“That’s how it happens,” Will said.
Nolan had a lot of questions. Where did the profit go? How was it set aside for Seamus and for the organization’s expenses? An envelope wouldn’t be big enough to hold all that cash.
They were questions that would have to be answered by the Syndicate. All Nolan needed were the names of the BPD officers on the take. He had no desire to get sucked further into Seamus’s operation or into the Syndicate’s plans to overthrow him.
“I need those envelopes,” Nolan said.
Will shook his head and leaned over the table. “Are you gone in the head? If you steal from Seamus, you’ll be dead inside twenty-four hours.”
“Who said I’m going to steal? I don’t want the money. I just want the envelopes, or more specifically, the names on the envelopes.”
He was reasonably sure if he could get the names, the Syndicate could run them against those of known officers on the BPD payroll, courtesy of a private cyber lab that, according to Christophe, was every bit as sophisticated as the ones funded by the NSA.
“But to get the names, you need the envelopes, and they have money in them,” Bridget said.
“Not at first.”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“I don’t know about you, but I’ve been there on a Monday when Seamus is handing out cash. I’ve watched him put my money into an envelope already marked with my name,” Nolan said.
“You want to get a look at the envelopes before he fills them,” Will said.
“I don’t know yet,” Nolan said. “But it’s an option, and right now, it looks like the safest one I’ve got.”
Will shook his head. “There’s nothing safe about any of this.”
“Will’s right,” Bridget said. “You’re going to get yourself killed. And for what?”
Nolan hadn’t told them he was working on the Syndicate’s behalf. As far as they knew, he was looking to disrupt Seamus’s operation on his own as a way to protect them from the fallout of Seamus’s newfound interest in the historical practice of robbing Boston’s banks. He was obviously going to have to throw them a bone.
“I think Seamus is going to pull a bank job — a big one. If that happens, you and Will will be implicated if Seamus is caught.”
“What does the bank job have to do with dirty cops?” Bridget asked.
“The dirty cops are providing Seamus cover. If we remove his cover, he might bail on the job, and if those cops rat him out to save themselves, he might even bail on the whole operation.”
“That’s not exactly good news for me,” Will said. “Given the whole rent and food thing.”
Nolan hesitated. “What if I told you the whole organization would survive, but under new leadership, better leadership? And that you’d have a place in that organization, a place that paid better and made you feel like less of an asshole?”
“Who said I didn’t like feeling like an asshole?” Will said.
Nolan sighed and shook his head. “The point is, Seamus would be out of the picture.” Nolan looked at Bridget. “Everyone would have a clean slate, and a clean slate means — ”
“No more debt to Seamus,” she finished.
He nodded. “No more debt to Seamus.
She sighed. “This is risky, Nolan.” He wanted to pause the recording of his life and replay her saying his name, saying it without coldness after four long years. “I don’t understand why you’re doing this.”
He considered his words, wanting to come up with an explanation that wouldn’t sound melodramatic, that would satisfy her without having to tell her everything the Syndicate had told him.
“I care about what happens to you and Will, and I got wind of something that could hurt you both. I’m in a position to head it off. It’s that simple.”
She looked down at the table. “And I’m guessing there’s nothing we can say to get you to call the whole thing off? Go back to your job and let it play out?”
“Is that what you would do if the roles were reversed?” Nolan asked. “If Will and I were in trouble and you had a chance to help?”