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“Sure, but I don’t have time for a pop today,” Shear said.
“Not a problem. I just wanted to say I’m sorry if you got hell from Cavanaugh for telling me what I should know last night.”
“He didn’t say a thing. You told him?”
“I didn’t tell him who told me, but the information sort of slipped out when he was trying to get Cutler to fire me.”
“Why am I not surprised that he’s trying to get rid of you.”
“He’s got a bug up his ass, for sure. So he didn’t jump on you?”
“Not so far.”
“So, anything happening yet in Prague?”
“No. They’re still watching the container. It’s a waiting game.”
“How long has it been sitting in the railyard?”
“Today was day five.”
“Something’s gotta break soon.”
“Hope so.”
“You want a ride to the station? My car’s over here in a lot.”
“You know, I kind of like the walk. Relaxes me.”
“I get it. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Later.”
Bosch peeled off to go to his car. As he drove home he reviewed the day’s progress with the Wonderland murder books. So far, through eight books, there had been no mention of Nicky Novak. Ballard had said that he made an appearance in the last book, and Bosch would get to that the next day. Then he would have to parlay it into leverage that would make Cutler want to keep him on the case.
What had started with the memory of Charles Lamb had become something completely different. But Bosch felt invigorated by it despite the pushback from Cavanaugh. He felt like he might be part of something that could really matter in the world.
27
BOSCH WENT IN early the next day, but not early enough. When he entered the task force room, he saw the team already there and standing in front of one of the flat-screens mounted to the wall. Bosch put his laptop down on his desk and went over. Shear was on the periphery of the group. Bosch didn’t have to ask what was going on, because Shear read the question on his face.
“We’ve been in since three,” he whispered. “They opened the shipping container. A critical incident team, posing as part of an international auto-theft task force, is in there, supposedly looking for matching VIN numbers.”
Bosch checked the screen. A camera had been set up and focused on the shipping container’s open steel doors. He could see the front of an SUV with the iconic Mercedes-Benz logo on the grille.
“Who opened it?” Bosch asked.
“People came from the dealership to take possession,” Shear said. “They opened it and we moved in, detained them, and called in the search team.”
“Can we listen to the feed, please?” Cavanaugh said.
“Sorry,” Shear said.
The feed included radio traffic among members of the critical incident team. There was a wide perimeter set up around the container in case it was booby-trapped or the missiles were unintentionally detonated — if there were missiles.
But there weren’t. An hour after Bosch arrived, the all-clear call went out on the feed. The container had been thoroughly searched, but the missiles stolen from the base in California were not in any of the vehicles or the storage crates. The people from the dealership were finally released and allowed to drive the vehicles to the showroom.
It was a huge setback and everybody on the team felt it. Cavanaugh and Cutler left the room to privately confer on next steps. Shear took a call on his cell from his partner in Prague, and while Bosch could hear only one side of the conversation, it was clear that there was devastation six thousand miles away.
