Zeb hangs up again.

The third call comes less than a minute later.

‘You want to see these two dead? You know what I’m capable of!’

‘I am least interested in the two of them. I’m here just because you asked for me and I know Mr. Balthazar. As far as I’m concerned, you’re a dead man walking. You have run out of fuel and are running on fumes.’

He hangs up again, and out of the corner of his eye, he can see Broker nodding.

Isakson is peering over the shoulders of his tech guys to see if they’ve triangulated the call. From his expression he can see that the agents aren’t having much luck. Broker, on the other hand, uses tech that’s a few years ahead of the FBI or the NSA or any other agency. Broker buys start-ups that specialize in security and surveillance, takes them off the market and then uses them in his business.

The phone rings again.

‘You had better not ring again if you have any stupid demands to make,’ Zeb tells him and looks across at Connor, who is drawing in a shocked breath.

There is silence from Holt then. ‘What do you want?’

‘The exchange will be tomorrow evening at Penn Station.’ Zeb names the exact location and hangs up.

Isakson replies to Connor’s unasked question of what now? ‘The Major here will go make the exchange alone, but not really. We’ll surround the place with undercover agents and rescue your wife and son. I’m surprised that Holt agreed to this so readily, though.’

Broker snorts. ‘He won’t be there. If I were him, once I calmed down, I’d realize that I still hold all the cards. I’d go to the exchange, hide, and observe Zeb and whoever else comes with him. I’d then call him and arrange an exchange at another place. Zeb would have no choice but to comply.’

Turning to Connor, he adds, ‘With respect, sir, I don’t want you to have false hopes. This man is dangerous, and unfortunately for us, he’s smart, too. The fact that he’s walking around free after mass murder proves how smart he is. He has the FBI by the balls because they were harboring and sheltering him, and that’s something they will desperately not want to go public. Your family will be back, but it may not be tomorrow.’

That muscle in Isakson’s cheek twitches again, but he refrains from striking back. He nods reluctantly in Connor’s direction. ‘He may be right. All I can say is we will do everything possible to get your family back.’

Broker pushes his chair back and puts his equipment away as Zeb gets up and tells Connor, ‘Your family will be back – safe.’ Then he nods at Isakson. ‘See you tomorrow to work out the logistics.’

Bear and Chloe slip out as they leave. ‘What was that with the hang-ups? Weren’t you taking a risk?’

‘Yup,’ Broker replies, ‘but we wanted to able to pinpoint where the phone signal was coming from and needed a few cut-outs to be sure.’

He goes on to explain how they knew what to look for. ‘A couple of years back, I came across a couple of Chinese students at Stanford who had developed a triangulating software program. A mobile phone’s location can be detected within a tower’s grid by the signal it gives out. The FBI, NSA, CIA…all those guys use this to locate a phone – but it gives you a very rough location. These Chinese guys went one step ahead. They mapped this triangulation against two other signals, one – the radiation signal of the phone, the other – something called location leaks. A mobile phone service provider keeps a database of where phones are likely to be and keeps polling the phones so that it’s quicker to connect when a call happens. These polling messages were used by these two guys as the third triangulator. I bought their software before they went to market. But it does require a few cut-outs to home in on the phone.’

Bear nods. ‘So what’s the plan now?’

‘We come back tomorrow, take orders from the big cheese.’

Bear smiles at Zeb and Broker and then gets serious. ‘You’re going in tonight?’

‘Yep.’

‘I’ll tag along.’

‘Nope. I need you here.’

Bear nods, grips Zeb’s shoulder hard, fist-bumps Broker, and goes back inside the apartment.

Broker looks at Zeb. ‘How about a fancy, motivating speech?’

Zeb grunts and moves past him.

‘That’ll do,’ says Broker. ‘For a moment I thought you would bring me to tears. Where to now?’

‘Weapons, wheels, Williamstown. That’s where he is, isn’t he? His mother’s house?’

‘Right. Anyone ever tell you, you talk a lot? And what’s wrong with these wheels?’ He indicates the shiny red Jeep they have driven in.

Zeb says nothing, just taps the red paint.

‘Okay.’ He buckles up and turns to Zeb. ‘What do you think Isakson will say when he hears about this?’

Zeb stares straight ahead. ‘What do you think we’ll say to ourselves if that kid doesn’t return tomorrow?’

He revs the engine in the ensuing silence.

The first few stops are at the various caches he has in the city, and they load up with night vision, Mossberg shotguns, the AWM rifle, an Armalite, Sig Sauers, and Glocks.

‘You know that’s a residential neighborhood?’ Broker reminds him.

He answers himself when Zeb doesn’t respond. ‘The residents should have known better, obviously.’

They pack the equipment, then switch their vehicle to a Hummer Broker has customized. Zeb scans the interior, noticing the mobile and wireless communication system, radar and various switches and gadgets that would make James Bond envious.

He casually flicks one, and out pops a screen that shows a rocket launcher easing out of its recess beneath the chassis. He flicks an eyebrow at Broker, who waves his arms in the direction of downtown Manhattan.

‘The neighborhood. It’s not what it used to be.’

Broker turns serious, pulls out a map of Williamstown, and lays it out on the hood. He traces a finger around Mama Holt’s property. ‘Close to the street, six bedrooms, three stories, large windows both at the front and back, tall hedge surrounding the gardens, neighboring houses not too far off, neighbors might remember you from earlier visits…not easy, but would we enjoy it if it was easy?’ He looks sideways at Zeb, who listens calmly.

‘How many men would you have about you, in his situation?’ he asks Zeb.

‘Six or seven in the house including myself.’

Broker nods. ‘Was thinking the same. How do you want to do it?’ He rolls out the house plan and lays it next to the street plan.

Zeb examines the house plan for a long time. ‘Flat or sloping roof?’ he asks, already knowing the answer.

‘Sloping.’

‘I need some special equipment.’

‘I can get you anything, even a frigging aircraft carrier, in one hour within ten clicks.’

He folds the maps and puts them away when Zeb nods, and throws the keys to him. ‘Drive.’ And Zeb does, leaving New York behind.

They reach Williamstown at dusk, with Zeb making one pass of the street and parking in a faraway parking lot. Hoofing it back, they flit from shadow to shadow, observing the entire street, the foliage, its dark spots, the streetlights and proximity of the houses.

They hide in thick foliage by the side of the street a house away. They have a good view of Holt’s house, which has a well-lit front, darkened windows and just a smidgen of light in the window of the second floor.

‘Watch out for dogs,’ mutters Broker.

Broker takes out a pair of night-vision goggles, parabolic mics and a thermal-imaging monitor, setting the screen with a filter that protects it from detection even from six inches away.

Both of them don the mics and watch the house and imager alternatively.

‘Two bodies downstairs, four in the middle, and two more upstairs; lot of light in the front. They can be in the dark of the house, spot us, and pick us off without a problem,’ murmurs Broker as the blobs appear on the monitor. The blobs at the top and bottom of the house are moving back and forth at regular intervals.