by Jack Mars
“I do. They’re in a holding cell back here,” said Pettit. “They tried to run, and then one of them took a swing at me.”
“Oh my,” said the agent. The voices grew louder, accompanied by footfalls as they approached the cell. “I’m sorry for any trouble they gave you.”
Pettit appeared first, scowling through the bars, followed by a man in a gray suit with a trimmed black beard. He smirked slightly at the sight of them.
“Is this them?” Pettit asked. “The girls you’re looking for?”
The man who called himself Hargreaves nodded once. “It’s them.” He reached into a pocket of his suit jacket and took out a pair of handcuffs. “We’ll cuff them together so they can’t make another escape attempt.”
That was the same way that the assassin, the man called Rais, had transported them—by cuffing them together so escape would be difficult. The memory of that nightmare whirled through Sara’s head and made her knees weak.
“Put your hands on the rear wall,” Pettit instructed.
But neither of them moved. “If you let him take us,” Maya said quickly, “he’s going to kill us.”
“Put your hands on the rear wall!” Pettit demanded.
“Do you have kids?” Sara asked the question impulsively, her face close to the bars. It was a desperate bid, but the only one she had. “Do you? I bet you can tell when they’re lying. But look at us. We’re not lying. That man is not who he says he is.”
Hargreaves sighed. “This is ridiculous. You two aren’t getting away from what you’ve done.”
“What have they done?” Pettit asked. Apparently Sara’s question had given her pause. “You must have something, a warrant for their arrest or a record?”
“I’m afraid it’s a matter of national security, ma’am.”
“Two teenage girls?” Pettit asked blankly. “I think I’m going to have to get your badge number. At least give me a moment to call this in and verify your identity.”
“Of course, Officer.” Hargreaves smiled as he took out a leather bi-fold ID holder and handed it to her. “Do what you think is best.”
As Pettit inspected the agent’s identification, Sara noticed his hand moving into his suit jacket.
“Look out!” she shrieked.
Pettit barely had time to glance up before a black pistol, its barrel long with a suppressor, was pointed in her direction. She tried to twist out of the way, but not fast enough. Hargreaves fired two shots into her chest.
CHAPTER THIRTY THREE
Officer Pettit gasped as she fell flat on her back. Sara shrieked.
“Pettit?!” called another voice. The male officer, Reynolds. “Pettit, what’s going—”
Hargreaves raised the gun again, this time aiming down the corridor at an angle that neither girl could see. Not that they wanted to. He fired twice more. Reynolds grunted, and there was another dull thud of a body hitting the floor.
Tears were already streaming down Sara’s cheeks as the agent turned to them, the barrel of his pistol slightly smoking. “Shame,” he said quietly. He knelt beside Pettit and yanked a ring of keys from her belt.
Maya stepped in front of Sara, pushing her younger sister behind her as Hargreaves tried one key in the lock, and then another. He cursed each time he got the wrong key.
“Listen to me,” Maya whispered in her ear. “As soon as that door is open, I’m going to rush him. You run. Get out and don’t stop.”
“Maya, no…” Sara shook her head rapidly. She couldn’t leave her sister behind.
“Do it!”
A key turned and the lock clicked.
“There we are,” said Hargreaves as he reached to pull the door aside.
A hiss of radio static distracted all three of them, their heads turning toward the corridor and the unseen angle. Reynolds’s voice, pained and almost unintelligible, floated to them. “Active shooter,” he grunted, “Sumner station. Active shooter…”
“Son of a bitch,” Hargreaves spat. He strode out of sight and his gun barked once more. Sara winced at the suppressed report. The agent stalked back to the cell, his gaze furious and his gait like a predator beyond the bars. “You see how much trouble you two have caused? You think I wanted to do that?” He reached for the door once more.
Sara jumped, her breath catching in her throat as a fusillade of automatic gunfire thundered in the corridor, impossibly loud. The bullets tore into Hargreaves, his limbs jerking as he collapsed in a heap.
