Exit Strategy Part 40

I stayed against the wall and waited for him to step inside. Then I'd knock him down and get the h.e.l.l out- The shadow crossed the open doorway. Through the crack behind it, I saw a young man, maybe twenty, dressed in ill-fitting clothes that screamed charity wear. He cast a nervous glance through my doorway, then scuttled down the hall.

It could could be an undercover officer, but if so, he should have stepped into this room to conduct a thorough search. Through the crack, I watched the young man continuing down the hall, peering into some rooms, ignoring others, haphazardly searching. Not a cop but a junkie spooked by the police presence outside and looking for a safe, quiet hole to shoot up. be an undercover officer, but if so, he should have stepped into this room to conduct a thorough search. Through the crack, I watched the young man continuing down the hall, peering into some rooms, ignoring others, haphazardly searching. Not a cop but a junkie spooked by the police presence outside and looking for a safe, quiet hole to shoot up.

All this for a G.o.dd.a.m.ned junkie who probably wouldn't have even noticed me standing at the window with a rifle?

I swallowed a burst of rage, reminded myself I had a bigger concern. When the figure reached the end of the hall, I sprinted for the window, looked down...and saw an empty table.

I whirled and grabbed my rifle. Then I spun back to the window, my gaze going to the alley. It was empty. From here, I could see right to the end. I swung back, visually retracing the path from the alley to Jack's chair, but saw no sign of him. A server was at his table now, holding his half-empty beer gla.s.s as she wiped his table.

Heart thudding, I scanned the crowd for Evelyn's pink hat, and found it a few storefronts away. I slowed my survey of the crowd, searching for Jack's light brown wig, bearded face and leather jacket. But people were moving off the road and crowding onto the sidewalk as the distant sound of music announced the beginning of the parade.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Evelyn glance up. I waved my arms. She lifted her hand to s.h.i.+eld her eyes. I grabbed my gun-cleaning cloth-the lightest-colored item I had. I waved it, then gestured toward Jack's table. When she saw that empty chair, she stiffened, and I knew she understood. She jabbed her thumb down, then pointed at me and jabbed down again. Come down. Come down.

I hesitated. I could see better from up here-then I understood: if she'd looked up here for me, Jack was likely doing the same. He'd check for my shape at the window before he got near Wilkes. If I wasn't ready, better that he shouldn't see me at all and know something was wrong.

With one eye and my gun aimed at the door, and both ears on full alert, I pulled the tarp off my gear and stuffed it into my rucksack. Then I unloaded the rifle and slung it across my shoulder-dismantling it was too loud and too time-consuming.

I hurried to the door and peered out. All clear. A pause, a deep breath, another check, then I sprinted down the hall. Keeping an eye out for the junkie and anyone else, I retraced my steps down to the first floor and out the back exit.

I never should have left that window. I never never should have left that window. should have left that window.

Even as I beat myself over the head with the chant, I knew if I hadn't left my post, I could have been seen. There had been no way to know it was only a junkie until it had been too late. What I should should have done was arranged an emergency alert plan, told them that if I had to leave my window I'd stick a piece of paper on the pane, so when Jack looked up he'd know he was unprotected. have done was arranged an emergency alert plan, told them that if I had to leave my window I'd stick a piece of paper on the pane, so when Jack looked up he'd know he was unprotected.

From the door, I headed into the back alley. As I ran, I stripped out of my gear and haphazardly wiped the camouflage makeup from my face, then stashed my rucksack and rifle behind a trash bin and kept going.

As I stood at the junction of the sidewalk and alley, a float rolled past. The men's swim team, clad in Speedos and goose b.u.mps, enduring the cold as they basked in the hoots and catcalls of the students and alumni lining the street. My face had to still be streaked with paint, but I attracted no more than a casual glance. If there were near-naked young men on a float, then a face-painted alumna on the sidelines didn't look out of place.

