The Plague E-Book

John Reinhard Dizon

• Herausgeber: Next Chapter
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

Sabrina Brooks remains in a coma at Bellevue Hospital, surrounded by government agents.

Meanwhile, another Nightcrawler has surfaced, continuing the struggle against Russian Mob and the Tryzub terror gang. Hoyt Wexford is now in charge of the NYPD's Nightcrawler Squad, ordered to apprehend the rogue crime fighter.

Time is of the essence as a new terror cell under the mysterious Apollyon arises. Their demand: a $100 million ransom, or they unleash a mutated Ebola strain upon the populace of NYC.

Is the new Nightcrawler their only hope, or can Hoyt find the masked avenger and learn his secrets before it is too late?

Leseprobe

The Plague

Nightcrawler, Book III

John Reinhard Dizon

Copyright (C) 2016 John Reinhard Dizon

Layout design and Copyright (C) 2019 by Next Chapter

Published 2019 by Next Chapter

Cover Design by Cover Mint

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author's permission.

Chapter One

Sabrina Brooks dreamed she was inside a dark, gloomy warehouse dressed in an armored ninja uniform. She was with a tall, powerfully-built man who staggered ahead of her as if he was drunk. She had a modified blower in her hand and held it against the man's shoulders as she prodded him through the darkness. Her senses were tingling, and her female instincts told her there was danger ahead. At length she heard faint sounds outside the warehouse, and by the approach she could tell they were unconcerned whether they were detected or not.

“Sergei!” a man's voice bellowed as three men barged through the front door. “Did you kill that little dog? We need to leave here before the police arrive!”

“Wait, Yuri,” the second man pointed in Sabrina's direction. “There he is. He may have been wounded, look at him.”

“Sergei, what has happened to you?” the leader called out. “Did you let that little scum of a man overcome you?”

“You know something, you've got a real smart mouth on you,” Sabrina could not help herself.

The Chechens were armed with Smith and Wesson 500 revolvers which fired .50 caliber bullets. They loaded their weapons with full metal-jacketed rounds that would pierce hard targets only to explode when ruptured. The slugs tore through Sergei like a hot knife through butter and slammed into Sabrina's Teflon armor. She knew that if she took a double impact at any point on her armor, the bullets would tear through her body and kill her instantly. She raised her boot and shoved on Yuri's buttocks, launching him towards the hail of bullets as she dove for cover.

“Stop, you fools!” the third man yelled. “We've killed Sergei!”

“And we'll be next if we don't finish that little cretin!” the second man snarled. “Let's go finish him!”

At once they smelled a foul odor, and realized they were victims of the Nightcrawler's fabled chemical weaponry. They tried to hold their breaths but felt their throats and nostrils filling with a gluey mucus. They began gagging and spitting but could not draw breath, and felt their eyes closing as their eyelids became crusted. They tried to cry out to each other but could barely gasp. In desperation they began firing at the spot where the Nightcrawler had stood, hoping that a random shot found its mark before they were incapacitated.

Sabrina began backing away from the gunfire before a round hammered into her left chest. She turned away from the fusillade but caught a second bullet on her right wrist which caused her to drop the gas gun. She crouched to retrieve her weapon just as a third slug caught her on the side of her face.

She felt as if she was hammered with a baseball bat. The titanium steel reinforcement on her balaclava did not yield, but was driven into her face as if by a nail gun. She had been hit like this many times, and knew she had to go on the defensive and take stock of her surroundings. She saw the light of a window to her right, and knew she had to give them enough of a silhouette to allow them to blow the glass out. It was probably wire-reinforced glass, and she would have to pull this off in one move lest they realized they had her trapped.

“Agghhhh…agghhh…” Yuri croaked, pointing at her. At once a hail of bullets rained in her direction, and as the window exploded behind her she leaped for her life through the broken glass.

“Look!” she heard the voices of men outside the warehouse. Four SUVs had pulled up outside the building and had their headlights beaming upon the window where Sabrina appeared. “It's the Nightcrawler! Fire!”

