The First Victim

CHAPTER 62

"Ms. McNeal, it’s Roy,’’ a familiar but unidentifiable voice said over her cellphone. Stevie was more interested in the ice cream she had ordered from room service than the phone call. ‘‘Roy?’’

‘‘Traffic?’’ the man inquired, identifying himself.

Chopper Roy they called him. Drive-time traffic reports for both the morning news and N4@5. Once she made the connection, the voice was all the more recognizable.

‘‘Yes, Roy.’’

‘‘Station gave me your cell number. Hope you don’t mind. I thought you’d want to hear this.’’

‘‘Hear what?’’ She sat forward on the couch and pushed the ice cream aside, her heart beginning to beat more strongly in her chest. What was the traffic guy calling about?

‘‘Friend of mine, Sam Haber, works over to the FBO, handles Seven’s SkyCam.’’

Channel Seven, he meant. The competition. She didn’t like this already.

‘‘Their chopper. Yeah. Sam does their maintenance. Also does their outfitting. Calls about canceling a Mariners game we had planned on account Seven has him outfitting their bird with some high-tech infrared shit that has something to do with hunting down a ship. Tonight, we’re talking about. He overhears one of the guys with the gear saying they’re going to scoop us on our story on account the cops have been asking all sorts of questions at Port Authority. Thought you ought to know.’’

‘‘A ship,’’ she repeated, scribbling down notes on a white linen napkin. ‘‘Our own story.’’

‘‘Scooping our own story. Yeah.’’

‘‘Know anything about this gear?’’

‘‘Only that it’s not standard issue. Ultrasensitive infrared. Sam said some professor type from the university was the one installing it. They had to black out the hangar to even pull the lens cap and test the gear-it’s that sensitive. Daylight will fry the thing. Guy blew up at Sam over opening a door because of the light. Pissed Sam off, I’ll tell you what. If he hadn’t, maybe Sam wouldn’t have told me. Sam’s kinda like that: doesn’t like someone shouting at him, you know?’’

‘‘They’re hunting down a container ship,’’ she stated. ‘‘Is there any way we can mess them up on this?’’

‘‘Does the Pope shit in the woods?’’ the helicopter pilot replied.

‘‘Get the bird ready.’’

‘‘She’s being refueled as we speak.’’

As Stevie was about to hang up she was trying to think of some way to lose her various guards and surveillance. ‘‘Roy,’’ she asked, ‘‘are there any downtown buildings where you can land on the roof?’’

‘‘Can you get over to Columbia SeaFirst?’’

‘‘Give me a number where I can reach you,’’ she said. ‘‘I’ll call from there.’’