He knew that Yancey’d sent the body-cam images of him to every news outlet and law enforcement agency in the area, so he had altered his appearance as best he could. He’d ditched the windbreaker and wore a Raiders cap low on his head. A piece of medical tape stretched across the bridge of his nose, as if he’d broken it. He hoped it was enough to render him unrecognizable, but he worried his bedraggled appearance would warrant a second look. His navy henley was filthy, and darker where his wound had bled through. His pants were stiff from seawater because he’d had to hop out of the dinghy when they’d neared the Oakland waterfront to drag it into the shadow of the dock. Whenever BART police walked by, he averted his eyes, and he’d taken care to position himself in a surveillance-camera blind spot.
As Hendricks scanned the crowd, he realized that-his nervous fidgeting aside-he was the only person in sight standing still. All around him, people in business attire shuffled on and off of trains. Most were tense and watchful. Others fiddled compulsively with their phones.
Hendricks’s phone was in his pocket, dead and useless. He’d worn the battery down to nothing directing Cameron and Yancey around town. As it dropped into the red, he began to wonder if he’d get them here before it shut down.
But it had held on long enough-and now, their train had arrived.
Segreti was in position.
It was time.
Despite Hendricks’s teasing, it turned out Cameron was a genius for putting the BART app on his phone. If this went as planned, her foresight would have played a major role in saving her life. If it didn’t…best not to think about that. Given how beat up he was-his knife wound throbbing, his face flushed, his brow beaded with sweat despite the platform’s relative cool-he didn’t like his odds if this meet went south.
Yancey stepped off the train, eyes darting everywhere. He pushed Cameron ahead of him as he walked, his left hand gripping her shoulder so tightly, his knuckles were white. His right hand was obscured by his sport coat, which was draped to conceal the gun pressed to her side. Hendricks put his right hand on the butt of the SIG Sauer he’d taken from Reyes; it was tucked into the waistband of his pants, his shirt pulled down to cover it.
When Yancey’s eyes lit on Hendricks, Hendricks gave him a nod, scarcely more than a subtle raise of his hat brim. Yancey smiled wolfishly and maneuvered Cameron toward Hendricks, the morning commuters oblivious around them.
She had a poncho slung over her bound wrists, a silly hat on her head and sunglasses on her face. Despite the getup, it was clear to Hendricks she’d been viciously beaten. Her shoulders hitched slightly as she struggled not to cry.
“Where the fuck’s Segreti?”
“Let the girl go and I’ll tell you.”
“You’re outta your goddamn mind if you think that’s how this is gonna go down. You’re a wanted man. I’m law. If you force me to, I’ll gun you both down here and now.”
“Easy,” Hendricks said. “Just keep cool and we can all get what we want.”
Yancey laughed. “No chance of that,” he said. “That ship sailed for me when Segreti resurfaced. All I wanted was that fucker to stay dead when I killed him.”
“As I understand it, he’s not the only one who died that day.”
“Which makes his resurfacing all the more regrettable. Now those people died for nothing.”
An announcement blared. Hendricks cocked his head and listened.
“I’m sorry,” Yancey said, “am I boring you?”
“Not at all,” Hendricks replied. “It’s just, that announcement was for your train. If I were you, I’d hurry up and catch it.”
Yancey squinted in puzzlement at Hendricks, then followed Hendricks’s gaze toward the train departing for San Francisco on the other side of the platform. And in the nearest car, he spotted Segreti slumped across two seats, his eyes closed, one wrist cuffed to the metal grip on the seat beside the aisle.
Cameron saw him too and said, “Michael, no, you can’t-” but Yancey silenced her with a jab of his gun barrel to her ribs.
“He alive?” Yancey asked.
“Last I checked,” Hendricks replied. “But he was…uncooperative…when I told him about our deal, so I had to drug him.”
Yancey snorted. “That sounds like the Segreti I know.”
Hendricks took a small silver key out of his pocket and extended it to Yancey. A handcuff key. Yancey had to let go of either Cameron or the gun to take it. He elected for the former and snatched the key out of Hendricks’s hand. Then he grabbed Cameron once more and tried to yank her backward, toward the train. Whether he intended to use her as cover until the last second or bring her with him was unclear, but either way, it wasn’t going to happen. Hendricks had a hold of her.
They played tug-of-war for a moment with the scared young woman caught between them. The train hissed. The doors began to slide shut. Yancey was forced to make a choice.
He released Cameron. She fell forward into Hendricks’s arms.
Yancey turned and ran. The doors nearly closed on him as he leaped through.
Hendricks watched him go and held Cameron close while she trembled in his arms, tears spilling down her cheeks. Then, at once, she tensed. Over Hendricks’s shoulder, she thought she caught a glimpse of a familiar face in the crowd. Familiar, but unwelcome. One of Yancey’s men. But as soon as she thought she saw him, he was gone.
“I-I think they followed us,” Cameron managed through her sobs. “Yancey’s men, I mean. I don’t know how they could’ve, but they did. We need to move.”
“It’s all right,” Hendricks told her. “You’re safe now.”
“You don’t understand,” she protested.
“Believe me, kid. I do. You’re scared. Rattled. No one followed you, I promise. Now c’mon, let’s get out of here.”
He cut her free of her zip-tie with the X-Acto knife, took her hand, and tried to lead her to the up escalator and the street. But Cameron remained fixed in place and didn’t move until the train pulled out of the station, sending Yancey through the Transbay Tube once more.
41.
THE HARDEST PART wasn’t the fear of dying, Segreti thought. It wasn’t the uncertainty. It was pretending to be asleep.
Segreti’s mouth was open, his muscles relaxed. He watched through his eyelashes as Yancey leaped through the closing doors onto the train car and slammed into its unsuspecting passengers.
“Watch it, asshole!” A wiry punk in a Dead Kennedys T-shirt wheeled on Yancey and shoved him. Yancey pistol-whipped him in the face, and he went down bleeding.
The passengers recoiled, shouting and pushing toward the exits, but it was too late; the platform doors were closed. The train shuddered and began to move.
“Listen up!” Yancey yelled, holding his government-issued credentials in the air like a badge. “I’m a federal investigator, and I have reason to believe there’s a bomb on this train car! For your safety, I’m gonna need you all to proceed to the adjacent cars immediately!”
Panic rippled through the crowd. People scrabbled over one another as everyone attempted to squeeze through the narrow doors at once. Soon, the car was quiet save for the clatter of the tracks.
Yancey strolled down the aisle toward Segreti. As he approached, Segreti closed his eyes completely, worried that parted lids would give the ruse away. Yancey reeked of cigarettes and aftershave. His shadow painted the backs of Segreti’s eyelids a deeper black.
Yancey backhanded Segreti across the face. Segreti’s lips split against his teeth and began to bleed. It took a supreme force of will for Segreti to keep his eyes closed and allow his head to loll, but he knew he had only one shot of leaving the train alive, and he had to make it count.