There was a noise from outside. We both scurried to the crack in the door and looked out as a young man wearing a small backpack trudged by, earphones perched on his head.
“I don’t give a goddamn who anyone is right now, or says he is,” Rarig whispered. “I just want to get the hell out of here.”
In the light from the corridor, I could see his forehead shining with sweat. His job was done, or almost, and he’d spared no one, deserving or not, in achieving it-from possibly killing the man behind us, to using me from the start. His blatant self-service finally burned through the desperation that had been driving me, leaving me clear-eyed, furious, and decided on my course.
“Fine,” I said, “but as soon as we get Lew to a safe place, I’m calling the cops. This thing is ending now. Is that clear?”
He nodded. “It’s all I wanted from the start.”
“You crap artist.” I held out my hand. “Give me your gun.”
His jaw tightened. “Not till we’re out of here.”
I exploded with rage. I took the dagger I still had in my hand and shoved its tip into Rarig’s nostril, making his head snap back until it smacked against the wall. His eyes popped open with fright.
“Look,” I said, my eyes five inches from his, “I’m sick of all this horseshit. Give me the fucking gun. Now.”
There was no doubt he could have just shot me at close range, but my obvious disregard for any such logic persuaded him to merely push the gun into my hand.
I removed the knife. “Thank you. Now collect your friend and let’s go.”
Feeling his nose gingerly, he nodded toward the two men on the floor behind us. “What about them? What if they do belong to Padzhev?”
“I don’t give a damn,” I told him. “I’ve played this game long enough, and not a single person involved in it has turned out to be what they said they were.” I walked over to Corbin-Teich. “Give me my gun.”
He complied without comment. I noticed then that the unconscious man’s arms were outstretched before him, his hands empty. My fury reignited, I swung back on Rarig, pushed him hard enough against the wall that the air flew out of his lungs, and went through his pockets as he doubled over in pain. I quickly found the Russian’s pistol and added it to my collection.
“You asshole,” I muttered to Rarig and spun him around to face the door, motioning to Corbin-Teich to join us.
“Simple plan,” I explained to them, speaking softly. “We move quickly out to the parking lot, get in the car-me driving-and we leave town the fastest way possible, Route 30 heading south. Understood?”
Nobody made a sound. I pushed them out ahead of me, and the three of us marched down the hallway, turned the corner, and entered the welcoming daylight of the building’s lobby. The sunshine, even fading as it was at the end of the day, made me feel for the first time that regardless of the consequences, I was regaining some measure of control. I knew it wouldn’t make any difference overall. Fred Coffin and the court were still waiting to give me the run of a lifetime, and I still had no contrary evidence to stop them, but my temporary elation made all that immaterial.
Chapter 18
We walked in long strides toward Rarig’s car, my jacket swinging heavily with its cargo of weapons, until Lew faltered and stopped, pointing up the curving drive that connected the parking lot to Route 30 above. “That is the same car. The man who shot Andrei.”
Ruefully missing the two bodyguards we’d just left behind, I caught the small of his back with my hand and propelled him forward. “Keep going, Lew. One problem at a time.”
But the car had me worried. It was poised motionless on the crest of the drive, as a lookout, which implied a number of things, all of them bad. Kyrov’s men had probably followed Lew to the arts center-after flushing him outside the Geonomics building-and waited for Padzhev or his people to make an appearance. Now that we’d made a hash of that plan, things were likely to become a whole lot less subtle.
My newfound self-determination had lasted all of two minutes.
They waited until we’d climbed into Rarig’s car, probably because they preferred us contained and possibly, I hoped, because they were slightly confused, Padzhev’s men having mysteriously vanished from the equation. In any case, immediately after I started the engine, I saw a second vehicle slowly nosing down the road to our east, cutting off the only other exit from the parking lot.
“Look,” Lew said from behind. Rarig and I both turned, expecting him to be pointing out the new car. Instead, he was staring at several men on foot, coming from around both ends of the building, a couple of whom had cell phones held to their ears.
I looked around, reading the terrain. It was mostly flat and open, lending itself to a cross-country run, but there were ponds and ditches and clusters of trees scattered about-and no doubt other obstacles lying just out of sight. Any errors now, I knew, might well prove the end of us.
I reached into my jacket and extracted Willy’s radio. “Willy-you see what’s happening here?”
His reply was immediate. “I see a black car at the top of the drive.”
Sammie’s voice followed. “And I’ve got a couple of guys walking along the front of the building toward your parking lot.”
“I think we’re in trouble here,” I told them. “Better put out a Mayday to the locals.”
“Where do you want us?” Sammie said.
“I don’t want you anywhere. I’m about to move-fast. I don’t know where and I don’t know how they’ll react. Just stay out of the way and see what happens.”
I was suspiciously surprised by her ready acceptance. “10-4.”
I put the car into gear. “Fasten your seatbelts, gentlemen.”
To confront either vehicle seemed counterproductive. The men on foot, however, were fairer game. I hit the accelerator and aimed straight for the two coming around the back of the arts center.
They were halfway across a broad pedestrian promenade spread out like an apron from the center’s rear entrance, and, as I bore down on them, my intentions now clear, they stopped, pulled guns from under their jackets, and prepared to fire.
“Get down, get down,” I shouted, veering back and forth to provide a poorer target. I didn’t hear the gunshots over the roaring engine and the bone-jarring thuds as we jumped the curb, but a couple of crystalline holes suddenly appeared in the windshield like flattened bugs, and I felt a fine shower of glass sprinkle across my face. Through the web-like cracks, I saw both men jump out of the way at the last moment, their pistol muzzles still flashing. As we tore past, one of our side windows blew up with a crash, provoking a scream from Lew in the back.
“You okay?” Rarig shouted to him.
His voice was feeble over the wind now whistling through the various openings. “Yes, yes. I think so.”
I heard Sammie’s tinny voice, slightly muffled by my having returned the radio to my pocket. “Joe, top car’s in motion, moving south on Route 30 to cut you off.”
That was just one of my problems. Ahead, where I’d been hoping for a clean shot at the building’s far end and the service road beyond it, I saw a low retaining wall barring my way, with only one narrow gap in it. I wrenched the wheel and headed in its direction.
Rarig yelled, “They’re coming up behind us.”
I glanced in the rearview mirror and saw that the second car had followed us onto the promenade and was moving to cut us off before we could reach the opening.
Rarig began pawing at my jacket. “Give me a gun.”
Without looking, I swatted at him, hitting him on the side of the head. “Back off. You start shooting now, you’ll probably kill one of us.”
We reached the gap almost simultaneously, but my angle was better. The other car careened into my front left fender, pushing us up against the wall, but then it bounced away, thrown off course. I slammed on the brakes, hooked a right, and spun through the opening, heading for several playing fields and the golf course beyond. Out of the right corner of my eye, I saw the first car closing in from the southern service road with another vehicle in close pursuit. Sammie had yielded to instinct.