I strained to see over the crowd and, for once in my life, wished for high heels or platform shoes, anything that would help me spot that pink hat bobbing along in the mob. When Jack had vetoed the use of cell phones, I should have insisted we have something for emergency communication.

"I hate backup plans," Evelyn had said. "If you have one, it makes it acceptable to screw up the original."

Maybe that was true, but under these circ.u.mstances, a fallback plan wasn't an escape hatch, it was a safety net.

The parade was in full swing, and I doubted it would last much longer. Was I too late? Not unless a man could drop dead on the sidewalk and no one noticed. Maybe the Feds were right and there would be no hit at the parade. Or maybe Wilkes hadn't seen Jack. Or maybe he had, and decided to strike elsewhere. At least Jack was armed and knew what was happening. I just had to keep- There! Across the street. A bearded profile over a leather jacket moving behind a cl.u.s.ter of drunken alumni. Now how was I going to get across the road? In the middle of the parade? Run like h.e.l.l...that was the only way, as much as I hated doing anything that might call attention to myself. I elbowed my way to the front of the crowd, with murmurs about "someone holding my place" and plenty of apologies.

Maybe the streaks of face paint made it easier, but I managed to get through the blockade. Perched on the curb, I rolled on the b.a.l.l.s of my feet, counting the seconds until the float was just far enough past- I darted out between the photography club float and the woodwind band. I dashed for the curb. As I neared it, I caught the stare of a man about twenty feet away. An older man, late fifties, just over six feet tall, big-boned. In that second I knew I'd accomplished what Jack had failed to do: attract the attention of a killer.

My heart slammed against my rib cage. Wilkes. Right there.

I had to make him chase me.

As the thought formed, my heart rate swung into rapid acceleration. Lure him away. Make sure he was the one. Let him think he was in control, the great hunter stalking his innocent prey. And then...

I grinned.

I jumped onto the curb and started making my way to the rear of the crowd. Would he follow? As Evelyn had pointed out, Wilkes had done my demographic. But if it was an easy kill? If I made it an easy kill? A seeming guarantee of success?

I had to make this easy. Too easy to resist.

As much as I longed to scan the crowd for his face, to see his reaction, I didn't dare. I walked fast, eyes straight ahead, chin high, striding toward some imaginary rendezvous point.

When I neared the point where he'd been standing, the urge to look into the crowd was so strong I had to force myself to glance the other way. As I did, I caught my reflection in the window of a storefront. Behind me was the crowd. After a moment's searching, I saw that face again. Watching me. Curious. Considering...

I suppressed a s.h.i.+ver of excitement, shoved my hand into my pocket and slid it around my gun. Then I wheeled left and headed into the alley.

FORTY-FOUR.

When we'd first arrived that afternoon, Jack and Evelyn had done a full reconnaissance sweep, checking every street, alley and nook. With my extra setup work, I'd only had time to map out two escape routes from my building perch. That should have been enough. I just needed to know how to evacuate my perch in an emergency. They were supposed to be the ones luring Wilkes into an alley.

Those routes I'd investigated were across the road, and my chances of getting Wilkes there were slim to none. So I had to do something I hated-blindly walk into the first suitable-looking alley I crossed.

When I stepped into that alley, I looked toward the first intersection and thought of nothing but getting there...as fast as possible. For that thirty-second trip, Wilkes could come around the corner and shoot me from behind, and there wasn't a d.a.m.n thing I could do about it.

I could argue that a gun hit made no sense. It was too risky this close to the sidewalk. Shooting someone in the back was a coward's ploy, and unlikely to impress the Feds. Plus, considering he'd invited the police, he wouldn't take the chance of walking around carrying a gun.

Dirt crunched as my pursuer rounded the corner behind me. I kept my pace fast but steady. Speed up and he'd know I heard him. Just a few more steps...

I hit the first corner and took a split second to look each way, searching for the nearest doorway or second corner, getting Wilkes far enough from the crowded street. The alley intersected with another about fifteen feet to my right, so I turned that way. I crossed the first half of the distance in a few long strides. From the occasional whisper of his shoes on the dirt, I knew my pursuer was still behind me. Yet he seemed to be moving slowly-slower than I expected. Being cautious? Or wasn't it Wilkes?