A burly man appeared on the other side of the bars, from the rear of the station, a trucker’s cap on his head and a stout submachine gun in one hand.
“Mitch!” Maya exclaimed breathlessly. “How did you find us?”
“Same way they did, I imagine. Police scanner.” He yanked the cell door open. “Come on. Hurry up.”
They clambered out of the cell, stepping over Hargreaves’s body. Sara didn’t dare to look down at it. Mitch held the gun aloft and led the way back down the corridor.
Pettit gasped once, a rasping attempt at breath that made Sara jump again.
“She’s alive!” Sara knelt beside the female officer, who stared back at her wide-eyed and fearful. “Wait, we have to help her!”
“Sara.” Mitch glanced toward the door and then back down at Pettit. “We have to go. We’ll call it in when we’re clear, but we can’t wait around. I know how these guys operate. There’s never just one. They’ll send a team.”
“We can’t just leave her!” Sara insisted. It was their fault that Pettit was shot. It didn’t look good; the woman would be dead in minutes.
Mitch turned suddenly toward the rear of the station, his eyes narrowed. “We can’t leave at all,” he muttered. “They’re here. Hold this.” He passed the machine gun to Maya and knelt beside Pettit. “Sorry about this, ma’am.”
Pettit cried out sharply as Mitch reached under her shoulders and dragged her down the corridor and into the main floor of the station. He positioned her beneath a desk as best he could, and then took the gun back from Maya.
In her periphery, Sara saw a shadow steal quickly past one of the windows. “Mitch?”
The burly mechanic grabbed the edge of another desk and flipped it over, crouching behind it for cover and ushering the girls beside him.
“Listen closely. They’ve found us. Pretty sure it’s the Division, which means they’ll try a basic flank maneuver, a few in the front and a few in the back, depending on how many are out there. Right now they’re waiting for us to make a move, but they won’t wait long. If I can cut a path, you two can make a run for it—”
“No,” Sara said defiantly. “We’re not just going to leave you.”
A salvo of automatic gunfire rang out. A window shattered and glass rained down over the floor. Sara let out a small shriek and covered her head again. Maya squeezed her eyes shut until it stopped.
“This isn’t up for debate!” Mitch growled. He pulled a set of keys from his pocket and passed them to Maya. “Here. The truck is parked outside. You get to it and you get out of here fast.”
“I-I don’t drive,” Maya stammered.
“Learn fast.”
From outside came an odd sound—a hollow thunk—and a small object sailed over their heads. The fist-sized canister bounced off Pettit’s desk and skittered across the floor, pouring white smoke from a fissure in one end.
Sara reacted without thinking. She leapt up and kicked the canister down the hall as it trailed smoke. It spun across the tile and out of sight beyond the cell they had just been in.
“They’re trying to smoke us out,” Mitch hissed. “We’re out of time. We have to make a move.”
“Where do we go?” Sara asked frantically. “We have no idea where we are—”
Another canister rattled across the floor behind her, white smoke billowing rapidly into the station. Mitch scrambled over to Pettit and pulled her service pistol from her belt. He passed it to Maya. “Here. Use it if you have to. Go into one of those offices and get out a window.
I’ll distract them. Don’t wait for me.”
“But what if…” Maya started to say, but her words were cut off as she coughed violently in the swirling white smoke. It was getting difficult to see; Mitch was little more than a silhouette.
Suddenly his body jerked, his right shoulder twisting. At the same time thunder split the air. Sara felt it, the deep and resonant boom of it deep within her stomach. It wasn’t thunder; it was the crack of a gunshot. Blood plumed from Mitch’s shoulder and he grunted as his right shoulder jerked with the impact. “Go!” he bellowed.
The sight of blood and his guttural shout spurred her to action. Coughing, Sara crawled on her hands and knees across the floor toward one of the closed doors of the offices. She hoped that Maya was right behind her.
Another shot rang out, and wood splintered just inches over her head. A shriek filled her ears; she wasn’t aware that it was her own.
