Foreign Influence_ A Thriller - Brad Thor [52]
“You still want to do this?” asked Davidson as they reached the alley and Vaughan stood still on the sidewalk.
He coughed and shook it off. “I’m good to go. Let’s do it.”
The men entered the alley and came up behind Nasiri’s residence. It was a four-story brick building with a wooden set of stairs. There was a chain-link fence separating the property from the alley. Its gate was unlocked.
“So far so good,” said Davidson as he pushed it open and walked down the narrow gangway toward the stairs.
As they climbed, Vaughan had an inexplicable urge to pull out his gun. He didn’t. Nasiri was the driver responsible for a hit-and-run accident. They weren’t about to pop Osama bin Laden. Nevertheless, his hands were sweaty and his heart was pumping harder than it should have been. PTSD, anxiety attack, or whatever this feeling was, he didn’t like it.
The open-air, third-floor landing outside Nasiri’s apartment contained a couple of rusting lawn chairs and some empty cardboard boxes. Vaughan looked out across the alley with its asphalt-shingled garages at the apartment buildings on the other side. In one of them, he could see someone watching them. Somewhere close by Pakistani music was playing.
A large window with its drapes drawn stood next to Nasiri’s back door. “I guess we knock,” offered Davidson.
“Of course we knock. The only time you don’t knock is when you have a no-knock warrant. Besides, I think we may have an audience.”
“Lawyers,” said Davidson, rolling his eyes. “No wonder you haven’t impressed anyone in the Intelligence Division.”
“There’s someone watching us from the building across the alley.”
Davidson turned, but didn’t see anything. “Don’t worry. You’re just paranoid.”
This time, Vaughan didn’t hesitate to give the man the finger.
The Public Vehicles officer knocked. There was no answer. He knocked again. “Police. Open up.” There was still no response.
Davidson tried the door handle, but it was locked. “You’re right,” he said, glancing over his shoulder and gesturing across the alley with his chin. “We are being watched. I think it’s a Scumbagasaurus.”
“A what?”
“You know what those are,” he said as he bent closer to the door handle and slipped something from his pocket. “They suck blood and feed on bribes. Normally you don’t see them this far from a government building. Politicus assholus is the correct Latin term, I believe.”
Vaughan knew what the man was doing, but before he could stop him, the lock was picked and the door was open. “That’s breaking and entering.”
“The door was open. In fact, I think I hear someone calling for help,” he replied, closing his mouth and trying to throw his voice like a ventriloquist. “Help me. Help me.”
The Organized Crime cop wasn’t impressed.
“Allah akabar?” Davidson asked.
Vaughan still wasn’t buying it.
“Allah snack bar?”
“Paul, we’re not authorized to—” Vaughan began, when he saw Davidson raise his radio to his mouth, announce his intent to the patrol officers outside, and step into the apartment.
“Are you coming?” he asked.
This wasn’t the first time Vaughan had broken the law, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. Nevertheless, he wasn’t proud of himself. Shaking his head, he followed the other cop inside.
CHAPTER 23
It was a dump. They entered through the door into the kitchen. A plate of food sat half-eaten on a folding table covered with a vinyl table cloth.
“Somebody left in a hurry,” said Vaughan. He touched the food to test its temperature and then walked over to the stove and reached for the teapot. Both were cold. He shook his head at Davidson.
The fridge contained very little. There was nothing in the freezer. As they made their way further into the apartment, Davidson pulled his weapon and Vaughan followed suit.
They cleared the bedroom, living room, and bathroom. No one was there. Davidson reholstered his weapon. “Well, seeing as how we’ve already crossed the Rubicon, do you want to take a more in-depth look around?”
Neither the cop nor the lawyer in him wanted to