I was convinced it was him, but I could leave no chance I would, in my eagerness, shoot an innocent man.

The man I'd seen could have been a random pervert or mugger, more than willing to follow a woman into an alley. It might not be the man I'd spotted, but Jack or Evelyn or a cop seeing me turn into the alley and following. Or it could be some drunken student who'd slipped from the parade for a p.i.s.s break. And if it was the latter, then I sincerely apologized for what I was about to do, and hoped his full bladder could withstand it.

When I reached that next junction, I'd round the corner, then get up against the wall and wait, gun drawn. Wilkes would turn- I hit the corner...and found no corner to turn. What I'd thought was the junction of another alley was a doorway-with a recess so shallow I couldn't even duck in and hide. As I slowed, my gaze swung forward again, looking for a second option. Ahead, less than a dozen feet away, a real alley intersection, one I could see from this angle wasn't another dead end. But Wilkes was too close. He'd never let me get that far. My only option was to break into a run and escape.

Run and he'd know he'd been made. And, like any good hitman, he would back off.

Run and I'd lose him.

I stared at that intersection and knew I should do it. Escape and try again later. But everything in me rebelled at the very thought.

Run like a coward? Like a helpless thirteen-year-old girl? Run and let him kill someone else, sacrifice another life for mine? Never Never again. again.

I saw my chances, knew they were far from perfect, maybe even far from good, and I made the only choice I could.

I slowed down.

Gravel crunched behind me. Right behind me. I spun and saw Wilkes closer than I'd expected. Saw the wire raised above my head. My gaze met his and, for a split second, I saw his surprise and dismay.

He twisted behind me again, and the wire swung down. For one second, as the metal flashed, something inside me went wild with fear, seeing not a wire, but a knife. Then my hand tightened around the Glock and the feel of it jolted me back. I started to raise the gun, but my brain screamed "too late," and I let it drop inside my pocket. Both my hands shot up, palms up, just in time to block my throat as the wire came down.

The wire sliced into my palms and I let out a soft gasp. Instinctively I pushed it away, but it only bit in harder. For a second, we just stood locked in indecision, our hands occupied, unable to let go. My first urge was to kick backward. But I stopped myself before my foot left the ground. Kick and I'd lose my balance. Lose my balance, and I risked letting go of this wire, and the second I did that, it was through my windpipe and into my carotid artery.

I unclenched my right, releasing a stream of blood down the inside of my wrist. With the slick blood, my hand slid free. Then the wire jerked up. If I wasn't going to lose my balance, he'd do it for me. I swung my hand forward, then drove my elbow into his gut.

My elbow made contact just as he kneed me again and my legs gave way. I let them give way. Let myself crumple forward onto the wire just as he stumbled back from my blow, grunting, as if I'd hit him harder than I thought. He released the wire and I pitched face-first to the ground.

"Hey!"

The shout rang down the alley, followed by the pound of running footsteps. Young male voices. Multiple running footsteps. I ignored them and flipped over, my hand going to my pocket for my gun. As I rolled, I saw Wilkes poised over me. But he'd frozen in place, head up, hearing the approaching voices and footsteps. Our eyes met. His filled with rage and frustration and, again, I drank it in.

He wheeled. I pulled out the gun. Swung it toward his fleeing back. Smiled as I watched him trying to run, but faltering, as if still feeling that blow to the gut. Such an easy target. I allowed myself one delicious shudder. Then, finger on the trigger- A pair of legs jumped into the way, running out from a side alley.

"Whoa!"

My rescuer backpedaled, but stayed in my line of fire...and Wilkes disappeared around the next corner. I flew to my feet, but hands grabbed me.

"He's gone. It's okay. He's gone."

