From Manhattan With Revenge Boxed Set

by Christopher Smith

  “We get the girl,” he said. “They get Katzev. I just want to be there when it happens. I want to know that he’s dead.”

  “Then let’s go while there’s still time to follow them. Come on. We might have already lost them.”

  CHAPTER TWEN

  TY-SEVEN

  In the darkness she created, Chloe Philips waited.

  She could hear footsteps, some so close, she began to sweat along her brow and down the small of her back. They were searching for her. Eventually, they’d find her. Then what? Shoot them? If her life was on the line, she’d have no choice.

  “Chloe,” the Russian said. “Come out. Now.”

  He was off to her right. Close enough that she started to tremble. Her dislocated shoulder was becoming too much for her to bear due to the pain, but she forced herself to push through it. She was crouched low behind one of his ridiculous sports cars and held the gun tightly in front of her in her cuffed hands. She anticipated him to make a move at any moment. Could he hear her breathing?

  She could hear him breathing...

  “Don’t be stupid, Chloe. Why die when you have every chance to live? Carmen is on her way to settle things for you. You still have hope if you decide to reveal yourself to us and behave. Otherwise, I’ll make a call and ask the men waiting outside to come in and sweep this place for you. It won’t be pleasant.”

  Earlier, she had crept away from the center of the warehouse, where the bathroom and water fountain were, knowing that they’d look for her there first, which they had.

  Now, she was nearly at the warehouse entrance. She’d run for it, but it would be fruitless. There was no way that warehouse door was unlocked. She’d need to wait it out for Carmen, if she was indeed coming, which once again raised the question about why Carmen was involved in this—whatever this was. It didn’t make sense to her. Why did they need to use her to get to Carmen? Had Carmen done something wrong? Chloe couldn’t imagine it.

  “It’s so dark in here,” the Russian said. “Pitch black. Can’t see shit, which was her point, I suppose. But it doesn’t have to be that way, does it, Michael? We are, after all, surrounded by dozens of cars that have something she didn’t think of. You know, things like headlights.”

  He stopped walking. There was a swishing sound, as if he suddenly turned around, perhaps because he thought he’d heard her, but then a moment passed and he continued to walk away from her again. “Michael,” he said, “why don’t you start turning on headlights and we’ll get this over with before Carmen and Spocatti arrive?”

  To her far right, all the way to the rear of the warehouse, where the guard called Michael must have been resting earlier, she heard a car door swing open. Within an instant, headlights flashed and flooded that end of the warehouse with a blazing, neon-blue light that cut through the gloom.

  “Turn on all of them,” the Russian said. “Find out where she’s hiding, but be careful. She still has the gun.”

  She heard footsteps walk across the space to the car directly opposite the one whose headlights were shining. A door opened, there was the sound of a click and more light shined into the room.

  Now, even from where she was crouched low, she could see the faint outline of things she hadn’t been able to see before, including the Russian, whose gun was poised in front of him while he looked around the room for her. What a fool she had been. She’d never thought about the headlights. It wouldn’t be long before they found her.

  Another door opened. More light cut into the room. She took a breath and knew she had no choice. Taking out the guard and the breaker box was only the first part of her plan. Now, for the second part.

  Before they could fully see her, Chloe Philips stood, aimed her gun at the hood of one of the cars glimmering in the light, and fired a bullet into it.

  Sirens went off. The jolt of the gun almost caused her to blackout due to the pain in her drooping shoulder. She staggered back against a wall and braced her shoulder against it for support. She wanted to cry out in pain, but didn’t.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” the Russian shouted above the car’s alarm. She heard real fear in his voice. Did he love his cars that much? Or was it the alarm that worried him? “Do it again and I’ll kill you myself.”

  She turned to another car, aimed at it and shot, destroying the hood and likely a good deal of the engine, which would kill the car’s value and be difficult to repair.

  “You want more?” she said, above the screams of the two alarms.

  “She’s at the front,” she heard the Russian say. “Get her.”

  She couldn’t hear them moving given the sound of the alarms, but she was sure one of them was rushing in her direction.

  Go for it. All of it. Show them that you’re serious.

  Chloe sank a bullet into the hood of another car, but this time she missed and smashed out the car’s front window, which caused its alarm to go off. She steadied her aim as best she could, shot again and this time struck gold. She hit the hood, a small fire erupted beneath it, and it started to smoke and bake from the heat. If she was thinking it, they were thinking it. If they didn’t act fast, the car would explode.

  “Keep the fuck away from me!” she shouted. “Come closer and I’ll ruin all of your precious cars!”

  “Quick,” she heard the Russian say. “The fire extinguisher. Put out the fire before the sprinklers go off. You know what will happen if they do.”

  Chloe also knew what would happen. If the sprinkler system went off, the fire department would be notified. St. Vincent’s had a sprinkler system. They also had an evacuation plan. She and the others were told what to do and where to meet outside should the fire alarm and the sprinkler system go off. They were told that the fire department and the police would automatically be alerted if either went off. The idea of the sprinklers going off here and the ramifications for these men if they did gave her an unexpected rush of power.

  But her power didn’t rest just there. There was something to be said for those shrieking alarms.

