by Elin Barnes
Before he entered the bank, he turned and clicked the key fob again and watched the lights of his car flash. No sound followed. Satisfied that the car was securely locked, he walked into the bank.
“Now,” Ethan said.
Bishop stayed in the van. The other four men jumped out of the vehicle and walked swiftly into the bank. Mac stopped just past the first set of doors. The others walked through the second double doors, took the gas canisters from their belts and yanked the pins as the doors closed behind them. Ethan walked straight ahead. Barr and Curtis flanked him from behind.
The gas filled the ample room, and Ethan hoped the tellers didn’t have time to press the alarm button, but even if they did, they would be long gone before the police arrived.
Suresh Malik hadn’t reached the counter yet. He had fallen to the floor, facing down, already passed out. Ethan grabbed his hair and pulled to check his face. Once he’d verified he was kidnapping the right man, he picked him up and threw him over his shoulder. He turned and saw two of his men already holding the door open. A second later they were on the street.
An older Asian man was on the sidewalk, en route to the bank. Mac stopped a few feet away and put his gloved finger against his gas mask, where his mouth would be. The man’s eyes widened, and he stopped walking.
Ethan entered the van from the side and dumped Malik’s body on the floor. Bishop started driving, while Curtis sat on the passenger seat. Mac and Barr got in back next to Ethan. Before all the doors were closed, the van pulled out.
As they turned left into Coleman, Ethan heard the first police sirens.
Chapter 16
Darcy zipped his jacket all the way up. He’d been too lazy to put the top on the Cobra and was freezing his ass off. It was early morning, and the temperature was just shy of 50 degrees. He hadn’t been this cold since he moved from Seattle.
He checked the directions on his phone to make sure he’d arrived at the right place. Before he’d time to put the phone away, Jon came running out of the front door.
“Nice place,” Darcy said, looking up at a skyscraper primarily made of bluish glass.
“I just moved in a few months ago.” Jon pointed behind him, as if he needed to make sure he was addressing the right building. “It’s a bit far from campus, but it’s quieter.”
Darcy was struck again by how much of an old soul Jon was. One of the smartest guys he’d ever met and yet charmingly naïve sometimes.
“Thanks for picking me up. I could have taken the VTA, but there’re still delays due to the kidnapping,” Jon said.
“No worries. It’s on my way.”
Darcy was driving north on Almaden when his phone buzzed. As soon as he saw the 211 code, he handed the phone to Jon and said, “Armed robbery. Where’s it at?”
“Holy crap, armed robbery?” Jon looked at Darcy, his face a mixture of excitement and apprehension.
Darcy nudged him to give him the address.
“Ah, sorry. On Coleman. Close by,” Jon said.
“Up for some action?” Darcy sped up. “Can you dig under your seat and grab the spinners?”
Jon put the lights up and turned them on. The blare of the siren muffled all the other noises on the street.
“Call out the intersections. I want to make sure we don’t get T-boned.”
Darcy saw Jon tug at his seat belt while looking right to spot incoming traffic.
“Clear,” Jon said.
Darcy sped through a red light, turned left on Market and raced up toward Julian, passing by two police cars already setting up the perimeter.
“Clear,” Jon said again when they were driving through another red light.
Now on Coleman, Darcy reached 65 mph while darting between the growing rush-hour traffic. He saw Jon grip the armrest and the seat. He wondered if the intern was more scared because of Darcy’s handicap or the speed. It was probably the former. He felt that since Kozlov took his eye out, everybody thought he couldn’t quite measure up. He decided to show Jon he had nothing to worry about and accelerated.
“New update. It looks like the perps left in a black van. No license plates yet,” Jon said, looking at the phone.
“Make and model?”
Darcy decided to skip the crime scene and keep driving north.
“We just passed the bank.” Jon pointed behind them, sounding disappointed that the ride hadn’t come to an end.
“Did you see any black vans coming our way?”
