A truck was parked up near another loading bay. I started to run past it. A guy was running full tilt the other way, and we smashed our heads together. We both went down.
"Shit!" I looked at him through blurred eyes. He had a suit on. There was no way I was going to take a chance. I staggered to my feet and charged at him, banging him up against the car. He tried to wrap himself around me.
As I was pushing into him I could feel with the side of my face that his body was solid. This fucker had covert body armor on.
I pinned him up against the car, moved back a step, and pulled my weapon, flicking on the laser sight with my thumb.
Then, dazed, I sank back to my knees. I was seeing stars and my head was spinning; he was probably in exactly the same state. He looked down at me, confused, trying to make a decision. I aimed the sight onto his face.
"Don't do it," I said.
"Don't waste your life on this, it's not worth it. Get your hands up now!"
As his hands moved I could see he was wearing a wedding ring.
"Think about your family. It's not worth dying over this.
Number one, you're wrong, it wasn't me. Number two, I'll kill you. Put your hands on your head."
My head was clearing. What the fuck was I going to do now? Their cars would be here soon.
"Stay on your knees," I said.
"Turn right. Move to the back of the vehicle."
I got up off the ground and stumbled behind him. My eyes were still smarting as if I'd been hit with CS gas.
We were between the loading bay and the car. He knew the score and hopefully was thinking of his wife and kids. I switched my pistol into my left hand, moved into him, and quickly jabbed the pistol muzzle into his armpit, twisting it into the material of his jacket. I felt his body tense and heard a little grunt.
"I'll explain the facts of life to you," I said.
"This weapon is screwed into your clothes. I've got my finger on the trigger and the safety catch is off. If you fuck around, you'll kill yourself. Understand?"
He didn't react.
I said, "Come on, this isn't difficult. Do you understand me?"
"Yes" "Place your hands on your head."
With my right hand I took his weapon. Mine had only one magazine. He was carrying a Sig .45 in a pancake holster over his right kidney, and three magazines on his belt. The Sig is an approved weapon of the
FBI.
He was in his mid-thirties, straight off the set ofBaywatch:
blond, tanned, fit, good-looking, square-jawed. I could smell soap and baby lotion. This guy wanted to keep his skin soft. Or maybe he had a baby. Who cared? If he moved he'd be dead.
There was a white wire behind his ear, linked to an earpiece.
"Who are you?" I said. Not that it made any difference whether he was FBI or D.C. police.
No reply.
"Listen, whatever you think, I did not kill that family. I did not kill them--do you understand?"
Nothing. I knew I wouldn't get Baywatch man to talk. In any event, there wasn't any time to waste trying.
I took the radio, and the cash from his wallet. Then, with the pistol still in his armpit, I whispered loudly over my shoulder, "Stay where you are, Kelly! Don't worry, I'm coming!" I gripped him harder.
"Kelly, I said we're going to go in a minute!" If they thought Kelly was still with me when I legged it, maybe they'd move on and search a fresh area.
I turned back to him and said, "I'm going to untwist this now. Don't fuck with me--it's not worth it." I gradually released my pistol, making sure I could fire at any moment. I was behind him, with the weapon now pointing at his head.
He knew that.
I said, "You know what I've got to do next, don't you?"
There was a slight nod of acceptance.
I picked up an iron support from a pile of discarded shelving and gave him the good news where his neck met his shoulder. That sent him right down. For good measure I gave him a few kicks to the head and balls. At the end of the day, he wasn't going to be more pissed off with me because of this kicking; he probably already wanted to kill me. But I had to keep him from raising the alarm. A professional like this would be expecting it anyway; if the roles were reversed, it would be him doing the honors. It would certainly fuck him up for about ten minutes, and that was all I needed.
I came out from behind the car, had a quick look around.
Nobody in sight. I ran toward the trailer; there was a large trash can beside it that I could use as a springboard. I jumped, threw myself upward, and got my arms onto the roof. I scrambled up. From there it was just a fifteen-foot drop to freedom.
A sign pointed the way to Maylords Boardwalk. I turned left and ran along the grass embankment, past the trash cans, and into another parking area. I went straight toward the boardwalk because it promised cover. I was looking for a rest room, and with luck there would also be an exit to the other side of the mall.
The boardwalk seemed to be a minimall with mainly shoe and greeting card boutiques. I found the block of conveniences by the coffee shop about a third of the way down the arcade. Looking farther down, I could see there was another exit to the boardwalk. I went into the men's room.
Two guys had just finished pissing and were now washing their hands. I went straight into one of the stalls and sat there while I waited to calm down.
I put the earpiece in my ear and switched the radio on. I didn't get much at all, it was broken up, but that meant nothing. I was probably in a dead spot.
I used toilet paper to wipe the blood and mud off my shoes and pants, and cleaned myself up as much as possible. When I was sure the other two had gone, I went out to the sinks, pressed the faucet, and washed my hands and face. I still wasn't getting anything but fuzz on the earpiece.
I headed for the coffee shop, bought a cappuccino, and sat down about three tables back. From there I could watch both exits to the boardwalk. I didn't look out of place with the wire in my ear because so many store detectives and security guards wore them.
They sparked up on the net. They were talking freely as if the radio were secure, not using codes. There was a jack on the radio for the key gun--the device that sends the chosen encryption codes to the radio. Once this has been done to two or more sets, they can talk together securely. Everybody else would just hear fuzz.
I listened to some of them checking around the back, where the boy had been dropped, and others in places that I couldn't identify. What I couldn't hear was a base station, a central control. I started to wonder about that. Then I thought, Why was it these guys and not uniformed police had turned up at the hotel? I was supposed to be a kidnapping murderer;
in situations like this I'd expect to see heavily armed SWAT teams leaping from Chevy vans. I realized it was this that had made me run back for Kelly without even knowing it. I should have checked the boy I'd dropped for any ID. Never mind, it was too late now.
How did they find me so quickly at the Best Western? Had my call to London been traced to our room? Impossible: too quick. Was it my credit card when I checked in? Unlikelier still. Only the Firm would have known the details of my cover documents, and they wouldn't have turned me in because they'd be too worried about the Americans finding out about their deniable ops. So it must have been the receptionist--she must have watched the news and recognized Kelly's photograph.
But even then, it didn't add up somehow. I started to feel very uneasy.
These boys weren't a Mickey Mouse group. When I bumped into Baywatch man, he'd been wearing a double-breasted jacket and it was open. But it was only now, thinking about it, that I realized that in fact it hadn't been open at first.