That night, running on two hours of sleep and bad coffee, I hunkered behind a wall along with the rest of my team and assistant director Halifax. We were all armed and in body armor, and we had five of the FBI’s Tactical Response guys with us in full combat gear with assault rifles. This could turn into a firefight, and we weren’t taking any chances.
Just past midnight, Gennadiy’s BMW showed up. He’d had it lovingly resprayed and polished to remove the scratch. I smirked. Waste of time, Gennadiy. You won’t need a car where you’re going.
He climbed out, together with his brother Valentin and two heavies, and they gathered in front of the building’s loading dock. A moment later, the truck turned into the parking lot. We all checked our weapons.
The truck reversed up to the loading dock. Gennadiy and Valentin lowered the tailgate and?—
I sprinted out from behind the wall, heart hammering, gun pointed right at Gennadiy’s chest. “FBI! Hands where I can see them!” Behind me, the tactical team spread out, covering me.
Gennadiy stepped back and calmly raised his hands in the air.
We moved forward, slow and careful. Only when I was sure that all of Gennadiy’s gang were under control did I holster my pistol and climb up into the truck.
Six big wooden crates. I grinned at Caroline, and she grinned back at me. We got him. She passed me a crowbar, and I levered the top off a crate…
A sea of cheerful, bright yellow plastic. I blinked. Ducks. Hundreds of rubber ducks.
It’s cover, in case anyone opens the crate.
I plunged my hands inside, waiting to feel the cold metal of an assault rifle. But there was nothing, even when my fingers brushed the bottom of the crate.
Well, obviously, they wouldn’t put them in the crates at the front! I levered open the second crate. More ducks. The third crate. Same thing. The fourth and fifth. Now there was only one crate left, and a sickening realization was sinking in. Oh no. Oh, God, please no...
I pried open the last crate.
Hundreds of little yellow faces stared up at me.
I stared in raw horror. Then my heart suddenly lifted. The crates have false bottoms! I heaved the crates over onto their sides. Thousands of rubber ducks spilled into the bed of the truck and waterfalled down to the ground, forming a spreading yellow sea.
No false bottoms. No secret compartments. Nothing.
I waded through the ducks, jumped down from the truck, and marched over to Gennadiy. “What the fuck is this?!” I demanded, shoving one of the ducks into his chest.
He took the duck and examined it. “You play with it in the bathtub,” he explained innocently.
“Why would you need thousands of them?!”
He pointed to the sign on the building behind him. “It’s a bathroom supply company. We’re planning a promotion: a free duck with every purchase.”
“Why would you arrange delivery for midnight?”
Gennadiy shrugged. “Is there some law against working late?” And just for a second, the corners of his mouth twitched. The bastard was trying not to laugh.
Monica Aiken. She’d been a plant. He’d paid her to get arrested, told her exactly what to say to the cops. He’d baited the hook, and I’d swallowed it. We’d spent all our time and resources here, while the real shipment of guns was happening somewhere else.
Halifax walked over. “You and your men are free to go, Mr. Aristov.” Then he looked at me and shook his head, furious.
The next day, Halifax called me into his office for a long lecture on not leaping into action without all the facts. The bust had cost the FBI tens of thousands of dollars plus countless hours of paperwork, all for nothing. “We agreed three months,” he warned me. “You’ve got four weeks left.”
When I got back to my desk, there was a new picture on the wall. Someone had snapped a photo of me standing in the back of the truck, looking utterly crestfallen, knee deep in rubber ducks. Hadderwell and Fitch were chuckling like schoolkids. Only Caroline looked sympathetic.
Then a package arrived, addressed to me. I opened the box…
A rubber duck. There was a note, in looping, confident script.
For when you are naked in the bath – G.
I stared at the thing, my chest rising and falling as the rage filled me and threatened to overflow. He’d screwed me, seriously dentingmy career, either to try to get rid of me or just for fun. I squeezed the duck so hard the plastic squished…