At once there was a storm of bullets, and she felt herself exploding into nothingness…

“Hey. Hey!”

The sound of footsteps echoed closer to the room against the distant sound of hectic activity. A nurse rushed into the room and scowled at the visitor.

“She's moving around, kinda twitching. Maybe she's trying to wake up.”

The nurse came over and checked Sabrina Brooks' vital signs, then inspected the readings on the monitors surrounding her hospital bed.

“She's just dreaming, Detective Wexford. I think the doctor explained it to you. It's definitely a good sign, it means her brain functions haven't closed down. Unfortunately it doesn't mean she's recovering from her coma.”

“My gosh,” he turned away so that the nurse could not see the tears welling in his eyes. “Doesn't anyone think it could be her trying to resurface? Maybe she's struggling in there, trying to wake up. Isn't there any way to help pull her up?”

“I assure you, Detective Wexford…”

“Hoyt.”

“Hoyt, sir,” the black girl warmed up. “She is getting the best care available. I don't want to make it sound like any of our patients receive any better care than others, but I've seen specialists and equipment brought into this facility that I've never seen before. Plus the fact that the Government has taken a special interest in this situation, rest assured that everyone is doing their best to make sure that Miss Brooks recovers.”

He turned away and walked out of the room, angrily trying to regain his bearings. The bustling corridor was always full of personnel and visitors, but it was the black-suited men who irritated him most. They were in and out, appearing and disappearing like dark insects, leaving only when direct attention was paid to them. At first he was concerned that they might have been connected with the Russian Mob that wanted the Nightcrawler dead. After having a couple of them rousted he learned they were Government agents. It made him no less comfortable with their presence, and even less so when they got right up in his face.

“Detective Wexford?”

“Yeah?”

“I'm Kelly Stone with Homeland Security. I thought I might have a word.”

Kelly was a solidly-built Oklahoman, about 5'11“, 200 pounds, with a thick head of brown hair and dark, piercing eyes. He wore a classy blue suit, shirt and tie which gave him the mien of a Wall Street broker. It rankled Hoyt that these young urban professionals were being recruited as enforcers of this Administration's Constitution-shredding tactics, but even more so that this one was confronting him with impunity.

“Well, I'll tell you. I didn't get much sleep last night. I haven't been sleeping well since my fiancé went into a coma weeks ago. I'm getting ready to go to work at Police Plaza where I'm involved in a grandmaster chess match against the Russian Mob. I'll probably skip breakfast, which will put me in a worse mood than I'm in now.”

“I'm really sorry for what's been going on here,” Kelly did his best to read Hoyt's disposition. “My people thought it'd be a good idea for me to clear the air.”

“So they decided to send up the kind of guy I'd want to throw a football around with.”

“I'm sure you catch the same kind of heat from the lifers at your workplace.”

“Let's get to it. What's on your mind.”

“Look, we're just trying to get a foot in the door where the Nightcrawler's squaring off against the Russian Mob. You deal with those guys on a daily basis, you know they're invisible to the naked eye. All of their business is done overseas or within their own community. The fact they've been linked to the recent Chechen terror attacks is phenomenal. Not to mention the attempts to kill the Nightcrawler.”

“I know you guys think Bree is going to give you a lead on the Nightcrawler,” Hoyt grew testy. “Well, it's not happening. I'm her fiancé, I know every detail about her personal life. She spends – spent – up to twelve hours a day running her chemical company. On her days off she's with me. Look, I'm a New York City police detective, don't you think I'd have an inkling if she had any connection to the Nightcrawler? Do you think I'd risk my career covering up for her if she did? Just because they found her in a Nightcrawler-looking suit after she nearly got killed by Boko Haram doesn't make her the Nightcrawler.”

