Page 43 of Blood in the Water
They’d proven to be a good team, each of them remembering different things about different places — Will recalling a broken lock on the back door at Palmer’s, Nolan remembering a boarded up door in the VIP room at the Playpen that had once been used as a separate entrance to the club.
They’d gone over the hours of operation at each location, the times of day when the fewest bystanders would be present, the ways they could mitigate collateral damage.
After lunch, the men took breaks for cigarettes and phone calls and various other business. The light was waning behind the cloud cover, and Nolan was confident they’d covered all their bases, especially with the men who’d expressed an interest in joining them. The vast majority would be sitting out for phase two of the Syndicate’s operation, but just having them off the table put Seamus at a disadvantage.
So why was Nolan so fucking nervous?
He was surprised to feel Christophe’s hand on his shoulder. “We all know something about the kind of worry you’re experiencing.” There were volumes unspoken in his words, and Nolan suddenly hoped he’d get to hear the stories someday. “Is there anything we can do to ease your mind?”
“Yeah, you can get rid of Seamus O’Brien so I can bring her back.”
Christophe nodded just as Nolan’s phone rang. He looked at the display, trying to recall the local number, which looked familiar but didn’t have a name attached.
“Yes?”
“Burke? It’s Matt. Matt Ferguson.”
Nolan stood straighter, his mind already racing. “What’s up?”
His decision to call in a favor from Matt Ferguson, a chief at the Harbormaster’s unit who Nolan had helped out of a legal jam pro bono, had been last minute, a stopgap in the unlikely event that Seamus figured out where Bridget was and decided to go after her to make a point.
He hadn’t really expected Seamus to be that foolish, hadn’t expected to hear from Ferguson.
“That boat you gave me the registration numbers for? It’s on its way out to the islands,” he said. “We tried to stop them. The waves are already wicked big, but I couldn’t catch them. Got too dangerous for our boys to follow in this weather.”
“Are you sure?” Nolan asked.
“I’m sure. One of the guys took a picture of the registration with his phone. Going to cite the bastard for not stopping.”
Nolan’s gaze was pulled to the window, his mind already figuring out how long it would take him to get to the harbor.
“Can you give me cover?” Nolan said. “I’m going to have to head out.”
“Now? Tonight?” The pause on the other end of the phone made it clear Ferguson was not a fan of the idea. “These are deadly swells. There’s no guarantee we can fish you out if you go in.”
“I understand,” Nolan said. “And believe me when I say I wouldn’t be asking if it wasn’t life or death. Can you do it?”
“I can try,” Ferguson said. “No guarantee one of the patrols won’t try to stop you leaving the harbor, no guarantee they won’t issue a citation if they do.”
“Thanks for doing what you can.” He hung up the phone and started for the door.
“What’s happened?” Christophe asked.
“My contact at the Harbormaster puts a boat registered to Seamus headed for the islands.”
Will appeared through the doorway leading to the adjoining room where he and some of the Syndicate’s men had been engaged in a post-lunch game of poker. “He’s going to fecking drown before he ever gets there.”
“I can’t risk it,” Nolan said. “I’m heading out. I’ll keep you posted.”
“The hell you will,” Will said, grabbing his jacket off the hotel sofa.
“You should stay.” Nolan didn’t want to be responsible for Will. Ferguson was right: taking the boat out in this weather was the worst kind of stupid. Too bad he didn’t have the luxury of being smart. “It’s going to be rough.”
“Then yipee ki-yay, motherfucker.”
Nolan didn’t have time to argue with Will, especially when he knew it would be pointless. They were halfway to the door when Christophe’s voice stopped them.
“Wait.” Nolan turned around to find Christophe removing his phone from his pocket. “Give me five minutes.”