O’Toole had made his way to the back of the car, turning once to fire. Hauck ducked under a seat and drew a line on him. At that very moment a black train conductor rushed out of the next car, holding a radio, shouting, “What the hell’s going on?”
Hauck stood up in horror and raised his gun. “No!”
O’Toole shot the man twice in the chest, the heavyset conductor dropping down to his knees, grasping a railing to hold himself up.
O’Toole ran out onto the platform.
Hauck pushed the few remaining people out of the aisle and rushed up to where the conductor was clinging to the railing. His large eyes glassed over. He was breathing heavily. A young Latino woman jumped out of a seat. “I’m a nurse.”
“Call 911!” Hauck said. It didn’t look as if the guy would make it. He had rolled onto his back. A bubble of blood came out with each labored breath. “Tell ’em there are two people down. Call for EMTs.”
She nodded, grasping her cell phone.
He jumped out of the train onto the platform. Two bullets clanged off the side of the train, whizzing past his head. He saw O’Toole running down the platform at the end of the long track. Everyone on the platform had hit the deck.
He started after him, looking behind him for Naomi.
He saw her. She had her back pressed against the side of the train, her gun at her side. She had a fixed, glassy look in her eyes and she seemed to stare right through him.
Then she glanced at her shoulder and muttered, “Ty…”
CHAPTER EIGHTY-NINE
Hauck froze, focused on Naomi, as O’Toole made his getaway.
“No, no, no, no!”
He rushed back to her. Naomi pulled herself a little unsteadily off the side of the train, the stunned look in her eyes trying to become a bit more firm. “O’Toole’s escaping…We’re not letting him get away, Ty. C’mon, let’s go!”
Then her legs buckled again and she fell back against the side of the train.
Hauck looked at her, his heart exploding. “You’re hit!”
Her left arm hung limp. There was a hole in her suit jacket right below her collarbone. She shook her head, pulled herself off the train. “I’m not letting him get away…”
“No.” Hauck restrained her by the other arm. “You can’t!” Blood had started to seep out from her jacket. He wasn’t sure how bad it was. She was showing a bit of disorientation. He spun and took a quick glance down the tracks and saw O’Toole heading for the end of the open platform. “You stay here. Someone help her!” he shouted. “She’s a federal agent. You get the police to come after me. You hear what I’m saying, Naomi? Get them to come after me!”
“No.” She grabbed her gun with both hands, her shoulder hanging loosely.
“You’re staying, Naomi. Do you understand? Help her,” he said to a man in a business suit exiting the train. “I’ll be back. You wait for the EMTs. Don’t let her leave.”
He didn’t wait for her answer. He took off along the track after O’Toole. He was maybe fifty yards ahead and had made his way to the far end of the platform. Beyond the station it looked like just open terrain. As he ran, O’Toole loaded a new mag into his gun.
Hauck raised his Sig and squeezed off two rounds at the fleeing man. Way out of range. They both kicked harmlessly off the asphalt platform.
O’Toole got to the end, hurdled a metal railing, and jumped onto the southbound tracks.
Hauck headed after him. The man who had killed April. He wanted to grind him into pulp with his own hands. But O’Toole was younger, fit, and didn’t have a leg that still carried metal from two gunshots from a little more than a year ago. Hauck followed him to the railing and hurtled over it himself, continuing on.
There was blood escaping from a wound on his own arm. A gash was visible under his torn jacket. Hauck didn’t even feel it.
O’Toole still had about fifty yards on him.
There was a train at rest on the northbound tracks. It looked like an empty commuter train, maybe a local heading up from Philadelphia. Dense woods bordered the southbound tracks. O’Toole could maybe hide out in them for a while. But he could also be trapped with nowhere to go. Across the northbound side there was a wire fence that ran six feet high. On the other side was the train station’s parking lot. If O’Toole could somehow get across, he could force his way into a car. That seemed to be his best way out. It appeared he was trying to find his way through the parked train. Or under it.
Hauck made up some ground behind him.
His heart raced tremulously about Naomi. He didn’t know how bad her wound was. He hated to leave her there. But she was right-there was no way he could let this man get away. Not now.
This was the end of the line.
O’Toole turned back and fired off a couple shots at him, meant more to keep Hauck at bay than to stop him. At this distance, his silencer wasn’t exactly helping his aim. Hauck knew that sooner or later the police had to arrive. All he had to do was keep O’Toole contained until they got here. Not let him escape. This had been his goal since the day he first heard April’s name on the news. Thibault. Hassani. Serbia. London. That had only been his way of finding her killer.
That had been his vow.
Around a hundred yards ahead, Hauck spotted a small trestle railway bridge spanning the four tracks. O’Toole seemed to be heading directly for it. If he could make it across the tracks he might manage to leap the fence, jump into the lot, and force his way into a car.
That was his best way out of here.
Hauck quickened his pace. As O’Toole made it to the bridge, Hauck stopped, took aim, and squeezed off two rounds at him. The first kicked off the tracks, clanging into the trestle. The second managed to find its mark, striking him in the leg. He pulled up with a hop, spun around, and fired three wild shots back at Hauck, all dinging off the side of the resting train.
Favoring his leg, O’Toole started to climb the bridge. He made it up to the crossing platform as Hauck, ducking out from behind the train, reached the stairs. He started to go up himself, heart pounding, not knowing if O’Toole might suddenly appear above him and fire down at him or lie in wait at the top of the platform.
He glanced back toward the station. Where the hell were the police?
In the distance, sirens began to wail. Halfway up the metal steps Hauck spotted flashing lights arriving at the station. He sent off three shots into the air to draw their attention. In the heat of it he no longer knew how many he had used. O’Toole was heading to the other side of the tracks. There wasn’t time to wait for anyone to respond. Hauck hugged the railing, gun drawn, and started up the stairs.
O’Toole would have seen the same thing. Hauck searched for him through the trestles. No sight. Which didn’t give him the best of feelings. As he cautiously made his way up to the platform, he positioned himself behind a metal stanchion. Three muffled shots came back at him, all clanging loudly off the iron rails. Hauck pinned himself against them.
The last shot felt like a flame against Hauck’s gun hand.
The Sig flew out of his grasp.
It fell over the side of the railing onto the tracks. He was unarmed.
He now had about a second to make a decision, a decision that might mean his life: whether to jump and run for it. O’Toole was a trained shot, an ex-Ranger. It would leave Hauck in the open, even if he managed to make it to the gun. Or to stay. He heard a train’s horn blare loudly in the distance. His eyes fixed on the gun on the tracks. He realized he had nowhere to go.
“Step out,” O’Toole said to him.
Hauck remained glued against the stanchion. He caught a glimpse of the police back at the station starting to come his way.
“Step out here, now,” he heard O’Toole say.
Hauck’s only hope now seemed to be to stall for time.
Warily, he stepped up the last step to the platform and came out from behind the post.