36: A Novel (47 page)

The passenger door was ajar and I raised the pistol and scanned for my target.  I didn’t see him, but if he was staying low and moving through the now abandoned vehicles that filled the street, he’d be hidden from me.

Dashing around the back of the Chevy, I knelt and put my face close to the pavement.  I had open sight lines as I looked under the surrounding cars and trucks.  In every direction I checked, feet were running.  All except for one pair.  Someone was duck walking, staying low and moving slower than the panicked civilians.

I didn’t have a clean shot.  Jumping to my feet, I leapt over the hood of a car that had rolled forward and come to rest against the truck in front of it when the driver bailed out.  Weaving between the cars, I headed for where I’d seen the feet and legs. 

Before I could reach a spot that gave me a shot, I heard sirens approaching.  Shit.  There had probably been about a hundred people that dialed 9-1-1 as soon as I started firing the pistol.  The cops would be here soon.  And probably the Secret Service agents that were just down the block.  This had to end quickly.

Movement to the left caught my eye and I ducked as two shots sounded.  I heard the impact of the bullets on sheet metal as they slammed into a car next to me.  I looked for a target for some return fire, but he had already disappeared. 

Moving laterally, I stepped into a narrow gap between the vehicles parked at the curb in front of the Hilton and the first lane of traffic.  More movement, and I whipped the pistol around and started to pull the trigger when I saw him running, gun in hand.  A panicked woman with a small child in her arms ran directly between us and I barely managed to stop my finger from completing the pull.  If I had, I’d probably have hit her, the child, or both.

That moment of cover gave him time to vanish down the entrance ramp to the hotel’s underground parking structure.  Stepping around an idling Town Car, I sprinted after him.  I needed to catch up and put a bullet in his head before he got lost in the maze of the garage.  There would be blind corners.  Vehicles to hide behind, under or in.  I would probably be unable to locate him before the cops flooded in.

I should have slowed and exercised caution before charging around a blind corner.  Every bit of training I’d received told me I was making a mistake, but I didn’t have time to be careful.  Urgency to not lose my target’s trail drove me as I rounded the turn and started down the ramp that descended beneath the street.

He was waiting at the bottom, where it flattened out for the first level below grade.  Tucked up tight against a concrete wall, pistol braced as he waited for me to appear.  He fired three times.  The first two rounds missed, but the third caught my left arm.

It didn’t hurt, and I only knew I’d been shot because of the impact.  It was a dull blow; kind of like being punched by a fist.  It hit me hard enough to twist my upper body and cause me to tumble to the ground.  Rolling, I slammed to a stop against the curb and brought the pistol around, seeking a target.

He was gone again.  Goddamn it!  I tried to ignore what was becoming a burning pain in my arm.  I could feel blood running, inside my jacket.  Had time to hope the bullet hadn’t hit anything big that would cause me to bleed out before I could kill him.  Then dismissed it from my mind.  Getting to my feet, I started running again.

As I reached the first sub-level, the sirens grew louder and sounded as if they were almost on top of me.  I had no idea how the cops were getting into the area.  The street was completely blocked with abandoned cars.  Maybe they were driving on the sidewalks.

Putting aside pointless thoughts, I tried to look in every direction, swinging the pistol around to stay in sync with my eyes.  I was holding it one handed now, my left arm refusing to cooperate any longer.  It hung limply at my side, flopping against me as I ran.  I could feel blood running across my hand and dripping off my fingers.

I hesitated when it dawned on me I was leaving a trail for the police to follow.  I had to do something to stop the bleeding, or at least cover my tracks.  There was no doubt they’d be coming into the garage, looking for me, and I needed more time to find this asshole.  If I could stop leaving a trail, maybe I could buy myself a few more minutes before I was run to ground by the cops.

Quickly, I pulled the jacket off and dropped it on the floor.  Unbuckling my belt, I ripped it out of the loops on my pants, holster flying away to skid beneath a parked car.  Looking down in the dim lighting, I could see a small hole in the front of my upper arm, a larger one where the round exited in back.  At least the bullet wasn’t in me.

