"It's time we get down to business," he said, lifting his head, his lips glistening with his own blood. "C'mon, Alex. You be nice."
He was on his knees, trying to stand, when his eyes met mine and he said my name again. I raised my arm over my head and plunged the knife as deep as I could into his chest. Blood spurted out through the hole in his shirt and Rasheed collapsed forward, driving the blade even deeper into his body.
FIFTY-SEVEN
Troy Rasheed was still screaming when I ran out through the gates of the fortress, crossed the drawbridge, and raced across the grassy lawn that sloped downhill. I didn't care whether he had laid traps that would ensnare or injure me. Anything would be better than the torturous death that he had planned.
I stayed on the cobblestone path, shouting Mike's name as loud as I could. The smooth, cold stones felt good beneath my feet, and the pebbles that peppered them barely slowed me down.
I veered to the right when I saw the roadway that led into Nolan Park, up to the Governor's House. In less than three minutes, I reached the porch of the old building. The door was wide open. I called for Mike and for Pam Lear, but the house was deadly still.
I stood on top of the steps, looking out on the quiet scene. Then I remembered the old bell buoy, the one Mike and Mercer and I had passed on the first day. It was closer to the Governor's House than the Park Service office. I could be there in seconds, making more noise than this island had heard in centuries.
I flew down the steps and took off to the left, sticking to the cobblestone path.
The bright green and red bell buoy was more than twenty feet tall. The huge base on which it rested, once bobbing in the sea to warn passing ships, was waist high. I climbed onto it, resting the bloody knife on the ground, working my way inside the frame of the structure.
The brass bell resting in the metal grid was five times the size of my head. I grabbed it with both hands and stood back. With a deafening clang, the clapper struck against the side of the bell. It rocked from side to side, with a clamor that should have alerted anyone in the city that there was life on the little island.
Once it settled down, I released it a second time, then jumped down from the buoy and started on the roadway to check on Mercer and call for help.
I was running on pure adrenaline now. Halfway down the hill, I heard Mike calling my name.
"Coop," he shouted. "Where are you, Coop?"
He must have been standing in front of Leamer's office. The sound was coming from that direction.
"Stay where you are," I yelled back. "Don't move. I'm almost there."
I didn't want Mike venturing out any farther into territory that might have been sabotaged by Troy Rasheed. I didn't want him to encounter that wounded animal, still armed with Mercer's gun.
I ran the rest of the distance as fast as I could. There was a black Bell helicopter dipping its nose toward the spot in the distance where Joe Galiano had let us off so many hours ago.
The instant I saw Mike Chapman jogging up to meet me, he opened his arms and I fell into his embrace. It took him a few moments-and a reassurance from me-to realize the blood on my shirt was not mine.
FIFTY-EIGHT
You look good there," Mercer said to Mike.
Mike was sitting in Keith Scully's high-backed leather chair, smoking a Cohiba. "You'd look good just about anywhere tonight, Mr. Wallace. If you're still seeing double, then you'd better keep your eye on me for a while. Blondie's a mess."
It was late Tuesday evening and we were in the office of the police commissioner on the fourteenth floor of headquarters. Scully had left for another press conference with the mayor, this one announcing the capture of Troy Rasheed on Governors Island. The prisoner was still in surgery at Bellevue Hospital for the collapsed lung he'd suffered when I stabbed him. Pam Lear's parents had driven to the city from upstate New York to take her home.
I stood next to one of the large windows overlooking Lower Manhattan and the East River. The city appeared to have resumed normalcy after the storm. Power had been restored, traffic was flowing with a regular rhythm, and the Staten Island Ferry was back in service. The water looked as smooth as silk.
Mercer had been treated for the injuries from Rasheed's detonation of the sting grenade. He and Russell Leamer had been knocked out, literally unconscious, when Rasheed opened the door of the office and threw in one of the small spheres, which exploded right next to them. Leamer remained in the hospital overnight for observation, with trauma to his visual cortex. Mercer's vision had cleared by late afternoon
"Where did they find him?" I asked Mike, fixated on the placid scene outside.
I had been treated and released, too, like Mercer. I was only beginning to get details of the arrest.
"Right where you left him, kid. You not only need shooting lessons, but now we got to teach you some anatomy. Don't you know where a guy's heart is?"
Why did that question make me think of Luc? "I wasn't aiming to kill him. I just wanted to get out alive."
"You came pretty close to doing the job, Alex," Mercer said. "You clipped the left subclavian artery. Rasheed almost bled out on the spot."
"And there I was, holding on to Pam," Mike said, "figuring he had gotten himself off the island or was holed up, not wanting to be found. She became hysterical when I tried to leave to see what was taking you so long."
Mike wound up carrying her all the way to the small office. It must have been only minutes after Rasheed had forced me out. Once Mike had discovered Mercer and phoned for help, he started retracing his steps in a desperate effort to find me.
"You knew about Fort Jay?" I asked.
"I'd seen it years ago. I didn't know it had also been used as a military prison."
"It was?"
"Yes. During the Civil War. But it was only for officers-Confederate officers. The magazine was directly behind the room Rasheed took you to. It's the building where all the ammunition was stored. That way, if the rebels stormed the island and tried to rescue their officers, the men would get blown up along with the entire fort. I'm just glad the sally gate was too rusty to close. We'd never have seen you again."
I walked away from the window and sat across the desk from Mike. I shuddered at that thought. "The what?"
"There's a huge iron gate inside the drawbridge."
"Think of your knights in shining armor, Alex," Mercer said. His head was resting on the leather back of his chair, a cold compress on his brow. "Remember how they'd sally forth from their fortresses?"
"Fortunately, it hasn't been closed in years," Mike said.
"And the dry moat?" I asked. "For what?"
"Optical illusion, my dear lady. The bad guys storm the fort, infantry running up the hill, right at the counterscarp. They get to the crest and stop short-nobody needed to bother filling it with water, especially on an island that doesn't have any water source. The troops just keep coming, pushing one another off the grass into the moat, sitting ducks for the guys in the fort."
I poured another glass of water from the pitcher on Scully's desk. I'd been parched all day. Nothing seemed to quench my thirst. "When we will know about Kiernan Dylan?"
"Peterson will call when they're done with him," Mike said. "He's spilling his guts."
Jimmy Dylan had phoned the homicide squad at six o'clock. His son wanted to cooperate once the news of Troy Rasheed's arrest flashed on the air. He had been staying in seclusion, even from his family, with a friend from high school, not far from the city.
"What's he got to say?" I asked.
"The kid was really sure his father killed Amber Bristol. That's what the cover-up was all about. That's why he panicked and left town."
"But he cleaned out her apartment."
Mike took his feet off Scully's desk and blew a smoke ring before he explained. "Kiernan knew about his old man's dirty laundry. He'd met Amber at his father's bar, the Brazen Head. She started showing up at Ruffles after Jimmy Dylan broke it off. When Jimmy heard that, he told Kiernan to throw her out."