He’d been looking at Sara, not him.
“What is it?” she said.
“Nothing. Just another fan of your ass.”
“Another?”
She was warming up again. She couldn’t stay mad at him for long.
“Never mind that,” he said. “The way these doors are numbered it should be coming up on the left.”
They were at the other side of the building from the elevator. A corridor lead off the main hallway, and the room number told him it was off this corridor. He stopped short of the junction, then glanced quickly around it and back. The police guard stood next to the door looking bored. It was exactly the way he’d pictured it in his mind, except the cop had no chair to sit on, something he looked like he needed. He turned to Sara and spoke quietly.
“You know what to do?”
“Please. I’ve been doing this shit my whole life.”
Sara walked around the corner, humming gently to herself.
He’d give her twenty or thirty seconds to get the man’s interest, then he’d show up asking to see Porter. That would be enough time for her to work her magic. It was all the time it had taken her to get him on the hook, and he’d never thought of himself as an easy mark. The timing of his arrival would be annoying for the cop; he’d want to get rid of him as quickly as possible in case Sara wandered off. It was a thin plan and he knew it, but he had nothing else.
After what he thought was long enough, he walked around the corner with his head down, toward the floor. He hoped it would look like he was preoccupied with something, and not a threat. It also allowed him to hide some of his height. He was almost at the cop when he glanced up and saw the man looking at him. His face wasn’t hostile, just irritated. Blake caught a glimpse of Sara’s face; she was smiling and her eyes shone and twinkled. She was so good he almost got sucked in himself.
“Can’t let you in if you’re not on the list,” the cop said.
His voice was bored, almost automated, like he’d been telling people the same thing for days. Perhaps people like Mikey, coming to have a look at one of the famous gunmen. He noticed the man’s name badge: GARRET.
“I’m on the list. Raymond Jensen.”
Garret sighed and pulled a notepad out his pocket. It was folded over ready for use with a thick rubber band holding the bent over pages flat. Blake could see the list of names from where he was standing. There were about a dozen and he saw the one he needed upside-down at the bottom. It was slightly different from what he was expecting.
“What did you say your name was?”
“Raymond Jenkin,” Blake said, correcting himself. He must have misread the computer screen the nurse had pulled up. Next to him, Sara scratched herself lightly between her breasts. Her false nails made this sound like ice being scraped off a windshield.
“Go on in,” the cop said.
Blake wanted to smile; Sara was the best. He opened the door and closed it quietly behind him. The room was small, with a single bed and no window. It looked like it had started life as a storage area, before being used for dangerous criminals. A chair sat in the corner facing the door. He reached down and touched the seat with the back of his hand. There was a trace of heat still on it. The detective had sat here. If he’d left to use the john, he might be back at any moment. He looked at Porter and he appeared to be asleep. He walked around the end of the bed so he could look at Porter’s face. Saliva ran out the corner of his mouth and he could see part of his tongue. It didn’t look like a normal sleeping face, but there probably was no normal when you’ve been in a coma.
Blake looked down to where the other man’s feet tented up the bed sheet and pinched the big toe, hard. There was a grunt and a fast intake of breath, then Porter’s eyes opened. First by a small amount then, seeing Blake standing there, by the full amount. He blinked several times, then frowned. Porter didn’t seem to be with it. The look on his friend’s face was vague at best, with no obvious sign of recognition. Blake knew his disguise wasn’t that good; Porter’s noodle was cooked. This whole thing had been a waste of time. Cabot was kidding himself if he thought he’d get anything useful out of Porter. There’d be no formal statement given today; no identities of gang members revealed. He’d worried for nothing. Perhaps in time, Porter would do more than drool, but he wasn’t there yet.
An unpleasant thought rolled through his mind.
This is a trap.
Now the thought had entered his head, he couldn’t shake it. Why else would Cabot publicly announce Porter’s recovery when it was plainly not true? Controlling access to the room would limit a leak over the true condition of the patient. Porter was bait, and he’d taken it. He couldn’t believe he’d been so stupid. It explained something else too: he’d seen cops all around the hospital but only one of them was directly guarding Porter. Two if you included the detective. The rest had been goofing around, or in the lobby with the TV crews. Cabot had let them get this far; the further in he was, the harder it would be to get out.
He walked up the side of the bed and Porter turned to look at him. There was a shaky vibration to his head movements, as though he were in the back of a truck driving along a dirt track. Blake had seen this before with his grandmother. It wasn’t due to muscle weakness in the neck, it was the sign of a stroke, or some other brain injury.
“Hey buddy, how you doin’?”
Porter stared at him blankly, head twitching.
A screen on the wall displayed his vital signs. The pulse rate increased as Blake looked at it. Porter’s whole body shook now, his teeth clenched. It lasted only seconds, but it seemed to stretch out for several minutes. Finally, Porter seemed to relax and a light returned to his eyes that might have been recognition.
“Brake?”
Blake smiled. Close enough.
“I’m here, Sam. Can you move? We’ve come to bust you out, man.”
“They said you’d come, but I didn’t believe them.”
Porter’s voice was slurred, like he’d been drinking.
“Who did?”