“Well, he's obviously still out there, and she's in here, so that rules that out. Plus you're one of the few people who've seen the Nightcrawler, so you'd be the best one to know the difference. Hey, nobody in their right mind thinks Ms. Brooks is – or was - the Nightcrawler. There's people who just can't help but think she knows something about the Nightcrawler. There's the chemical weapons thing, as well as the fact she may have been an eyewitness to the Dariya Romanova murder at the Brooks campus. We also think the Nightcrawler escaped that explosion that killed the Boko Haram operatives and injured Ms. Brooks.”

“You know, we pieced the whole thing together, you can pick up a copy of the closed case report downtown. Obviously Bree put on the costume to make Boko Haram think the Nightcrawler was guarding the campus. She was worried that the Russian Mob was going to try and leverage her company for information about the AIDS vaccine research. It looks like her intel was solid, because they murdered Dariya and kidnapped Bree. Maybe the Nightcrawler got involved, maybe he didn't. All we know is that Boko Haram got killed by one of their own bombs, and that we found a truckload of explosives outside their warehouse undoubtedly marked for a high-profile destination. We're seeing Bree as a victim here, not an accomplice.”

“We're still trying to establish the connection between Boko Haram and the Russian Mob. Maybe the Chechen Mob was the go-between, maybe not.”

“As far as we know, the Chechen Mob and the Mafiya has made the peace. That would restore the connection, don't you think?”

“My boss on Pennsylvania Avenue doesn't go on assumptions, Detective.”

“Call me Hoyt, Kelly.”

“Okay, Hoyt. This Nightcrawler has been going mano a mano with the Russian Mob over the last month, and he's got to know more about them than anyone outside of the Russian network. He's been harassing and interdicting their infrastructure, he's avoided every trap they've set for him, and he's been perfecting his own chemical arsenal. We can't even tell what he's using anymore.”

“We?” Hoyt squinted. “All that's classified police information.”

“We just rummage through garbage cans,” Kelly smiled. “Relax, Big Brother hasn't tossed the Constitution into any of them just yet.”

“Not just yet,” Hoyt said pointedly.

“Oh, Hoyt, there you are, I thought you'd be around somewhere.”

Both men were caught off-guard by the appearance of Rita Hunt. Bree's best friend was dressed in a dark power skirt suit that enhanced her hourglass figure. Her beautiful face was framed by her long chestnut hair, and her Kentuckian drawl was enough to cause any man's heart to flutter.

“Hey, Rita. This is Kelly Stone from Homeland Security.”

“Well, uh, I was just leaving. Say, I'm just dying for a cup of coffee. You think you might want to show me where the cafeteria is? I'd be more than glad to buy you a cup.”

“Nice try, flatfoot. I'm sure Bree wouldn't be happy to know I stood by while her buddy got hit on by one of you guys.”

“I hope I'm not interrupting anything,” Rita blushed. “Hoyt, why don't I come by later?”

“No, no,” Kelly reached inside his jacket. “Miss Hunt, why don't I give you my card?”

“Give it to the fat lady at the desk on the way out,” Hoyt took Rita's arm and ushered her away.

“You can call me at the White House,” Kelly called after them.

“Persistent little cuss,” Hoyt shook his head.

“I just stopped in to see Bree, and they told me you'd been by. Oh, she looks so pretty, those nurses make her up so wonderfully.”

“Yeah, it's killing me,” Hoyt's voice thickened.

“Are they still lurking around trying to talk to her?”

“Yeah, the damned Government. They're clutching for straws trying to catch the Nightcrawler. They think he can help them crack the Russian Mob.”

“Hoyt, there's something I never told you,” she looked into his eyes as they stopped at a window overlooking the pavilion outside Bellevue Hospital. “When I first met Bree, there was an incident. I'm sure you remember that time last year when the Mayor's partner's nephew had an altercation with the Nightcrawler.”

“Yeah, it was all over the papers.”

“Well, the girl that was being abused by the so-called victim was my niece.”

“Did Bree – does Bree know that?”

“We went to see my niece after she was released from the hospital. We came after work in our dress clothes and that black guy nearly assaulted us. Bree put on something like what looked like that Nightcrawler costume and went back in there. The next day, that article came out in the papers. For a long time I had my suspicions, but after the Nightcrawler fell off the Statue of Liberty and that blimp in the New York harbor, I knew it wasn't her.”

