Nathan saw Montez shudder for an instant, but remarkably he didn’t go down. A second later, Montez fired in his direction. The report hammered the air, clapping the surrounding buildings like a mass wake-up call. It wouldn’t be long before the police arrived-they were already racing toward the Bahia. He didn’t like the idea of Montez being arrested and taken into police custody. That wouldn’t do.
He watched Montez limp across Mission Boulevard and hurry through a gate leading into a narrow parking lot.
Maybe he should’ve shot to kill. Forget about it, stay focused.
Nathan pumped his arms for more speed and looked for approaching cars. None. He sprinted across the northbound lanes of Mission Boulevard, across the narrow divider, then across the southbound lanes. His feet slapped hard on the pavement, his first reminder that despite the momentary pain relief, he’d have to face reality soon.
He inwardly cursed as Montez disappeared under the roller coaster and entered Belmont Park. To avoid being ambushed, he’d have to slow his pursuit. Maybe having the police on scene wouldn’t be so bad after all. He’d rather see Montez in police custody than not in custody at all.
And with that thought, the pain in his feet returned in force. The adrenaline rush of the flashback had worn off. Reason had replaced the other, just as therapy had taught him. Fighting against lost hope, Nathan dug deeper and once again, tried to disconnect the pain.
When was the last time he’d been in Belmont Park? A couple of years? A lot can change. He knew there was some sort of artificial wave machine for surfers, an Olympic-sized pool, shops, food stands, rides, and various other attractions. At 0300 hours, all of them would be closed and the park abandoned. Did security guards patrol the place? Probably did. Were they armed or just radio cops? If there were guards, they’d already be on the way to investigate Montez’s gunshot.
Breathing heavily, he crouched to lower his profile, slowed to a jog, and scanned the perimeter fence and roller coaster beyond. The white support system of posts and trusses offered no place for Montez to mount a hidden attack and the roller coaster had an antipersonnel fence around its perimeter to keep people away from the tracks.
Gun up, he moved into the park proper. He couldn’t do anything about the ambient light, which seemed overly bright. From any number of hiding places or alcoves, Montez could see his approach. And in this kind of battle, the man who sees his opponent first usually wins. Quickness would be the key.
But with these feet? He tested them, gauging his agility. The one saving grace? The bleeding had slowed, probably because the puncture wounds were plugged with sand and grit. Slipping on bloody feet at the moment of truth could get him killed, or worse.
The thought of being subjected to Montez’s sadism all over again wrenched his stomach. He’d eat a bullet first.
Five yards past the entrance’s threshold, he bent low at something that caught his eye. Fresh drops of blood. It appeared Montez had suffered more than just a graze and could never outrun him now, which meant an ambush became certain.
Seeing no more blood droplets in the immediate area, he followed the fence on his left until he arrived at a convex mirror. It was mounted on a building next to some kind of seated free-fall ride, presumably to allow the ride’s operator to see people on the opposite side. Nothing in the mirror now, no sign of Montez.
He took a few seconds to evaluate the light sources that would produce shadows, even if Montez were hiding out of eyeshot. Ahead and to his right, the carousel offered a good hiding spot. He noticed several video cameras mounted on the roof of the building directly in front of him, but doubted they were monitored feeds. He took a few more seconds to study the map of the park in front of the covered carousel, memorizing all the exits. Six in all, tied into the main walkway. Two to the east. Two to the south. And two toward the west. He didn’t know if any of them were gated.
Precious seconds were wasting. He needed to regain a visual of Montez. Keeping Harv’s Sig aimed toward the carousel, he advanced to the building where the convex mirror was mounted. It looked to be a ticket sales booth. Staying on the move would make him a more difficult target, so he crept forward along its wall and scanned the concrete in front of a low set of stairs leading up to the carousel.
And found more blood drops.
Montez fought back the onset of new panic. What had started as an inconvenient burning had expanded into a nasty blowtorch wound. And the dripping blood, which hadn’t decreased in volume, created an easy trail to follow. He knew McBride would be expecting an ambush, but wouldn’t know from where. Would he get more than one shot? Probably not. He’d better make it count. And there’d be no taking prisoners at this point. He needed to kill or disable McBride and clear the area. Time wasn’t on his side, but even with ample time, where could he go? He didn’t know how far he’d make it on foot with a wound like this. Half a mile? Less?
He looked down at the small pool of blood forming under his pant leg. Even if he used his shirt as a tourniquet, there was enough blood soaking his pants to keep dripping for awhile. How long before the blood worked its way down and pooled in his shoes?
Knowing McBride had to slow his pace, Montez moved to the south, hobbling down the main path of the park. Fortunately, he’d scouted this escape route a week ago and thought it unlikely his pursuer knew the layout of Belmont Park as well he did. He had a variety of pre-scouted ambush spots at his disposal, he just had to pick the right one.
That’s when a brilliant idea came. He’d turn his disadvantage into an advantage.
He looked over his shoulder and worked his way deeper into the park.
Chapter 43
If I can hear them, he can hear them.
Approaching sirens. At least three, probably four. Nathan considered removing the suppressor and popping off a shot to draw the police in here. No, not yet. Involving the police ran the risk of a friendly fire situation. At this point Montez had to be hurting as badly as he was. Probably worse. And weakening from blood loss.
Time to relocate again. Watching for shadows or movement behind the carousel, he advanced to some steps and crouched behind a concrete trash container. He peered around the corner to the south. No sign of Montez or any security guards. Or anyone. The park was deserted. A spinning-type ride occupied the left side, with an arcade, retail shops, and food vendors on the right. Ten feet away, he saw two more blood droplets in the middle of the walkway. And something more.
A lot more.
A partial bloody footprint.
Outstanding.
Montez’s leg wound had soaked his pants down to his shoe. He’d definitely gone this way. But how far?
Old-fashioned streetlamps provided plenty of light toward the interior, but the perimeter storefronts allowed deep shadows in their darkened alcoves. A bullet could come from any one of them. No wonder Montez had chosen this place.
He ran in a low crouch along the base of a carnival ride’s platform and stopped at its entry stairs. He stole another look to the south, but again, saw no one. He studied his new surroundings for a few seconds. More crimson footprints led the way down the concrete walkway. From the spacing, it seemed like Montez was doing his best to run. The temptation to run after him had to be checked. That’s exactly what Montez wanted. Slow down. Think. Use the environment. What’s available? What’s the best way to advance deeper into the parkwithout getting ambushed?
Satisfied, Montez ducked between a couple of souvenir kiosks in the middle of the park’s main walkway. McBride would have to expose himself to advance up the same route he’d just traversed. To his right, a concrete wall protected some sort of vomit-producing thrill ride. On his left, bumper cars. This location gave him a clear, uninterrupted view of the park’s main walk. Tactically sound. McBride would be an easy target.