They were looking for him.
With few options and no time to implement them, he decided to confront the agents head-on. He pulled out his credentials, left the subway car, and walked toward the approaching men. Payne looked the lead agent directly in the eye, held his case low, and used his middle finger to partially obscure the last name on his Bureau identification. “Special Agent Thomas,” he said, reasoning they might have been alerted to his cover name of Thompson. “He’s not in this car. I’m going to head on up to street level, start with the shops.”
The other agent nodded. “All station exits are covered. We’ll find him.” The man squeezed past Payne and boarded the subway car parked on the opposite side of the platform, to his left.
As Payne turned and headed away, he heard the man speaking to the passengers: “We’re federal agents. Please remain calm. We’ve got orders to inspect everyone’s identification, so please have photo ID available…”
Payne walked away from them at a fast clip, passing the fare machines on his way out. As he approached the brown steel doors that led to the main part of the depot, he began to run. He hit the door with his right shoulder and blasted through it. Ahead of him was an escalator that stretched up to the lower concourse but it was a down escalator and it was full of people intent on reaching their trains.
He thought about turning around and heading back into the metro, but just then, he heard shouting from behind him. He whipped his head around and saw several agents running in his direction.
“Freeze! FBI!”
Payne was paralyzed with a sudden flush of adrenaline-charged fear. The air suddenly turned murky; his head became light and he felt dizzy. He continued to push forward, but he was caught in a nightmarish haze that made him feel as if he were moving in slow motion.
The agents’ guns came out of their holsters and a collective scream erupted from the commuters, whose concern, only a moment ago, was whether they would make their trains on time. Like a trail of ants whose single-file line had just been disturbed by a falling pebble, the people scattered in every possible direction.
Payne turned his head and began pushing his way forward, swimming through the sea of cowering humanity. He burst through a crowd and nearly fell forward, but got bumped and driven upright. He pushed forward again, climbing over the backs of the crouching commuters, attempting to make his way up the down escalator. “FBI, let me through!” he shouted as he shoved and wormed his way around and between them, finally disappearing into the confused mass of terrified travelers.
“Thompson — give it up!” he heard as he made it onto the lower concourse. The agents’ voices were muffled, but frantic. “…Agents on every level!”
He began to run again, passing an upscale pharmacy and the Metro Market food court, nearly knocking several people down as he went. Ahead of him was another bank of escalators — these traveling in the correct direction — and he hit the moving steps in stride.
A few seconds later, he emerged on street level beside a Barnes & Noble bookstore. He turned right and walked quickly past the shops, trying to blend in with the swirling mass of activity.
He glanced behind him — he didn’t see any agents or security guards — and headed toward the First Street Metro exit. He caught the time on the large clock face near the revolving doors: 12:25. Would the cab still be waiting for him?
Payne emerged outside beneath an arch-covered patio and noticed a couple of agents eyeing the exit, two-way radios up to their ears. He ducked into a crowd and moved along First Street toward the front of the station, where the taxi stand was located. To his left, a lone cab was parked at the curb. Was it his? He didn’t care if it wasn’t — he was taking it.
Payne jumped inside and slammed the door shut. “Fredericksburg,” he said, panting out of fear as much as from his sprint out of the station.
“I’m waitin’ on a fare,” the heavyset man said.
“I’m the guy you’re waiting for. Barry Simon. Sorry I’m late.”
“Another minute and you’d a been stranded,” the cabbie said, yanking the gearshift into drive. “Wait policy’s ten minutes, then I can take any fare comes my way.”
Payne tuned out the driver and craned his neck to look out the back window as the taxi pulled away.
“Fredericksburg, you said?”
“Yeah.” Payne ducked down behind the rear seat as the agents that had been pursuing him came running out into the street. They were rotating their bodies and rubbernecking their heads, turning round and round.
Lost sheep without their dog.
Payne leaned back and closed his eyes as the driver turned the corner and accelerated.
55
It was noon when Lauren returned to her motel room. She grabbed her suitcase and began gathering her clothing, fighting back tears and struggling to keep her composure. She stopped, a pair of jeans in her hand, and looked down at the garbage can near her foot. She kicked it and sent it careening across the room into a wall. The jeans went flying after it, and as if that weren’t enough, she shoved everything off the desktop with the swipe of her hand.
“Are you done yet?” Bradley asked, standing safely a few feet behind her.
She grabbed the phone and heaved it at the door. It ripped from the wall and smashed to the floor.
“I understand you’re upset, frustrated. Angry.”
She suddenly stopped, turned, and faced Bradley. “Upset? You think I’m upset?” she screamed.
“Lauren, please, calm down.” He took both her hands in his, but she twisted away from him.
“I don’t want to calm down!” She grabbed the end of the suitcase and yanked it off the bed, then seized a glass off the nightstand. As she brought her arm back to throw it, he reached out and stopped her.
“Enough!”
She wrestled her arm away and swung at him. He ducked and the follow-through spun her around. He threw his arms around her torso, capturing her arms and pinning them against her body. She continued to writhe and jump, pushing them both backward onto the bed.
They landed face up, Lauren atop him, still squirming. He tightened his grip, then rolled them both over, burying her face into the covers. They remained prone for a moment, her body finally relaxing into submission.
But he felt her chest heaving and realized she was sobbing. He pulled his arms out from beneath her and sat up. “I’m glad you got that out of your system,” he said gently. He waited for her to respond, but she did not move. “Lauren, think about what you’ve been through this past week. Your husband’s missing, you’ve been followed, kidnapped, tortured… and as if that’s not enough, you killed someone in self-defense. If a patient came to you with that recent history, you’d probably admit him to the hospital for round-the-clock counseling.”
A few seconds passed before she pushed up onto her elbows and wiped some fingers across her moist eyes. “I don’t know how to deal with this. I’m a damn Ph.D. and I don’t, I mean, I can’t… I don’t know what to do to help myself.”
“Doctors make the worst patients. My brother was a doctor, and he always got sicker than he needed to because he was so stubborn. If he’d treated himself the way he treated his patients, he would’ve been a lot better off.”
“You talk like he’s dead.”
“Might as well be. Haven’t talked to him in years.” Bradley sat there staring down at the bed for a moment, then stood up. “Point is, Lauren, you’ve been through a hell of a lot and I think you’ve done an incredible job of handling whatever’s been thrown at you.”