“Listen to her, Mark.” Jim came up alongside Jessie. He was empty-handed, but the cops racing around the side of the diner were another matter. The camera dangled, banging into the roof of the cab.
“I didn’t do anything and I’m not going back there.”
He grabbed the camera to steady it and made a leap for the fence, twisting to catch the top as he vaulted over. Gunshots echoed, splinters sprayed against his face, and light burst in his vision as something burned along the side of his head just above his ear. He fell in a heap onto the ground on the other side of the fence. Pain shot up his sore ankle when he hit. A garbage truck was leaving the lot, and Mark ignored the pain and burning as he lurched to his feet and caught the grab bar on the back as it passed right in front of him. The truck was moving slow, but he still was half-dragged until he managed to jump onto the running board just as the truck rumbled onto the street. He stole a peek around the back of the truck and saw Jim and Jessie looking over the fence for him while the police officers raced around the fence, stopping in befuddlement. Then the garbage truck turned a corner and Mark lost sight of them.
Chapter 19
Jessie started to climb over the fence after Mark, but Jim pulled her back. “No, go the other way.”
He ignored the scathing look she gave him before she leaped off the truck and raced around the fence. Jim jumped down, wincing at the impact that jarred up his legs. He wasn’t thirty anymore, that was for sure. He marveled that Mark had managed landing in presumably one piece after dropping an estimated eight feet onto pavement on the other side of the fence. How the hell had the guy recovered and hidden so quickly? The way Mark had dropped after the gunshot by one of the police officers, he almost hadn’t wanted to look over the fence at all because he’d been certain Mark would be dead on the other side. Why the cop had fired was something he was going to question and question hard. Mark had presented no threat and if the officer had gone immediately to the other side of the fence instead of stopping to shoot, they might have Mark in custody already. Worried about what might happen to Mark if the police found him first, Jim jogged to catch up, stopping when he rounded the corner into the lot. The cops gone to the far side to check around some parked cars. Jessie was catching up to them, but Jim headed for the dumpster at the back. It was closer to where Mark had entered and there hadn’t been more than ten or fifteen seconds between when he dropped from sight and when they had looked over the fence. If he was behind or in the dumpster, they would be able to corner him and take him into custody without anyone getting hurt.
Cautiously, he approached the garbage bin, listening for any sounds and scouring the ground for clues. Near the base of the fence, he spotted bloodstains and his jaw tightened. Had Mark been hit or had he been injured in the fall? The drops of blood darkened the pavement for about twenty feet, and not heading towards the dumpster. Confused, Jim searched for more, but there weren’t any. It was as though Mark had snapped his fingers and vanished.
* * *
He blinked as his eyesight threatened to go dark. When the truck stopped to empty a dumpster, Mark dropped off the running board, using one hand on the ground to catch his balance. If the driver of the truck saw him, he never let on. Limping away as fast as he could, Mark searched for a place to hide. His ankle throbbed and his head pounded in time to the beating of his heart. He found a side street and headed down an alley. A pothole tripped him up and he knocked over a garbage can as he tried to regain his balance. At least it was a plastic can, not a metal one. He crossed another street, grateful for the lack of traffic because his vision was dimming on the edges. He had to find some place to rest and find it fast. He tried a few garage doors, but found them locked. Leaning against one, he tried to think, but his head throbbed with every beat of his heart, distracting him. He pushed away from the door and continued until he saw the side door of a garage gaping about an inch.
Cautiously, he looked into the backyard of the home. Not seeing anyone, he opened the garage door wider and stuck his head inside. The interior was dark and dusty. Car parts and rusty tools strained an overloaded workbench on one side. On the other side was an old car. It looked like it hadn’t moved in years. With a final check over his shoulder to make sure nobody was around, he entered the garage. Lawn chairs hung from hooks on the wall and he started to reach for one, but stopped and tried the car door first. If he had the energy to smile, he would have when the door opened with a low-pitched squeak. Finally, something went his way. He sagged in relief for just a split second, unable to believe his luck as he climbed in. A cloud of dust rose as he settled in the driver’s seat but it settled quickly and he found the lever along the side of the seat, and reclined. Within seconds, he either passed out or fell asleep, he wasn’t sure which, but his last thought before the darkness took him was that Jessie had a gun in her hand just before the shot was fired. Had she shot at him?