  How many cars did she have to shoot before the alarms created such a commotion that someone called the police, if only to stop the noise, assuming it was bothering someone? From the address she heard earlier, she knew she wasn’t in a residential neighborhood. Also against her is that she didn’t know what time it was. Was is light out? Were there any businesses open? She didn’t know. And what about the people driving by on the street? Could they hear the alarms? If they could, would someone make a call?

  She knew better than that.

  Still, the alarms were something. They were better than nothing. They were a possible way out, just like the sprinkler system was should it go off and alert the fire and police departments. She had to use whatever tools she had to get out of here and those alarms could be key.

  She looked around the space, her shoulder aching. The sound from three cars already was at a piercing level, but they were at the rear of the warehouse, away from the two large doors at her left, which faced the street. Did it make a difference that the cars she shot were so far away from those doors? She squinted through the dim light and looked at the car closest to the doors. She wondered. She thought it through.

  She didn’t know how many bullets she had left, but she assumed she had some left. She knew nothing about guns, but she did know that what she held in her hand looked sophisticated. Like something she’d see in an action movie. She needed to use her ammunition sparingly, but this might be worth it.

  She braced her shoulder against the concrete wall she was leaning against, aimed and shot the hood of the car across from her. Again she missed and hit the window, but it was enough to set off the alarm, which was so much louder here, it gave her hope.

  The Russian shouted something. She could see them using the fire extinguisher to put out the fire beneath the hood, which now was lifted high and being gassed by the other guard, Michael. She looked up at the ceiling and wondered why the sprinklers hadn’t gone off? There wasn’t a great
deal of smoke, but there certainly was enough to set them off. So, why hadn’t they gone off? The warehouse was old. Were the systems old?

  Did the sprinklers even work?

  CHAPTER TWE

  NTY-EIGHT

  In the cab they snagged on Park, they drove across Central Park, down to West Forty-Seventh Street, stopped for a traffic light and turned left onto Eleventh Avenue.

  It was dark. Given their proximity to the Hudson, the air here was cooler, but it also was humid. Worse, it was soured by a day’s worth of exhaust from the shipping trucks that clogged the streets during the daytime, the smell of oil from the barges crowding the river and the filth that was everywhere.

  On West Forty-Sixth, they saw the warehouse ahead of them and to their left, heard the sirens screaming from inside the building, and drove past as Carmen lifted a hand to her face out of concern for Chloe.

  Whatever was happening inside was either just beginning or, knowing Katzev, who was quick to act, it might already be over. Not knowing unnerved Carmen so much that she did what she always did when she was under great pressure. She shut down her emotions and became focused on the task at hand.

  Spocatti told the driver to circle around again, but this time to let them off at Eleventh Avenue. Each wanted to carefully scope the area before they approached the warehouse.

  “Why the sirens?” she asked.

  “No idea.”

  “Obviously, something happened. The sirens will draw attention to them. Somebody might have called the police.”

  “If we were on Eighth or Ninth, where people live, I’d agree. But down here? It’s different. Industrial. Because of the crime, no one is on the streets. There’s a chance no one has called the police.”

  “And if they have?”

  He shrugged. “Then we’re fucked.” He let a silence pass. “You know we were followed?”

  “I do.”

  “Babe is with him. That’s unprecedented.”

  “We can’t control them,” Carmen said. “If they want to park and grab Chloe if we manage to free her, fine. And frankly, even though we disagree on this, if they can, they’ll keep her safe, which is a relief to me. If they involve themselves otherwise, we’ll deal with them then.”

  Spocatti didn’t answer. He looked over his shoulder as Jake’s car, some two hundred yards back, slid into a parking space that wasn’t a parking space. A hydrant was there. They were perhaps eight buildings up from the warehouse with a clear view of the two large garage doors that faced it.

  Carmen’s cell phone buzzed in her pants pocket. She removed it, stared at the message for a moment, committed it to memory, and then, acting on instinct because she didn’t want to share it with Spocatti, who was acting unusual for reasons she didn’t understand, set things into motion with a few quick clicks.

  “What was that?” he asked.

  “That was private,” she said. She regretted the edge in her voice—he was, after all, here to help her—and said, “Sorry. I’m just tense. It was an offer for a new job.”

  “From the syndicate?”

  She was in no mood to joke. She didn’t answer.

  He put his hand on her knee, a kind gesture that also was unlike him. “It’ll be all right, Carmen. Katzev won’t take my threat lightly. We just need to get in there in case someone does call the police.”

  “If they haven’t already.”

  “Understood.”

  The driver pulled to the curb.

  “With those sirens going off, we don’t know what we’re walking into.”

  “When do we ever know?” He opened his door and gave the driver five hundred dollars. “That’s for your discretion,” he said.

  The man looked at the money and casually pocketed it. “Not sure what you’re talking about, man, but thanks.”

  Spocatti stepped out and looked at Carmen. He was about to say that they needed to get inside when, for first time, he noticed them. “You’re wearing those?” he asked.

  “I always wear these, just not on planes.”

  “Do they still work?”

  She showed him.