“Cops.”
Adrenaline slammed into his body. He glanced at the door, the only way in or out of the room. If the cops knew he’d arrived, it would be a simple task to contain him. He had a small amount of ammunition and a limited field of fire. They might have Sara already.
“You gotta go.”
Blake looked at his friend. He’d known him for 20 years.
“I can’t leave you like this.”
Porter closed his eyes. “I don’t want you to.”
There’d be no walking Porter out the front door on top of a gurney. No squeal of tires as the three of them tore out the parking lot to freedom. Porter was done and he knew it. Blake reached into his pocket and pulled out his knife. The blade had a lock that clicked into place, but he knew how to open it to prevent the click. He looked at his friend’s chest as it rose and fell, trying to picture where his heart was, as he lined up the blade. He thrust sharply down and blood surged up over the knife, coating his hands. A siren wailed from the machine on the wall. The traces were flat and red, the pulse 0.
The door slammed open behind him and the cop stood there, his mouth hanging open. Blake swung around to face him and blood ran off his hand onto the floor. Time seemed to slow down. The cop went for the gun on his belt. A leather strap held it in place and he struggled to free it. By the time he pulled the piece free, Blake was halfway across the floor with the knife in his hand. A bullet flew past his head, then another. He dropped to his knees and slid across the floor and thrust the blade up under the cop’s chin, into his brain.
The cop crashed onto the floor next to him.
Blake got to his feet. People were shouting and screaming down the hall. The cat was out the bag, things were about to get interesting. Sara walked into the room and had to step over the pool of blood spreading out around the cop’s head.
“Jesus, Aidan. I just spent five minutes talking to that guy.”
Blake wiped his kni
fe clean on the bed sheet and returned it to his pocket.
“You talked to him, he talked to your tits.”
“Believe me, I’m used to it.”
“No doubt.”
“You’re a jackass, have I ever told you that?”
“All the time. Listen, get his radio, we need to get the hell out of here. This whole thing was a setup from the get-go and I’m pretty sure everyone heard those gunshots.”
He noticed the cop’s 9mm under the chair in the corner and he picked it up. You can never have too many guns. Sound erupted from the radio.
Shots fired! Shots fired!
Fourth floor, northeast corner.
Garret, report. What’s your status?
She passed him the radio and they made for the door.
“Did Sam feel anything?”
“Not a thing. Come on, we gotta book.”
THIRTY
Blake glanced into the hallway, bracing himself for another shot. It was empty, but it wouldn’t be for long. He walked out the room and set off at a fast pace. After a short distance, he stopped and doubled back to the door to wipe down the handle. He had to be careful, he couldn’t risk leaving anything behind. He would’ve worn gloves if his disguise didn’t prevent it. He ran back to where Sara stood waiting. He was off-plan; that stupid cop and his gun, he’d screwed everything up. This should’ve been a simple in-out operation. He cursed himself for not injecting an air bubble into the IV. An air bubble would’ve allowed them to escape before Porter got the bad news. It would’ve looked like he’d died of natural causes, it would’ve been perfect.
Instead, he’d sprung Cabot’s trap like an idiot.
Blake paused at the corner of the hallway and the main corridor to look back at Sara. She’d re-buttoned her shirt and pinned her hair up in a ponytail. Her face was serious, her mouth a grim straight line. She had her right arm behind her, ready to draw the pistol tucked into the back of her pants. She was hardcore, but this wasn’t her scene, it was his. He nodded, silently asking if she was ready. She nodded and he stepped out into the main corridor.
“ON YOUR KNEES!”
It was the young detective. He had his gun drawn in a two handed grip, feet shoulder width apart. Blake put his hands up. The other cop had missed, but this guy wouldn’t. He knew the type, down the gun range once or twice a week.
“I’m a doctor!”
“GET DOWN!”
The detective was on his own, but backup would arrive soon. Blake got on his knees, his eyes fixed on the cop. The floor was hard and bending his legs caused pain to soar from the stab wound.
“Interlace your fingers behind your head.”
The cop was closer now, less than twenty feet. His voice was raised, but he wasn’t shouting now. He was relaxing, in control. It was exactly what Blake wanted.
“Listen,” Blake said. “It was that woman I was with. She went crazy, she has a gun. She killed the policeman and I think she’s going to kill the patient. You have to hurry.”
He saw the detective’s face change. A frown flickering across his smooth forehead; a quick glance to the left. Part of him was believing it. Interesting. They must know a woman is involved, it was the only thing that made sense. The moment passed.
“Nice try, asshole, but I can hear the alarm from the heart monitor. The patient’s dead. Now lie on the motherfucking floor and face the wall.”
Blake smiled and glanced over the cop’s shoulder.
“You know, she really does have a gun. At this range, I’ll be picking your brain out my teeth for the next week. Now lower your weapon.”
“Face down on the floor, now!”
Sara pressed her gun into the back of the detective’s head.
“Can I shoot this pig yet, hon?”
The detective closed his eyes and sighed, his gun lowering to the ground. When his eyes opened again, Blake was standing in front of him with a big smile. He reached out and took the cop’s pistol, his eyes locked on the younger man’s face.
