Out of Range

by Hank Steinberg

  Caspar the friendly ghost? No. The Michelin Man? No, not him either. Was it—

  The grunting and cursing grew louder. She felt a burst of irritation at the interruption. Then, as though her unconcern was peeling away, she began to feel anxious. If her mind could only focus. She sat up slowly and looked at the source of the noise.

  Two men. Quinn and Charlie. Quinn sat on Charlie’s chest, smiling as he pummeled him into oblivion.

  And then it all came rushing back. The container, Quinn, the waterboarding, Charlie’s assault on the hotel . . . the fog began to clear. Charlie had come to save her and now he was getting beaten to death for his trouble.

  Summoning all her remaining strength, she pushed herself to her feet. On wobbly legs, she grabbed hold of a table to keep from collapsing. The room was spinning.

  Thud. Thud. Thud. The steady, awful impact of the blows was the only sound.

  Quinn’s back was to her, but what could she do? Pull him off of Charlie? She was too small. And she could barely stand.

  Then she saw the answer. A thin, slightly curved knife sticking out of an apple. She moved to it slowly, grabbed it like an ice pick and staggered toward the two struggling men on the floor. She knew that if Quinn sensed her behind him, he would snap her neck in two. It didn’t matter. Whatever might happen to her, she was not going to let Charlie die here like this.

  Julie managed two more strides and as her legs gave out, she launched herself toward Quinn, bringing her arm down in what seemed like a terribly long, terribly slow arc.

  Peering through the gap between his elbows, Charlie saw a flash of brown hair, then felt a thump.

  Quinn leaned forward and stared intently at Charlie, as though he had something important to say. Then a drop of blood ran slowly down his tongue and fell into the middle of Charlie’s chest. Charlie waited for another hammer fist. But Quinn seemed unable—or unwilling—to move.

  Charlie seized the moment and rolled him over, putting his hands around Quinn’s neck. The mercenary flailed his arms wildly as Charlie squeezed the life out of him. A kind of recognition passed into the killer’s eyes as his mouth moved, trying to say something. But no sound passed from his lips. And then the struggle was over.

  Quinn’s eyes were still open, staring up at Charlie. But Quinn—the essential Quinn, the predatory and unconquerable Quinn—was gone and all that remained was a mild, childlike stare.

  Slowly Charlie forced his cramped hands to relax. Exhausted and emptied, he sat back on the floor and found Julie.

  She was kneeling five feet away, exhausted and woozy, her hand clutching a small curved knife, its blade slick with blood.

  Charlie looked at Quinn again and saw a sheet of blood pooling under his back. He’d been stabbed in the neck.

  Julie had saved Charlie’s life.

  Charlie pulled her to her feet and wrapped his arms around her, a wave of relief and joy running through him.

  “You came!” Julie sobbed. “You came!”

  “I’m right here,” he whispered, never so glad to see her as in this moment.

  “He told me you were dead,” Julie whispered, “that he’d killed you.”

  The sound of her soft tears, the smell of her hair, the familiar feeling of her body pressed against his—it seemed as though it had been a million years since it had been like this between them.

  As his wife cried softly into his neck, Charlie felt as if he never wanted to let go. But there were still at least four of Byko’s guards in the building. Plus the man himself.

  “Where’s Byko?” he asked her.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I think he’s going to the Square.”

  The radio on the table crackled. “Quinn! Quinn, come in. Come in, Quinn.”

  “There’s more,” Charlie said. “We gotta get out of here.”

  He reached under the cabinet and grabbed Quinn’s Makarov.

  “Can you walk?” he asked her.

  She nodded, but as she tried to step forward on her own, her legs buckled.

  Charlie knew—after everything she’d been through—that she simply did not have the energy for what would now be required of them.

  But what was he supposed to do? Carry her? Hide her somewhere and come back for her later?

  He looked around the room as if that might provide him the answer. And then his eyes caught sight of something.

  Quinn’s kit.

  Charlie rushed toward it.

  “What are you doing?” Julie cried.

  He rummaged quickly through the box and found what he was looking for. But when he came toward her with a syringe, she recoiled in panic.

  “No! No no no!”

  “It’s okay, sweetheart. It’s me. It’s Charlie. It’s okay.”

  Once again, the radio crackled. “Quinn, come in, Quinn.”

  “This is adrenaline,” Charlie told her calmly. “It’ll give you what we need to get out of here.”

  She searched his eyes almost like a child.

  “It’s me,” he told her. “Trust me.”

  Chapter Sixty

  As Charlie and Julie sprinted down the fourth-floor hallway, Charlie heard the ding of the elevator.

  “This way!” he insisted and pulled her toward the stairwell.

  Looking over his shoulder as he opened the door, he saw several men exiting the elevator.

  “There!” one shouted.

  Charlie bounded through the door as Julie started to run down the stairs.

  “No,” he said, grabbing her arm. “Up.”

  They surmounted the stairs and Charlie pushed open the roof door, grabbing Julie’s hand. They ran across the roof, through the driving rain, and clambered over onto the parking garage. Within seconds they had pounded through the deep puddles and arrived at the edge that led to the tenement on the other side.

