Ten seconds passed that felt like ten days, and the gunman said, “The woman. She’s in a silver van a couple of blocks away. With an Irishman.”
“No. I killed the Irishman.”
“You left another Irishman behind. A brother.”
“What’s his name?”
“Jackie.”
“Who do you and Jackie work for?”
The gunman shook his head. “I told you enough. You, dumb ass, open the door.” He pivoted Ben slightly-he didn’t have a free hand, without releasing either Ben or his gun, which was aimed at Pilgrim-and he turned Ben toward the door so Ben could grab the handle.
Two heads together, struggling, with one square inch of suddenly clear temple, and Pilgrim nailed the open space. A thunking round powered through scalp, bone, and brain. The gunman sagged, Ben sinking to his knees with the body.
Pilgrim started toward the gunman, pistol out and down toward the body, making sure the man was dead.
Ben reached over and grabbed the gunman’s pistol. And raised it at Pilgrim.
“Uh, hello,” Pilgrim said. “Your life. Just saved. By me.”
“Okay, thank you. Thanks. Appreciate it.” Ben didn’t let go of the gun. His muscles felt thin and taut as wire.
“Ben. Put the gun down.”
“No. I’m getting out of here. You stay put. I’m just going to head downstairs and call the police…” The gun started to waver.
“And they’ll give you back to Homeland Security,” Pilgrim said. “They suspect you were involved in killing Adam Reynolds. They found your business card in Nicky Lynch’s pocket. Right?”
The gun wavered in Ben’s grip. Every nerve ending warned him to run, to put distance between himself and this nightmare. But he couldn’t make a stupid move. Not now. He needed the truth about the past day if he had a prayer of clearing his name. “Who are you?”
A distant rise of sirens. The police, approaching.
Pilgrim lowered his gun, raised a palm. “I can answer your questions and you can answer mine. We can help each other. But not if we’re both in custody. Which is where we will be in five minutes if we don’t move.”
“This is all a mistake.”
“What it is, Ben, is a double. A special kind of frame, done to you and me both. We’ve both been set up to take the fall here. We’ve both been screwed.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I work for the government, but I can’t go to the police. Neither can you. Not yet. Not until we know who framed you, who tried to kill me. This Teach I’m searching for, she’s my boss. And whoever took her,” Pilgrim said, “is the same person who framed you and set me up to die.”
“We have to go to the police.”
The sirens drew closer. Someone had heard the rattle of gunfire over the hum of nightlife. “Police will defer to Homeland, to Kidwell’s special group. You want a buddy of Kidwell’s to start beating you again?”
“No…”
“Then come with me. Now. We need to find out who’s targeted us and why. Later, you want to walk away, you want to go to the police, I’ll let you. But right now, we have to run.”
“It looks worse if we run.”
“Forget looks. Worry about reality.”
The sirens grew louder. Ben handed him the gun.
They ran down the stairwell to the top floor. “Vochek,” Ben said. “There’s a woman with Kidwell…”
“I knocked her out and locked her in a closet. She should be safe. I don’t think they found her.” They paused at the room where Kidwell lay. Nothing to be done-the gunmen had shot him once in the head. The granite face was still.
“Let Vochek out.”
“The cops will. She’ll be okay.” He grabbed Ben’s arm and hurried him down the hallway.
They ran down the stairwell to the first floor.
The hallway was empty, except for the guard Pilgrim had knocked out. The man lay dead, two bullets marring the skin behind his ear. Another guard lay dead by the closed back door, open-eyed, two bullets in his face.
“Jesus and Mary,” Ben said.
“The gunmen came in to kill everybody,” Pilgrim said. He turned Ben to face him. “Listen. This Jackie may be waiting outside, to kill anyone trying to get out. You stay low, you follow me, and if I get shot you keep running.”
Ben nodded. “What if I get shot?”
“Then I keep running,” Pilgrim said.
On the other side of the building, sirens blasted their arrival. Pilgrim and Ben ran for the chain-link fence and went through the gate.
And no sign of a van where Teach would be. But there was practically no street parking, and the closest parking was the garage where Pilgrim had stashed the Volvo.
“Come on.” He grabbed Ben’s arm and they ran down Second Street, toward the parking garage. A couple of blocks away, the gunman said. Maybe he lied. Maybe he didn’t. Pilgrim’s eyes scanned the garage’s levels-if Jackie Lynch was parked there, he’d be waiting for the trio of gunmen. He’d know what Pilgrim looked like. Jackie Lynch could be watching him and Ben right now, seeing them approach, knowing that their survival meant the gunmen’s failure.
“We may not be able to get to my car. We’ll have to steal one if we can’t.”
“Steal a car. Are you kidding me? I am not stealing a car.”
“Borrow, then. We’ll bumper surf.” He spoke to Ben in a voice of utter calm, thinking, Give him a problem to worry about other than getting shot. “It’s easy; you hunt for those little magnetic boxes under the bumper that hold a spare key so people don’t lock themselves out…” As they navigated into the meandering crowd spilling from the bars and the streets, Pilgrim slowed down, keeping Ben close to him.
“What are we going to do?” Ben said. He was calmer now.
“I’m going to get you to a car, and then I’m going to find my boss while you wait.”
They muscled through the crowd, headed east for two blocks, and ran to the garage’s stairwell. They climbed the stairs up to the floor where Pilgrim had parked.
“Wait here,” Pilgrim ordered Ben. Pilgrim eased into the row of cars, gun out, up, watching. The garage was quiet. He scanned the parked cars. No sign of a silver van. Many slots remained full, either people working late or downtown for the music festival. But he didn’t see anyone leaving or heading toward a car.
The stolen Volvo sat where he’d left it. Pilgrim turned back toward the stairwell door and gestured an all-clear.
He saw the door closing. Ben Forsberg was gone.
12
Ben ran down the concrete steps. Get away from the crazy bastard, find a policeman now and tell him everything. Yes, maybe he would end up back in the hands of this freaking weird division of Homeland Security, but he was a witness to murder and he wasn’t going to steal a car and he wasn’t going to run. The idle suggestion- We’ll steal a car — had been the proverbial bucket of ice water, clearing the shock from Ben’s mind. That was not the responsible course of action. He had a business to consider, a reputation, and this horrific night could not redefine him as a person. Once he had a lawyer, the world would shift back to its normal orbit. Sam Hector and his vast connections in the government would get Ben’s good name cleared.
He could get to the ground floor faster taking the stairs than Pilgrim could in a car.
He heard the stairwell door bang open, a flight above him. “Ben!”
Run.
Ben didn’t continue down the stairs-they were empty. Pilgrim could fire down at him or catch up with him, the guy was obviously a soldier of a kick-ass stripe. But people might be on one of the levels. Attendants. Barhoppers. Someone who could help him.
He hit the door. The second level was empty. No people, just cars in most of the slots.
He ran across the level, arrowing for the opposite stairwell. Get as far away as you can, he told himself, just run run run-
A van peeled fast down the incline between him and the far stairwell door, and he raised his hands, beckoning for help as the van cornered and roared toward him. Ben saw a young, soft-faced man with stringy dark hair behind the windshield.