Threading the end of the belt through the buckle, I slipped my arm into the loop and positioned the thick leather directly over the wounds.  Grasping the end of the makeshift tourniquet, I took a deep breath and pulled hard.  It tightened onto the holes, compressing into the surrounding tissue.  The pain nearly caused me to pass out, a wave of heat and nausea immediately washing over me.

Cursing a blue streak, I pushed through and secured the buckle.  Grabbing the jacket, I shook it a couple of times to clean as much blood from it as I could, then put it back on.  I wasn’t exactly presentable, and my arm throbbed like a son of a bitch, but blood no longer ran down across my hand to leave a trail even Helen Keller could have followed.

Pistol up, I started running.  I was confident he hadn’t stopped on the first level.  It was small, only a couple of dozen spots for arriving guests to park and ride the elevator up to register.  Then, with a room key in hand, they could come back down and drive through the security gate into the main area of the garage.

Slipping past the gate, I jogged down the curving ramp that led to the second sub-level.  Lighting was weak, the dark grey concrete walls, ceiling and floor doing nothing to reflect it and help me see.  Rounding the bottom of the turn, I stopped and held the pistol at arm’s length as I reached level floor.

The garage was large, nearly a hundred cars in the narrow spaces lined out on the floor.  Shadows ruled, filling every corner and the gaps between the parked vehicles.  It seemed pitch black beneath them, the light unable to reach.  He could be anywhere. 

Hidden in a corner.  Concealed behind one of the massive, concrete support columns that marched away from my position in a long, perfectly aligned row.  Or in the darkness beneath any one of the cars.  And that’s if he hadn’t kept running, going deeper underground to the third or fourth sub-level.

I checked my watch.  Less than an hour remaining before I was returned to real time.  When and wherever that would be.  If I understood things correctly, I now had
two
real times.

But that didn’t matter.  I was already hearing voices echoing down the ramp from the first level.  Cops.  They were coming and I was out of time.  A dog barked a moment later, lending wings to my feet.  Sending me sprinting across the open space towards a door that was marked
FIRE STAIRS
.

If they sent a dog down the ramp, I’d be taken down in seconds.  Maybe I could get a shot off and stop it before it slammed into me, but I didn’t like the odds.  Compared to a human, dogs are small targets when they’re charging at you.  Small and low to the ground.  And damn fast.  Besides, I have a big soft spot for dogs.  No, I needed to get out of here.  Now.

56

Slamming through the metal door without pausing, I shoved the pistol into my waistband at the small of my back and pounded up the steps.  The stairwell was a dangerous choke point, nothing more than a narrow set of poured concrete steps inside towering slabs of the same material.  The air was musty, smelling of mold and mildew and the treads were covered with a thick layer of dust.

Dust that captured and held a clear footprint with every step I took.  Just like the marks that had been left by someone else who had climbed this same flight of stairs.  They’d left clean spots behind, and they’d been running.  Taking two steps at a time.  Had I just gotten lucky and inadvertently taken the same route the man I was chasing had used?

Running hard, I quickly reached the first sub-level landing.  I bypassed the metal door that exited into the garage, knowing there would be a whole army of cops on the other side.  Pushing on, I came to a stop at the lobby level door.  This was as high as the stairs went.

There was a dim, overhead light and I took a moment to check myself.  My slacks and jacket were dark, and though the wetness of the blood was visible, it wasn’t obvious what it was.  But my polo shirt was tan, and it was stained a bright shade of red over most of the front. 

Working one handed, I struggled with the jacket’s zipper.  Finally getting it started, I yanked it up, concealing the bloody shirt.  I was out of options and had to step into the lobby where there would almost certainly be cops.  Maybe, if I didn’t immediately attract their attention, I could slip into the elevator and head up to the room.

Holding a deep breath, I gently pushed on the crash bar that controlled the lock.  There was a soft click as it disengaged, then I cracked the door open and looked into the lobby.  The stairs had come up into a small alcove, and after a moment I realized I was around a corner, behind the elevators.  Hidden from the main lobby.

Exhaling, I moved through and let the door quietly close behind me.  To my left were the restrooms, and the end of the short hall.  To my right, ten yards away, the corridor bent to the left.  That’s where the elevators were. 

