In Death 06 - Vengeance in Death

the first. "Shit, there are two of them. Take us down, park it on the sidewalk if you have to. All units, two blue minijets on Fifth, both stopped. One between Forty-sixth and Forty-fifth, the second between Forty-fifth and Forty-fourth. Block southbound traffic on Fifth at Forty-third."
    Her stomach tripped over her throat as Roarke took them into a dive. He leveled off ten feet above street level, set down with barely a shimmy in a maxi-bus lane directly across from the northernmost minijet.
    Eve leaped out, aimed her weapon at the driver. "NYPSD. Out of the car, keep your hands where I can see them."
    The driver was male, mid-twenties. He was wearing a lime green Day-Glo jacket and matching pegged pants. Sweat poured down his face as he got out of the car. "Don't stun me, for God's sake, I'm just a runner, that's all. Just making a living."
    "In the position." She reached out, spun him around. "Hands on the roof of the car."
    "I don't want my wife to know about this. I want a lawyer," he demanded as she patted him down. "I've only been doing runs for six months. Give me a fucking break."
    She dragged her restraints from her pocket, dragged his arms behind his back. Even as she snapped them on, she knew he wasn't her man.
    "Move one inch from this spot and I'll zap you unconscious."
    She started off at a jog, then slowed as she watched Roarke walk back toward her from the other car. "All I got is an illegals runner with the brains of a toadstool."
    "The other car's empty," he told her. "He's ditched it." Jaw set, he scanned the street crowded with vehicular and pedestrian traffic. Three criss-crossing sky-glides were jammed with people. Grand Central was a crosstown block away. "We lost him."

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
    Two hours later, Eve was in the Tower, explaining the failure of the operation to Chief Tibble.
    "I take full responsibility for the unsatisfactory outcome of the operation, sir. The performance of the officers involved in the task force is not to blame."
    "Fucking circus." Tibble tapped a huge fist lightly on the surface of his desk. "Dogfights, injured civilians, the primary officer hot-rodding around and over the city in a souped-up, two-hundred-thousand-dollar sports jet. The damn media flybys caught you shooting across town in it. That's going to look just dandy for the departmental image on screen."
    "Excuse me, sir," Eve said stiffly. "My department-issue unit was recently destroyed and has yet to be replaced. I opted to utilize a personal vehicle until my new unit is issued. Departmental procedure allows for this contingency."
    His fist stopped pounding as he narrowed his eyes at her. "Why the hell hasn't your unit been replaced?"
    "The automatic requisition was not processed, for reasons I can't explain, Chief Tibble. My aide applied again today for a replacement, and was told that it would take approximately a week to never."
    He let out a long breath. "Idiot paper pushers. You'll have your replacement by oh eight hundred, Lieutenant."
    "Thank you, sir. There's no question that the operation today was unsatisfactory. However, Detective McNab has pinpointed the Luxury Towers as the source of today's transmission. I'd like to join the sweep and search team deployed there."
    "How many angles of this investigation do you intend to handle personally, Lieutenant?"
    "All of them, sir."
    "And have you considered that your objectivity might be in question in this matter? That you've begun to pit your ego against the killer's. Are you investigating a series of homicides, Lieutenant, or are you playing his games?''
    She accepted the slap, agreed that she deserved it, but she wouldn't back off. "At this point in time, sir, I don't believe I can do one without doing the other. I realize that my performance in this matter has been substandard. It won't continue to be."
    "I'd like to know how the hell I'm supposed to give you a dressing-down when you keep beating me to it." He pushed away from the desk and rose. "Consider your wrist officially slapped. Privately, I'll tell you that I don't find your performance in this matter substandard. I've watched the recordings of the operation. You command well, Lieutenant, with authority and without hesitation. Your strategy to entrap this perpetrator can't be faulted. Damn poodle," he said under his breath. "And you were denied air support due to some foul-up at control -- a foul-up that will be fully investigated. Consider yourself officially supported.
    "Now..." He