“Have you ever told anyone about this?” Hoyt searched her face.

“No, never, not 'til now.”

“Let's keep it between us,” he insisted. “If guys like Stone got hold of it, they'd pop open a fresh can of worms. It's all I can do to keep those vultures from perching on her bedpost.”

“That's why I came to you. I just had to get it off my chest.”

“Good,” he smiled. “Uh, did Bree ever say anything to you about meeting the Nightcrawler, or knowing about him in any way?”

“No, never. We never discussed that day ever again. It was just one of those things you don't talk about in a friendship. We saw how the newspapers turned the incident into a public spectacle. I guess we both knew that they would've dragged Bree and my niece through the mud if they had the chance. Neither one of us considered the consequences of her going back there and calling him out. I'll tell you, though, if you'd been there you would've gone in yourself, even if you weren't a police officer. I would've gone in myself, but he would've beat the piss out of me.”

“I'm glad you didn't. Things just had a way of working themselves out, didn't they?”

“Say, here comes Mr. Aeppli.”

Hoyt shook hands with the silver-haired president of Brooks Chemical Company as Rita gave him a hug before taking her leave.

“I just thought I'd stop by and see how our girl was doing.”

“Nothing new. Say, did you ever find out who was paying for all this?”

“It's like I said, she set up this so-called Brooks Foundation without my knowledge.” Hoyt was always fascinated how the older man's cobalt eyes bored into their focal point like lasers. “All of a sudden we started getting these phone calls about how our funding was going to be covered after the Russians pulled out of the AIDS project. I was also told by the billing department at the hospital that Bree's expenses were being taken care of. It sounds like some off-shore deal. Every time I try to make inquiries I get tied up in some relay network in the Caribbean. I guess she had already planned for this day in advance.”

“I just can't figure out why she never told you. She thinks of you like a father.”

“She thinks of you like a future husband. I'd think you'd be her go-to guy.”

“If I had any control over her, this would've never happened.”

“Her father was my partner and my best friend,” Jon looked out the window next to where they stood. “He would've wanted me to watch over her. Now look where we are.”

“Let's quit beating ourselves up,” Hoyt decided. “We've got to move on. We've got to get her up out of that bed. We can't give up on her. And you've got to keep her company ready for when she comes back.”

“It's been rough sailing,” Jon exhaled. “We ordered a lot of equipment we can't use, and some of the suppliers are balking because these were special orders. When the Russians pulled out, our Government pulled the plug on the whole project. We're getting lots of queries from private researchers, but no one's offering the kind of money we need to keep the ball rolling. Plus the whole thing's traumatized our workforce. You know how many of those gay guys were counting on our success.”

“I know the feeling. I've been through three high-level debriefings so far. Homeland Security grilled me about the aborted chlorine bomb attack by Boko Haram at the Sberbank Rossii building on Wall Street. After that the Chief and the Captain put me through the wringer about Clyde Giroux and the corruption allegations against our team. Next Lieutenant Shreve calls me in for an interview with the Russian Security Service on their investigation of Alex Tretiak. In every meeting they made it sound like I masterminded the whole damned thing.”

“We've all got our burdens to bear,” Jon replied as he headed towards the exit. “Let's just hope we can help that little girl carry hers.”

* * *

Just a couple of miles away, a meeting was in progress at the Dagestani Dress Company in the Garment District of Manhattan. The people in attendance would also have a major impact in the life of Sabrina Brooks. They convened in a dusty room furnished with antiquated metal tables, chairs and cabinets that seemed a century removed from the glass and chrome splendor of the lower level showroom.