  “We have to get to that building,” Charlie said.

  Julie looked across the alley and hesitated. It was a much easier jump from the hotel to the tenement than it had been from the other direction: there was a gap in the traffic barrier around the parking garage, allowing them to get a running start. And there was a small ledge on the other side extending out toward the hotel, shortening the leap to about four feet. But still, knowing all that she’d been through in the past few days, he still wasn’t sure if that shot of adrenaline would be enough.

  “Can you make it?” Charlie asked.

  They heard shouts behind them. Julie whipped her head around and saw Byko’s men coming.

  “Got no choice,” she said.

  She backed up a few steps, sprinted toward the other building, and leaped over the gap. She hit the ledge, rolled and bounced off the wall. She was about to tumble backward when she regained her balance and climbed through the window into the building.

  Behind him, Charlie heard a loud yell and a fusillade of shots. He hurled himself across the roof then dove through the half-open window on the other side.

  He found himself in a grim hallway that smelled of burned grease, bad plumbing and kerosene. Julie was already on the move. He caught up to her as she pushed open a stairway door and began charging two at a time down the stairs. From Makarov’s radio on his belt, Charlie could hear the guards shouting over the airwaves.

  “They’re in the tenement!” one voice called.

  Then another. “We’re coming over from the roof. We’re in the building behind them now.”

  Another voice. “They’re coming down the stairs.”

  The first voice. “We’ll cut them off from the street!”

  Charlie grabbed Julie as they hit the third floor. “Wait. They know we’re here.”

  He pushed open the door and entered the corridor, pulling Julie behind him. Out of nowhere, an old couple emerged from one of the doors.

  “Inside!” Charl
ie shouted, pointing his gun at them. “Now!”

  The cowering old couple backed into the room.

  “We’re not going to hurt you,” Charlie said to the old man as he locked the door, “but we need absolute quiet. Understand?”

  The old man nodded and Charlie herded the couple into a back room.

  “What are we doing?” Julie asked.

  “We’re going to wait,” Charlie said. “We’re going to wait for them to come to us.”

  Chapter Sixty-one

  Charlie stood by the door, gun drawn, ears straining. He’d turned the radio down but had it next to his ear so he could monitor what his assailants were doing.

  “This is the only way out,” one of the voices said.

  “We checked all the hallways,” another voice answered. “Nothing.”

  “They must be hiding in one of the apartments,” the first voice said.

  “Farhod, Stas, guard the roof. We’ll check all the apartments.”

  So they were coming.

  Charlie took a deep breath. It was the first time since he’d reached Julie that he had a moment to really take her in, to see what she’d been through. She looked wan and exhausted. There was a bruise on her cheekbone, a cut above her left eye. Her wrists and ankles were freshly bandaged, but blood was already seeping through the gauze.

  “What did they do to you?” he whispered.

  She shook her head and smiled bravely. “Nothing. It’s . . .” She looked back at him, her eyes brimming with tears. “I’m so sorry for what I’ve put you through. For everything.”

  Charlie felt a wave of tenderness. But before he could respond, the radio crackled. “First floor clear.”

  A loud bang. Then another. Byko’s guards were kicking in doors somewhere on the floor below. WHAM. Shouting. WHAM. More shouting.

  Charlie peeked out the door, scanning the third-floor hallway. It was empty for now, but the shouting and door banging from the floor below was getting louder and he was sure that Byko’s thugs would be here soon.

  The radio crackled again. “Second floor’s clear.”

  “Head up to the third floor,” said another voice.

  Charlie could hear footsteps thumping up the stairs at the end of the hallway and left the door open about half an inch—just enough to see out. Through the crack, he saw two armed men burst out of the stairwell. One wore a black coat, the other brown. Someone screamed as the man in black kicked down the first door, while the man in brown covered him from the hallway. They began alternating doors—one covering, one kicking. Once the door was kicked in, they would both enter the apartment.

  Charlie turned and put his finger over his lips, signaling to the old people in the bedroom to remain silent. The old man nodded, his eyes pinned on Charlie’s gun.

  The screams of protest, the threats, the thudding of boot heels and the splintering of doors continued, growing closer and closer and closer. Julie pressed against Charlie, holding his hand. He could feel her rapid breathing against his neck and squeezed her hand silently.

  The man in the black coat kicked in another door, then disappeared inside. This would be the last apartment before reaching the one where Charlie and Julie were. But for the first time, the man in the brown coat didn’t follow his compatriot into the apartment. Instead, he hesitated in the hallway, head cocked, as though he’d heard something that bothered him. Charlie was sure he hadn’t made a noise. Maybe the man had noticed the door was a few millimeters ajar?

  From inside the next apartment came loud voices, then several thuds and a groan of pain. Someone was being beaten. The man in the brown coat frowned, muttered something to himself, then disappeared inside.

  “Now!” Charlie whispered.

  They stepped into the hallway, Charlie holding Julie’s hand in his left, Quinn’s Makarov in his right. As they began to run toward the far end of the hall, the man in the brown coat stepped back out of the apartment. His eyes widened as he spotted Charlie.

