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I slipped in next to a support column. If they looked down the hallway, they wouldn’t see anything. I wasn’t sure of my plan beyond that. I quickly scanned the area to see if there was anything I could use as a weapon.
It reminded me of a time when I’d been surprised by two would-be muggers in Philadelphia, when a two-foot-long piece of metal rebar I picked up from the ground in front of a construction site slid nicely up the sleeve of my jacket. The two muggers, who had been following me for three blocks, never even noticed me stop. When they caught up to me in front of the convention center near Chinatown, I was ready for a confrontation. Like all bullies, muggers count on fear and intimidation, so when I realized all they had was a knife between them, I let the rebar slip into my hand. It had taken only one swing through the air to frighten both of the men into a sprint toward North Broad Street.
But in this hallway, I saw nothing remotely helpful. Now all I could do was ball my hands into fists.
CHAPTER 55
I FELT LIKE I was behind the column for hours, until I heard the men talking in low tones. I couldn’t even tell what language they were speaking. Then one of them started to walk down the hallway toward me.
It was the taller of the two men. Good. If I took him out, the second man appeared easier to deal with. The tall one walked right past the post, focused on the men’s room door down the hall. Apparently he was pretty sure that’s where I had gone.
As soon as he was past me, I rushed him like a defensive end. I could hear him lose his breath as I caught him by surprise and knocked him about four feet through the air. He landed on the polished floor and slid another two feet into the wall.
I had no time to admire my handiwork, though I did have a moment of satisfaction. Any time you knock down someone bigger and younger than you, it’s a point of pride.
I was going to kick him in the head to make sure he was out of the fight when the other man appeared almost right next to me. I had my right fist prepared to aim for his chin. Or should I say chins. He was sweating, and his black hair fell in every direction, like he’d just stepped out of the shower.
Before I could take any action, he said one of the few things that would freeze me in place.
“Detective Michael Bennett, we’re FBI. Stand down.”
Anyone could say that. But a seasoned cop knew when he heard another seasoned cop speak. Plus, we were in Estonia and this guy was speaking English with a Boston accent.
I kept my posture with my fist cocked.
The shorter, pudgy man eased around me to check on his friend, who was coming up onto his hands and knees. He helped him up, and they both faced me.
The shorter man said, “Put your goddamn fist down. We’re adults. We’re also Americans in a foreign country. Don’t embarrass us.”
I said, “How’d you know I’d be here?”
“Are you kidding me? You think there are no former NYPD detectives with the Bureau? You think they don’t know what’s going on with your useless Intelligence unit? I had to hump it up here from our official office in Riga, Latvia. You know how far that is?”
I didn’t know what to say, so I shrugged and said, “Pretty far.”
The FBI agent mumbled, “Asshole.” Then he looked at me and said, “You bet your ass it’s pretty far. Maybe not by US standards. But driving a shitty road three hundred kilometers is no picnic. And I had plenty to do in Riga. I hardly ever come up to Estonia.”
I thought it best to play along. “So you must have a pretty big area of responsibility. All of the Baltics and what else?”
“Don’t get me started. Three of us do the work of two entire squads. And you know why?”
“No, why?”
“Because it’s our job. We actually have jurisdiction here and work closely with the national police. As far as we’re concerned, you’re just a tourist who’s here to cause problems. Which is why we took the time to haul ass up here and meet you right at the gate.”
“That was very thoughtful of you. I don’t generally get that kind of service from the FBI in New York. Although they often deliver a similar speech about jurisdiction. Do they teach you that at Quantico? I’m sorry, I don’t even know your name.” I smiled and stuck out my hand, knowing that would annoy these FBI agents more than anything.
The tubby guy groaned in frustration. Finally he shook my hand. “My name’s Bill Fiore. This kid who can’t take a body blow is Matt Miller. We know you’re here on a case. But we’d like to know exactly what you’re doing four thousand miles from home.”
“At the moment, I’m knocking around a couple of FBI agents. Tomorrow, I thought I might do some sightseeing.”
Fiore said, “Do you think we’re idiots?”
“Is that a rhetorical question?”
“Smart guy, huh? I got news for you, Mr. Big Shot Detective, you’re not welcome in Estonia. Your ass is coming with us until we can load you on a plane back to the States.” He took a moment to run a hand through his hair and flop it back into place over his spreading bald spot. He was about forty and,
on closer inspection, looked like he used to be in reasonable shape. Maybe the food in Europe agreed with him.
