Meanwhile, the Wolf was out of the Range Rover and running down Fifth Avenue, staying out in the street with the cars. The condition of his face made him look as though he'd already been shot, or maybe badly burned in a fire. People on the sidewalk were hitting the pavement because of the gunshots coming from everywhere. Several were screaming uncontrollably. How far did the Wolf think he could get, looking the way he did? In New York City, maybe far!
More gunmen appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. More of his bodyguards. He had certainly brought backup. Had we brought enough?
And then the Wolf ducked into a store on Fifth. Mahoney and I followed him. I didn't even notice what store it was. Upscale. Glitzy. Fifth Avenue, for God's sake!
The Wolf did the unthinkable then. Although nothing he did completely surprised me anymore. His right arm shot forward and released a dark object into the air. I watched it start to tumble.
I shouted, "Grenade! Everybody down! Get down! Grenade!"
A powerful explosion at the front of the store blew out two massive picture windows. Shoppers were hurt. The smoke was very thick and dark. Everybody inside the store was screaming, including the clerks behind nearly every counter.
I never lost sight of the Wolf, never lost my focus on him. No matter what he did, no matter what the danger, he couldn't be allowed to get away this time. The cost was too high. This was the man who had held the world hostage. He'd already murdered thousands.
Mahoney ran down one aisle and I took another. The Wolf appeared to be headed for an exit onto a side street. I'd lost track of where we were. Fifty-fifth Street? Fifty-sixth?
"He doesn't get out!" Ned shouted over to me.
"You've got that right."
We were getting closer and I could see the Wolf's face. With all the bandages, the bruising and swelling, he looked fiercer than I could have imagined. Worse, he looked desperate, capable of anything. But we already knew that.
He yelled, "I'll kill everybody in the store!"
Neither Mahoney nor I answered; we just kept coming. But we didn't doubt what he'd said.
He grabbed a small blond girl away from what looked to be a nanny. "I'll kill her. I'll kill the little girl. She's dead! I'll kill her!"
We kept coming.
He held the toddler against his chest. His blood was dripping all over her. The girl was screaming, squirming wildly in his arms.
"I'll kill -"
Ned and I fired at almost the same time-two shots and the Wolf stumbled backward, letting go of the girl. She fell to the floor, then got up screeching and ran to safety.
So did the Wolf. Out the nearest side door and onto the street.
"He's wearing a vest-has to be."
"We'll shoot him in the head," I said.
Chapter 118
We chased him east on Fifty-fifth Street, along with a couple of our agents and two fleet-footed New York City policemen. If any of the Wolf's bodyguards had survived the bloody shoot-out on Fifth Avenue, they'd lost track of their boss in the shuffle inside the store. They were nowhere to be seen now.
Still, the Wolf looked as though he knew where he was going. Was that possible? How could he have planned for this? He probably couldn't have-so we'd get him now, right? I couldn't let myself believe otherwise-that all of this could come to nothing.
We had him in our sights. He was right there in front of us.
Suddenly he turned into a building, redbrick, eight to ten stories high. Did he know someone there? More backup? A trap? What?
There was security inside; at least, there had been. But the uniformed guard was dead now, shot in the head, lying facedown and bleeding on the glossy marble floor.
The elevators were all busy, red lights flashing the floors-eight, four, three-all going up.
"He's not getting out of here. That's settled," Mahoney said.
"We can't know that, Ned."
"He can't fucking fly, can he?"
"No, but who the hell knows what else he can do. He came in here for a reason."
Mahoney assigned agents to wait for all of the elevators, then to systematically check the floors from bottom to top. Reinforcements were on the way from the NYPD. There would be dozens of cops here soon. Then hundreds. The Wolf was in the building.
Mahoney and I took to the stairs in pursuit.
"Where do we go? How far?"
"The roof. It's the only other way out of here."
"You really think he's got a plan? How, Alex?"
I shook my head; I had no way of knowing. He was bleeding, had to be weak; maybe he was even delirious. Or maybe he had a plan. Hell, he'd always had a plan before.
So up we went, all the way. The top floor was nine, and we didn't see the Wolf as we peeked out of the stairwell. We quickly checked the offices; no one had seen him-and they sure would have remembered if they had.
"In the back. There's stairs up to the roof," someone told us in a law office.
Ned Mahoney and I climbed more stairs, then we stepped outside into bright daylight. We didn't see the Wolf. There was a single-story structure, like a small hat on top of the old building. Water tower? The super's office?
We tried the door; it was locked.
"He has to be here somewhere. Unless he jumped," Ned said.
Then we saw him coming around from behind the tower. "I didn't jump, Mr. Mahoney. And I thought I told you not to work on this case. I think I was clear. Put down your guns right now."
I stepped forward. "I brought him here."
"Of course you did. You're the indefatigable, don't-give-up, relentless Dr. Cross. That's why you're so predictable, and useful."
Suddenly a New York City policeman stepped out of the same trapdoor opening to the roof that we had used. He saw the Wolf and fired.
He hit the Wolf in the chest, but it didn't stop him. He was wearing a vest, had to be. The Russian growled like a bear and charged the cop, waving both arms over his head.
He grabbed the surprised officer and picked him up. There was nothing Ned or I could do. Next thing, he hurled the man off the roof.
The Wolf started to race toward the other side of the rooftop, and he seemed genuinely insane. What was he doing? Suddenly I thought I knew. The building to the south was close enough so that he was going to jump for it. Then, coming in from the west, I saw a helicopter. For him? Was that the escape plan? Don't let this be happening.
I ran after him. So did Mahoney. "Stop! Stop right there!"
He was running in crazy zigzags away from us. We fired but didn't hit him with the first shots.
Then the Wolf was airborne, both his arms flailing-and he was going to make it to the other rooftop with room to spare.
"You bastard, no!" Ned yelled. "No!"
I stopped running, aimed carefully, and squeezed the trigger four times.
Chapter 119
The Wolf kept pumping his legs and seemed almost to be running on thin air, but then he started to drop. His arms reached out toward the edge of the other building. His fingers reached for the roof.
Mahoney and I ran up to the edge of our building. Could the Wolf get out of this one? Somehow, he always found a way. Except this time-I knew I'd hit him in the throat. He had to be drowning in his own blood.
"Fall, you fuck!" Ned screamed at him.
"He's not going to make it," I said.
And he didn't. The Russian's body fell, and he didn't fight it, didn't make a sound, never screamed out. Not a sound came from him.
Mahoney yelled down at him. "Hey, Wolf! Hey, Wolfman! Go to hell!"
The fall looked as if it had been shot in slow motion, but then he hit the ground in the alleyway between the buildings. Hit it hard. I stared down at the Wolf's mangled body, the bandaged face, and I felt satisfied for the first time in a long while. I felt fulfilled and whole. We'd gotten him, and he deserved to die like that, squashed like a bug on the pavement.