“It is a good thing that we are finally able to meet, praise Allah,” the leader of the group opened the meeting. “As you both know, I am Colonel Boris Semenko of the Federal Security Service in Moscow. I am also a member of Tryzub, as are we all. We have been sent here to pick up where the Malkin triplets left off. Only our leaders in Makhachkala have modified our goals. Instead of destroying the Russian Mafiya, we will be working with them to carry out our terror campaign in bringing America to its knees. The Americans are already engaged in a crucial struggle against the Ebola epidemic. They will be entirely unprepared to defend themselves against what we are about to bring them.”

“Have you brought the weapon?” the second man asked.

“The canisters are off-shore, waiting to be launched.”

“Praise be to Allah,” the woman said.

“My comrade, this is Cesaro Francium, a retired Captain of the GRU Spetsnaz of the Russian Army. He is a ranking member of the Tryzub Military Command in Makhachkala. He goes by the code name of Apollyon. He played a major role in the military campaigns in Grozny over the last decade as well as the Beslan operation in 2004. Let us just say that, when the name of Apollyon is mentioned in tradecraft, all who hear it know that death and destruction are not far behind.”

“I'm pleased to know that I will be working with the best.”

“And this is Chakra Khan, the leader of our cell unit in Nigeria. She goes by the code name of Black Diamond. She also holds rank in Boko Haram and has played a major role in their campaigns in Borno and Gwoza. The mention of the Black Diamond in Nigeria brings with it a portent of wholesale slaughter and mass annihilation.”

“I'm sure Comrade Khan is just as familiar with your own exploits. The Colonel has masterminded the annexation of the Crimea and the ongoing guerilla war in the Ukraine, as well as the shoot-down of the Malaysian aircraft a short time back,” Cesaro noted. “Now that we are all familiar with one another's penchant for mass destruction, let us proceed. How will we attend to the matters at hand?”

“The mission is twofold. As we know, Homeland Security is still investigating the deaths of the Malkin triplets. It is giving our people time to cover their tracks. The Federal Security Service has taken over the inquiry concerning Alexander Malkin, so that matter is fairly well closed. We have linked Grigori Malkin to the Russian Mob, so that is leading the NYPD into a dead end. The death of Dariya Malkin is still being investigated as a homicide, making her a victim rather than a suspect. It facilitates our move into position as the new leaders of the American Tryzub.”

“How are we going to repair the bridge between us and the Mafiya?” Cesaro asked.

“It has already been take care of in Moscow. Our connections with the Chechen Mob acted as intercessors. In exchange for a forty percent commission, the Mafiya will provide us full support in blackmailing the Government for one hundred million dollars ransom. Within forty-eight hours, we will be sending them samples of the mutated Ebola virus our scientists have developed. We will then exchange the canisters of EVDIII in exchange for the ransom money. If they refuse, the canisters will be used in attacks on the people of New York City. It will cause paralysis throughout the financial networks of the nations of the world. From there it will be easier to blackmail other nations in future endeavors.”

“It is a lofty goal,” Cesaro concurred. “Let us hope we are equal to the task.”

“The secondary objective will be to eliminate the Nightcrawler once and for all. This masked vigilante has been conducting raids against our Mafiya colleagues ever since our Boko Haram assassins were killed a few weeks ago. Apparently the Nightcrawler established the connection between the Mafiya and Boko Haram. This is a well-trained, elusive and cunning adversary who is not only well-informed but well-equipped with unique and highly effective equipment. At first he was using what seemed a modified form of our own Kolokol-1, but now it seems he has a derivative which is twice as effective and easier to produce.”

“May I ask where we are getting all this information?” Chakra inquired.

“Ironically, the deaths of the Malkins opened up a whole new dialogue between the Security Service, Homeland Security and the NYPD. They are now freely trading information in order to shut down the Chechen Mob and the Mafiya in New York City. Unknown to them, we have double agents in both the hierarchy and middle management throughout the Security Service. All of their information is placed on our tables on a silver platter.”

They shared a hearty laugh.

