‘But how?’ Ed interrupted. ‘Do we really dare risk trying to fly out of a New York airport after what’s just happened?’
‘No, we don’t. In fact I don’t think we can risk any US airport.’
‘So what are we going to do then?’
Ed sounded beaten.
‘We’re going to drive to Canada,’ said Sandy Jones.
Meanwhile, Mikey, still lying on the pavement just across the street from the stock exchange, was aware only of a terrible burning sensation in his left thigh. She’d shot him. The bitch had shot him.
‘Throw your weapon to one side,’ Gaynor shouted.
Mikey’s eyes opened wide. This was for real. And it was all such a shock. Mikey had actually never fired a gun in anger before. And even now all he’d done was to fire a warning shot over Sandy Jones’s head. The bitch who’d winged him had presumably done so because she’d thought he was firing at Jones. He’d never intended to do any such thing. He’d wanted to find Ed, that was all. He’d expected to find Ed. Instead he’d found that danged Dr Jones and a trigger-happy broad who said she was a police officer.
Mikey prepared to throw his gun away, just as Gaynor had commanded. Gaynor took a step forwards, her eyes and her gun levelled on him. She sure was one hell of a frightening woman, Mikey thought.
The wail of a police siren cut through the quiet of the night. A patrol car was hurtling down Wall Street towards them. Gaynor turned to look at it. The barrel of her pistol wavered slightly. A surge of adrenaline burst through Mikey. He twisted his body around and, ignoring the pain of his injured leg, more or less dived into his car, slamming the door behind him.
Gaynor focused her full attention on him again, and aimed her pistol at his head through the glass of the window.
‘Stop, or I’ll shoot!’
‘No, you won’t,’ said Mikey, surprising himself. He switched on the engine and drove off, thankful that it was his left leg which had been injured.
In his mirror he saw the patrol car pull to a halt alongside Gaynor, who was still pointing her gun after his car. She didn’t shoot. Mikey knew that New York cops rarely dared fire after fleeing suspects any more. Not unless lives were endangered. And if they got caught out breaking the rules they could end up in jail for longer than the villains.
Gaynor couldn’t believe it when the cop car arrived. Nobody would have had time to call the police yet, even if there had been anyone about to witness the shooting. The patrol car must have been just cruising around, she reckoned, until its team had been alerted by the sound of gunfire. She had no idea of the odds of one turning up like that in the middle of the financial district in the early hours of the morning, but she reckoned they were pretty damned long.
She took her shield from her pocket and held it out in her left hand, while continuing to grasp her police issue revolver in her right hand.
‘I’m NYPD, Detective Gaynor Jackson,’ she called, as soon as the front doors of the cop car opened, and two uniformed officers emerged.
‘Put your gun down,’ came the reply. ‘Throw your shield towards us. Then put your hands up.’
Gaynor obeyed at once, groaning in frustration. Sandy Jones was long gone, presumably with Ed MacEntee in tow. And now she was starkly aware of Mikey’s car disappearing into the distance. Neither of the two cops now studying her shield seemed interested in giving chase. But then, the thought occurred to her suddenly, maybe that was a good thing. She didn’t recognize either of the patrolmen. They weren’t from her precinct. Maybe that was a good thing too.
She had no idea who Mikey was, but she did know she had to think fast if she was going to keep her job. And maybe even her life. After all, she was up to her ears in a highly dangerous situation which was beginning to show every sign of being part of a major conspiracy. It was time she started to think of herself rather than Dom’s friends and a project that was at best idealistic.
She managed to fairly quickly contrive a story about apprehending a suspect in an armed robbery case she was working on, whom she’d spotted by chance. He’d pulled a gun on her. She’d managed to wing him, however the patrol car had arrived and he’d escaped.
Her story didn’t sound very plausible, even to her. And she’d shot a civilian. Or at least, that’s what she’d let the two patrolmen believe, because she chose not to mention that her adversary had claimed to be FBI. But the patrolmen didn’t show a great deal of interest. Gaynor reckoned they were probably nearing the end of their shift. She knew they’d file a report, though. And therefore, of course, so must she, albeit one which would be rather economical with the truth.
Gaynor wondered if she’d taken one risk too many. She was capable, clever and tough. But, just like Mikey, Gaynor realized that she could be getting out of her depth.
In spite of having been shot, Mikey felt vaguely pleased with himself as he hurtled down Wall Street in his big black sedan, leaving Gaynor and the police patrol car safely behind. He’d surely acted just like a proper special agent for once.
Then he remembered the mess he’d got himself into. And his brother. He wasn’t entirely sure whether he’d wanted to find Ed in order to help him, or whether he was the one who wanted Ed’s help. He hadn’t really thought at all when he’d picked up the signal from the bugged pen on his tracking receiver. He’d just taken off in hot pursuit. His receiver hadn’t picked up any speech until he’d arrived in Wall Street, and that had been too muffled to decipher.
Now he was almost certainly in bigger trouble than ever — the thought of which, coupled with the speedily increasing pain in his left leg, brought him swiftly back to cold reality.
Jones had been quite right. Mikey’s bugging equipment had not been FBI issue. He had bought it from a distinctly dubious online supplier. It was no longer picking up any sort of signal. In any case he had no intention of even attempting to keep on the tail of the tracking device. Sandy Jones seemed to have somehow or other acquired the pen he’d given Ed. Mikey didn’t even know for sure that Ed was in New York.
And he had to get himself some medical treatment. Fast. But he knew what happened when people with gunshot wounds turned up at a hospital. The police were notified at once.
Gingerly he touched his left leg with one hand. It was beginning to feel as if it were on fire, and his trouser was sodden with blood. He was sweating profusely. His vision had started to blur. There was a set of traffic lights just ahead, and Mikey didn’t notice until almost too late that they were on red. The jolt of stopping suddenly sent a searing flash of pain from his injured upper leg right through his whole body.
Mikey felt ill. He had just displayed the kind of bravado he’d always aspired to. Now he was truly terrified again. He was at the heart of an operation which was going more and more pear-shaped every minute. His brother was almost certainly in danger. Maybe he was too.
He couldn’t cope. Also, he might bleed to death, if he didn’t act soon. There was only one person in the world he could think of who could help him now, who would make sure that he got medical treatment, who would understand his motives for trying to chase after Ed the way he had. Just one person who knew what a valuable servant he had been to the American government.
He grabbed his phone and made a call from the top of his favourites’ list. After several rings a familiar voice answered.
‘It’s the middle of the night, Mikey.’
‘I’m sorry, Mr Johnson,’ replied Mikey trying desperately not to let either the pain or the panic he was experiencing show in his voice. ‘I have an emergency situation here, sir.’