Payne stared at the young man. He was practically bouncing up and down with excitement. It was clear the kid was relishing this. ‘Did you enjoy the fight?’
‘Hell, yeah! That was some Call of Duty: Black Ops shit!’
‘Do you want to learn how to fight like me?’
‘Fuck, yeah!’
‘Then quit playing video games and join the navy.’
The lower station was a two-and-a-half-story building sitting at the foot of Mount Washington, across the street from the Station Square shopping complex. Made of brick and painted auburn, it had a peaked roof with a turquoise spire and was designed to capture the feel of the old-time train stations of the past century. The structure might have looked spacious from the outside, but its appearance was deceiving. The back half of the building was used to shelter the two loading bays from the elements, and the rest was little more than a waiting area, a set of two staircases that led to the cable cars, and a second floor with a few small offices.
Other than that, it was mostly storage space.
On a busy weekend or during rush hour there would have been a line of people waiting for their chance to board at the lower station. There would have been little time, if any, for Payne and Sahlberg to make their way to the exit before panic set in and all hell broke loose. Thankfully, today Payne could only see five people waiting.
The doors opened, and he led Sahlberg down the staircase toward the main exit. He scanned the station for any signs of the gunmen from the previous trip. He hadn’t seen their faces, but Sahlberg had described them in detail. Furthermore, Payne knew they would be watching the passengers as they passed through the station. Seeing only tourists in shorts and sandals, he felt confident they weren’t walking into an ambush.
‘Follow me closely,’ he said to Sahlberg.
They moved steadily toward the front exit, walking past the five tourists who strolled toward the cable car. He was tempted to warn them about the wreckage inside, but what could he possibly say? I just beat the shit out of two men in the lower level, so unless you want to get blood on your shoes, you might want to find a seat in the upper section.
He knew a warning like that was just as likely to cause panic as the scene itself, so he put his head down and kept moving, hoping to make it outside before anyone noticed.
But he wasn’t quick enough.
The instant Payne opened the front door, a scream emerged from the loading platform behind him. It was a blood-curdling wail that echoed through the building and blared out into the street. At a time when Payne was trying to avoid attention, the scream might as well have been a siren imploring everyone within range to take notice.
Thankfully, the only people nearby were across the street.
Unfortunately, it was Masseri and a hired thug.
Payne instantly knew it was them. Not only because they were dressed like the two men he had knocked unconscious, but because the goon raised his pistol and opened fire.
That made things pretty obvious.
Payne dove back inside the building, knocking Sahlberg to the floor for his protection. The old man landed hard on his right hip, but a few seconds later he was back on his feet and ready to run for cover. Meanwhile, Payne darted across the lobby and grabbed a heavy iron bench from the waiting area. He dragged it across the tiled floor and shoved it against the front entrance. It wasn’t perfect, but the improvised barricade would at least slow their pursuers. Then he turned from the door and sprinted up the steps toward the cable car, urging the five tourists to get in the car with the teenager and the married couple. They’d be safer riding up the hill than hanging out in the lobby, which would soon resemble a shooting gallery.
Sahlberg, however, was the exception.
He would be safer with Payne.
As the tourists crowded into the incline, Payne crouched low on the stairs, pulling his pistol and facing the doorway below. From this vantage point he was protected by the geometry of the door and the stairwelclass="underline" the men would have to be on their knees if they wanted to shoot him, such was the line of sight between the doorway and his position. The drawback was that Payne couldn’t get a clear shot at the men if they tried to enter; he would only be able to see their feet as they came toward the stairs.
The moment the door swung open and a leg stepped into view, Payne took aim. He waited for the intruder to step over the toppled bench, then fired once. His bullet found its mark, shattering the goon’s shin like a porcelain doll.
He immediately fell to the floor.
Writhing in agony, the man tried to locate the son-of-a-bitch who had shot him in the leg, but it was all for naught: he spotted Payne just in time to see him pull his trigger again. The resulting shot hit the man in his face, popping his skull open like a piñata. But instead of candy, it showered Masseri’s shoes with bits of bone and clumps of grey matter.
Payne hoped that shot would deliver a message.
If you want to live, you better leave now.
You don’t know who you’re messing with.
14
If the numbers had been even, Masseri might have reconsidered his tactics against an accurate shooter like Payne, but due to the seemingly unlimited supply of men and weapons at his disposal, he decided to escalate the attack on the Monongahela Incline.
The black sedan roared down the opposite side of the street from the station, as if it were approaching a pit row. Masseri backed away as the car accelerated toward the curb in front of him. At the very last second the driver slammed on the brakes and the wheels squealed in protest. Three men dressed in suits jumped out of the vehicle. With their buzz cuts and stern demeanors, all three looked like soldiers from central casting.
These weren’t men who dealt in subtlety.
They were here for a battle.
Despite stopping on the side of a busy road, the driver opened the trunk of the sedan to reveal their arsenaclass="underline" shotguns, rifles, grenades, rockets and even a flamethrower. If they couldn’t draw Sahlberg out, they could sure as hell bring the building — or all of Mount Washington — crashing down on top of him. Too bad they needed him alive, or they could really have fun.
‘The old man’s inside,’ Masseri announced. ‘He picked up a bodyguard along the way. So far he has taken out three men by himself. The guy is a crack shot.’
The driver considered the situation. ‘Let’s gas ’em out.’
His two associates nodded in agreement. They dug into the trunk and emerged with an armful of weapons including a modified grenade launcher that could fire multiple canisters of pepper spray using a rotary magazine. The police commonly used this type of ‘riot gun’ to disperse crowds. These men would use it to flush out their target.
Masseri stared at the three soldiers, who were wired and ready for action. ‘Remember: we need the old man alive. The bodyguard you can kill. Anyone else, use your discretion.’
The men smiled. There would be no discretion.
Wasting no time, the driver launched three tear-gas cartridges through the first-floor windows. A moment later, the cartridges detonated and noxious smoke began to fill the building.
Now all they had to do was wait.
Payne recognized the odor immediately. He knew everyone in the building would be choking and wheezing as soon as the gas made its way into their lungs.
‘Cover your nose and mouth,’ he ordered as the passengers began to panic.
The entire group — minus Sahlberg and the teenager — crowded into the upper tier of the car. They all wanted to put as much distance as they could between themselves and the tied-up men in the lowest level. The teenager sat alone in the middle section, brazenly taking pictures of the fiasco with his cell phone.