Page 125 of The Boss
Eventually I force myself to close the old files and open the current ones. Every time, I feel woozy at the photos. The decimated front gates. The big, warm,homeof a building, as it started to feel to me, with giant holes all over the front half. Quinn getting shot.
I noticed Allie refers to Van as Quinn when planning and surveying. She rarely calls him by his true nickname in meetings. I get the separation, so I’ve started using that tactic as well.
Quinn’shome is in shambles. He loved that place. He,Van,created something amazing inside those walls. It will take him forever to rebuild. And I won’t be there to help.
Well, I’ll behereto help.
I dig into the Russian files. We will hit the Volotovs back and we will hit them back hard.
CHAPTER 54
Luna
“Man I hope we’re right about this,” I say to Allie, watching dots move on the screen.
“We usually are, and I had you double check our assessment. It makes sense that this is Volotov senior’s weekly route. He keeps a sample of his shipments for quality assurance, but only from one location that matters to him. The one on the Sound.”
“Correct,” agrees Penny. The petite brunette is sitting in the chair in front of us, pulling up information in real time, switching camera angles and rerouting satellites. She’s a bit robotic but I’ve maybe never been more impressed with a desk jockey in my life. And for an “office worker” I bet she’s a hell of a shot, especially given how meticulous she is and the “office” we’re in.
We’ve landed our giant spy jet back in the northeast, but closer to Manhattan than Quinn’s HQ outside of Boston. Penny can get clearer, faster images if we’re on the ground and within a few hours distance of the op. Even though we’re not even in New York, still, I’m itchy all over, like I can feel Van nearby.In dangernearby.
“Four. Ten minutes to position,” I hear a soldier say over the comms.
“Three, in position,” another says.
“Two, five minutes,” that sounded like Collin.
“One, in position. Holding,” that was him.
Van.
My heart goes absolutely berserk at the sound of his deep voice.
I glance around but everyone else is calm, sure. This is probably their 1000th rodeo. I’m the newbie here, not this crew and definitely not Van’s crew. They’re waiting to corner Volotov under a bridge on his way back to his fortress in the city.
“We’ve created a traffic jam on the Crosstown. Thirty minutes out.”
I watch in awe as they—as we, I guess—manipulate swaths of traffic. By crashing a semi on CT 15, traffic diverts to I-95. We’ll create another redirect, a construction zone, and push Volotov onto a frontage road. There, the Irish are waiting to intercept. We watch the dots move and listen to our drivers relay positions and updates every few minutes.
“Pulling Utility vehicle into position,” says the second diversion team. Finally. Every second takes a damn year to tick by. Marlon is next to me on the floor, shaking. I’m outwardly calm, but he can tell I am distraught.
“Cones in position, traffic moving South,” says another voice on the line.
Everything moves exactly according to plan. We watch red and green dots on one screen, street cams on another and satellite overhead on two big screens at the top of Penny’s station.
I like to watch the latter, because I feel like I can see everyone. Van, Quinn I mean, has a Hummer tucked under an overpass. On two nearby corners, he has his big, black, bulletproof SUVs. There’s a fourth truck, a pick up with a mounted gun, further down the overpass. All four of them are waiting to converge on Volotov when he exits off the frontage road. If we zoomed muchfurther out, we’d see our people paired up with Quinn’s teams all along the Sound and into Boston, on guard, just in case.
At the edge of the screen, I see movement near the pick up truck. I watch, holding my breath. It’s possible it’s a road crew, a random civilian just…no. No, it’s too big.
“Is that us?” I ask, pointing to the vehicle.
“No…” Penny does some typing.
“Incoming,” Van’s voice cuts through the tense silence. He’s calm but it’s a question. For us, his overwatch.
“Negative,” Penny replies, “It’s registered.” She turns to me to explain, off the comms, “It’s a routine armored truck that takes back streets. Banks often do that, stay off highways.”
Van clicks comms once in confirmation.
