amazing shot. He took down three of our guys from a high ridge outside of a firebase in Kamdesh in oh seven. I ranged it myself after we came in to get the bodies. He scored three kills at twenty-five hundred yards. That’s one point four miles. One kill you could chalk up to luck, but three head shot hits at that distance when you account for the wind and the Coriolis effect is just insanity. Gandalf the wizard stuff. You wouldn’t think it was possible.”
“Who hired the wizard? Was it the Russians? Do you know? Is Putin actually behind this?”
“We’re as in the dark about that as you are,” said Evrard. “It’s either Putin or somebody who hates Putin and wants to make it look like Putin, perhaps one of the Russian oligarchs. It’s definitely somebody out of Russia. That’s where the tip came from, right, Paul? You guys got a guy at the embassy, right?”
“Why haven’t you guys let us local law enforcement know about your information on the Brit until now?” Paul Ernenwein said.
“It wouldn’t have helped,” Evrard said. “He uses disguises and aliases. This guy is an apex predator. You’re not going to catch him with an APB.”
“So what?” I yelled. “He’s out to kill the fricking president. To heck with the FBI and NYPD. This photo should be on the news!”
“Also, how do you know it’s this Brit guy?” Paul wanted to know.
“We have access to more databases than you,” Evrard said. “Our analysts plugged in the numbers. Eighty percent it’s him. There are very few people in the world with that expertise. It’s a process of elimination.”
I watched Evrard and Leroux exchange a quick look.
“No, wait. I get it,” I said. “You’re not out to protect the president. You’re just hunting this guy. He’s on your hit list as well, isn’t he? Like Arruda. You didn’t tell us because you don’t want him arrested, do you? Like Arruda, you want him dead.”
“Well, now that you mention it,” Evrard said after a beat. “He is on the Presidential Finding list as well.”
“Didn’t you hear what I just said?” Leroux said over to me. “He killed three of our guys. Three Navy SEALs in Afghanistan. Not only that, but he trained a bunch of those savages to kill who knows how many more Americans. He’s a real scumbag, Mike. He needs to be removed from the battlefield yesterday.”
“‘Battlefield,’” I said with a laugh of my own. I noticed that it had started to snow again as I tapped at the window. “That’s not a battlefield out there, Matt,” I said. “That’s just West Broadway.”
“Mike, grow up, huh?” Leroux replied. “Wise up. The war is everywhere now. The enemy, too. There are no more neat little definitions and borders.”
“I get it,” Paul finally piped up, staring at Evrard
. “You’re bringing us into it now because we were investigating Mattie over here. We were getting too close to blowing your little hunting party.”
“Guys, come on,” Evrard said. “What difference does it make if our interests are the same or just run parallel? We’re on the same team. We thought we could take care of the Brit by now, but he’s been more elusive than we had hoped. We need your help, or should I say, we need to team up officially to nail him.”
“Dead or alive, huh?” I said. “Only without the poster? Or the chance of a reward. Maybe we can string him up from a traffic light in Times Square. Any word on stringing people up in the Presidential Finding?”
“Hell, Detective,” said Leroux with another laugh and wink. “We don’t need him dead necessarily. We’re so desperate, even a couple of bloodthirsty murderers like us might let you bring him in alive, just this once.”
Chapter 58
It was five minutes to one in the afternoon on Tuesday when the British assassin double-parked the Home Depot rental truck in front of an ugly white brick high-rise on Second Avenue near the southwest corner of East 67th.
He could hear kids hollering and carrying on in the yard of the public school across the street as he slid the heavy rectilinear box out over the tailgate and slipped it onto a hand truck.
“Doing a little painting, are we, sir?” one of the high-rise’s maintenance men asked in the basement as the British assassin rolled past with the box, toward the freight elevator.
“Work, work, work,” the Brit said with a smile.
He took the elevator to nineteen and rolled the box to the end of the hallway and took out his key. He had rented the two-bedroom on a popular apartment share website a month before, when he was in the planning stage. As he rolled the box inside, he chuckled to himself as he remembered the website’s new age mission statement: Trust. It’s what makes the world go round.
After he cut open the box, it took twenty minutes to assemble the steel painting scaffold in the apartment’s living room. It had caster wheels for easy moving, and its plywood deck could be adjusted up to six feet. He moved the couch into the corner and then rolled the high portable platform into position across from the west-facing window.
