“You’re calling me on a burner phone. They already know we’re here. I’ll send you a text from each new prepaid that I use.” Smith checked his wallet. He had three hundred dollars on him. “I’m going to need cash.”
Nolan had been looking down, but her head shot up at his comment.
“I have cash,” she said. She reached for her tablet.
“Do not touch that thing. It’s supposed to be turned off. In fact, let’s just throw it away.”
Nolan shook her head. “I refuse. My whole life is loaded onto this hard drive.” Smith wanted to grab it and throw it across the room.
“I’m going to have real trouble going dark while I’m around Ms. Nolan. She refuses to give up her computer,” he said to Marty. “Says it’s her whole life.”
“I think I could love this woman,” Marty said.
“Is there a way to turn off the GPS?”
“For the phone, yes. Have her access the GPS feature and switch it off, but that’s not a complete fix because the 911 locater remains on and will use tower triangulation, not GPS. I’ve got to believe that the CIA can access the enhanced 911 feature. Her safest bet is to turn it off.”
“And the tablet?” Smith redirected his attention to the room. As he did, the neighbor finished his chemistry work and stood up. Smith shifted the phone to his other ear to leave his right hand free. He moved it into his jacket in preparation. All the while, Marty kept talking.
“For the tablet it’s the same. She can turn off the GPS feature, but that only kills one portion of the tablet’s systems. Every time she accesses her data package, I can see where she is by following the information flow. She’s going to have to turn it off. If she needs to use it, then only turn it on in very small doses.”
“Got it.” Smith hung up. As he did, he noticed that Nolan was powering down both of her devices.
“Let’s go,” he said to her. He stood.
“To call the CIA?” Nolan stood as well, but the suspicious look was back on her face.
Smith shook his head. “To get the hell out of here. Let’s go.”
“Front door?”
Smith nodded. “Fast.”
Nolan grabbed her ever-present tote and headed to the door, weaving her way through the patrons. Smith came even with her and gripped her elbow tightly.
“You’re grabbing again,” Nolan said in a low voice.
“I’m not grabbing, I’m guiding,” Smith replied. “When we hit the door we’ll split. You head right, I’ll head left. Run a circle and meet me at the opposite side of Madison Square Park.” They were ten steps from the exit. Nolan’s eyes darted back and forth as she scanned the room. Two diners sat at a table and the one facing them, a man, glanced at Nolan and stared.
“Try to calm down. The other patrons are noticing you.”
“Calm down, are you serious?” Nolan spoke through clenched teeth. They passed another set of patrons, the last before the front door. They were a large group of men, all in business suits, sitting at a round table to the left. Three of them glanced up and gave Nolan a steady look, two with appreciation in their eyes. Smith realized the men were enjoying looking at her because she was attractive, not because they had divined the stress she was under. They reached the entrance.
“Show time,” Smith said.
He stepped in front of her and pulled open the door, reaching under his jacket as he did to remove his gun. He stilled when he came face to face with a couple coming toward them, trying to enter. Behind them he saw the shadow of a man hugging the narrow tip of the Flatiron Building to the right. The man’s head was up and his gaze fixed on the restaurant’s door. Twenty feet to the man’s left another suspicious character was pressed against the wall.
“Reverse,” he said in a low voice to Nolan. He smiled at the entering couple, turned and propelled her back into the foyer.
“What did you see?”
“Trouble. Is there another exit in this place?”
“On Twenty-fourth Street,” Nolan said.
“Go there.”
Nolan turned and race-walked back into the mammoth store. Smith released her but kept his hand in his jacket, grasping the gun but not removing it. He hated to wait — if the shooter appeared, he’d lose precious seconds pulling it free, but the last thing he needed was an entire marketplace in panic as a man with a gun in his hand marched through the room.
They dodged people and passed glass display counters, and Nolan turned right. Smith saw more glass exit doors in front of them.
“This exits onto Twenty-fourth Street,” Nolan said. The strain in her voice was apparent. Smith kept at her side, scanning the patrons for any signs of quick movements or unusual interest in them. Nolan kept going. When they reached the door, Smith pulled the gun free of its holster but kept it hidden inside his coat. Nolan gave every indication that she intended to open the glass doors without hesitation.
“Don’t. They could be covering this exit as well. Let me do it.”
Nolan stepped back. “You should let me go first. They won’t shoot me.”
Smith didn’t reply. He pushed on the bar and the door creaked open, letting in a gust of cool air. Nolan moved behind him. He peered out.
The restaurant door opened onto Twenty-fourth Street. Parked cars lined both sides, narrowing the lane. If they wanted to run across the street, they’d have to dodge between them. Not an ideal situation. His view was limited on either side.
“How long will it take you to run down Twenty-fourth Street until you hit Sixth?” Smith asked.
“Far.”
“Give it to me in time. How fast can you reach the corner and turn it? Thirty seconds of running? More?”
Nolan swallowed. A sheen of sweat covered her face. “I don’t know. Maybe thirty.”
Thirty seconds in the crosshairs of a professional shooter was a long time indeed.
“We’ll need to split in opposite directions. When we do, try your best not to run in a straight line. Keep switching up the trajectory. Dodge between the cars and across the street if you can. I’ll try to draw any fire from a sentry.”
Another set of patrons moved into position to exit and Smith stepped aside to let them leave. He followed them to the edge of the doors and this time he spotted the sentry across the street in the direction of Madison Square Park.
The sentry was young, perhaps twenty-five years old, with sandy brown hair and a lanky body and looked thoroughly American, which surprised Smith. Like most in the Middle East, Khalil generally stuck to using blood relatives, albeit far-removed blood relatives, to do his dirty work. To use an American was an anomaly. He’d assumed that the mole in the CIA was sending his location to Khalil or one of his crew, but this didn’t look like the work of Khalil.
Could the CIA mole have his own crew? Was Smith going to have to dodge two attackers, Khalil and someone else? Khalil was a formidable adversary, but Smith was as well. He wasn’t afraid to take on the assassin, but two hunting him at the same time was sobering, especially if one of the hunters had access to CIA technology and its network of mercenary assets. There were those who would take any job as long as it paid, even one that involved killing a colonel in the US Army. Howell, where the hell are you? Smith thought. Three people appeared on the street. The man retreated farther into the shadows.
“There’s another sentry here,” Smith said.
“Should we go back to the front door?” Nolan said.
“Two in the front, one in the back, but with a long run down Twenty-fourth to freedom. Neither situation is good, but I think we try it here. If we move fast enough, he’ll have to make a choice about who he wants to kill first.” He looked at her. She appeared scared, but focused. “Can you do this?”