Read Online Shadow Tag by Steve Berry, Raymond Khoury - Free Book Online
Authors: Steve Berry, Raymond Khoury
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opened and Daland emerged, both hands high over his head.
“Down,” I barked. “On your knees!”
Nick had climbed over the seats and was now covering the taxi cab’s driver, who had stepped out of the Camry, both hands in the air.
Daland dropped to his knees, shouting, “Easy with the guns! I’m unarmed.”
I stepped toward him. “The hard drive. Where is it?”
“What hard drive?”
The taxi driver turned toward me, all panicked and jittery. “He threw something out the window as we turned out of Church.”
Daland lowered his head, then turned toward the taxi driver, his face tight with anger. “They watch everything you do, every website you read, every keystroke you tap in. They know everyone you talk to, everything you buy. They own you. And you’re no one. Imagine what they do with people who matter.”
I held my position as Nick moved to cuff Daland. “Save the rant for your Twitter feed.” I gestured at the taxi driver. “Show me.”
He led as we jogged back toward the junction with Church, our footfalls crunching in the snow.
The radio squawked as I called it in. “Target secure, repeat, target secure. We’ll meet you back at the house. And tell the pizza guy his car is safe.”
The snow was falling heavier now and sticking to the ground with purpose, but it didn’t take long. We found the hard drive, half-buried in the snow, by the base of a fence.
I brushed some snowflakes from my face, enjoying the sharpness of the freezing air as it hit my lungs.
It was good to be done with Daland. It always felt great to close out an assignment successfully. We’d done our part. From here on, the ball was in the DA’s court. Right now, though, that familiar euphoria was tainted by something else, a foreboding about some unfinished business I needed to get back to.
I looked up at the snowflakes, watched them cascade down onto my face which tingled under their gentle, cold stings, and shut my eyes, trying to breathe in the calmness.
The season, I sensed, really wasn’t going to be particularly jolly. And that was when my work phone rang.
I checked the screen. There was no number appearing on it. It was a private caller.
I took the call.
The voice was cavernous and artificially monotone. “Agent Reilly?”
I froze. The caller was using an electronic voice changer.
Never a good sign.
In these situations, my mind instantly goes to Tess, and to the kids. I don’t know why. I don’t usually deal with psychos or serial killers. The cases I normally work on rarely have the kind of personal angle that can spiral into a vendetta against my loved ones or me. But right there and then, I thought of them. And it sent a spasm of worry through me.
I just said, “I’m listening.”
“Are you interested in justice?”
I forced out a small chortle. “It’s really hard to take that question seriously from someone who sounds like he has a Darth Vader fetish.”
The man paused, then said, “I know things, Agent Reilly. Things you need to hear. Things I need you to do something about. Many innocent people have died because of this. The question is, are you ready to put your life on the line to do something about it?”
I didn’t know what to make of this. We get these whackos more frequently than you’d think, but they usually call the Bureau’s switchboard. Special Agents’ cell phone numbers aren’t easy to get hold of.
I said, “That’s kind of my job description. Who are you? How’d you get this number?”
“What I know, what I want to tell you about, goes way back. It involves a lot of people. Powerful people.”
“OK, I’m going to hang up now, cause we’ve hit our quota on scoops about Area 51 and—”
He interrupted me. “What about your father Colin? You hit your quota on that too?”
That got my attention.
I caught my breath as the savage image that had been seared into my mind ever since I was ten came bursting out of the cage I tried to keep it in, the image of my dad
“Down,” I barked. “On your knees!”
Nick had climbed over the seats and was now covering the taxi cab’s driver, who had stepped out of the Camry, both hands in the air.
Daland dropped to his knees, shouting, “Easy with the guns! I’m unarmed.”
I stepped toward him. “The hard drive. Where is it?”
“What hard drive?”
The taxi driver turned toward me, all panicked and jittery. “He threw something out the window as we turned out of Church.”
Daland lowered his head, then turned toward the taxi driver, his face tight with anger. “They watch everything you do, every website you read, every keystroke you tap in. They know everyone you talk to, everything you buy. They own you. And you’re no one. Imagine what they do with people who matter.”
I held my position as Nick moved to cuff Daland. “Save the rant for your Twitter feed.” I gestured at the taxi driver. “Show me.”
He led as we jogged back toward the junction with Church, our footfalls crunching in the snow.
The radio squawked as I called it in. “Target secure, repeat, target secure. We’ll meet you back at the house. And tell the pizza guy his car is safe.”
The snow was falling heavier now and sticking to the ground with purpose, but it didn’t take long. We found the hard drive, half-buried in the snow, by the base of a fence.
I brushed some snowflakes from my face, enjoying the sharpness of the freezing air as it hit my lungs.
It was good to be done with Daland. It always felt great to close out an assignment successfully. We’d done our part. From here on, the ball was in the DA’s court. Right now, though, that familiar euphoria was tainted by something else, a foreboding about some unfinished business I needed to get back to.
I looked up at the snowflakes, watched them cascade down onto my face which tingled under their gentle, cold stings, and shut my eyes, trying to breathe in the calmness.
The season, I sensed, really wasn’t going to be particularly jolly. And that was when my work phone rang.
I checked the screen. There was no number appearing on it. It was a private caller.
I took the call.
The voice was cavernous and artificially monotone. “Agent Reilly?”
I froze. The caller was using an electronic voice changer.
Never a good sign.
In these situations, my mind instantly goes to Tess, and to the kids. I don’t know why. I don’t usually deal with psychos or serial killers. The cases I normally work on rarely have the kind of personal angle that can spiral into a vendetta against my loved ones or me. But right there and then, I thought of them. And it sent a spasm of worry through me.
I just said, “I’m listening.”
“Are you interested in justice?”
I forced out a small chortle. “It’s really hard to take that question seriously from someone who sounds like he has a Darth Vader fetish.”
The man paused, then said, “I know things, Agent Reilly. Things you need to hear. Things I need you to do something about. Many innocent people have died because of this. The question is, are you ready to put your life on the line to do something about it?”
I didn’t know what to make of this. We get these whackos more frequently than you’d think, but they usually call the Bureau’s switchboard. Special Agents’ cell phone numbers aren’t easy to get hold of.
I said, “That’s kind of my job description. Who are you? How’d you get this number?”
“What I know, what I want to tell you about, goes way back. It involves a lot of people. Powerful people.”
“OK, I’m going to hang up now, cause we’ve hit our quota on scoops about Area 51 and—”
He interrupted me. “What about your father Colin? You hit your quota on that too?”
That got my attention.
I caught my breath as the savage image that had been seared into my mind ever since I was ten came bursting out of the cage I tried to keep it in, the image of my dad
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