Page 116 of The Picasso Heist
But instead of being taken to a warehouse, I was taken to an alley, stashed in a trunk with my mouth taped, and made to think that my brother had either abandoned me or, worse, been shot and killed. So it pains me to admit this:
As audibles go, this one was genius.
Skip looks over at me when he’s done explaining. “I can tell,” he says. “You’re seeing the endgame, right? The way this plays out?”
“It’ll be like a zombie movie,” I say.
“Exactly.”
“But in the meantime, we’re dead. So now what?”
He’s timed it perfectly, turning into a parking garage on Eldridge Street on the Lower East Side. The attendant takes one look at the car and nods.
“We’re here,” says Skip.
CHAPTER98
WE DRIVE PASTthe attendant, around a tight corner, and into a metal-cage car elevator that takes us up two levels; there, we park in a spot reserved forCIOCIOLA & CO. Right next to the spot is a locked door with rusted hinges, a sign that warns about high voltage, and a keypad. Skip puts in a code, and we enter a narrow hallway, at the end of which is another door and a keypad that requires a different code, or so Skip tells me.
Finally we’re inside.
“What is this place?” I ask.
“It’s a safe house. Well, more like a safe apartment,” says Skip.
The furnishings are sparse, just the essentials. There’s somewhere to sit, somewhere to eat, somewhere to sleep. A bathroom with a shower. Besides a lone flat-screen TV, the walls are bare, not a personal touch to be found anywhere, although nothing looks temporary either, the way it might if the place had been set up only for this assignment… or whatever the FBI is calling it these days. Originally,this was Operation Austin, named not for the city in Texas but rather for the golfer Mike Austin, who holds the world record for the longest drive off a tee in a professional tournament. In other words, what we’ve been doing, Operation Austin, has been all about the long game.
Maybe they’re still calling it that, I don’t know. Once the game started, any contact with the FBI stopped. Not that there was too much before. There’s a fine line between trust and distrust, and I’ve been straddling it with the Bureau from day one. In all fairness, though, and as Skip keeps reminding me, we approached them, not the other way around.
Now we’re waiting on them, stashed in a safe house. Scratch that, a safe apartment. “I’m hungry,” I announce.
“There’s some food in the fridge,” says Skip. “A couple of sand-wiches.”
“For real?”
“It’s not like we can order Uber Eats.”
“Good point.”
I’m halfway through a turkey and cheddar on wheat when Skip’s phone pings. He looks. It’s one of the agents texting. “They’re on their way,” says Skip.
Agents Sigma and Tau walk through the door about twenty minutes later, both looking exactly as they did the first and only time I met them a few months ago. There really isn’t one word that captures the feeling they give you. In fact, I don’t think any words apply. It’s more like an emotion. When you look at them, you immediately feel the weight of everything they’ve encountered in all their years as field agents. They wear it on their faces, their bodies. They still joke and banter, but it’s done with an air of detachment. Even when they’re right in front of you, they still seem far away.
“Tomorrow,” says Tau, grabbing a bottled water from the fridge and joining us at a table near the kitchen. “She would’ve done it today, but it’s Sunday. Less press coverage. Bad TV.”
She,of course, is Elise Joyce. And theitis her arresting Nikolov. As soon as Joyce returned to the scene of the crime, as it were, and saw no evidence of anything she witnessed in that alley, the decision was made. This is what Tau and Sigma tell us, courtesy of their guy at the organized crime task force. Joyce is obliged to notify the OCTF in a situation like this.
“She has an unmarked staked out near the end of Nikolov’s driveway in case he tries to go anywhere before dawn,” says Tau.
“Is that when she wants to bring him in?” asks Skip. “Bright and early?”
“There’s something about arresting a mob boss in his pajamas,” says Sigma.
“She’s planning for six a.m.,” says Tau, “so we want to be in place at Nikolov’s home around five, which means we’ll be picking you up here at four.”
“There goes my beauty sleep,” says Sigma with the awareness of a guy who knows he’ll never be mistaken for a male model. He points at Skip and then me. “Although I am looking forward to seeing Joyce’s face when she walks in and sees the two of you back from the dead.”
“Who’s wearing the bodycam?” asks Skip.
