Page 153 of The Bone Hacker

“What?” Too strident, my brain still in high-voltage mode. “How is that possible? They were being so careful.”

Reid fired Rossiter one of his spy-versus-spy squints.

“Sorry. Classified.” Rossiter did not seem sorry. “Suffice it to say one of them got sloppy.”

“What kind of bullshit answer is that?” Monck barked.

“Could yourpeoplepinpoint the origin of the call?” I asked.

“Useless. The connection was made burner to burner.”

“What was said?”

“I’ll paraphrase.” Rossiter took a nanosecond to choreograph that in his head. “Cloke and Benjamin were pointedly unspecific about their plans, simply referred throughout to ‘the op.’ Benjamin was having second thoughts. At first Cloke was encouraging, eventually threatening.”

“And you’re just now disclosing this?” Angry heat was turning Monck’s cheeks poinsettia red.

“We needed to verify the nature of their activities.”

“Thus, your unannounced presence on my patch,” Monck, seething.

New images shaped up in my brain. A charred pickup crumpled against a limestone wall. A burned corpse impaled on a shattered windshield.

“Cloke murdered Benjamin,” I said. “The crash wasn’t an accident. Benjamin was familiar with that road and knew about that sinkhole. And suicide never made sense. Why ask for millions in ransom, then kill yourself?”

Monck was about to agree or disagree when his mobile sounded an incoming call. Snatching the phone from his pocket, he clicked on.

“Monck.”

A voice sputtered, muted and unintelligible.

“When?” A flicker of something wild before Monck composed his face.

More sputtering.

“Four units. No bells, no cherries. I’m twelve minutes out. Do not apprehend until I’m ten-twenty-three. Repeat. Hold action until I arrive.”

A questioning sputter.

“Affirmative. Suspect could be armed. Use force as required, but we need this asshole alive.”

A brief sputter.

“Roger that. And a transport unit to the Sea Breeze.”

Pocket-jamming the device, Monck pivoted to us.

“Cloke just used a credit card at Bugaloo’s.”

We all spoke at once.

“Booyah!” Reid.

“Where?” Rossiter.

“When?” I asked.

“Bugaloo’s Conch Crawl, a bar and restaurant in Five Cays.”

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