Moving as if I belonged, and wasn’t aware of the disturbance on the street in front, I stepped around the corner and pressed the up arrow to call the elevator.  While I waited, I looked around the lobby.  Nearly fifty people, staff and guests, were gathered just inside the glass entrance doors, trying to see what was happening outside.  There weren’t any cops in the lobby, and no one was even looking in my direction.

The car arrived, it’s presence announced by a soft bell.  I hustled inside the instant the doors opened, pressing the button for 12.  Trying to appear as normal as possible, in case someone I hadn’t noted was watching, I resisted the nearly overwhelming impulse to pound on the close button.

Finally, the damn doors slid shut and I tilted my head back and let out a sigh as the car started ascending.  I panicked, placing my hand on the butt of the pistol at my back when it stopped on 5.  It was only a maid with an armload of towels.  She smiled at me, stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for 6.

The wait for the doors to close, the car to ascend one floor and let her exit, then continue on to my floor seemed interminable.  Excruciatingly slow.  I was sweating heavily by the time it came to a stop on 12. 

I waited, looking into the elevator alcove before stepping out.  It was offset from the main hallway that led to the rooms, and when I saw it was clear I stepped out of the car.  Behind me, the doors slid shut and there was a soft hum as it headed for another floor.

Edging to the mouth of the alcove, I peered up into a large, convex mirror on the far wall of the hallway that let people see around the corner.  Probably there so a maid pushing a heavy housekeeping cart didn’t accidentally run into a guest coming out into the corridor.

To my left, the direction opposite the location of the room, one of those carts was sitting outside an open door.  To my right it was clear.  Stepping out, I began heading for 1223, but came to a stop halfway there.

What if he was already in the room?  I’d left the room key with Ray, and had no way to get in quietly.  I had intended to knock, hoping Julie and I were back.  But what if I knocked?  He looks through the peephole and sees me.  Puts a few rounds through the door.  I’m toast, and Julie will die.

Thinking, I turned and looked at the housekeeping cart.  Changing directions, I strode down the hallway as I pulled the FBI ID case out of my pocket. 

A maid was vacuuming the carpet in the room where the cart was parked.  The door was propped open while she worked and I stepped through the entrance, ID held in front of me.  She was startled by my sudden appearance, hand flying to her chest in surprise as she stepped away from the vacuum cleaner.  I nodded at it and she reached out and turned it off.

“FBI,” I said, wiggling the badge case to make sure she looked at it.  “I need your master key.  This is an emergency.”

She stood rooted in place, staring at me in shock.  I didn’t have time for this shit.

“Now,” I said, emphasizing the word with a shake of the ID. 

“I cannot,” she stammered in a heavy, eastern European accent.  “I lose my job.”

“No you won’t,” I said, taking a step closer to her.  “But if you don’t cooperate, you’ll be on the next plane back to the Ukraine, or wherever the hell it is you’re from!”

Fear replaced the shock.  She might not have been from the Ukraine.  I had no idea.  But I’d taken a chance and had hit a home run.  She quickly grabbed a key card on a long lanyard from around her neck and held it out to me.

“Thank you,” I said, putting the ID away and taking it.  “Close the door and stay here.”

“You not send me back?”  She asked, hands clasped in front of her in a pleading gesture.

“Not if you stay in the room and don’t tell anyone.  One hour.  Understand?”

“Yes.  One hour.  Thank you!  I happy to help FBI!”

I stepped back into the hall, grabbed the cart and shoved it through the door into the room with her.  Kicking the stop out of the way, I held the door with my shoulder and paused.

“One hour,” I reminded her.

She nodded emphatically and I let the door swing shut.  Turning, I headed for the room, transferring the key card to my nearly useless hand.  Drawing the pistol, I held it pressed against my body with my good arm as I screwed a suppressor onto the end.

Reaching the door marked 1223, I paused and listened.  Didn’t hear anything other than the muted sounds of TV from across the hall.  Careful to stay out of viewing range of the peephole, I moved forward and pressed my ear to the door.

The hotel was higher end, and the guest room doors were heavy and solid.  I could make out a voice from within, but not well enough to tell male from female.  I couldn’t even tell if I was hearing a live voice, or the TV.