* * *
Jessica strode towards him but Jim knew from lack of police activity that they had come up empty too.
“What do you think? I know Mark likes to jog, but this is crazy. He should have been caught before he got out of the alley.” Jessie pointed from the fence to the exit. “That’s about thirty yards, and the others should have crossed his path as he ran out. It’s the only way out of here.” She turned and studied the back of the lot. “Unless he used the trash bin to get over the fence into the lot behind here.”
Jim nodded. “Possibly, but look here.” He indicated the blood. “He’s injured, and left a trail, but it only goes about twenty feet, then just disappears.”
Jessica’s face blanched as she followed the blood spattered trail with her eyes, then raised her gaze to his. “You think it’s bad?”
He shrugged and when he spoke, his voice had a hard edge. “I have no idea. I can tell you this much though. He’s not going to show his face again if he can help it. Not with cops shooting first and asking questions later. I’d like to know why the hell they and you had your guns out to begin with? Mark presented no threat and was, in fact, running in the other direction.”
Her eyes glittered with anger and a trace of tears. “It’s instinct, damn it! These are Chicago cops and they’ve seen too many guns aimed at them to take a chance.”
“But Mark wasn’t aiming a gun.” To his mind, there was no excuse. No gun, no just cause to shoot.
“Yeah, well I guess the cops got carried away. They made a mistake.”
“Listen, Jessica. You’re not a Chicago police officer anymore. Now you’re a federal agent. It’s not your worry what they do, you just have to do things the way we do them now.”
Color returned to her cheeks as she nodded. “You’re right, of course. Some habits are hard to break.”
“Forget it. Here they come now, and we’re going to need their cooperation if we want to find Mark. Just pray that he’s in one piece.” Jim strode to meet the approaching police officers. “He’s gone, but he’s injured so he may not be too far away. We’ll have to spread out and search the surrounding neighborhoods.”
The officer in charge, a big man who sported a thick mustache that had gone out of style at least twenty years before, nodded. “We’re on it already. I’ve notified dispatch and we have a few extra patrols on the way.”
“Excellent, and you’ll also need to find out which one of your officers fired his or her weapon. There was no cause.”
The cop bristled. “My man saw the suspect reaching for something. He fired before the suspect could bring a weapon to bear.”
Jim crossed his arms. “Really? I didn’t see it that way at all.” Jessica threw him a look as though trying to caution him. He ignored it.
“You didn’t have the same angle my guy had.” The Chicago cop crossed his arms as well, mirroring Jim’s pose.
Angry, but unable to disprove the other police officer short of calling him a liar, Jim let it drop…for now. At the moment, he needed their help. “We’ll table this for the time being, but of course there will be
an investigation.”
The cop said, “Absolutely. It’s standard procedure when a police officer fires his weapon.” His tone indicated that Jim was ignorant for asking.
Jim brushed by the man, hating the pissing contest that always seemed to happen when FBI and police had to work a case together. He heard footsteps in his wake and confident that it was Jessica, he swept his arm out and said, “We have to cordon off these two lots and question the people in the diner. I want to know how long the suspect was here, what he ate and if he spoke to anyone. Don’t let anyone leave until they’ve been cleared of having any contact.”
It was all standard operating procedure, but the fact that Mark was the subject of the investigation made it harder for Jim to achieve his normal matter of fact tone. He had to dredge up the stony mask that he had last worn when he worked as an interrogator.
“I’ll get right on it, Officer Sheridan.” Jessica’s formality surprised him, but he didn’t let it show, he just nodded.
