“Yep. Did it remotely, which I understand isn’t easy but was possible because of the systems involved.” Force turned onto a pebbled stone walkway, passed through a wrought-iron gate and strode between wings of the building to the front entrance, which was secured by a mesh security screened door in front of another locked door. “Should’ve brought Jethro. He can pick any lock.”
That professor was becoming more interesting by the second. “We’re official,” Wolfe reminded him.
“Kind of, anyway.” Force nodded. “Before we go in, what are you prepared to do to make Spanek give up Theresa Rhodes?”
Wolfe stilled. “Anything I need to do. Is that a problem?”
“Nope. Just want to know before we go in.” Force pressed the button for the manager. Twice.
“What?” a cranky male with a Middle Eastern accent barked through the speaker.
“Homeland Defense Department,” Force said. “Come and open the doors. Now.”
The guy spouted a stream of Pashto, the grumbling getting creative.
Wolfe leaned toward the speaker and spoke a Pashto greeting, apologizing for the late disturbance and promising that they’d be gone soon.
The guy stopped complaining and then the speaker went dead.
Force nodded. “Nice. What language was that?”
“Pashto. I learned it in Afghanistan.” Wolfe rolled his neck and looked down at his shiny badge. “I keep forgetting we have badges.”
The door opened, and a potbellied man in a white tank top, his thick hair messy, shoved open the door. “What do you want?”
“We’d like to visit the occupant in apartment 3D,” Force said pleasantly. “Would you mind letting us in?”
“Got a warrant?” the guy asked.
Wolfe put on his most pleasant expression. “We do not, but we could get one if necessary.” That was a total lie unless they wanted their HDD handlers to know what they were working on. “We just want to speak to the tenant and won’t cause any more disturbance.”
The guy looked him up and down. “You were the one speaking Pashto?”
“Oh, oke,”Wolfe said in Pashto.
The man stepped back.“Sam da.”
Wolfe nudged Force. “He said okay.” They moved into a dimly lit welcome area with a couple of tables and chairs set to one side.
The man shut and relocked the door. “I am not opening his door for you.”
“We’ll take it from here,” Wolfe said. “Manana,” he added, thanking the super and striding for the stairwell next to the elevator. He climbed up to the third floor and pushed open the heavy door. “Did you bring handcuffs?”
“Zip ties,” Force said, on his six. “After we’re done talking to Spanek, we’ll need to put him into protective custody if he gives up information on Theresa Rhodes and Gary Rockcliff. We’ll have to go completely official at that point, just so you know.”
One of the many reasons Wolfe hadn’t wanted to involve the team. “Understood,” he said, reaching the door to 3D, a clean wooden door whitewashed to a shabby-chic look like the rest of the doors down the hall. He pulled leather gloves from his jacket to cover his hands while Force did the same. “I prefer boot to knocking. Any argument?”
“Nope. Kick ahead.” Force paused and reached for the doorknob, which twisted easily. He looked over his shoulder at Wolfe. “That’s not good.”
Wolfe shook his head, adrenaline surging through his veins and sharpening his senses. “I go low.”
Force silently pushed the door open to reveal darkness. “Go,” he mouthed.
Wolfe shot inside, his gun already out and pointed, Force behind him and to the right. No sound, no movement. Just darkness and a smell that hit him harder than a right cross. He coughed out almost silently, his eyes watering. Metal, blood, and death. Ripped flesh had its own scent.
Force shut the door and flipped on the light to reveal the living room. “Holy fuck.”
Blood splatter coated the walls, the floor, and even parts of the ceiling. One nude body, a male, hung halfway across the sofa, his face partially turned toward them, his visible eye bloody in death.
