associates might have knowledge of what happened to Paul. Explain to her that we need to obtain the facts, and that we’re in the process of doing just that. And emphasize to her that she can’t, under any circumstances, alert Fenton to our suspicions-not yet.”
“I agree, but make it more personal,” Claire amended. “Patrick, tie everything you say to Justin. Tell Amanda that she’s holding her tongue to protect Justin. That her uncle might be shady, but that he has no idea where Paul is. That, if he did, he’d produce him because, no matter what, Justin’s well-being is what’s most important to him. Trust me, Patrick. Take that approach when you break the news to her. It’s the only way Amanda will be able to rationally accept what you’re saying. Otherwise, emotion will take over and she’ll run off to confront her uncle and to demand answers-which is the last thing we want.”
“I agree,” Casey said. “Marc’s procedure, Claire’s technique. Combine the two and you’ve got your strategy.” A sigh. “I’m sorry to dump this on you, Patrick. But you’re with Amanda the most, and she’s come to respect and rely upon you for her safety.”
“I’ll do it,” Patrick agreed. “But don’t you think it would be easier coming from Marc? He’s kind of her knight in shining armor.”
“No.” Casey gave an adamant shake of her head. “Marc is definitely Amanda’s rock. But you’re her father figure. You’ve got a gentler touch and children of your own. Those are the qualifications that Amanda needs right now.”
“Casey’s right.” Marc spoke with total objectivity. “My connection is with that poor baby. And, yeah, I know Amanda counts on me. But soothing and comforting aren’t my strengths, nor is walking the emotional line Claire just described. You’ll handle that a lot better than I would.” A corner of Marc’s mouth lifted. “And I’ll handle the illegal missions a lot better than you would.”
“No arguments there,” Patrick said drily. “I’ll take care of it. I’ll head back to Sloane Kettering and relieve Roger right after I contact my buddy at the U.S. Marshals office.”
“Excellent.” Casey glanced around the table. “Questions?”
Silence, accompanied by four shakes of the head.
“Good. Then let’s move.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
It was late when the FI van arrived in the Hamptons.
Ryan was driving. He dropped Claire off at Amanda’s apartment. Then, he and Marc continued on. Hero was stretched out on the backseat of the van.
It was going to be a busy night on Shinnecock Bay.
First, they hit the Hampton Bays side of the bay, where Morano’s trailer was stationed. Both Marc and Ryan were dressed in black to blend in with the night. They left the van a short distance away. Hero stayed inside, his acute bloodhound instincts telling him this was a time to be quiet and still. Ryan took Gecko. Marc took his waist pack of tools. They headed for the trailer.
“Wait.” Like last time, Marc extended his arm to block Ryan’s progress. “Get down.” He took his own advice, squatting low to the ground.
“What now?” Ryan demanded, following suit. “Is someone torching the trailer?”
“Nope. Watching it.”
Ryan’s eyes widened. “Where?”
“There.” Marc jerked his thumb toward a spot across the way.
It took Ryan a few minutes to make out the black SUV tucked away in the sandy alcove. The damned thing was nearly invisible.
“How the hell did you see that?” he asked Marc. “Never mind.”
It was a stupid question. Marc had the instincts of a predatory cat.
“Is it the same arsonists about to do a repeat performance?” he asked instead.
“Uh-uh.” Marc shook his head. “I’d say it’s either the cops or private security. My guess? Private security. The cops would be patrolling, not sitting in the bushes, doing surveillance. And they can’t afford SUVs. Morano’s probably scared shitless. He must have hired someone to watch his new makeshift office.” A frown. “We need a distraction.”
He whipped out his cell phone and pressed Casey’s number on speed dial.
“It’s me,” he said without preamble. “We have company out here. A black SUV, parked diagonally across from Morano’s trailer on the Hampton Bays side of the marina.” He gave Casey the exact location. “I need you to call 9-1 -1 and report it as a suspicious vehicle. When the cops show up to check it out, and while they’re busy interrogating the driver, Ryan and I will get inside the trailer. We’ll be out and gone by the time they leave.”
“We will?” Ryan asked incredulously as Marc punched off his phone.
“Yeah. We will.” Marc stayed crouched down, indicating to Ryan that he should do the same. “Follow my lead. When the cops show up, we go. Fast. I’ll get us in. You get Gecko installed. We’ll be gone in three minutes tops.”
“Shit. You’re tougher than my MIT professors.”
Marc gave a hard grin. “Get used to it. Real life is tougher than any Ivy League school. Now stay put.”
It didn’t take five minutes before a patrol car came speeding down the street and stopped behind the SUV.
Marc waited until the cop had gotten out of his vehicle and approached the SUV, his back turned toward them.
“That’s our cue,” he told Ryan. “Let’s go.”
They sprinted over to the trailer. Marc had the lock picked in thirty seconds. Then they were inside.
“I’ll keep watch,” Marc said. “You do what you have to.” He went to the trailer window and stared out.
Ryan quickly scanned the space, focusing on the area of the ceiling where Gecko would have the widest visibility. Perfect. A gap in the ceiling tile that would allow Gecko’s tiny video camera to see the whole room. He climbed onto Morano’s desk, used his palm to push the tile up and to a side, and placed Gecko in position. Then he lowered the tile back into place.
“Done,” he announced.
Marc was standing like a statue at the window, not moving or making a sound, just continuing his lookout. The cop and his partner were still talking to the driver of the SUV, probably checking out his credentials.
“Good.” He spoke to Ryan without turning. “Let’s get out of here.”
They crept to the door and slipped out, making sure to lock the trailer door behind them.
There was one more tricky feat to accomplish before they took off.
Ryan stopped at the van long enough to extract the all-important small black box and to pull on his boots with the ankle gaffs and his leather gloves. Next came the body belt and safety strap. Once all his gear was in place, he climbed noiselessly up an adjacent telephone pole-away from the view of the cops-where he mounted the black box. That baby would receive Gecko’s audio and video signal, encrypt them and transmit them over the internet via a secure tunnel opened between the black box and their firewall.
And Forensic Instincts would be able to watch and hear everything Morano did or said.
They drove away quietly, headlights off until they reached the main road. Then, Ryan flipped on the headlights, accelerated to a normal speed and steered the van around to the Southampton side of Shinnecock Bay where the marina and Fenton’s yacht were located.
While Ryan was finding a hidden spot to park the van, Marc shrugged into a down parka. The hunter-green jacket was bland enough to be less than memorable, but contrasting enough so he didn’t look like a cat burglar. For this second of his two break-ins, he wanted to seem like a regular guy taking a stroll with his dog.
Ryan parked the van in a desolate area a few hundred yards from the marina. He unbuckled his seat belt and snapped off a salute to Marc.
