“Faster, Kirk.”
“She shot me.”
He was gimpy, but he could still walk. I had no sympathy.
“Suck it up, unless you want me to shoot you this time. I won’t aim for your leg.”
“And I thought we liked each other.”
He moved a little faster, grunting as he hobbled, sweat beading on his brow.
I didn’t know if he was working with the men I’d seen in the SUV or not, so I kept my mouth shut. We’d covered about a block when I caught my next glimpse, three of them, running up the sidewalk. They weren’t holding guns, but I saw bulges under their sports coats.
We needed to hurry.
We reached the next crosswalk, the Iranians closing the distance behind us disturbingly fast.
Sirens cut through the air, and a squad rounded the corner, probably sent to check out the disturbance we’d caused. The car stopped just twenty feet from where we stood.
As much as I’d like reinforcements to deal with my Iranian problem, I couldn’t let police complicate my operation, and that included letting them take Kirk to the hospital for his injury or me to jail for the Ruger I had in a death grip.
I eyed Julie. “Quiet, hear?”
To my relief, she nodded.
I circled my arms around Kirk and gazed up at him in obvious adoration, the gun to the back of his head.
“If you signal them in any way, you’re dead.”
He returned my loving smile with one of his own.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I want the cops involved about as much as you do.”
Halfway down the block, the Iranians slowed to a walk, noticed the police car, and then ducked into a bistro with outdoor seating.
The light changed, and the cops passed by.
We continued across the street with the other pedestrians. I kept one arm around Kirk, both helping and steering him, his hands still bound in front of him with the twist tie. We moved quickly, coming as close to a run as Kirk could manage. As soon as the officers drove by the bistro, the Iranians would be back on the street and in pursuit. I had to take advantage of the short delay.
We reached Lincoln Center, rushing by the famous fountain in front of the Metropolitan Opera House without a sideways glance, then plunged down into the oppressive heat of the subway.
I bought three fare cards, and we pushed through the turnstiles. The Iranians had been delayed, but they had to guess we’d make for the train. They would catch up within minutes, maybe seconds. I had to make sure we were not where they expected by the time they came calling.
The Lincoln Center station was accessible to those with disabilities, and while Kirk was still mobile, handrails and ramps made navigating much faster than it would be in some of the less accessible stations. But though we reached the platform in record time, no train was waiting, and I couldn’t detect any rumble to suggest one would be approaching in the next few seconds.
The blood on his leg was obvious, but those who noticed purposely turned their backs to it. I kept a watchful eye out for Good Samaritans. None attempted to get involved.
I needed to find a place to hide. A place the Iranians would be unlikely to expect me to go. A place I could extract some answers.
I steered Kirk and Julie into a men’s restroom.
The place smelled like piss, mildew and those sweet pink deodorizing cakes that never really seemed to work. The bank of urinals and sinks weren’t being used. Dipping low, I noticed one pair of feet under a door. I directed Julie into the large stall on the end and pushed Kirk in after her. After depositing Kirk on the toilet, I flattened him to the tile wall behind him, my forearm snug up under his chin, and waited for the lone man to finish up and leave.
Kirk wisely stayed silent, watching me. Although his skin was pale and sweat beaded on his brow, he was still giving off that calm, deadly vibe.
Too bad for him I was now immune to his charm. Trying to kill me tended to dampen my ardor.
I held the gun against his forehead. When I actually decided to end him, I would opt for the garrote in my purse strap, but there was nothing quite like the barrel of a gun to convey you mean business.
“You killed Morrissey.”
“I didn’t.”
“Then who did?”
“My employers. I was brought in to take his place, rendezvous with you and get the girl. I’m just the hired help.”
“Who are you working for?”
“An interested party from Moscow.”
I narrowed my eyes on his. “Try Iran.”
“The Iranians? I wondered how long it would take them to catch up. Have the Venezuelans rejoined the party yet?”
I hadn’t seen Hawk Nose and his boys since the tunnel incident, but I felt no need to answer. Knowledge was power, as they say, and right now Kirk had all the answers. I wasn’t about to let him start asking the questions.
“You expect me to believe you don’t work for them?”
“I work for whoever pays. Sometimes it’s even Uncle Sam. Today it happens to be the Russians.”
“Then how did they find us? Manhattan is a big place.”
“Who? The Iranians or the Venezuelans?”
I gave him a cold stare.
“You want me to guess?” he asked.
“Give it your best shot.”
“The Venezuelans have a passion for police scanners.”
I thought of the scanner I’d heard at the house on Long Island. Great. If they were using the police scanner to find us, after our street shooting, they might just be on their way, too.
“And the Iranians?”
He gave a shrug. “If they found me, my best guess is they had the same intel that you do. Eyes on the street. Or maybe in the sky.”
Satellites. I liked that answer a little better. If it was true, we could lose them in the maze that was the New York subway system.
“How about the Russians?”
“They don’t have anyone else in the game. I’m it. That’s part of my deal.”
I considered this for a moment. I didn’t want to trust Kirk, and yet every sign he was giving suggested he was telling the truth, that he was a gun for hire and had no stake in any game other than a paycheck. As a bonus, the story jived with the profile Jacob had dug up on him.
“And what are the Russians paying you to do?”
“Same thing as you’re being paid to do.”
“My job is to protect Julie.”
I shot her a glance. She leaned against the stall wall, her eyes large and sunken, a child who’d witnessed more trauma than she could absorb. Graffiti etched the paint behind her.
“Protect her,” Kirk continued. “Deliver her unharmed. Bingo.”
“Why would the Russians care if Julie is harmed? What value does she have to them?”
“Ask what value she has to you.” He shook his head. “Scratch that. I can see you’re the protective type, at least where she’s concerned. So instead, ask what value she has to your employer.”
A fair question.
“She knows something.”
It was a complete guess on my part. Since I had no idea who the VIP was or even if there was a VIP, a shot in the dark was all I could manage. I looked Julie’s way, this time in question.
She shook her head. “I don’t know anything. I swear.”
When I brought my focus back to Kirk, he was smiling.
“Okay, spill,” I said. “What does she know?”
“She doesn’t know anything. She told you herself.”
“So what are you getting at?” I gave him a hard stare, waiting for the punch line.
“It’s not what she knows. It’s what she is.”
Now I was really confused. “What she is?”
“I’m going to be on the level with you, Chandler. Okay? This is just a job to me. I don’t have anything to hide. If it matters, I wasn’t trying to kill you. I could have shot you at any time. I was simply knocking you out.”