  “Rosa Klebb would be proud, though she’d miss the knitting needles. How long does it take?”

  “Twelve seconds.”

  “Ugly way to die.”

  “He shouldn’t have snatched my girl.”

  His eyes flicked up to meet hers. “You plan on using them?”

  “If I have the chance.”

  “And you plan to sacrifice yourself for Chloe? You really mean to do this?”

  “If it comes to that, I will. But have you forgotten? You threatened Katzev. A moment ago, when you told Jake that he wouldn’t be joining us, you essentially said your threat would be enough to put the fear of God in Katzev if anything happens to us. Beyond that, I have Liam in Aberdeen and he will slaughter Katzev’s family with a press of a button on my cell. I plan on using that against, Katzev. We’ll see how loyal he is to his mother, who will die first. I’m not going out without a fight, Vincent. So, let’s get this over with.”

  CHAPTER TW

  ENTY-NINE

  “I see them,” Jake said. “They’re coming around the corner. Spocatti has his cell in his hand. Now at his ear.”

  Babe craned her head so it was closer to the passenger-side window. The street was dim but with some effort, she could see them. “He must be calling Katzev.”

  “Likely.”

  “To get inside.”

  “Obviously.”

  “I’m concerned about the alarm.”

  “Everyone should be.”

  “What do you think happened?”

  He shrugged. “I’ve been forced out of the loop on this. No idea. I hope they can handle it on their own.”

  The clipped tone of Jake’s voice made Babe McAdoo turn to look at him. As dim as it was in the car, she could see him watching Carmen and Spocatti intently. Though his features were neutral, she sensed anger brimming beneath he surface. In her life, she’d dealt with too many men and women in this profession to take that anger lightly. He felt slighted. Could he contain those feelings? If not, what then? She chose her words carefully. “I’m sorry you feel that way,” she said.

  “You don’t know what I feel, Babe.”

  She offered nothing more. Best to back off, though tension in the car was high. She turned to the window and noticed that Spocatti and Carmen were standing outside one of the garage doors. Spocatti was on his cell, talking. Carmen was a step behind him, looking up and down the street, and also up at the windows of the buildings surrounding them. A sniper could be in one of them. Her hands were buried in her jacket pockets, gripping her Glocks should she need them.

  When the shrill of the alarm began to lessen, Babe rolled down her window an inch and listened. Earlier, she assumed it was just one alarm going off. Instead, it was several alarms, which now were being turned off one by one.

  “Do you hear that?” Babe asked. “I thought it was just the alarm for the warehouse. But listen. A number of alarms are going off. Or were going off. Like car alarms. He must have cars in there.”

  When he replied, it was as if he was speaking to a child. “That’s right, Babe. They were car alarms. If it had been an alarm for the warehouse, knowing Katzev, it would have been silent and gone straight to the syndicate, which would have deployed a small army comprised of those assassins not considered end-of-cycle. I don’t know what set off the alarms or what’s happening in there now, but Katzev obviously found his keys and is shutting them down now.”

  He didn’t even try to conceal the chill in his voice. She knew he was angry that he wasn’t asked to join Carmen and Vincent since he himself had been targeted by the syndicate, so she sat there, watching the warehouse, until the final alarm was silenced. After a moment, one of the garage doors lifted and they were allowed inside an entrance that was in pitch darkness. She tried to see if anyone was there to greet them, but it was too dark to see. The garage door slid shut behind them and they were go
ne.

  “They’re in there now,” she said, more to herself than to him. She was worried for them.

  “So, they are.”

  “Why was it so dark? What do you think will happen?”

  “Who knows?”

  Given his tone, he might as well have said, “Who cares?” She decided to ignore it and stay on track. “So, we wait for Chloe.”

  “Babe,” he said, as if he hadn’t heard her. “Why do you suppose Spocatti didn’t want me in there with them? We’ve worked together several times over the years. He knows I’m more than competent. He also knows the syndicate wants me dead. Why would he cheat me of having my moment to join Carmen in taking out Katzev?”

  “Those are a lot of questions, Jake. And I’m not Vincent. I can’t answer for him. But I know he supports you fully. He knows you’ve joined us in helping to bring down the syndicate.”

  “He’s always been an arrogant son of a bitch,” Jake said, ignoring her. “Comes in on his white horse and takes over. How did that happen?”

  “It just happened.”

  “But how?”

  “People respect Vincent. You know as well as I do that he’s the best. Nobody is as good as he is.”

  “According to whom? Where did he get that reputation?”

  He was starting to make her anxious. “You know how good he is. Everyone does. He earned it.”

  “Who decided he earned it? Have I earned anything? Why do you put him on a pedestal like that?”

  She turned to him. “Why are you doing this?”

  “I’m just looking for answers.”

  “I’m giving you what I can, but I don’t have all of them.”

  “Then, what good are you to me?”

  Her right hand dropped to her side, where in her pocket was the gun he gave her earlier. But Babe McAdoo was too late. Jake pulled his gun on her and pointed it at her face. There was a silencer at the end of it. He pressed the trigger just slightly and a tiny red laser beam pierced the narrow distance between them. It found its place in the center of her forehead. She stared openly at him in shock.