His mind was churning, assessing his situation. He had to deal with one issue at a time, and the first priority was making sure the police officers in the car were dead. If they survived, he would lose whatever head start he had, and law enforcement would be on him before he could move the paintings. Once they were dispatched, he could figure out his transportation problem-his van was totaled.
He staggered out of the van, looking back briefly to make sure the box with the paintings was still intact. That it was gave him a renewed sense of hope and urgency.
His head was throbbing as he walked around the front of the van and looked into the front seat of the unmarked police car. There were two of them, and they were shaken, but alive. The woman in the passenger’s seat looked a little older than Liam. She was shaking her head, trying to regain her bearings. She looked up at him, confusion on her face. A younger man was in the driver’s seat next to her, already struggling to free himself from the air bag. The steering wheel was bent forward and looked as though it had been pushed back toward him, though it didn’t appear that it had gone far enough to cause any bodily damage. Instead, it just hindered his efforts to get out of the car.
Liam raised his gun and pointed it at the woman. She looked at him through the cracked window, comprehension coming to her slowly through the fog of the crash. Then she shouted, “No!”
A gunshot rang out, and the woman jumped. She didn’t struggle against the pain, though, and now it was Liam who was confused. He looked down at his gun and saw that he hadn’t pulled the trigger. The gun was still held aloft, and it seemed to have tripled in weight. He looked at the woman in the car with consternation, and raised his gun slightly with great effort.
A second gunshot rang out, and this time the force of impact spun Liam on his axis. He was knocked back onto the hood of the unmarked police car, facing the rear of the car. He could see a large black man twenty feet from him, pointing a gun at his head. “Don’t move!” the man said.
Liam looked down and saw two dark stains on his shirt: one on his left shoulder, one on his chest. Only then did he realize that he’d been shot. “You bastard,” he said. His breath was weak, and it came out as a whisper. He struggled to get more air in his lungs. He looked up at the man. He was advancing, his gun still leveled. Liam realized he still had his gun in his hand and he raised it, pointing it at the man with the gun. “You bastard!” He shouted it this time as he went to pull the trigger.
He never felt the third shot. It hit him just above the right eye socket, shattering his ocular ridge and traveling through his brain before blowing out the back of his skull. His body slumped back onto what was left of the hood of the police car, and then slid to the ground, leaving a deep red stain in its wake.
The FBI agent who had shot him moved forward and nudged him with a toe, just to make sure he was dead. There could be no doubt.
His mission was over.
Finn wasn’t expecting the cold. He jumped before he had time to think, and when he hit the water all the muscles in his body seemed to contract at once. His head popped out of the water and he took a second to orient himself. He took a deep breath and pushed himself under, swimming down with all his strength.
His eyes were open underneath the water, but they were useless. He could see nothing. So, instead of using his eyes, he used every other part of his body, flailing about with his arms and legs, hoping to knock into Devon or Sally. It seemed like a pointless strategy, but he had nothing else, so he kept it up. After a moment he surfaced again to take another breath, then went under again.
It didn’t take long for him to lose hope. He felt tiny and impotent in the water, and the odds of his finding either Sally or Devon seemed astronomical. Still, no matter how long the odds, he owed them every last chance.
As he rose to surface for the second time, his hand grazed something off to his left. He reached out in that direction, but as he did, he lost his wind, and accidentally sucked in a lungful of water. He swam up, breaking the surface, coughing and spitting. Somewhere in the distance he heard gunshots. He took another deep breath and dived in the direction of the object he’d felt.
It took only a few strokes under the water before he felt it again. He reached out and grabbed for it. A shoulder, he thought. He used both hands to inch along the limb until he could grab on to the arm. He pulled the body over, wrapped an arm around the neck, and then kicked with all his strength for the surface.
He knew it was Devon before he broke the surface-the body was too big to be Sally’s-and the realization was devastating. It had been several minutes since Sally had gone into the river. The chances of finding her now were gone. She was lost.
Finn paddled over toward the wall at the edge of the river. He could hear Devon spitting up water. “Koz!”
Kozlowski was nowhere to be seen.
“Koz!” he yelled again. “Where the hell are you?”
Kozlowski’s head appeared over the edge of the wall. “Here!” he yelled.
Finn worked his way over. “Pull him out,” Finn said. “I’m going back for Sally.” Finn grabbed on to the wall and pulled Devon over. Kozlowski reached over the wall and took hold of his arm. Devon ’s eyes were closed, and he was still choking on water. His face looked ghostly white.
“No,” he spat out. “Sally!”
“I’m going back for her,” Finn said.
“Please!”
“I’ll do everything I can to find her,” Finn said. “I swear.”
Kozlowski started pulling on Devon ’s arm, lifting him from the water.
“No!” Devon said one more time. His eyes opened, and he looked at Finn. “Get her out first.”
Finn looked at him, not comprehending. Then his eyes followed the path down Devon ’s other arm-the one still dangling in the water-and saw that his hand was grasping a wrist just under the water. A small hand extended from his grasp, and the arm disappeared into the black water.
Finn reached out and grabbed hold just below Devon ’s hand and pulled. He could feel the body moving fluidly. “Take her!” Finn shouted to Kozlowski.
Kozlowski let go of Devon and reached over the wall, grabbing hold of Sally’s arm. He hoisted her up as if she were a toy. Devon slipped under the water briefly when Kozlowski let him go, but Finn grabbed him and held him afloat. A moment later Kozlowski appeared again and reached down to pull Devon over the wall.
Finn was left alone, and he clung to the stone wall that kept the river in its place. He was breathing hard, shivering against the cold. After what seemed like an eternity, Kozlowski grabbed hold of his arm, and he felt himself lifted up out of the water.
Chapter Forty
Finn was last out of the water, and as he flipped over the river wall he looked frantically for Sally. She was lying a few feet away on her back, her face bluish-white and bloated. Duct tape still held her mouth shut. She wasn’t breathing.
Devon was lying a few feet away, gasping for breath. “I’m okay,” Devon said. “Help her.”
Kozlowski was already at work, pulling the tape off her mouth and rolling her on her side. As the tape was released, water spouted from her mouth. Kozlowski put his huge hand on her abdomen and thrust it in and up, releasing another wave.
“Do you know what you’re doing?” Finn asked.
“Sort of.”
He rolled her on her back and put his head to her chest to listen for a heartbeat. “Nothing.” He put his hands together and started a round of CPR, pressing heavily on her sternum several times, then tipping her head back and breathing into her mouth.
“What’s happening?” Devon asked, his view blocked. “Is she all right?”
“Not yet,” Finn said.
“Oh God, please do something!”
“We’re doing everything we can,” Finn said. “She was in the water for a long time.” He watched as Kozlowski continued the process for several minutes, working back and forth between pumping her chest and breathing into her mouth. At one point Kozlowski looked back at him and shook his head. Finn dug into his pocket for his phone, but the water had ruined it. He looked up and was surprised to see Detectives Sanchez and Stone watching from nearby. Behind them he could see the wreckage of the white van. Hewitt and Porter were looking it over, trying to get the back doors opened. Finn’s first instinct was to ask them what had happened-how they got there, and what had happened to Kilbranish-but instead he said simply, “Call an ambulance.”