71.
Sienna
“This is bullshit,” I said. I was out of my hotel room in seconds, riding the elevator down and talking to my team the whole time. “Gravity Gal was with me during the whole second part of the attack, the one they’re blaming her for. And how do they have evidence? Jamal told me that the security cams were down for the attack on the US Attorney’s office.”
J.J. cleared his throat. “I … I don’t know. They say they’ve got some sort of anonymous tip that led them in this direction. They seem pretty confident about it if they’ve issued an arrest warrant and skipped right past trying to question her first.”
“This sounds bad,” Reed said. “Do you want Augustus and me to hop a plane? We could be there in a few hours to—”
“No, stay where you are,” I said. “As much fun as it might be to drag you two into this, I’d rather not. If the FBI is going after Jamie, I …” I made a loud, annoyed, growling sound in my throat. “Well, it’s just wrong, that’s all.”
Ariadne was the first to speak after that. “What are you going to do?”
“Well, I’m going to try and clear her name,” I said. “And nail Nadine Griffin to the wall for this.” I closed my eyes and threw my head back. “Ohhhhh. Remember why Welch called me in for this?”
“Yeah,” Reed said, “he wanted you to keep an eye on things because he feared a beef between Captain Frost and Gravity Gal.”
“Except Frost wasn’t the only one she told off that day,” I said. “She ripped the hell out of Griffin first, remember? Right on television. This is payback.”
“That’s a tenuous thread, Sienna,” Ariadne said. “You were called to town on a vague suspicion that seems to be blossoming into something else entirely. I don’t see how you link them, unless your friend Welch is a meta of the sort that can predict the future.”
I frowned as the elevator doors opened and I thundered out into the lobby. “No, I don’t think Welch is a Cassandra-type, or any other type. I think he saw something—in that moment—and got a bad feeling. Normal gut instinct from a guy who’s worked enough cases to have a feeling for when something’s amiss. He got the message; just mistook the messenger, was all. Nadine was sitting there the whole time, probably like a black hole of negativity, secretly scheming her revenge, adding a way to screw Jamie to the plans she already had to clear her name.” I stopped just outside the doors to the hotel. “No, wait. That doesn’t track—”
“How does Nadine Griffin, the Queen of Wall Street, under FBI surveillance, mastermind a terrorist-style event to destroy all the evidence against her?” Reed asked. “I’m sorry, but that’s … she couldn’t have done that unobserved. Not by herself.”
“I agree, she had an accomplice,” I said, floating up into the air. “Some sort of broker who knew how to hire mercenaries and hackers and metas and all else. Someone who knew how to put things together for her, package an op and run it while she was far, far away from anything incriminating.”
“Whoever it is,” Reed said, “they’re good to put something like this together. We’re not talking some moron with a VPN and a path into the darkweb. This is a pro, someone who’s been there, done that, a real Shelob-in-the-web type expert who had connections that they could exploit, presumably for a profit.”
“I thought this lady had no more money,” Augustus said. “Didn’t the FBI impound her cash?”
“She’s the Queen of Wall Street,” I said, “she had to have some hidden away for a rainy day, probably overseas.” I felt a tingle as I spoke the words aloud. “How do we find this broker?” My phone buzzed, and I looked at the screen; Welch was calling me. “Hang on, guys.” I flipped over to him.
“You see this?” Welch asked, and I could hear the agitation in his voice.
“It’d be hard to miss,” I said. “You know this is BS—”
“I know, I know,” Welch said. “Or I suspect, at least. But—”
“No buts,” I said. “The FBI is after an innocent woman. She was there with us—”
“Listen, you know the brains behind an operation doesn’t have to actually be at the operation,” Welch said, lecturing me patiently. “I realize it’s unlikely, but it’s not out of the realm of possibility.”
“It is out of the realm of possibility,” I said, so sure I might have been telling him that concrete was hard, Shake Shack was the best, and Hamilton was impossible to get reasonably priced tickets for. “Gravity Gal—Jamie Barton—whatever—is a hero. She was in the thick of this thing trying to save lives, not scheming for no reason to end them and screw this city up. This is bullshit of the highest order of bullshit, right up there with a politician telling you they’re honest.” I paused, letting that sink in. “Now … did you know about this before they announced?”
“No,” he said, ignoring my tirade. “They cut us out of the loop. Probably figured we might have an affinity for a local hero.” He lowered his voice. “She saved those firemen the other night, and it’s not the first time she’s helped them and us. She’s a hero, yes, I know it. But—yes there’s a but,” he cut me off before I could interrupt, “the NYPD is helpless in this. We have to aid the FBI if they ask for it, and top brass is not going to stick their necks or anything else out in a pissing contest with the feds.” He took a second to settle. “Now … what are you going to do?”
“Get into a pissing contest with the feds,” I said.
“Don’t do that!” he said, lowering his voice to a hissing, urgent whisper. “You remember who you’re working for right now? Don’t screw the department over, please.”
“I’ll be tasteful,” I said. “I’ll make sure to pick a place where it won’t matter if urine splatters abound, somewhere like—”
“We have her over Staten Island!” J.J. shouted, the videoconference still active. I hadn’t realized it didn’t automatically mute when I took a voice call.
“So help me if you make a Staten Island and urine smell joke—” Welch said, voice rising.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I said, hanging up on him and turning south as I accelerated to high speed. I had to get there before things could go horrible, horribly wrong.