He was pleased to see the CPD treating the scene correctly and gathering the spent casing along with the weapon of the cop who had fired the shot. Other police officers returned to their cars and headed into the neighborhood across the street. Seeing that everything was going smoothly, Jim returned to the diner.
Jessica was already speaking to a waitress when Jim entered. He nodded to the customers, surmising from the way they were all seated that they had already been instructed that they would need to be questioned briefly before they could leave. As there was just him and Jessica, Jim pulled out a notepad and, feeling almost like a waiter, went from table to table. Most didn’t recall seeing Mark, and those, he allowed to go. One man had seen Mark in the bathroom and had noticed blood in the sink after Mark had left. He hadn’t thought much of it.
Lastly, Jim approached the booth where Mark had been sitting. The meal was half-eaten, and some of the potatoes had spilled off the plate, probably when Mark had jumped up to flee. Other than that, the table was unremarkable. He recalled having to leap over a book bag of some kind as he’d chased Mark down the short hallway to the rear exit. He found it shoved to the side and knelt to open it.
On top was a damp bloody shirt. Jim spread it out and saw a tear on the back that was surrounded by the darkest stain. The rip wasn’t too big, so Jim hoped that the size boded well for Mark and it was just a minor wound. If they were lucky, that was the source of the blood they had found outside, but Jim had his doubts. The blood on the shirt, except where the sleeve was wet, was dry and the shirt stiff indicating that it was at least an hour or so old, at the minimum. What they had seen in the lot was fresh. Of course, he could have re-opened a wound with that fall. In his mind, he saw Mark duck his head, then drop like a rock at the time the shot had gone off and he just knew that the blood was from a new injury, but how bad was it?
Jim set the shirt aside and dug deeper, finding power bars, a flashlight and a full water bottle. In an outside pocket, he found a small notepad. He flipped it open to discover a list of names and addresses. None of them looked familiar, but they’d run them all through the computer database to see how they connected to Mark.
“I finished with the diner staff, and I saw you had spoken to all of the customers, so I let them go.”
Jim glanced at Jessica. She had composed herself, and all traces of anger and emotion had disappeared. Apparently she had her own stony mask. He sighed, wishing neither of them had to do this. “Good. I found his pack and other than a bloody shirt and a notebook, there’s not much to go on.”
“Bloody shirt?” Her mask cracked a tiny bit.
“Yes. It doesn’t look too bad, and he was well enough to sit in here and order a meal without anyone noticing, so I’m not too worried about it.”
Relief flashed in her eyes, and he hated to have to add a new worry, but there was no getting around it. “However, after seeing this, I’m even more certain that the shot must have hit him. He went down like, well, like he’d been shot.” Sometimes the reality didn’t need a metaphor. “But the amount of blood was minimal and he got away, so it must have been a graze or he might have just been nicked by some debris from the fence. I saw wood splinters fly.”
It took her a few seconds to respond, and when she did, the mask was firmly back in place even as she said, “I hope you’re correct, sir.” She cleared her throat before speaking again. “Also, you might want to head outside. There are news vans in the front and reporters are everywhere. They’re asking for a statement, and the Chicago PD says it’s your ballgame.”
“Damn it.” He carried the pack to the front of the diner and surveyed the scene. The Chicago officer had about six microphones shoved in his face and even through the glass, Jim heard him say that the FBI was running the case, and they would give a statement momentarily.
One reporter asked if the fugitive was armed and dangerous.
“At the moment, we are assuming he is. That is why my officer felt the need to defend himself. The public needs to be aware and be on the lookout. This man is wanted in connection to the thwarted ‘L’ bombing. He was suspected of terrorism after 9/11, and was only released due to legal pressures.”
“That asshole,” Jim muttered. It was going to be a witch hunt for Mark. He could see it coming. He had to take control of the situation. He turned to find Jessica peering over his shoulder, and if the fire in her eyes meant what he suspected it did, she had heard and was just as angry, possibly even more so since she had spent so many years with the CPD herself.