She fought tears as she reached for the doorknob and pushed it open, practically falling into the small office. At least she could breathe better in there. Maya crawled in after her and shut the door.
Then they heard the gunfire, rolling and devastatingly loud, sounding as if it was coming from right outside the office as Mitch fired on the Division men assaulting the station. More gunshots came from outside, along with unintelligible shouts and commands.
“Come on,” Maya whispered, her voice tremulous. She pointed upward at a narrow window of frosted glass. It looked barely large enough for them to get through. They dared to stand and peer through it. The office faced the east side of the station and a side street. There was no sign of movement. Not at first, anyway.
Two men came around the corner from the rear with automatic rifles to their shoulders, though they hardly looked like men at all. They were entirely black-clad, with tactical vests and thick boots and gas masks over their faces, giving them the faceless appearance of some assailing aliens bent on eradicating them without mercy.
Sara ducked down as the two men passed by the window and headed toward the front of the police station. In between bursts of gunfire, she heard the vague shouts of more men coming from behind the building.
“He’s going to die if we don’t do something,” Sara whispered urgently.
Maya looked down at the silver pistol in her hand. “We have to do what he said.” She sounded as if she doubted her own words. “We have to go.” She looked through the window once more, and then carefully pushed it up. The pane slid soundlessly. “I’ll go first, and then I’ll cover you.”
Sara gulped but nodded. Her sister tucked the gun into her jeans, pulled herself up to the window’s ledge, and wriggled through the small opening. It was tight, and Sara held her breath the entire time, knowing that at any moment a member of the Division might come around the corner and catch her halfway through and unable to defend herself.
Finally Maya popped free and fell to the sidewalk below. Sara looked out and saw no one else. Her sister gestured for her to follow. It wasn’t as difficult for her to get through, and once her torso was out Maya held onto her and pulled her the rest of the way until her feet were firmly on the cement.
Maya had the gun out again in an instant. They stuck close to the building as they sidled along its façade toward the front. Sara saw muzzle flashes through the broken windows, thick white smoke billowing out. She winced with each rattle of shots.
As long as they’re still shooting, Mitch is still alive. She was vaguely aware of sirens behind the cracking bursts of gunfire. More police are coming. They’ll help us.
“There’s the truck,” Maya said, gesturing toward the vehicle parked at the curb. “Run to it. Are you ready?”
Sara nodded. Maya checked around the corner and then grabbed onto her sister’s hand. “Let’s go.” They rounded the edge of the building and ran to the pickup, staying low. Maya pulled her around to the driver’s side, facing the road, and yanked open the door. “Get in. Stay down and out of sight. Don’t make a sound.”
“Wait!” Sara cried. “What are you doing? Mitch told us—”
“I know what Mitch told us!” she snapped. Maya’s glance flitted from her sister’s horrorstruck face to the front doors of the police station. Sara knew what she was thinking. She wanted to help Mitch.
Before she could act, sirens whooped loudly and she heard a screech of tires. A police cruiser skidded to a halt less than twenty-five yards from them, the door emblazoned with the words “Sumner Police Department.” Two officers in beige uniforms leapt out, their service weapons already in hand, and took cover behind their car.
Maya and Sara ducked down quickly behind the open door of the truck as a booming voice, amplified through a bullhorn, declared: “This is the police! Cease fire, and come out with your hands above your head!”
The gunfire inside the station seemed to cease, at least for the moment. Sara deliberated making herself known, standing and waving to the police, running to them. But she didn’t move. Instead she peered around the edge of the truck and watched the dark front doors, white smoke eking out into the afternoon like it was the mouth of hell.
A figure stepped out. He wore all black and a bug-eyed gas mask over his face, an automatic gun in his hands.
“Drop your weapon!” one of the officers shouted.
The mercenary snapped the rifle to his shoulder and fired at the police car. The windows shattered and bullets thunked against the side of the car. One of the officers cried out as several rounds struck him in the chest, through the broken windows.
Sara didn’t know if the second officer had been hit or not. She kept her eyes on the Division man as he reached for something small and round clipped to his belt.
