DIVA (44 page)

But he had no time to figure it out. They’d been in the garage for five minutes and Captain Martin was waiting for a report. He got on his radio.

“Renzi reporting. We’re in the garage on Level Three. No sign of Stoltz, but we found his knapsack on the ramp that leads to the roof.”

Captain Martin: “Let the bomb squad handle it. Continue to the roof as planned, but be careful. Do not attempt to capture him. SWAT is in position at Ground Level. Report in as soon you see him. Out.”

He hooked the handset on his belt and looked at Otis.

“Captain Martin says head for the roof. Let’s go.”

_____

He eased open the door of the Level Three stairwell, stepped out and clipped the radio on his belt. Captain Marvel was calling this Operation Sniper. How about Operation Get Even, or Operation Settle the Score?

No, how about Operation Payback? That’d be good. Lightning bolts of multi-colored pain zapped his forehead. Before planting the knapsack on the ramp, he’d swallowed two Percocets. They would make him drowsy, but so what? In an hour this would be over.

From now on there would only be death and destruction.

He smiled. Renzi had taken his the challenge to come to the roof. Renzi thought he was smarter than his adversary. Renzi was in for a surprise. He’d left his Bushman M4 on the roof. His crossbow and Blackhawk arrows were back at the safe house. Silent and deadly, the all-carbon 30-inch arrows with the killer tips had facilitated his escape.

He took a metal cylinder out of his pocket and screwed it onto the muzzle of his Beretta Cheetah. Not as silent as the arrows but just as deadly. He’d saved his best weapon for last. The Beretta was loaded with ten .22 LR subsonic cartridges, minimum recoil, low noise. Quite accurate if the target was less than fifty yards away. And his targets would be closer than that.

The barrel was five and a half inches long. The sound suppressor added another five. It might give him the edge he needed. His Ruger was in the pocket of his coveralls in case he needed a backup weapon.

He leaned against the wall beside the walkway to the hospital. He felt woozy. Was it the pain meds or hunger? He tried to remember his last meal. The scrambled eggs Belinda had made him this morning. His throat constricted and tears stung his eyes. How could it end this way? For years Belinda had been the center of his world. His reason to get up in the morning. His consolation when other things in his life turned to shit.

How could she be so cruel? All he had ever wanted was to love her.

He visualized her, asleep in her bed, unaware of his presence. So gorgeous he almost came, just looking at her. He could have overpowered her while she slept, but he hadn’t. He’d been considerate, had waited until she woke up. But did she show any appreciation?

No. Even her kiss was a burnt offering. She’d only kissed him because he’d promised to leave.

I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t want to see you again. Not ever.

Her words seared into his brain. And with those devastating words, her monumental perfection—her sensual beauty and exquisite musicality—had crumbled to ashes. So had his love.

He had bent over backwards to please her. Not any more. Now she would do exactly what he said. Anticipation fueled the fire in his groin.

The cop’s uniform shirt was a tight fit, but from a distance it wouldn’t matter. First impressions were what counted. For a few seconds, the uniform would give him an advantage. Long enough to inflict the necessary damage.

He tugged the black knit cap lower on his shaven head. Nothing could hide the gash on his brow. The gash inflicted by the traitorous Diva-bitch.

She would pay dearly for her betrayal.

First he’d take out a few cops. Then, sweet vengeance.

He peeked around the corner. No one was visible at the far end of the glassed-in walkway. But when he reached the halfway point anyone in the main hall on Level Three would see him. Should he slither down the corridor on his belly like a snake, or should he march down it like Rambo?

What would Rambo do?

He stepped into the corridor, walking with his head held high. That’s how you got into places where you didn’t belong. Dressed in his finery, he’d done it in London, conning his way into Belinda’s reception at the Royal Trafalgar. Dress the part and act like you belong. Attitude was everything.

That, and knowing you were going to die. Nothing to lose, everything to gain. Kill some cops. Fuck with Belinda, then kill her.

Five yards from the end of the walkway he slowed. Edged to the corner and stopped. This was the danger point. But he felt no fear.

When you’re not afraid to die, everything is easy.

He edged into the hall with the Beretta hidden behind his right leg.

