the first picture in black marking ink, and Suspect 2 on the second. In the detectives’ jacket pockets, clipped to their NYPD ID cards, were light-blue plastic cards, with photos, that identified them as UNIIIC Special Investigators.
Shielded by a stand of tall pine trees, they could not be seen from the house, although the dark night was their best cover. In an hour they would be relieved. In the passenger seat Loh held a pair of expensive digital night vision binoculars in his gloved hands. The Cantonese-American detective had just scanned the house and grounds.
“You love playing with those things,” Davila said.
“They’re very cool,” Loh replied.
“I know. Too bad there’s never anything to see.” The house was completely dark, as it had been since midnight.
“We’re committed, Bob.”
“Right, we’ll be promoted. I’m having my doubts.”
It was Davila who had been offered the assignment and who had talked their commanding officer into offering it to Loh as well, and Loh into accepting it. Now, after three weeks of stakeouts as part of an eight-person rotating team, he was sorry he had. Suspect 1 and Suspect 2 had not left the house, not even to take out the garbage. They were in there because occasionally someone would get lucky and spot one or the other of them in a window with the binoculars. Groceries were delivered, but not the mail.
“ Observe and communicate . What kind of bullshit is that?” Davila continued.
“It must be a Dutch thing,” Loh replied, “or U.N. speak.”
“We never should have got involved with the U.N.”
“You mean this assignment, or back in 1947?” Loh said.
“1947. They hate us.”
“The world loves us now, Bob. All we had to do was elect a handsome young black guy as president.”
“Fuckin’ U.N.”
“You’re working for the U.N. right now.”
“No I’m not, I’m working for the NYPD, on special assignment to the U.N.”
Smiling, Loh picked up the binoculars and scanned the house and grounds.
“It sounds glamorous, doesn’t it?” he said, returning the glasses to his lap. “Too bad they won’t tell us what we’re working on.”
“Right. What the fuck is Monteverde ? Fuck-nuts mentioned it a couple of times yesterday, like it was the Vatican or the Holy Grail.” Fuck-nuts was how Davila referred to U.N. Deputy Director of Investigations, the Dutchman Ehrhard Fuchs.
“You’re very Christian-centered, Bob.”
“What the fuck are you ? I thought you were a Catholic.”
“I am, but there are other religions, other holy places.”
“Not for me,” Davila said, looking at his watch, thinking, 45 minutes. After these ten-to-two shifts he usually stopped by The Roost, a bar on Glen Cove Avenue where a waitress he knew was getting off work.
“So that means you’ll be coming to the church on Sunday,” Loh said.
“No way, Nicky, I’m sleeping in. What time at the house?
“Noon. We’re having a brunch.”
“That I won’t miss.”
Davila had stood godfather for Loh’s first son, Nicholas Robert, three years ago. His second boy, Vincent, was being baptized on Sunday. It would be the detectives’ first Sunday off in three weeks.
“What’s that?” Loh said, putting the binoculars swiftly to his eyes.
“A car,” Davila said. “Can you get the plates?”
“Hold on,” Loh said, adjusting the focus ring on the glasses. “No, they’re covered.”
Davila had pulled a small spiral notebook and pencil out of his coat pocket. By the time he put them away, the car was stopped on the circular driveway parallel to the front door.
“Two guys,” said Loh.
The lights came on in the house.
“Suspect 2 is at the door,” Loh continued. “Fuck!”
“What?”
“He shot him. Let’s go.”
“What about observe and communicate ?”
“Come on, Bobby. Let’s block their car in. Then we’ll call for backup.”
Davila was more than happy to comply. He had been about to call Fuchs. Instead he shoved his radio into his
Shielded by a stand of tall pine trees, they could not be seen from the house, although the dark night was their best cover. In an hour they would be relieved. In the passenger seat Loh held a pair of expensive digital night vision binoculars in his gloved hands. The Cantonese-American detective had just scanned the house and grounds.
“You love playing with those things,” Davila said.
“They’re very cool,” Loh replied.
“I know. Too bad there’s never anything to see.” The house was completely dark, as it had been since midnight.
“We’re committed, Bob.”
“Right, we’ll be promoted. I’m having my doubts.”
It was Davila who had been offered the assignment and who had talked their commanding officer into offering it to Loh as well, and Loh into accepting it. Now, after three weeks of stakeouts as part of an eight-person rotating team, he was sorry he had. Suspect 1 and Suspect 2 had not left the house, not even to take out the garbage. They were in there because occasionally someone would get lucky and spot one or the other of them in a window with the binoculars. Groceries were delivered, but not the mail.
“ Observe and communicate . What kind of bullshit is that?” Davila continued.
“It must be a Dutch thing,” Loh replied, “or U.N. speak.”
“We never should have got involved with the U.N.”
“You mean this assignment, or back in 1947?” Loh said.
“1947. They hate us.”
“The world loves us now, Bob. All we had to do was elect a handsome young black guy as president.”
“Fuckin’ U.N.”
“You’re working for the U.N. right now.”
“No I’m not, I’m working for the NYPD, on special assignment to the U.N.”
Smiling, Loh picked up the binoculars and scanned the house and grounds.
“It sounds glamorous, doesn’t it?” he said, returning the glasses to his lap. “Too bad they won’t tell us what we’re working on.”
“Right. What the fuck is Monteverde ? Fuck-nuts mentioned it a couple of times yesterday, like it was the Vatican or the Holy Grail.” Fuck-nuts was how Davila referred to U.N. Deputy Director of Investigations, the Dutchman Ehrhard Fuchs.
“You’re very Christian-centered, Bob.”
“What the fuck are you ? I thought you were a Catholic.”
“I am, but there are other religions, other holy places.”
“Not for me,” Davila said, looking at his watch, thinking, 45 minutes. After these ten-to-two shifts he usually stopped by The Roost, a bar on Glen Cove Avenue where a waitress he knew was getting off work.
“So that means you’ll be coming to the church on Sunday,” Loh said.
“No way, Nicky, I’m sleeping in. What time at the house?
“Noon. We’re having a brunch.”
“That I won’t miss.”
Davila had stood godfather for Loh’s first son, Nicholas Robert, three years ago. His second boy, Vincent, was being baptized on Sunday. It would be the detectives’ first Sunday off in three weeks.
“What’s that?” Loh said, putting the binoculars swiftly to his eyes.
“A car,” Davila said. “Can you get the plates?”
“Hold on,” Loh said, adjusting the focus ring on the glasses. “No, they’re covered.”
Davila had pulled a small spiral notebook and pencil out of his coat pocket. By the time he put them away, the car was stopped on the circular driveway parallel to the front door.
“Two guys,” said Loh.
The lights came on in the house.
“Suspect 2 is at the door,” Loh continued. “Fuck!”
“What?”
“He shot him. Let’s go.”
“What about observe and communicate ?”
“Come on, Bobby. Let’s block their car in. Then we’ll call for backup.”
Davila was more than happy to comply. He had been about to call Fuchs. Instead he shoved his radio into his
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