A smile touched Christophe’s face. “I can’t say I’m surprised.”
“So what now?” Nolan asked.
“Now we wait,” Christophe said. “I’m not going to tip our people at BPD about the date of the theft right away. We don’t want O’Brien to see more activity at the bank and think he’s been made. We’ll wait a couple days, observe the fallout when he discovers his men at BPD are compromised, leak word that they’re already singing about his operation, and see if he runs.”
“And if he doesn’t?” Nolan asked.
“We’ll pick up his men during the robbery, get them to talk as well.”
“What about Will?”
“His cooperation will be noted in the event of his arrest. They’ll make it look good in front of the other men,” Christophe said.
Nolan nodded. Nothing shortened your life span as fast as getting pinched on a job and having them cuff your buddies while they led you away like an old friend.
“This all feels…”
“Uncertain?” Christophe asked.
“That’s one word for it.”
“There’s no way around that.” Christophe hesitated. “We’ve retaken several territories since Donati’s assassination. Each one presented a different set of challenges. None of them have been reclaimed as originally planned.”
“So this is doomed to fail,” Nolan said.
“Not necessarily.”
“There is one option we haven’t discussed,” Nolan said. “Why not use the information on the hard drive to remove Seamus now?”
“The FBI won’t tip their hand until they know they have a case. It will take weeks, maybe months for their analysts to comb the data. Their investigators will have to call witnesses for interviews, and their prosecutors won’t proceed until they know they have a winnable case.” Christophe paused. “BPD’s Internal Affairs division, on the other hand, will move much more quickly. They’ll remove the compromised officers first and ask questions later.”
“I guess you’re right,” Nolan said. “No police force wants to risk bad press by subverting justice to protect their own, especially right now.”
“Precisely.”
“How long before the compromised agents are picked up?” Nolan asked.
“It’s imminent.” Christophe hesitated, like he was choosing his next words carefully. “You should be careful. And you should tell Will and Miss Monaghan to batten down the hatches.”
21
Bridget knew as soon as she walked into the Cat that the shit had hit the fan. It was Monday night and the front room was empty. Connor shot her a look from behind the bar that was probably meant to be a warning, but Bridget kept walking.
She’d known this was coming, had been warned by Nolan at some Cuban restaurant in Roxbury the night before when she’d met with him and Will. What she did now — how she behaved — could save her or kill her. She had to act normal, like she didn’t know what was going on, like it was any other payday and she was just coming for her money.
She heard Seamus shouting when she got closer to the back room, a litany of curse words making their way to Bridget from the other side of the curtain.
“You don’t want to go in there right now,” Mick said when she reached the doorway. He looked rattled, his face flushed, a sheen of sweat on his forehead.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
He opened his mouth to reply and was interrupted by Seamus’s bark. “Is that Monaghan?”
Mick pulled the curtain back far enough to be heard in the room. “Yes, boss.”
“Send her in.”
Mick looked at her with something like an apology and stepped aside, holding the curtain so she could pass through. She’d barely made it to the other side when Seamus came around the table, looming over her, his face so red she thought he might be on the verge of a heart attack.