“The downside is that we are receiving most troubling information on the Nightcrawler, and it tells us more about what we do not know about him,” Boris frowned. “He has been one step ahead of us in every phase of the game. We have every reason to believe that he has informers inside the Russian community. We also believe he has connections to the business community, the scientific community and law enforcement. We believe that he has a contact within the Brooks Chemical Company, possibly with its CEO. However, Sabrina Brooks suffered injuries which put her in a coma during the attack against Boko Haram. We have agents watching her hospital room, awaiting word of her recovery so we may gain further information from her. That, unfortunately, may not happen for some time to come. Instead we have decided to kill the Nightcrawler and remove this stumbling block from our path to success.”

“How was Brooks involved in the attack on Boko Haram?” Cesaro wondered.

“This is where it gets murky. The NYPD and Homeland Security are also waiting to debrief Ms. Brooks for the same reason. The general consensus is that the Nightcrawler learned about a plan by Boko Haram to kidnap Ms. Brooks. For what reason we do not know. Apparently the gambit was to dress Ms. Brooks as the Nightcrawler and use Dariya Malkin as bait. The Boko Haram agents staged a raid on the Brooks Chemical complex, and Dariya had no choice but to defend Brooks. Boko Haram had no knowledge of Dariya being part of Tryzub, and killed her in the skirmish. They then took Brooks back to their waterfront hideout, where the Nightcrawler overtook them. There was an explosion that killed the agents and incapacitated Brooks. Somehow the Nightcrawler escaped.”

“From your words, it seems that the Nightcrawler may have stood by and watch our agents kill Malkin and kidnap Brooks in order to trail our people to their hideout,” Chakra pointed out. “That seems somewhat ruthless for a crimefighter.”

“This Nightcrawler is a complex and somewhat unstable individual,” Boris concurred. “Homeland Security considers him an armed and extremely dangerous person of interest, as do the FBI and the NYPD. The only reason he has not made Ten Most Wanted is because keeping him in play is putting our Mafiya colleagues out of business. We believe that even the American President is given progress reports on Nightcrawler activity. By killing this man, we will prove to the Americans that the Tryzub is invincible. It will make our hand all the more stronger when we present the Americans with our demands.”

“Enough talk,” Cesaro grunted. “Present us with your plan so we may put it into action.”

“Gladly,” Boris smiled. “Let us begin.”

* * *

Later that day, another plan of action was being implemented by the NYPD.

Hoyt Wexford had been summoned to another upper echelon meeting at Police Plaza in Lower Manhattan at 1100. Captain Tyrone Willard was there along with Lieutenant Detective Dwight Shreve and three other faces he was familiar with during his short time at the NYPD law enforcement hub. They all shook hands in the spacious conference room before the session began.

“As you know, there is an ongoing investigation of this individual known as the Nightcrawler,” Willard opened the dissertation, displaying a Power Point screen shot of blurry images depicting a black-garbed figure. “There are units from Homeland Security and the FBI here in the Big Apple snooping around for leads on the case, and most of them just happen to be groping our butts on a daily basis. As you can imagine, Commissioner Jordan, Chief Madden and I have been made extremely uncomfortable. You gentlemen are being deputized to make sure that this groping comes to an end.”

“I guess they haven't sent too many female agents up from D.C.,” Donald Conroy chuckled.

“That may be why you don't see a smile on my face,” Willard growled. “As you may or may not know, Detective Wexford is one of the few people we know of who has seen this Nightcrawler at close range, and has even engaged in conversation with this individual. This is why Wexford is being assigned to lead this four-man task force.”

“Not to step on the young detective's toes, but to my knowledge, he hasn't been here in Police Plaza long enough to shop for winter clothing,” Bob Methot spoke up. “Don't you think you should have someone leading the pack who won't need to be asking for directions?”

“Right now, your best move is going to be moving in the direction of the Russian Mob,” Shreve spoke up. “Hoyt's got more than enough experience dealing with those guys.”

“I'm just here to get the job done,” Hoyt interjected. “I've got no problem with moving over and letting someone else drive. If they want me to be the one to put the report on the teacher's desk, so be it.”

