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“Which we are—full force,” Casey stressed.
“Any word back from Ryan on the phone records? Not that I think he’ll find anything.”
“No, and I agree. The guy probably used a burner phone. He’s not an amateur. He’s not going to get caught through phone records.”
“And what’s going on with Morano’s office? Have the cops officially declared it as arson yet?”
“Nope. They’re playing it very close to the vest. But I plan on calling our friend Detective Jones in a few hours. He’s been busy checking us out. It’s time I did a little information pumping of my own.”
* * *
The captain of Big Money eyed the sonar display as he carefully scanned the sea floor for the specially modified container.
Several hours behind schedule and fifteen nautical miles from New York Harbor, he was anxious to recover the last “catch” of the night. The container had been jettisoned two weeks ago in great haste, narrowly avoiding interception by the U.S. Coast Guard, which had stepped up drug interdiction efforts. Fashioned from an old shipping container with large cutouts on all sides, the steel box would have rapidly filled with water and sunk like a massive boat anchor. Steel mesh, welded over the manhole-size holes, would be keeping larger fish out of the container, where they might try to feed off the hermetically sealed bricks of cocaine.
The container and its contents were safe on the ocean floor, but their location, close to the center of the Hudson Shelf Valley, could be problematic.
Extending southeast from the Verrazano-Narrows at a forty-five-degree angle, the Hudson Shelf Valley bisected the New York Bight region of the continental shelf. Depths could reach over two hundred feet, which would make it impossible for the ship and its team of divers to retrieve the valuable cache of cocaine.
But luck was with them today.
The outline of the shipping container appeared on the LCD display—at a depth of 120 feet. Swiftly, the captain motioned to his first mate to dispatch the two divers. In a matter of minutes, the expert underwater team had deployed into the icy waters, attached a grappling hook to the loops of heavy steel cable welded onto the container and begun to haul it to the surface.
Two hours later, Big Money and its precious and highly illegal cargo pulled into the Fenton Marine dock in Bayonne, New Jersey.
* * *
The fire in Hampton Bays was ruled as arson.
The announcement was made, not by the police, but by the media. As was often the case, they beat the police to the punch—perhaps not with the conclusive findings, but with the revelation.
Within three hours, they’d made enough intrusional headway at the crime scene to put together the pieces and shout them out to the tristate area.
The facts were clear. A shack thoroughly doused with gasoline. The office of a real-estate developer about to embark on a multimillion-dollar project. The successor of a developer who was the victim of a bloody, no-body homicide eight months ago.
/> It was the kind of story ambitious reporters lived for.
Casey heard the breaking news on her headphones while jogging with Hero back home from the park. It explained why Detective Jones hadn’t returned her call. She’d thought he’d just been hiding from her—which no doubt he had been. But he’d also been directing all his resources to shutting down the media.
Unfortunately, not only would that be an impossible task, it would also be like closing the barn door after the horse was out.
Hurrying inside, Casey unleashed Hero, who bounded up the stairs behind her as she made her way to FI’s main conference room with its gigantic, multiscreened video wall.
“Hello, Casey. Hello, Hero,” Yoda greeted them.
“Yoda, I need to see all local TV news,” Casey instructed him.
“Are you looking for breaking news?” Yoda inquired. “Otherwise, you’ll find it problematic. It’s eleven forty-five—none of the local stations carry news programs at this time.”
Casey contemplated that truth.
“Would you prefer local news radio?” Yoda asked. “That would be on the air now.”
“I’ve already heard the radio announcement. I’d like visuals to go along with it.”
“I see. Then how shall I proceed?”
“What about midday news?” Casey asked. “A few of the local stations broadcast that.”
