The Ocean Dark

54

A helicopter, Rachael Voss thought. The ship that the FBI gave Ed Turcotte’s Counter-Terrorism squad had its own helicopter. Voss wasn’t generally the jealous type, but she couldn’t help envying that, thinking about all the cases she’d worked where it would’ve been handy to have her own helicopter.

Turcotte had caught up with her little cluster of Coast Guard, ICE, and FBI boats forty-five minutes ago, and in the time since then he had managed to talk to the commanders of every vessel except for hers. It had been Voss’s case from the beginning, her command, but Turcotte wanted to send her a message, let her know that she wasn’t at the helm anymore. Counter-Terrorism had taken over. It didn’t matter that nobody had a single shred of evidence that Viscaya’s operations had supported or aided terrorism within or outside the United States. They wanted the bust — wanted to make a big splash on the news about a terrorist cell operating out of Miami, and how Homeland Security was keeping America safe — and they would take it.

Voss might have been able to hold them off longer, but with Josh out of contact for so long, Chauncey and DelRosso couldn’t argue anymore. They’d put it down as her fuckup, her op, and if Special Agent Joshua Hart turned up dead, that would be on her as well.

Rachael’s heart felt cracked in half. Maybe they were all right; maybe she had lost perspective, and Ed Turcotte taking over this case was the only way to salvage anything out of it — arrests, smuggled guns, any tiny victory for the FBI, and maybe, if they were lucky, Josh’s life.

He’s not dead, Voss told herself. Insisted to herself.

But so much time had passed, even she had stopped believing it.

Her cell phone trilled. She glanced down at the screen and saw that it was Turcotte himself calling. Out there on his ship — a loan from the goddamned military, with its shiny black helicopter — he had finally deigned to speak with her, just to tell her she could fuck off and go home now if she wanted, that she was relieved of command.

Pavarotti came up from below, hustling, feet pounding the steps. “Rachael!”

She sighed. How many times did she have to tell him?

Her cell phone kept ringing. She punched TALK, raised it to her ear. “This is Voss.”

As she did, Pavarotti grabbed her arm, spun her around. She would have screamed at him, maybe decked him, but then she saw the smile on his face, the light dancing in his eyes. They’d only had sex the one time, but right then she thought maybe seconds were in order.

“Rachael, it’s Ed Turcotte,” the voice said in her ear. Presumptuous with her first name, the asshole. “Your squad has done all you can. We’re going to take it from here. I’ll want you to stick around in a support capacity. Here’s the plan—”

“Actually, Ed, there’s a new plan,” she said, grinning at Pavarotti. “Special Agent Hart just set off his beacon. We’ve got the tracking system set up, and we’re heading out. Feel free to follow along.”

She gestured to Pavarotti, pointed toward the wheelhouse, and he set off running. He’d get them moving, tracing the beacon.

“Hang on a second, Rachael,” Turcotte said, sounding all pissy. “It isn’t for you to say—”

“You can have the bust, Ed. I couldn’t give a shit. You can say they’re Martian jihadists for all I care. I just want my partner back safe. Now, we’re the ones set up to track the beacon, so unless you’re going to order us to stand down while we’ve got an agent in deep cover signaling us to come get his ass out of danger, not to mention a boatload of suspects in a two-year investigation waiting for you to arrest them, I’d like to get going. Maybe you’ll even get to play with your helicopter.”

Turcotte didn’t reply for a second, and Voss feared he had hung up on her. When he did speak, his voice was low and even.

“By all means, lead the way.”