Officer Greenberg, one meaty fist aimed at a reporter who’d managed to break through his line, panted, “An explosion of some kind in the club. Not a big one, I don’t think, but there’s lots of thick black smoke, which helped feed the panic. You know what happens when folks try to stampede out of a club like this. So far I’ve counted maybe a dozen injured. Almost everyone is out, but there’s still the fire to contend with and making sure no one is trapped in all that poisonous smoke. Hey, get that guy with the microphone back! Sorry. It’s taking a while, Agent Savich, but we’re getting things under control. I know it still looks like pandemonium but you should have been here ten minutes ago. Stay back!” he yelled at three reporters who’d seen Savich and were trying to get to him.
“Blowhard sharks,” he added when their flashes went off. “You’ll probably be on the news, Agent Savich, everyone knows who you are. You need to talk to Detective Millbray. He’s in charge along with Detective Fortnoy. I’ll get you to him, otherwise you’ll never find him.”
“Savich!”
Agent James Quinlan ran to him, grabbed his arm. He was filthy, his suit jacket ripped, and he had a small cut over his eye. “Glad you got here so fast. I shouldn’t have scared you. It’s not as bad as I first thought. More smoke than anything else. But that explosion was so bloody loud, it shook the whole building. Ms. Lilly’s all right, frothing at the mouth about the club, as you can imagine, and about her white dress. Fuzz the bartender is okay, just inhaled some smoke. He’s helping get people out. An ambulance took Marvin the bouncer to the hospital. I think he went down in the panic to get out of the club. The paramedic said he’ll be all right.”
“Where’s Ms. Lilly?”
“I saw her and a fireman hauling out boxes, probably her records and accounts. There she is, over by the firemen, telling them what to do.” He grinned, his teeth very white against his smoke-blackened face.
Savich almost didn’t recognize Ms. Lilly. Her beautiful white satin dress was ruined. But she was yelling, and that was a huge relief. He waved to Officer Greenberg. “Hold on a moment, I’ll be right back.”
Savich grabbed Sherlock’s hands and pulled her close so she could hear him. “I want you to hang back, keep your eyes open for Moses and Claudia. Maybe we’re being paranoid, but you know what I think about coincidences. I’m going to ask the detective to have three officers surround you, just in case. If you spot Moses and Claudia, yell at the top of your lungs, okay?”
She nodded. At least she wouldn’t have to worry about being trampled trying to get through the throngs of people. He left her leaning against the driver’s side of the Porsche, her SIG held loosely at her side, looking through the jostling crowd. She watched Officer Greenberg lead Dillon and James Quinlan through the hordes of clubgoers, cops, and firemen to where a bull of a man was closely studying a device in his big hands, his back to the chaos. He was wearing a long wool coat, one of those big Russian fur caps on his head.
Savich tapped Detective Millbray on the shoulder. He turned quickly, started when he saw Savich, then studied his shield. He looked faintly puzzled, then, “Hey, I know who you are, Agent Savich. Ben Raven’s worked with you, right? He’s around here somewhere. That girlfriend of his, the reporter with the Post, she’s been bugging everybody. At least she got some blood on her, pulled somebody out from under a chair. I’m Ralph Millbray.”
Savich introduced Detective Millbray to Agent James Quinlan. “Quinlan isn’t just an FBI agent. He performs here one night a week on his saxophone.”
“That’s some combination, Agent Quinlan.”
Savich said immediately, “Please send a few of your guys over to guard that redheaded woman standing against the Porsche at the curb. It’s critical. I’ll explain later.”
Quinlan and Savich watched Detective Millbray quickly assemble four cops and dispatch them to surround Sherlock.
“Thank you, Detective. What have you got?”
Detective Millbray handed Savich the device. “Would you take a gander at this harmless-looking little gadget. It’s a piece of a cell phone, used as a homemade detonator. It’s a pretty popular item in the Middle East, as you probably know. Turns out the blast didn’t cause all that much damage, but it created enough of a rumble and spewed out enough thick black smoke to scare the crap out of everybody. Whoever went to the trouble and tossed the bomb could have put a much bigger charge on it. It was just enough to set off the mad stampede. It almost looks like some kind of sick stunt, like someone wanted to close the place down.”