“We’ve lost them!”
More running echoed through the wet street.
Then a minute later: “Call Lombard.”
Frost and Fawn waited as the footsteps receded. Ten minutes passed with no other sound. The men had vanished. He checked his watch and saw that it was after twelve thirty now. The streets around them were empty. He didn’t hear the men coming back.
“Let’s go,” he whispered.
He squeezed toward the street side of the van, then rolled free and quickly stood up. He didn’t see Luis Moreno or Romeo Laredo anywhere around them. He bent down and helped Fawn out from under the van, and then he pointed to the intersection at the corner of the hotel.
“There’s an entrance to the BART station there,” he told her. “There should be one last train to the airport in a few minutes. We’ll go there and find you another hotel until we can figure out what to do next.”
Fawn nodded her agreement. Her black hair was matted, and her face and clothes were smeared with dirt and grease, but she still had an unquenchable elegance about her. She also had a determined distance in her eyes. For now, she was with him, but as soon as their interests diverged, he knew she would be gone.
Heads down, they crossed to the hotel and walked quickly toward the corner. She held his hand, making them look like a couple out for a romantic San Francisco stroll. Where the hotel ended, they were at the arrowhead where California and Market came together, immediately in front of the terminus of the cable car tracks. He saw stairs leading into the BART underground.
“Come on, let’s get off the street before anyone spots us,” he said.
They hurried across the cobblestones and down into Embarcadero Station. The shops around them were closed and gated. The floor was wet. Every footstep they made on the white tile floor sounded loud. He went to a kiosk and bought two tickets to the last stop at the airport. There was a BART attendant behind glass near the ticket gates, and he thought about stopping to ask him to call the police. But that would give Lombard time to find them.
Frost sent Fawn through the ticket gate, and he followed. He put an arm around her waist as they headed for the deep steps that led to the trains. At the bottom, a dozen people were spread out along the southbound side of the platform, waiting for the Oakland train to emerge from its transit under the cold waters of the bay.
The platform was narrow, the ceiling was low, and the underground air was cool. There were stairs and escalators on both ends of the station, and the train tracks ran on either side. In the middle of the platform was the shiny steel housing for an elevator.
Frost took Fawn’s hand. He walked past the people waiting for the train, assessing each one. They looked innocent. He checked the electronic sign and saw that the airport train was due in fourteen minutes. He led them to a circular bench near the elevator, and they sat down next to each other to wait. Neither one of them said a word.
Five tense minutes passed that way.
More people arrived on the platform, bringing the smell of the rain and the city with them.
The train was due in nine minutes.
Eight minutes.
Seven. He began to think they were safe.
Then Frost froze. He heard boots clip-clopping on the platform steps, and they had a different, measured character compared to the noise of an ordinary passenger. He slid his hand into his jacket pocket, where his gun was. He heard a sharp intake of breath from Fawn.
It was Romeo Laredo.
The husky blond man reached the platform and spotted them. Frost and Fawn stood up. Romeo had his raincoat over his hand, but he slipped it away to reveal an automatic pistol already pointed at them across the short stretch of white tile.
The passengers around them noticed the gun. Several screamed. They began a charge toward the other end of the platform, and Frost and Fawn joined them, heading for the stairs as part of the crowd. Romeo made no motion to follow. When they neared the far steps, Frost saw why. Romeo’s partner, Luis Moreno, had already taken up position on the other end of the platform. He had a gun, too.
Moreno waved everyone else past him. They weren’t the ones he wanted. In less than a minute, everyone had fled. The platform was deserted, and it was just the four of them in the channel between the northbound and southbound tracks. The six minutes until the train arrived might as well have been forever. They had nowhere to go.
Frost had his gun in his hand. He stood next to Fawn on the yellow rumble strip at the edge of the southbound tracks, where they could see in both directions into the tunnel. Neither of the two men made any effort to get closer to them. They simply guarded both exits, preventing their escape.
“Half of the people on this platform probably just dialed 911,” Frost called to them. “The police will be here in a couple of minutes. You better leave now.”
Moreno said nothing. Neither did Romeo. Then the second man tapped a receiver in his ear and signaled to his partner. Both men got on the escalators and rode upward until they disappeared. Frost and Fawn were alone.
“What the hell’s going on?” Fawn said.
Frost shook his head. “I don’t know.”
Then he heard the mechanical whir of the elevator descending toward them. Someone was coming. He thought about taking Fawn into the tunnel, but there was no time to get away. The elevator car was already arriving. The doors were about to open in front of them.
Somehow, when they did, Frost knew he would recognize the face emerging from the other side. His enemy was no stranger.
He was right.
The elevator doors slid open, and Fox strolled onto the platform.
44
“Hello, Frost,” the boy said.
Except he wasn’t a boy at all. Frost realized that now. Fox was dressed the way he always was, all in black. His tank top was soaking wet from the rain. A cigarette dripped from his mouth. He had no gun, but he had two heavy leather balls that he juggled gracefully in one hand without even looking at what he was doing. He looked the same with his oddly plastic skin and tousled dark hair, but he looked different, too. He’d traded his innocence for the sharp eyes of a hawk. His smile was smarter, nastier, and more arrogant. He knew he’d played Frost for a fool.
“So how old are you really?” Frost asked him. “I would have guessed fourteen.”
“I’m twenty-six,” Fox replied. Then his voice rose an octave. “But don’t feel bad, it’s easy to make people believe what they want to believe.”
“Obviously, you’re not Mr. Jin’s son.”
“Obviously.”
“Where’s the real boy?” Frost asked. “The real Fox.”
“I didn’t kill him, if that’s what you’re thinking. No, Fox is safe and sound. I grabbed him as soon as Mr. Jin disappeared. I kept him around in case we needed him to lure out his father. As things turned out, that wasn’t a problem.”
The strange leather juggling balls went up and down, slapping into Fox’s palm.
“So it was you,” Frost said. He wanted to make sure that Fawn, standing next to him, understood the truth. “Not Cyril. Trent broke down the door and saw you killing Mr. Jin. That’s why he was chasing you.”
“Yeah, he would have shot me, too,” Fox replied. “He had me cornered. Good thing the other cop got him first.”
Frost glanced at Fawn. Her dark eyes were two little dots of hatred.
“And who exactly are you?” Frost asked, eyeing the screen that counted down the minutes until the train arrived. “You may not be a kid, but I can’t believe you’re Lombard.”
“You’re right about that. I’m Geary, actually. He uses me for the dirty work. Lombard only comes out for the occasional job. When we have to take out one of our own, he likes to do that himself. It sends a message.”