Henry knelt and pulled his revolver from his ankle holster. Then he stood and circled Leonard, whose eyes were bulging sightlessly and whose face was turning maroon. Two brave cops had their hands on Daphne's neck and were pulling with all their strength, with no noticeable effect on Daphne. As Henry approached them, another cop ran toward him, yelling something that Henry couldn't make out in the general din; seeing the gun in Henry's hand, he backed off. Henry showed the gun to the two brave cops; they looked at each other, then let go of Daphne and stood. As they did, Henry dropped to his stomach, rolled onto his back directly next to Leonard. As Daphne, who was never in a hurry, gracefully turned her head to see what was happening, he stuck the barrel of the gun into the underside of her jaw, pulled the trigger, and blew out her brains, not that she had many.
One second later, Greer burst through the crowd, drawing his own gun as he heard the shot and the ensuing screams. He ran forward, and then stopped, gun in hand, staring down at the scene on the floor — first at the unconscious Leonard, then at the now headless Daphne, and finally at Henry, who was on his back, gun still pointing straight up.
The two men studied each other for a moment. Then Henry spoke.
"Agent Greer," he said. "What brings you to Miami?"
The plane was moving faster now. Monica, tiring fast, was not sure she'd catch it. She was not entirely sure she wanted to catch it. But she found some reserve energy somewhere and got to within a few feet of the hanging stairs. She reached her left hand out, and for a second, caught hold of the plastic-covered steel cable that served as the stair's railing, but the effort of reaching forward slowed her slightly, and the railing was yanked away. Straining, her lungs burning, she lunged forward again, and this time she had the railing, but she was starting to stumble and shit she was going down and the plane was going to get away and…
… and Matt, sprinting next to her now, pulled her upright and gave her a push forward, and she grabbed the other railing and swung on to the ladder. She moved up to the second step and turned and held out her hand to Matt, and he grabbed it and she pulled, and in a second Matt was on the lower step, and in the next second the plane suddenly accelerated, and the fastest runner on earth would not have caught it.
Eliot, drenched in sweat, with the others trailing behind him, ran back toward the security checkpoint.
"POLICE!" he shouted. "POLICE!"
In front of him, a herd of returning cruise-ship passengers watched his approach, openmouthed.
"CALL 911," Eliot shouted at them as he went past. "PLEASE. THERE'S A MAN SHOOTING BACK THERE."
The passengers stared as Eliot disappeared down the concourse, with Anna, Puggy, and Nina behind him. One passenger went to a pay phone, dialed 911, and told the operator what Eliot had said. The 911 operator said the police were aware of the shooting at the airport and had the situation under control. The passenger reported this news, and the herd relaxed.
Monica hauled herself to the top of the folding stairs and wriggled past the heavy suitcase partially blocking the doorway, keeping low. She peered around the last row of seats on the left and saw Snake standing in the middle of the plane, his back — thank God — to her. He was watching the pilots.
The pilot on the left yelled something to Snake, which Monica thought was about the door. Snake yelled something that Monica couldn't make out, and he pointed his gun at the pilot. The pilot shrugged and turned back to the controls.
Monica crawled across the aisle and into the last row of seats on the right side of the plane. Matt crawled in and went to the left side. He gave her a look that said, Now what? Monica held up her hand in a gesture that said, Wait. She had no idea what for.
The plane had reached the end of the taxiway and was turning onto the runway. The engines were very loud now. They were taking off.
As they turned into Garbanzo Street, the couple in the Lexus was arguing. They had been arguing for two hours now, since the start of their dinner at the Italian restaurant in Coral Gables. The issue was whether to stay in Miami, where the husband had been transferred by his bank a year and a half ago, or move back to Cedar Rapids, where they were both from. He thought that, for career reasons, they should stay; she wanted to go.
They were arguing so heatedly that the husband almost ran into the large man standing in the street, waving his arms. The man seemed to be wearing a uniform, but it was filthy and drenched in sweat, and there was blood running down his arm, which was… handcuffed to some big, mangled piece of metal, which was… my God, it was handcuffed to another man, a strange-looking man, off to the side there. With a big dog.
"I think we should get out of here," the husband said.
"They look like they need help," the wife said.
"OK," said the husband, "but we stay in the car."
Keeping the car in gear, the husband pressed the power-door-lock button and lowered his window two inches.
"Listen," said the large man. "I'm a Miami police officer, and I need you to…»
"GET OUT WHILE YOU CAN!" said the strange-looking man.
"SHUT UP!" said the large man. Turning back to the couple, he said, "I need you to…»
"SHE WANTS YOUR SOUL!" said the strange-looking man. He was pointing at the dog, who sniffed his finger, then barked.
"I SAID SHUT THE FUCK UP GODDAMMIT!" said the large man, shoving the big metal thing hard, knocking the strange man over. 'THAT IS NOT ELIZABETH FUCKING DOLE!"
The husband pressed the accelerator. The car shot forward, tires squealing.
"NO!" screamed the large man. "COME BACK!"
The husband drove three blocks before speaking.
"OK," he said. "You call the movers."
"You know this guy?" Baker asked Greer. They were standing with Henry, who was watching three police officers and two paramedics unwrap Daphne from Leonard, who had regained consciousness. So had Daphne's owner, who was being formally taken into police custody and had already been handed business cards by four personal-injury attorneys who happened to be on the scene.
"Oh yeah," said Greer, "I know Henry from the old days, in Jersey. I used to interrogate him alla time, back when I worked organized crime."
"Wasn't that organized," said Henry. "Which is why I got out of it."
"You're saying you're retired now?" asked Greer. "Workin' on the stamp collection? Drinkin' Ensure?"
"More or less," said Henry.
"Sure," said Greer. "Listen, much as I would enjoy hearin' you explain to these officers why you come to their airport wearin' a piece on your ankle, I got important federal business, OK?"
"Real good chattin' with you," said Henry, turning back to Leonard.
"OK," said Greer, to Baker and Seitz. "These are assholes, but not the right assholes. I need to talk to somebody in charge."
"That guy there, I'm pretty sure he's the head airport cop," said Baker, pointing to a white-haired man in a shirt and tie, talking on a cell phone and holding a walkie-talkie, which was emitting a drumbeat of messages and static. Greer walked over.
"No, nobody got hit," the white-haired man was saying. "Just the snake." He listened for a moment, then said, "I don't know what kind. A big snake."