Twenty yards to his right, a man with a bushy Fu Manchu stood with one hand on his hip. His other hand held a 9-millimeter Glock.

Walking steadily toward Fu Manchu, he said, “How’s it going?”

The guy frowned. Eyeballed his police uniform. “Who are you?”

He raised the Berretta and shot Fu Manchu between the eyes.

Special Ops rule: If the enemy is less than twenty yards away, hit the center of mass for a takedown. But if they’re wearing body armor, go for the head. By the time Fu Manchu hit the floor, he was braced against the wall five feet away. The suppressor had muffled the shot, but not completely.

He gripped the Beretta, poised to shoot whoever came around the corner from the hall to his left. Two seconds passed. Three . . .

Another cop burst around the corner and shouted, “Warren!”

He shot the cop in the head. No moans, just a thump as his body hit the floor. Two down with a minimum of fuss. But two more cops awaited him.

Thanks to Captain Marvel, he knew one was in the stairwell opposite The Diva’s room. Officer O’Neil was inside the room, protecting Belinda.

Officer O’Neil was dead meat.

Two shots, two cops down. The big question: Had the two remaining cops heard his partially silenced gunshots? He’d need one more to kill the cop in the stairwell. Even if O’Neil heard them, he had the advantage of surprise, if only for a split second. He was wearing the cop’s uniform.

No cop wanted to shoot another cop. He’d kill Officer O’Neil first. Then he would fuck with Belinda. What a glorious treat.

His groin was burning with anticipation. But time was short. When Renzi and his partner found no one on the roof, they would report to Captain Marvel and go back to Belinda’s room. Maybe he’d have time to kill Officer O’Neil, take his revenge on Belinda, and kill Renzi too. A perfect trifecta.

Pa would have been proud. Then again, maybe not.

His miserable-excuse-for-a-father had never said anything good about him. So his adopted son had killed him. Sublime justice.

He heard sounds, soft footsteps around the corner.

The mice were stirring and Rambo was waiting.

_____

Frank stopped at the Level Five up-ramp that led to the roof. He and Otis had checked every car on Level Four. All empty. So were the cars on Level Five. The garage was eerily quiet. No sirens. No gunshots. He realized he was holding his breath. Let out a sigh. Took a deep breath. Listened.

The squad cars outside the garage would be full of radio chatter, but he couldn’t hear it. The hospital and the garage were surrounded by massive oak trees, home to dozens of bird’s nests, but he heard no birds chirping, either. It was as if the whole world had been silenced by a mute button.

He looked up at the sky. The rain had stopped but leaden clouds hung low in the sky. Not a sound from the roof.

Was Stoltz up there waiting to kill him?

Come up to the roof and take me out yourself, Renzi
.

“Quiet up there,” Otis muttered. “What the hell’s he doing?”

“I don’t know. But there’s no cover once we get to the roof.”

“Go up the ramp one on each side, we might hit him before he sees us.”

Ugly scenarios churned in Frank’s mind. Should they wait for SWAT? The only way down from the roof was this ramp. If Stoltz tried to leave the roof, he and Otis could stop him.

An elusive thought plinked his mind and flitted away.

Stoltz was up on the roof, an ex-military man ready-willing-and-able to shoot the police officers positioned around the garage with his high-powered weapon. If they didn’t stop him, there would be more dead and wounded. During this interminable standoff, Stoltz had killed one firefighter, critically wounded another, and shot several cops, no word on their condition.

So why wasn’t he shooting? Nothing but silence from the roof.

He gripped the SIG and said to Otis, “Let’s go. Shoot anything that moves. I’ll take the left side, you take the right.”

Hugging the cement wall, he inched up the ramp. Despite the chill in the air, sweat beaded his face. He crept upward, inch by inch. Glanced at Otis, on the other side of the ramp, arms extended, gripping the Glock in both hands as he moved upward toward the roof.

Halfway up the ramp, Frank stopped. From here he would have a clear view of the roof when he raised his head above the cement wall. And anyone on the roof would have a clear view of his head.

He made eye contact with Otis and nodded.

With his heart slamming his chest, he sprang to his feet. Did a rapid three-hundred-sixty-degree scan of the vast open space.

No Stoltz. Thirty yards away, an automatic rifle lay on the cement.