“No.”
“Exactly. Me neither. That means they must have gone north on Coleman, not south.”
Jon nodded.
“I hope they didn’t take the 880 exit,” Darcy said, reaching 70 mph. The air was so cold, he felt his cheeks harden.
As they weaved between cars, Darcy honked when others didn’t move out of their way. He thought through all the possible routes the van could have gone. He figured that unless they hid in one of the warehouses in the area, they would probably have continued going north.
Darcy wished he’d put on the top. His hands were so cold he could barely feel them.
“Can you turn the heater on?”
Jon did and immediately clung again to the armrest.
Two police cars came from one of the side streets and then veered off in different directions as soon as they reached the next cross street, leaving them alone.
Not even a minute later, Darcy shouted, “There it is,” when he spotted a black van about a block in front of them. The traffic had worsened, and it was harder for him to weave between cars, even with the sirens. “Call the location in,” he told Jon, but saw that the intern didn’t loosen his death grip.
Darcy got closer. The van sped away, probably having spotted them.
There were only five cars between them now. Darcy swerved to the right lane and passed a car. The van took a left on Martin Avenue. Darcy slammed on the brakes and shot between two cars, almost scraping the one in front of him.
“Don’t worry, I love this car,” Darcy said, trying to humor Jon, who now looked green.
The intern tried to smile but didn’t really succeed.
The wheels squealed as Darcy took the turn. The van was several yards ahead of them, but now there weren’t any other cars between them.
“Jon, you’ve got to call it in.”
Darcy slammed his foot on the pedal, and the Cobra roared as it accelerated to 80 mph. Before they got close, a rain of bullets hit the side of his car.
“Duck!” Darcy shouted as he thumped on the brakes and veered to his left, almost crashing into a parked car.
Shots hit the side of the car, the passenger door, and the windshield, cracking the glass, making it difficult for Darcy to see.
“Tell Dispatch we’re being shot at,” he yelled as he swerved, trying to avoid being hit by the spray of bullets sprouting more holes in the windshield. Then the police lights exploded, killing the siren, leaving them alone with the roaring engine and the crack of the bullets.
The van turned right, and the gunfire stopped. Darcy followed behind them, and the shots started up again.
“Please stop,” Jon pleaded.
“We need to catch these guys. Just stay low.” He pushed the car closer. “We need to get right behind them so they don’t have an angle to shoot at us. You have to call it in—now.”
The shots kept coming, but not enough to stop the Cobra.
The van turned left. Darcy followed. The van’s back door opened a few inches and a muzzle appeared. Fuck, Darcy thought, and started swinging from side to side as new shots rained on them. A bullet clipped his right shoulder. Darcy felt it burn his skin. A few other bullets flew past him. He kept the target in sight but let the distance between them lengthen.
“Tell Dispatch we’re losing them,” Darcy yelled.
The only things he heard were the thunk of impacting bullets and the dying roar of the Cobra.
“Jon, I know you’re scared, but you need to tell Dispatch we’re about to lose them!”
But he still didn’t hear Jon’s voice.
Darcy diverted his eyes for a split second from the incoming fire to look at his passenger. The intern’s eyes were wide open, and both of his hands were holding his neck. Blood sputtered out in between his fingers as he mouthed, “Please stop.”
Darcy slammed on the brakes and stopped the car by the sidewalk. Dust rolled up behind them. The shots ceased as soon as the van took another left.
There was enough blood spewing through Jon’s fingers for Darcy to know it was not a nick. He grabbed his dog’s blanket from the backseat and pressed it right above Jon’s collarbone. Then he saw the intern was bleeding from several other wounds.
“You’re going to be okay, buddy. Hold on,” he said as he reached between Jon’s feet to pick up the dropped phone.
“Officer down. Code 30, code 30. I need an ambulance. I need a bus now!”
