“You’re quite the hero in Thailand,” I said. “I had dinner with Pongrit Juntasa, and he told me that Rom Ran Sura brought great honor to—”
“Rom Ran Sura is dead.”
“But I thought you were—”
“I am Geraldo Segura. It’s the name my Guatemalan parents gave me when I was born, and it will be my name when I die. Rom Ran Sura was part of the artifice, a tool I used to dig my way out of prison thirty years ahead of time.”
“Whatever your name is, you’re a Muay Thai legend.”
“There are no legends in hell. Except for Satan himself. You should be honored that he dined with you. I subsisted on a single bowl of rice in watered-down soup every day while Nathan got fatter and richer.”
“I know what you went through,” I said. “I visited Klong Prem. I saw the deplorable conditions you were subjected—”
“Will you shut the fuck up, Detective?” It was Nathan Hirsch. “What the hell are you doing on this phone call, anyway?”
“You have a bomb attached to your wrist, sir. I’m trying to negotiate a peaceful resolve to a volatile situation.”
“By agitating the man? By rehashing the life he just escaped from? Geraldo and I were having a meaningful discussion. We all make mistakes when we’re young. He and I were both seduced by Princeton Wells. Wells made the drug deal with Zoe Pound. Wells bought the heroin. And it was Wells who made sure that if we got caught, Geraldo would pay the price. My only crime was not mounting a campaign to free my friend.”
“Don’t be modest, Nathan,” Segura said. “That’s not your only crime. You’ve already admitted to several, and we were just getting started.”
“So I’m a lawyer who broke the law. They’ll disbar me. They’ll fine me. They’ll put me in jail. They’ll give me what I deserve. But I don’t deserve to die.”
“That’s exactly what I wanted to say to Mr. Segura,” I said.
“Do me a favor, Detective. Don’t say anything. Butt out.”
“I’m sorry, Detective Jordan,” Segura said. “It appears Nathan doesn’t want your help. But feel free to listen.”
I muted the phone as Hirsch launched into another mea culpa.
I scanned the street on the far side of the square. In the few minutes since I’d arrived, it had mushroomed into an armed camp packed with first responders ready, willing, and able to take on whatever disaster befell their city.
Behind them were the media vans, gobbling up the human drama and spitting it out to cyberspace, the airwaves, and the printed page to satisfy the bloodlust of their loyal followers. Nathan Hirsch had woken up this morning with a head full of secrets. By nightfall, they would belong to the world.
Kylie came running toward me with a large pair of bolt cutters in her hand.
“If you’re thinking about cutting the chain to the briefcase, forget it,” I said. “Segura is watching from somewhere. If you get within a hundred feet of Nathan Hirsch, you’d better be wearing earplugs.”
“Zach, I know, I know, but listen to me. Remember what Howard Malley told us about the code name Interpol gave Flynn Samuels?”
“They call him Sammy Six Digits.”
“Right. He taps a six-digit date into his cell phone to detonate the bomb. Cell phone, Zach. Segura can’t blow up anything without a cell signal, and guess what they have on the ESU truck? A cell jammer.”
“And guess what NYPD can’t use without a warrant?” I said. “If you want to run across the street to the courthouse, maybe you can get one.”
“There’s no time for a goddamn warrant. This is a life-and-death situation.”
“How many thousands of people do you think live and work in this area? What if one of them has a life-and-death situation and can’t call 911 because you jammed the airwaves to save Nathan Hirsch? Kylie, cell jammers are like search warrants. Judges get to make the decision. Not cops.”
“Fine,” she said. “The bomb squad is ten minutes out. Maybe they can do something. How are you doing on your hostage negotiations?”
“I’m persona non grata. Nathan Hirsch doesn’t want my help. All I can do is listen.”
“Hold on to these,” she said, handing me the bolt cutters. “I know what Segura looks like. I’m going to work the crowd and see if I can spot him.”
Kylie took off, and I set the bolt cutters at my feet and put the phone to my ear. Nathan Hirsch had been wrong to tell me to butt out. I may not have been an experienced negotiator, but I wasn’t some random cop jumping on to the phone call. I knew a hell of a lot about Geraldo Segura. I hadn’t been agitating him. I’d been empathizing with him. Saying what I had to say to get him to trust me.
As far as I could tell, Nathan wasn’t doing such a great job of winning Segura over. I thought about unmuting my phone and jumping back into the fray. I’d start off by hitting him with that quote from Abraham Lincoln: “He who represents himself has a fool for a client.”
“And the fifty thousand dollars a year we paid your grandmother,” I heard Hirsch say. “That was my idea. Wells was against it. I remember one year I wrote the check, and he started arguing with me about—”
My phone went dead. I looked up at the crowd, almost every one of whom had a cell phone in their hands. Their phones were dead, too.
Then a bullhorn cut through the air. “Zach. Zach.” It was Kylie. “Do it, Zach. Do it. Do it. Do it.”
I wanted to scream at her. I wanted to lash out and tell her she was the most infuriating, irresponsible, uncontrollable partner a cop could possibly have. And then when I was finally finished ranting, and railing, and venting my spleen, I wanted to have incredible make-up sex with her.
But, of course, I didn’t do any of that.
Instead I grabbed the bolt cutters and raced toward the man chained to a bomb on the courthouse steps.