“Where the hell is he?” Otis said as they stepped onto the roof.

Frank shook his head, mystified. His muscles ached with tension and his pulse pounded a vicious drumbeat in his temples. Then he recalled an earlier report from Vobitch. A discussion they’d had hours ago. Eons ago.

After entering the hospital, Stoltz had overpowered an off-duty cop working a security detail on the first floor. What if there’d been another one?

It hit him like a sledgehammer in the gut. “He’s got a police radio!”

He dug out his cell, speed-dialed Kelly’s cell and gave it to Otis.

“Warn Kelly. Tell her Stoltz is coming. Then call Vobitch. Tell him everyone needs to stay off the radio!”

He whirled and raced down the ramp, whipping around turns like a slingshot. He had to get to Belinda’s room before Stoltz did. No telling how much of a lead the bastard had.

Would Wood and Nixon stop him? He hadn’t heard any gunshots.

He whipped around a corner onto Level Three and ran to the walkway. Kelly was in the most danger. Guarding the person Stoltz most wanted to kill.

He raced down the glassed-in walkway, feet pounding the cement, heart pounding like a howitzer. If Stoltz hurt Kelly or Belinda, he’d kill the bastard.

CHAPTER 47

The monster was in her room. Again.

Her heart was a wild beast inside her chest.

How could this be? She had escaped him once. Now he stood ten feet away, a terrifying presence, face caked with dirt and dried blood, leering at her, his disgusting stench filling the room. His terrible eyes pierced her like rapiers. His gun, long and lethal-looking, was aimed at Kelly.

Fearing her legs would collapse, she set her butt against the edge of the bed. Hunched her shoulders inside the hospital robe. Hugged her arms to her chest. She didn’t dare look at Kelly.

When they heard popping sounds in the hall, Kelly had told her to get on the floor behind the bed. But there was no time. The monster burst into the room and shot at them, a strangely muted sound. Muted or not, it had shattered the window behind her.

Now damp air was blowing on the back of her neck.

Her body shook with tremors, icy chills radiating from her belly to her chest. Six feet to her left, Kelly stood with her feet apart, gripping her gun.

Somehow, Kelly had summoned the courage to raise her gun and aim it at the monster. To protect her.

“Ready to party, Belinda?” The monster’s ice-pick eyes drilled into her.

Her stomach heaved. She feared her bladder would burst.

“We’re not having any party,” Kelly said, her voice edged with grit, a rasp on metal.

“Oh, yes we are.” The monster smiled, a terrifying smile, a death’s head smile. “We’re going to have a great time, aren’t we, Belinda?”

The wild beast ripped her chest.

She couldn’t speak, couldn’t breath. Couldn’t bear his predatory eyes, devouring her like a piece of meat.

Summoning every ounce of resolve within her, she smiled at him. “I’m glad you’re here, Barry. I wanted to speak to you before, but—”

“Bullshit! That’s not what you wanted this morning.” He shifted his stance to aim the gun at her. “You wanted me out of your house. That’s what you said, Belinda. Admit it.”

Her scalp tingled, prickles of fear. She tried to lick her lips, but her mouth was too dry. She bit her cheek to summon some saliva.

“I suppose I did. But you frightened me, Barry. I didn’t expect to wake up and find you in my bedroom. It was . . . a shock.”

“A shock. Is that the best you can do? You said you wanted to talk to me, but you don’t have much to say. No more compliments for Barry, huh?”

His insatiable eyes devoured her. But his hands remained steady, aiming the long lethal-looking gun at her.

Kelly’s cell phone rang, a shrill insistent sound.

“Don’t even think about it. You answer that phone and you’re dead. Shut the fuckin’ thing off. Now.”

Something stirred within her, some primal instinct, rising up to fight the fear that paralyzed her.
Never give in to fear. Act successful and you will be successful. Believe in yourself and you cannot fail.

The words she chanted silently before performances as she waited to go onstage. Now she had to give a different sort of performance.

A perfect performance. The performance of her life.

Ignoring the chills that wracked her, she breathed down to her diaphragm.
Talk to him about music. And keep using his name. He likes that.

“I liked your suggestion about the Busoni violin sonata, Barry. If you lend me the score, I’ll transcribe it for flute and we can play it together.”