“Are you fucking kidding me?” Peter said. “That just happened?”
“Yeah.”
“How do you feel?”
“Like I dodged a bullet. It was a close call.”
“Damn right it was. So, what are we talking?”
“Quite an elaborate honey trap if you ask me. Why go to those lengths, though? She said she was going to take photos of me. You believe that?”
“These are serious people you’re dealing with.”
“Yeah, I figured that.”
“Someone has something to hide. And they want to neutralize you. Threaten to leak photos of you. Why? To silence you. What Internal Affairs cop would want lurid photos plastered all over the front of the New York Post? Your credibility would be shot to pieces.”
McNeal could see as clear as day the danger if he pursued this inquiry further. He wondered if this should be the wake-up call he needed to call a halt to his investigation. Conversely, the honey trap was a sign of how much they wanted to end his prying. He was clearly getting under someone’s skin. Maybe they were on edge, knowing he was asking questions. Reaching out to the Feds. Maybe he was getting to them.
“She was pretty convincing. I could see how she would have ensnared a lot of men.”
“When did you figure it out?”
“The single girl in a bar in DC, approaches a stranger, says she’s from Staten Island. I mean, come on. Seriously? It seemed strange from the outset. But I went along with it. I didn’t know for sure. What are the chances that she had gone to the same school on Staten Island? At first I thought it was just another coincidence. But the longer we talked, the more it wasn’t adding up. Then I rifled in her purse and saw the ID. That’s when it all became crystal clear.”
“Jesus. So, you suckered her into thinking you were playing along?”
“Yeah, she got down to her lingerie.”
Peter laughed. “Are you kidding me?”
“Nope.”
“You sly old fox.”
“Gimme a break.”
“Classic honey trap, alright. So, they would blackmail you to forget any investigation, and the photos wouldn’t be released, right?”
“Can you imagine how the Internal Affairs Bureau would view that?”
“They’d be investigating you, that’s for sure,” Peter said. “Someone would release it to the press. You’d be fired, face charges, and your career and reputation would be in ruins.”
“At the very least, my position within IA would not be tenable.”
“My advice, Jack?”
“What?”
“If what Caroline unearthed got her killed, and she had suspicions about the death of this Sophie Meyer lady, don’t you think they’re going to turn their sights on you now?”
“I think they already have. I’m wondering how they knew I was here. I’m also wondering if there are any more surprises in store for me.”
“Pull up the drawbridge and forget all this. They could have people inside the hotel. Ready to do God-knows-what. I’m not kidding.”
McNeal knew that what his brother was saying was right. But the death of his wife and now a sophisticated attempt to snare him in a honey trap had stirred an anger deep within him. A resentment was beginning to gnaw away at his insides. “I would’ve thought you’d wanted me to pursue this.”
“I’m having second thoughts. I don’t want you getting hurt.”
“I can deal with this.”
“Maybe you can. Listen, this whole thing is fucked up. And I’m not afraid to admit it, Jack. I’m scared.”
“Scared of what?”
“Scared my brother is going to wind up dead.”
Twenty-Eight
The following morning, before it was even light, and after a fitful sleep, McNeal had sweated out the booze in the hotel gym. He swam thirty laps in the pool and sweated some more in the steam room. He showered, put on a fresh change of clothes, drank a half-gallon of mineral water, and ate breakfast in his room: pancakes, bacon, and scrambled eggs with freshly squeezed orange juice and two strong coffees.
His cell phone rang, and he recognized the number. He checked his watch. Just after seven.
“Jack?” The rasping voice of O’Brien.
“Yeah, speaking, Finn.”
“I have what you want.”
“That’s terrific.”
“I’m just about to send it using end-to-end encryption. But to ensure only you can open it, you need to answer a question. You and your family know the answer.”