I turned, snarling, ready to shove this kid out of my way and tear off after Wilkes. But then I saw the boy's face, eyes wide with terror-innocent-and it was like a bucket of ice water. I'd missed my opportunity. Now I was on the ground, a gun in my hands, blood streaming down my arms, surrounded by a bunch of college kids who thought they'd just saved me from a killer.

I had to play it out, get away safely, then go after Wilkes. Find him again and catch him before he killed someone else in my place.

I looked at my gun and widened my eyes, as if surprised to see it there. Then I backed against the wall, hands going around my knees, feigning shock while making sure all my blood went on my pants, not on the ground where a crime scene team could find it.

One of the kids dropped down beside me, his hand going to my shoulder.

"You're safe now," he said. "We called the cops. They'll be here in a minute."

My head shot up, and I didn't need to fake my reaction. My brain scrambled for an excuse and latched onto the first one it came across.

"No," I said, pus.h.i.+ng to my feet. "No-no cops. I'm-My dealer. I was here meeting my dealer. I'm carrying. I can't-"

"It's okay," the boy said. "They won't care about that."

"Oh, G.o.d, I can't-I have to go. If my husband finds out-"

They tried to calm me, but then someone called from the end of the alley, asking whether we needed an ambulance, and in the ensuing confusion, I shoved the garrote wire in my pocket, gave a last scan for evidence, pushed to my feet and bolted.

I followed the same path Wilkes had taken, praying he'd hit a dead end or run into a crowd and would circle back for another escape route. I'd just rounded the first corner when I heard feet on gravel. Behind me? In front of me? I couldn't tell and was about to look when a pebble pinged off the top of my head.

I glanced up to see Jack on the roof two stories above. He motioned to the nearest fire escape. I shook my head and kept going, on the trail, after Wilkes, so absorbed in my task that I saw Jack swing down the fire escape, moving fast, but didn't comprehend the meaning of it until I was pa.s.sing the bottom, and he grabbed my arm.

Fingers so tight they'd leave bruises, he hauled me up the ladder. Too confused to struggle, I followed as best I could, my feet fumbling for purchase on the rungs, barely touching one before being dragged up to the next. At the top, he yanked me over the edge.

I tripped and sprawled onto the gravel.

"Wilkes," I managed gasping for breath. "I-"

"I saw."

"I need to get-"

"He's gone."

"But I can find him," I said, still gasping, my pounding heart not letting me relax enough to catch my breath. "Before he takes someone else, before he escapes."

I started to rise.

Jack planted his foot on my stomach, then leaned over. "He's gone. I followed. Lost him. Think I'd be here otherwise?"

"You don't understand, I need-"

"Too f.u.c.king bad, Nadia. This isn't about what you need."

The fury in his eyes made the hair on the back of my neck rise and I almost backed down. But then I imagined Wilkes below, running, escaping. Jack was wrong. He didn't understand, and I wasn't going to sit here and take this, even from him.

I pretended to relax, as if giving in, then shoved Jack's foot off. I started scrambling up, then saw something metallic flash in front of my face and looked up to see a gun pointing down.

Had there been anything in my bladder, I think I would have lost it, not because I was staring down the barrel of a gun, but because of who I saw on the other end. Jack. Pointing a gun in my face. For one horrible moment, I thought I'd been tricked, that Jack was involved, that he was working with Wilkes- "It's too late, Nadia. Listen."

"I've listened to you enough-"

"No," he growled. "Not me. Listen Listen."

The distant sound of voices carried up to the roof, but I couldn't make out any words. Then the distinct sound of a cop shouting orders.

"You staying?" he said.

I nodded.

He lowered the gun.

I swallowed. Got my thoughts under control. "I'm sorry. About leaving my post. Believe me, Jack, I didn't try going after him myself and leave you out there unprotected."

"I know. Evelyn told me."

"I heard someone on my floor and I had to leave the window, then when I got back, you were gone and Evelyn wanted me to come down-"

"Doesn't matter. Had to change plans. That's fine. But this-" He jerked his chin toward the alley. "Leading him in? No backup-?"