“No!” she blurted out as he lobbed the grenade and it rolled beneath the police cruiser.
She dropped to her elbows in the street and covered her ears as the car exploded. If the second officer hadn’t already been hit, he was certainly incinerated. Tears stung her eyes as she looked around, her vision blurry. She felt disoriented. She spotted a vague shape on the ground in front of her. Maya had dropped Pettit’s gun, holding one arm over her own head and shielding her sister with the other.
Sara reached for it.
She got to her knees. The Division man stood a short distance from them, his rifle held limp in both hands. He cocked his head slightly, as if deliberating, and then the muzzle tracked toward her.
Sara didn’t think twice. She raised Pettit’s gun and squeezed the trigger. The gun jumped in her hands, bucking harder than she thought it would. Her eyes closed instinctively as she shot.
When she dared to open them again, the faceless Division man was staggering backward. Blood spurted from a hole in his throat, and he fell onto his back.
The gun shook violently in her hands as her eyes brimmed with the threat of fresh tears.
Maya was on her feet in an instant. She hugged her sister to her. “It’s okay,” she said quickly. “It’s okay. You did the right thing.” She wiped Sara’s face with her own hands. “It’s okay. You stay here. Keep that. Don’t move.”
“Maya…” Sara struggled to form words. Her entire body shook.
“It’s okay,” she said again. “It’s going to be okay.” Maya frowned then, and looked up toward the police station.
“What…?” Sara started to ask. But then she realized it too. There were sirens, loud and screaming and approaching quickly, but that wasn’t what had Maya distracted.
The shooting had stopped.
As they watched, a shape appeared in the broken doorway of the police station. A burly man, limping badly, staggered out of the white mist. He had one of Pettit’s arms slung over his shoulders and his own arm around her waist.
The front of his flannel shirt was torn in a few places and soaked in blood.
He’s been shot, Sara realized dully. Her mind was working too slowly in the wake of shooting the Division man.
Maya was on her feet in an instant, running to them. Sara wanted to follow, but her
legs were still shaking too badly to move. She could only watch as her sister ran to help. Before Maya could reach them, Mitch fell forward to his knees. Pettit fell too with a pained grunt.
Sara was barely aware as two more police cars arrived, these cruisers marked with as Nebraska state troopers. Behind them a fire truck screamed into view, screeching to a halt at a safe distance from the still-burning cop car.
She forced her legs to move, toward Maya and Mitch and the fallen officer, even as the state cops shouted at them behind her. Maya sat on her knees next to them, tears streaming down her cheeks as Sara dropped beside her.
“Mitch?” His eyes were closed and he didn’t look like he was breathing. “Mitch! Wake up!” She shook him. “Don’t die. Don’t die. Help us!” She shook him again. “Mitch!”
“Alan.” He coughed once, his lips barely moving. His eyes didn’t open, but she had definitely heard him speak. “It’s Alan. My name is Alan.” Then a single groan escaped his lips, and his head lolled to the side.
CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR
“Act natural,” Zero murmured to Maria as they strode their way onto the Manhattan side of the Queensboro Bridge.
“You don’t say,” she replied flatly.
It was a strange sight, walking in the center of the bridge, following along with several other pedestrians who were heading toward the commemoration ceremony at the same time. The four lanes of the upper level had been closed off for one hour in order to hold the ceremony; the lower four lanes remained open out of necessity, since the bridge was now the primary thoroughfare between Queens and Manhattan in the wake of the Midtown Tunnel’s collapse, but the NYPD had established a checkpoint on the lower level with K-9 units. As a result, the traffic jam was immense for anyone trying to head one way or the other. Zero could hear horns blaring and drivers shouting from beneath them.
About a hundred yards ahead, just as the bridge began to stretch over the East River, he could see a small crowd had gathered, perhaps forty or fifty people. As they drew nearer he could hear them clamoring angrily. Beyond them were four police officers and a barricade of tall orange pylons and yellow caution tape.