Chapter 17
As soon as the red Cobra stopped following them, Curtis told Bishop to take a left on Glade Drive and then a left on Monroe Street. Halfway through the block, he turned into a parking lot, and Curtis got out to open the warehouse door.
“We can’t stay here long. My uncle comes by probably once a day. But at least we can wait for the noise to die down,” Curtis said once the van was safely parked inside.
“Shooting at the police?” Bishop put both hands on his head and paced back and forth along the crates of paper. “Are you serious? We’ve shot at a police officer?” he yelled.
“I was just trying to scare them off,” Mac said.
“What the fuck, man?” Bishop went on.
“If I’d wanted them dead, they would be.”
“Oh, yeah. That’s why you were shooting at the windshield.”
“Bishop, stop it,” Ethan said.
“What the hell have you gotten me into? We’re fucked.” His pace quickened, then he stopped and covered his face with both hands.
“Bishop, stop it,” Ethan said.
They fell quiet. Curtis was barely five foot seven, but he was almost as wide as he was tall. When he leaned against the crates, he looked even shorter next to Mac, who was tall and wiry.
Mac walked around the car to check the status of the van. “At least the mud didn’t come off the plates. How many black vans can there be in San Jose?”
Ethan wondered if the question was rhetorical. He didn’t answer.
He checked Malik’s vitals and said, “We need to move him before he wakes up. Unless you guys have something else to give him to keep him quiet.” He pushed himself out of the van and faced his men. “It’ll be easier to transport him if he’s still out.”
“But we can’t use this van. I’ll bet they’ll be stopping every single black van they run into.
“For sure,” Barr said. The right side of his face had a birthmark that looked like a falling star. He massaged it as he waited for instructions.
“Well, we can’t stay here, as I said—” Curtis’s voice was less deep than normal.
“We know. Your uncle will come soon,” Mac cut him off.
“How attached are you to your van?” Ethan pulled out the thirty-two-ounce can of Kingsford lighter fluid he’d stashed in the van earlier.
“Are you kidding me?” Mac asked.
“You have a better idea?”
“And how the hell are we going to get out of here?”
Curtis walked out of the room. A few seconds later they heard the unmistakable rumble of a Harley. He rode it slowly into the room, his feet barely touching the floor. With a wide smile he said, “Meet my uncle’s baby. He hides it here because his wife would kick his ass if she knew he had a hog.”
The mood lifted a little.
“I can ride it to my house and pick up my car,” Curtis offered.
Ethan nodded.
“We’ll still need to figure out how to transfer the package,” Curtis added.
“It won’t fit in your car?” Bishop asked, as if he was afraid to be the one left behind.
“No, man. I got a Fiat. I can probably fit four of us max.”
“You have a Fiat? What a pussy,” Barr said.
“I got nothing to prove.” He grabbed his crotch and shoved it forward. “You have a better plan?”
Since nobody did, Curtis left on the Harley, and Ethan asked Mac to stay in the van and keep an eye on Malik. If he woke up, they would have to knock him back into unconsciousness.
Ethan motioned for Bishop to follow him to the warehouse’s office. The place was small but tidy. Several manila folders were piled on top of each other, competing for space with the phone and computer. Three gray filing cabinets occupied most of the back wall. There was only one chair, on the other side of the desk.
Both men stood facing each other. Ethan put a hand on Bishop’s shoulder and waited until his colleague looked up at him. When their eyes met, Ethan hit him with a right cross. Before Bishop had time to react, Ethan punched him in the gut. Bishop doubled over, and Ethan hit him again with an uppercut that caught his lip and split it.
Stepping away, trying to avoid getting bathed in blood, Ethan crossed his arms and waited for the Marine to regain his composure. Bishop covered his mouth with his hand, and when it was drenched with blood he took off his sweater and pressed it against his face.
Ethan waited until their eyes met again, but this time he didn’t hit him.
