He cleared security, parked the car, and entered the edifice. A colossal direction board on the front wall listed what offices occupied which floors. IRS, HUD, VA, and other assortment of abbreviations. He shuffled to a series of elevators, got into one, and pressed 26.
Another security station checked his ID and let him through a wide hallway, which opened into a spacious office. He asked a random passerby as to the whereabouts of the SSA and was pointed to a room at the far-right corner.
Gabriel thanked her and made his way there.
SSA Morgan slouched on his chair, watching his laptop and nursing a strawberry smoothie. Looking as miserable as Gabriel felt, his bloodshot eyes were partially closed and lips chapped. Neither had got more than one hour of sleep.
“Good morning,” Gabriel said.
“Good?” Morgan scoffed and motioned Gabriel to a chair across his desk. “Conor said that Thomas was abducted. He’s asked me to monitor the CCTV cameras surrounding Bugsy’s mansion.”
“Can’t we storm his place?” Gabriel asked, hoping they couldn’t.
“Not enough grounds for a warrant…”
Thank God.
“It’s too late for Thomas anyway. They’ve had him for what? Two hours now? I think he broke. You can do a lot in that time, believe me.”
Gabriel believed him. “Why do you say he broke?”
“Because I’ve got this,” Morgan turned the laptop towards Gabriel, “from one of the cameras.”
The video showed the street where Bugsy’s mansion was situated. Its front gates parted and a number of GMCs drove out. Four in total. Morgan paused at the third SUV and pointed to a man behind the windshield. “This guy is Anastasia, a known hitman. In total, we counted twenty men in all four cars. Could be more.”
“Must be Bugsy’s entire squad,” Gabriel said, thinking how to use this new development to his advantage. Ryatt never committed a robbery in Detroit, except the first two. Chances were, he was out of state and it might take a while for Bugsy’s army to reach him. “You’re tracking them?”
“Yes, they’re about to leave Michigan.”
“Ryatt should be out of state, most likely doing homework for his next job.”
Morgan sucked the straw before saying, “Anyway, there’s nothing happening here. Go have a coffee. You look tired. I’ll call for you if something’s up.”
Gabriel nodded and pushed himself up. The lack of sleep was catching up with him. He needed some shut eye, at least a power nap, to even concentrate. As he followed directions and trotted to the cafeteria, he felt agents looking at him with interest. No one had facial hair, not even a stubble, and they were all groomed neatly.
Once in the cafeteria, he located a vacant table at the far end and walked over to it. The wooden chair was uncomfortable, but his brain needed no comfort to rest. Folding his forearms on the table, he dropped his head above it and his eyes drooped automatically.
Gabriel was then struck with an idea. It was pure genius. Maybe when the brain traversed the slim layer between extreme exhaustion and oblivious sleep, some magic happened.
The idea was simple. Let Ryatt know that Bugsy had Thomas, and probably his location was compromised. It would smoke him out of whatever hole he’d burrowed himself in. And if Bugsy killed Thomas, which Gabriel thought was most likely, Ryatt would scream revenge and come running to Detroit.
But how would Gabriel let Ryatt know anything? Maybe he should build an enormous satellite loudspeaker and shout it to the world. Nah. There was a more practical way to do the shouting: media.
* * *
“Gabriel Chase…”
The Google lady called, waking him up. As his eyes opened, he found several trays of food around him and people chattering.
He sat straight, wiping the drool off of his beard. The speakers crackled and the robotic voice of a woman said, “Gabriel Chase, report to the SSA’s office.”
He stood up and waded through the bustling cafeteria. In under a minute, he was inside Morgan’s office.
“I’m really sorry,” Gabriel said. “I nodded off.”
“It’s alright. Come, take a look.” Morgan patted the seat of an office chair next to him and Gabriel obliged.
Morgan’s laptop displayed an aerial view of Bugsy’s mansion. The Land Rover was parked at the pebbled path that connected the back door to a swimming pool. The imagery was too clean to be from satellite.
“Drone?”
“Drone,” the SSA confirmed.
“Excellent—” Gabriel held the side of his stomach. “Damn. That chipotle isn’t exactly breakfast food, is it?”
“Why would you even?” Morgan said. “Last left down the aisle.”
Gabriel nodded and followed Morgan’s directions. He went inside the bathroom and took a seat on the commode.
Listening for footsteps for a few seconds and finding none, he pulled the burner out from inside his jacket and called Roman. “So I see you’ve squeezed Lolly’s location out of Thomas.”
“We did, thanks to you.”
“Thanks again to me, I’m helping your sorry ass for the second time. You left a witness when you took Thomas. The cops are going to storm Bugsy’s house. You got 20 minutes, max.”
Gabriel hung up and exited the cubicle. After splashing water over his face, he looked in the mirror. He felt Joshua standing over his shoulder, shaking his head in disapproval.
Back in Morgan’s office, they resumed watching Bugsy’s mansion with the drone.
Twelve minutes later, four guys came out the back, carrying two sacks. It was the twins, the barkeeper from Calabria, and one other guy Gabriel hadn’t seen before. They tossed the sacks into the Land Rover’s trunk space and began driving.
And the drone followed, controlled by Morgan’s laptop.
When they climbed onto John C Lodge Freeway, nearing Southfield, Gabriel spotted a landfill and a lot of
