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Bosch looked at him for a long moment before answering. Working with the feds had never gone well for him. But if the task force was focused on taking down Nikolai Novak, then no matter what the stakes were, he wanted to be there.
“I’m in,” he said.
“And can I count on you to keep the details of this investigation in the strictest confidence? No one can know of this investigation or your part in it. That includes the many law enforcement friends and sources you have.”
“Yes. You want me to sign an NDA, I’ll sign it.”
“I don’t think that is necessary. I take you as a man of your word. Your wanting to solve your friend’s murder sixty years ago tells me something about your integrity.”
Bosch nodded his thank-you for the compliment but wondered whether Cutler was trying to play him in some way.
“So this is where we are,” Cutler said. “We believe the Spolu, which is under the command of Nikolai Novak, has come into possession of eight AGM-114 missiles, among other munitions stolen from a US military base. We need to get them back.”
“What’s an AGM-114?” Bosch asked.
“Better known as the Hellfire air-to-surface missile. The hell part comes from heliborne, as in helicopter. They are primarily anti-armor missiles deployed from Black Hawks, but they can take down planes and buildings and even sink ships. I will use anything and anyone — including you — to recover them.”
“When were they stolen?”
“Work with Patrick, Harry. Can I call you Harry?”
“Fine.”
“Go with Patrick. He’ll take you to the task force and explain more about the investigation and the rules of play.”
Cutler stood up and extended his hand across the desk.
“Welcome aboard, Harry,” he said.
Bosch stood and shook his hand and nodded. Cutler seemed sincere in his welcome, but when it came to the FBI, Bosch was like a feral cat. He wanted to be fed but he didn’t want to be touched.
“And I will tell you this,” Cutler said. “I don’t care if we get Novak on a civil rights beef, the four on the floor on Wonderland, or a fricking Hellfire rocket in his trunk — it is our job to take him down and take him down quickly. Understood?”
“Understood.”
“Good. Then go to it.”
22
IT DIDN’T TAKE long for Agent Cavanaugh to make clear his view of Bosch joining the investigation. In the hall outside Cutler’s office, Cavanaugh charged ahead, leaving Bosch in his wake. Bosch, moving slowly because of his internal injuries, could not keep up.
“Hey, Patrick, slow down,” he called. “What’s the hurry?”
Cavanaugh stopped dead and wheeled around.
“The hurry is that we have stolen missiles out there and I have to waste my time with you,” he said, then launched into a poor impression of Cutler. “‘I take you as a man of your word’ — such bullshit. I checked you out, Bosch. I know who you are. Let me be clear on that up front.”
“So that was all bullshit from Cutler in there?” Bosch asked. “You’re just gonna leave me in the dust?”
“No, I do what I’m told to do,” Cavanaugh said. “I’m a team player. So you can keep up or go home. And don’t ever call me Patrick again. I don’t care how old you are — it’s Agent Cavanaugh to you.”
He turned and started striding down the hall again. Luckily his progress was stalled when he had to wait for an elevator outside the US attorney’s office. Bosch caught up and an awkward silence ensued until the elevator arrived and they entered.
“The task force works out of this building,” Cavanaugh said, punching the button for the seventh floor. “You will work here. Not in the field — in the task force room. You take nothing from that room. No records, no copies. Nothing. That understood?”
“Sure,” Bosch said. “Nothing leaves the room. I get it.”
More awkward silence. Finally, Bosch couldn’t help himself.