“I can’t believe they’re bringing up the 9/11 crap.” She stood with both hands on her hips, her eyes narrowed as she glared out the window. After a few seconds, she turned the look on Jim. “Mark should have received a medal, but instead, you guys kept quiet and didn’t tell anyone how many lives he’d saved.”
“’You guys?’ Check your badge, Agent Bishop. You’re one of us now.” He hadn’t intended to sound so harsh, but she hadn’t exactly been so all forgiving with Mark either. Hadn’t she dumped him because of his preoccupation with the camera and the dreams? At least, that was how Jim had read the situation. Nobody was completely innocent here, except possibly Mark.
Jessica’s face flushed and she broke eye contact.
He had an idea. “You want to help Mark?”
“Of course.”
“Okay, then you need to go out there and throw some water on the fire, and toss a lifeline to Mark. Tell the reporters that we believe there’s been a misunderstanding, and that the arrest warrant had been executed prematurely, before all the facts had been gathered. Mark is not a suspect, we just want to talk to him.” Jim pointed to the TV in the corner of the diner. “There are televisions all over the place. If you plead with Mark to turn himself in, there’s a good chance he’ll see it, or hear about it on the radio.”
“I’m not going to go out there and lie just to get Mark to trust us.”
“It’s not a lie.”
She crossed her arms in disbelief. “You’re really not going to arrest him? What about Agent Harris? Isn’t he going to have a problem with you naysaying him to the press?”
Jim’s jaw clenched. She had a point, but he had one too. “I don’t give a damn what Agent Harris says. If it’s the last thing I do as director of this FBI field office, I will see to it that Mark gets treated fairly.”
Her face softened. “Then why don’t you tell them all this?”
The same thought had crossed his mind, but he shook his head. “This is your town. You know these officers. For all intents and purposes, I’m the outsider. Don’t worry about Harris. I’ll make sure he can’t retaliate against you.”
She pulled back, irritation crossing her features. “I’m not worried about him.”
Jim smiled. “I didn’t think so, but just the same, I’ll take the heat for this. I just think you’ll come across better on camera than I will.”
With a tilt of her head, she spread her arms out before letting them drop to her sides. “I won’t argue with
that logic. Okay. I’ll do it.”
Chapter 20
Mohommad dug the cellphone out of his pocket and, with one eye on the road, he dialed Hazim. He should have shot Mark yesterday when he had the chance. Or better yet, he thought again, he should have allowed Hazim to finish him off back in Mark’s office when they had first taken the camera. He had felt generous at the time, but no more. His generosity had come back to bite him. He gripped the phone, pressing it to his ear. It never paid to be merciful.
Hazim finally answered, and Mohommad told him that the job had been moved up. They would have to proceed as soon as possible. His associate didn’t sound pleased, but this was Mohommad’s call. Too many months of planning had gone into these attacks, and already, one attempt had failed. He could not allow another failure. Now that Mark had the camera, their element of surprise could be lost, but he calmed his nerves with the knowledge that not every event showed up in the pictures. While the camera had been in his possession, plenty of Chicagoans had died in various accidents that never appeared on Mo’s film.
He shoved the phone back in his pocket and rubbed his jaw, still not used to the smooth feel of his skin. There were so many things he needed to do and small details to attend to. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. The first attack was supposed to strike terror, and this next one was supposed to not only inspire fear and awe, but further disrupt everyday lives of Chicagoans. He didn’t want them to feel safe anywhere, but now, half of his plan had been destroyed, and the second part was in danger of being thwarted as well. What would his uncles say? They would feel shame, and Mohommad felt his face burn at the thought of having to confess his failure. No. There would be no conversation about failure. He would succeed or die trying.
He accelerated, passing on the right of the little old lady doing fifty in the left lane and vowed that the only conversation with his uncles would be one of pride and success. Before he could focus on the task at hand, he needed to take care of some personal business.
Mark Taylor Omnibus (The Mark Taylor Series) Page 80