After a few seconds, when he was sure he had Bishop’s attention, he said, “Do not ever embarrass me like that in front of the others.” Ethan’s voice was grave but low, just above a whisper. “I vouched for you. I brought you into this team because I thought you were a man. Your behavior today has been shameful, and I don’t ever want to see this shit again. There were complications in this mission, and that’s all it was. We have a job to do, and we’re expected to do it.” He waited until Bishop showed a sign of acknowledgement. When he nodded, Ethan ordered, “Go wash yourself.”
Chapter 18
O’Connor Hospital was on the smaller side. The emergency room entrance was located on Forest Avenue, and though only one ambulance was stationed there, the parking lot was overflowing with patrol cars.
Saffron circled the lot until she found a spot, toward the west side of the complex. She ran toward the door, and as soon as she stepped inside she saw the mass presence of Santa Clara Sheriff’s and San Jose PD personnel. She debated asking somebody for Darcy but decided to find him herself.
She walked down the hallway and weaved between people, noticing her breathing getting faster with each step. She spotted Captain Virago behind a group of broad-shouldered men. As she got closer, she heard her say, “Lynch is being treated.”
“Darcy? Is Darcy okay?” she asked much louder than she intended. “He texted me about Jon but didn’t say he was hurt.”
Her eyes darted from Virago to the men, searching for answers in their faces. Virago was the only one who looked back at her. That’s when she saw a trace of disdain in her eyes.
“Just a scratch. He should be here any minute.”
“What do you mean, just a scratch?”
She saw one of the men nod to the captain, excusing himself. The other two followed.
When they were alone, Captain Virago said, “A bullet grazed his shoulder. He’s fine.”
Before Saffron had time to think about a bullet going through Darcy’s body, he called her name. She turned and ran to him.
“Are you okay? You took a bullet?” she asked while checking his body for holes.
“No, not like that.”
He turned and showed her the rip on his shirt where the bullet had gone through. It was bloody.
“Oh my God!”
“It’s fine. See, they gave me a couple stitches and bandaged it,” he said, turning his shoulder toward her face. “It looks worse than it is.”
She hugged him and squeezed his freshly treated wound. He grunted.
“I’m sorry.” She pulled away but kept her hand on his forearm. “How’s Jon?”
“In surgery.” Darcy’s voice was grave. Saffron saw a few furtive glances from others when he said that. “He’s very critical but was still alive when we got here.”
She didn’t know what to say. She’d only known Jon for a few weeks, but she was very fond of him.
They walked together toward Captain Virago.
“Any news?” Darcy asked.
“No.” She turned and walked away from them.
Saffron looked at Darcy. His face said it all.
Chapter 19
Blake sat across from Martin Dunn in his minimalist office. The CEO had no paintings on the wall, no family photos on the desk, and no signed sports paraphernalia. There was a tall ponytail palm in a corner, but Blake didn’t know if it was real. Martin had a 55-inch monitor mounted on the wall, an L-shape two-piece desk, and a five-hundred-dollar chair that stood empty behind it. Two nice leather sofas faced a coffee table on the other side of the room.
“Sometimes I wish we hadn’t grown so big.” Martin held a ceramic cup with the NanoQ logo in his hands. He was drinking designer green tea.
“Really?” Blake asked, not terribly surprised. He looked at the undisturbed cappuccino foam before he put it to his lips.
“Well . . . It was fun when we started. We had a dream, a vision, and we were all too naïve to think about the future. Remember when it was just the three of us?” Martin put the cup close to his face and inhaled, closing his eyes.
Blake nodded. He remembered the endless nights at their dorm, theorizing, drunk on beer and dreams. Then he remembered moving to the Bay Area and renting that awful house in Sunnyvale to “do the start-up thing in a garage” as Martin had put it. He was sure he didn’t have the same fond memories his friend had.
“Blake, I really want to sell this thing so we can start something new. I’m tired of it.”
“You tire easily. It hasn’t been five years since we started it.”