“Don’t worry, my friend. We’re not going to kill you, not if you do what you’re told. Can you do that for me?”
“Why should I believe you? You killed Garret.”
Blake nodded. “He gave me no choice. It was him or me. I trust you’re smarter than that. I’ve done what I came here to do, all I want is to leave. You let that happen, I got no problem with you. Okay?”
“Okay.”
Above them, a speaker crackled into life.
Code silver, code silver. Clear all public spaces. This is not a drill.
Blake smiled as he pocketed the cop’s gun. Code silver, eh.
“You got handcuffs?”
“I only have zip ties. Right jacket pocket.”
Blake reached into the man’s pocket and pulled them out. Two thick plastic ties, overlapping, already formed into a circle ready for use.
“Stand against the wall and put your hands behind your back. Press your forehead right up against the concrete.”
The detective glanced at Sara, then did as he was told. If he was looking for some sign of weakness in her eyes, he didn’t find it. She held her gun against his head as Blake pulled both ties tight around his wrists. He knew it was possible to break out of plastic ties using the leverage of your arms, so he fastened them below the man’s watch where the leverage was weakest and where the veins were more exposed. When he was done, he spun the man back around so that he could see his face.
“What’s your name?”
“Barnes.”
The detective’s face was tight, his eyes flicking between them. It was the face of someone who expected to die. Blake didn’t want that. Men that thought that were liable to be unpredictable and make sudden, desperate moves. Moves that exposed themselves and everyone else to danger, because they felt they had nothing to lose.
“Here’s how it is, Barnes. If I intended to kill you, you’d be dead already. It would’ve been quicker than tying you up and having this conversation. Agreed?”
Barnes nodded, his eyes wide.
“All right,” Blake said. “Let’s take a walk.”
He grabbed the detective by his elbow and dragged him along the corridor toward the stairs. Barnes moved easily alongside him. If he resisted, or moved too slowly, he risked falling face-first onto the floor with no way to break his fall. He glanced at the detective.
“You a college boy, Barnes?”
“Yeah.”
“What’s it like working for a moron?”
“Why don’t you ask her,” Barnes said.
Blake smiled. “I like your style, kid.”
Up ahead he saw the doors to the stairs.
He thought about the police. They’d set a perimeter around the building and block exits. That would eat into their manpower and cost them time. Even if there were a lot of them, they’d be thinly spread securing a building this size. If they went floor by floor, room by room, it could potentially take them hours to find him; and that assumed they didn’t go into the ventilation or some other crawl space. The police he’d seen so far were standard cops, what Cabot needed was a SWAT team. Since this whole thing was a trap, he had to assume the lieutenant had people lined up. They’d already be briefed and it would just be a matter of following the agreed plan. Getting into position.
He pushed the detective against the wall and waited until Sara covered him with her gun. Blake drew the Glock with his right hand, and standing to one side of the doorway, used his left to push open the stair door. He ducked his head around the jamb, then pulled it back. All clear. He heard boots coming up the stairs. A couple of guys, moving fast. The closer mechanism pulled the door softly closed again.
“You’re wasting your time,” Barnes said. “This place is in lockdown. Let me take you in, it’s your only chance. They’ll kill you for what you did to Garret.”
Blake turned to the cop as if noticing him for the first time.
“Here’s what I need you to do. She’s going to hold the radio up to your
mouth and you’re going to say that you chased me down to the third floor and need backup. Make it believable and you live, otherwise you die. No special codes, just the message. We clear?”
“Yeah.”
He pressed the Glock against the detective’s forehead.
“One more thing. Do not mention my friend here. Not a word. You talk about her, or say they, or imply plural in some other way and I’ll spray your brains against the wall before your mouth stops moving. You chased a single man, that’s all.”
Barnes swallowed. “Okay.”
Sara held up the radio and keyed the mike. She nodded.
“All units, this is Barnes. Suspect now on the third floor, heading east. I’m in pursuit and in need of assistance. Suspect is heavily armed and extremely dangerous, approach with caution. I say again, third floor. Barnes out.”
Blake smiled. “That wasn’t half bad.”
He put the gun in his pocket, then pulled the detective away from the wall and forced him onto the floor. The plastic ties prevented the younger man from fighting back. Blake stood over him and reached back into the white coat.
“Please, I did what you asked. I’ve got a kid.”
“I’ve not forgotten,” Blake said.
He hit Barnes across the temple with the rubber bone. It was a light blow but the detective dropped to the floor and lay motionless, his arms twisted awkwardly behind his back, his face pitched forward onto the floor. Blake went through the doors into the stairwell and looked down. A lot more boots coming up. He caught glimpses as they made turns at the corners; he saw vests, assault rifles, and shotguns. Cabot had a tactical team in place after all. They were pouring up the stairs and out onto the third floor. Fifteen, twenty guys easy. He glanced at Sara. Her mouth was open and she was breathing heavily. Blake had never seen her nervous before, but this wasn’t exactly how he’d wanted the day to go himself. He leaned in, and they kissed. It was fierce, their lips smashed together like two cars in a head-on collision.
Night Passenger Page 26