  In full sprint, Charlie fired three quick rounds at point-blank range.

  The man in brown went down in a heap.

  Charlie let go of Julie’s hand and allowed her to run ahead as he turned back, still running at three-quarter speed himself so he could lay down cover fire.

  The man in black poked his head out the door but the moment he realized Charlie was shooting in his direction, he ducked back inside.

  This was just enough to give them a lead. Eight seconds. Maybe ten.

  As Julie opened the stairwell door, Charlie could hear the man in black shouting into his radio, “Shots fired! Shots fired! Jasur’s down!”

  Charlie took the stairs two at a time, still holding on to Julie. As they hit the next landing, the door from the floor below flew open and a man with the crooked nose and scarred face of a boxer plowed out into the stairwell.

  Charlie released Julie’s hand and speared the boxer with a flying tackle. The boxer grunted and slammed into the wall, but didn’t go down. Charlie tripped the stunned thug and gave him a hard shove. The boxer clawed wildly at the wall, trying to arrest his fall, but to no avail. The next thing he knew, the boxer was tumbling ass over elbow down the steep concrete stairs.

  Charlie raced after him, Julie in tow.

  The boxer hit the next landing hard, squealing in agony. When they caught up to him, Charlie saw the boxer’s left leg sticking out at a stomach-turning angle. But with gun in hand, the man was still dangerous.

  Before Charlie could react, Julie stomped the boxer in his face, slamming his head into the concrete. The boxer’s body relaxed and he slumped backward, unconscious. Julie aimed another kick at his face, then a third.

  “Son of a bitch!” she screamed, plowing her foot yet again into his pummeled scowl.

  It dawned on Charlie that this face must belong to one of the men who’d helped Quinn torture her. But there was no time for vengeance now. Charlie grabbed her and pulled her away.

  “Come on!”

  “The motherfucker!”

  “I know,” he said. “I know.”

  They hurled themselves down several more flights of stairs and reached the ground floor. But when Charlie shoved at the door, it groaned on its rusting hinges, opened a few inches then stuck, leaving them just barely enough room to get out.

  Charlie looked up the stairs. The footsteps were getting louder. And closer.

  He urged Julie through the tight gap, then squeezed through himself.

  Not a second later, gunshots rang out, splintering pieces of the door.

  Charlie grabbed Julie’s hand and they rushed toward the Square, pushing their way into the thickest part of the crowd.

  “I think we lost them,” Julie said.

  Charlie nodded. “We need to find Byko.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Hopkins. MI6. They think Byko might not have given out the targets yet.”

  “He hasn’t. I don’t know why, but he’s waiting.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I saw him talking to his people on his computer. He said they would be sent the targets in half an hour. That was maybe twenty minutes ago.”

  “If I can get to him, Jules . . .”

  “His men are out there! They’re everywhere!”

  “I have to try.”

  “Charlie.” She touched his face gently, voice cracking. “It’s over. There’s nothing we can do now. Let’s just get out of here and go home.”

  Charlie hesitated. That sounded so good. And so easy. And it was everything he’d wanted since this whole nightmare began. To be home. Safe. With his family.

  But what about London and New York, Copenhagen and Vienna, Sydney and Tokyo . . . ?

  Those people.

  That was why Julie had entered into all of this to begin with. Even if she was willing to give up—out o
f exhaustion or the belief that it was futile—how could he? When he knew there still might be a chance.

  He pulled her by the hand, forcing his way through the crowd. “Come on. I’ll get you a taxi at the Metropol and meet you at the embassy in Tashkent.”

  “No,” Julie said.

  “Jules—”

  “You’re not going alone.”

  They had reached the edge of the Square and the clouds had parted. In the sudden wash of light, everything was visible with crystalline clarity. On the far side of the Square the statue of Sultan Babur thrust upward from the throngs of people. A young man shouted into a public address system from just to the right of the bronze steed. The municipal building where Julie had sought shelter stood unchanged. Same sandstone walls, same green roof, same high windows. It was as though nothing had changed at all in six years, as though they were stepping back into the past.

  She took his face in her hands, looking into his eyes.

  “I know you think that you left me that day,” she said. “That you should have been there with me. But that’s just chauvinist bullshit, Charlie. I left you. I left you alone in that Square. And what you went through, what you saw—” Her voice cracked. “Don’t bother arguing with me, Charlie. I started this whole mess. If you’re doing this, there’s no way you’re going alone.”

  Charlie sighed. He knew that expression. She hadn’t been broken by three days with Quinn; she wasn’t going to be broken now by him.

  He paused for a moment and surveyed the scene, trying to work out what he needed to do next—and to figure a way to pull it off without getting Julie hurt.

  As he tried to make sense of the confused mass of humanity, he realized that Byko would be standing up on that statue soon. How was Charlie going to work his way through the crowd to get to him? How was he going to evade Byko’s bodyguards? And how was he going to stop the dissemination of the targets? It was a madhouse already—teeming and jam packed and he was nowhere near the heart of the action yet. He needed eyes on the scene.

  And then he remembered back to that day six years ago. How he had climbed up that pole, how he’d been able to see the whole thing . . .