“I'll go along with that,” Jerry Loverdi offered. “I'm a football kind of guy. You get a helluva lot more done as a team as opposed to one guy trying to run the ball on his own.”

“Okay, so we've settled that. Let's move on,” Willard continued. “Apparently the Nightcrawler has declared war against the Russian Mob in the Brighton Beach area of Brooklyn. This has been an ongoing campaign over the last few months, and it's not only been an embarrassment to this Department but has cost the Mafiya some serious money. They have escalated their efforts to eliminate the Nightcrawler, and we're seeing weapons moving into Brighton on an unprecedented scale.”

“I read the files,” Methot stroked his chin. “The last time they laid a trap for this guy, they used armor-piercing rounds and couldn't put him down.”

“Chief, I've got a theory of my own,” Hoyt was hesitant. “Suppose they actually took the Nightcrawler out and someone stepped up to take his place? Suppose there's more than one Nightcrawler? After all, how could anyone keep surviving these attacks and keep coming back for more?”

“The think tankers in Washington passed that idea along,” Willard nodded. “It's a possibility we're not ruling out. Slight, but not out of the question. The problem with that theory is that there would be more to lose by announcing a Nightcrawler Army that has dedicated itself to wiping out the Russian Mob. One man acting alone is a nuisance that can be eliminated in the right place and time. More than one Nightcrawler would be a nightmare.”

“I know this has to be stressful for Hoyt, and my condolences to him over Sabrina Brooks' condition. Everyone in the Department is praying for her speedy recovery,” Jerry, a swarthy Italian, spoke up. “I know we have people looking to interview her about her encounter with the Nightcrawler and Boko Haram. I just think we're looking in the wrong direction. We know there are Boko Haram cells in East Harlem. Why aren't we posting units on their doorstep to see what they're gonna do next?”

“Our Upper Manhattan precincts are on them like flies on a turd,” Willard made them chuckle. “We have no doubt that they want a piece of the Nightcrawler too. Only the Harlem Boko Haram is playing the race card, trying to gain some political leverage. If they make a move on the Nightcrawler, it'll be at the Mafiya's behest. Look, I don't like having detectives waiting for Sabrina to get out of bed any more than anyone else. Hoyt knows it too. Only she's the last one we know besides the Mafiya who's seen this guy. We're grasping for straws, gentlemen, and our Commissioner and our Chief of Police can't afford to be perceived as grasping for straws. You guys are gonna change the game for us.”

“Hey, I'm a team player, one for all and all for one,” Donald, a curly blond Irishman, spoke up. “I hate to point out the fact that Clyde Giroux's team caused lots of Russians to put up 'Not Welcome' signs all over Brighton. When they see Hoyt coming back, it may cause lots of hard guys to get a hard-on for us.”

“This is where you want to put on your public relations caps and build us some collateral. Go in there as liberators, not as conquerors. We're not going in there to take the streets back from the Mafiya. We're in there to free them from the Russian Mob. Our hunch is that if you find people who are chafing under the yoke, chances are you may find someone who's leaking information to someone who knows the Nightcrawler.”

“Not for nothing, but what precautions should we be taking against the plague?” Methot asked.

“Put on gloves and a mask if it makes you feel warm and fuzzy,” Shreve shot back. “Half the people on Wall Street are wearing them. I'll bet my bottom dollar it's the other half that's still making money in the crisis economy.”

“Yeah, and I hope you're making sure my family's still getting the checks.”

“Hey, you get your hazard pay like everyone else. You also got the creds, Bob. You think the street's too dangerous, put in papers for a desk job.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Methot waved him off.

“You guys went to the Ebola seminar just like everyone else,” Willard emphasized. “Keep everyone outside your airspace. Don't make physical contact unless absolutely necessary. Have your gloves and mask in your pockets at all times if contact is unavoidable. If you start feeling like you have symptoms of any kind, head to an emergency clinic immediately. There's lots of serums out there that have proved successful in treating the disease. Don't be a hero. If you feel a headache coming on, drop everything and head for the nearest clinic. Your life may depend on it.”