Kill Zone: A Lucy Guardino FBI Thriller (30 page)

“See anything?” she asked Haddad who had her monocular in addition to the shotgun.

“No vehicles approaching.”

“Taylor says it’s Gangstas,” Jenna reported. “They torched Kujo’s and have begun to raid the projects, looking for Ripper stash houses.”

Lucy hated to think of driving away, leaving civilians to fend for themselves, but she could only be one place at a time. “Anyone coming to help them?”

Jenna was silent. Lucy interpreted that as a big fat "no."

She kept driving, turning onto Liberty. A police car sped past going the other way, but other than that, traffic was nonexistent, although there were a lot of vehicles double-parked, choking the street from its normal four lanes down to barely two.

More sirens and the rumble of helicopters came from the south. “That’s the new Target on fire,” Lucy said. Haddad swiveled to look out the window. Flames danced across the skyline.
 

“Looks like they got Whole Foods as well,” he pointed to a second, smaller fire.

An entire neighborhood’s hopes for revitalization doomed in one night.

“Turn north onto Highland,” Jenna directed.

“Where the hell are we going?” Lucy wondered.

“Wherever it is, they planned well,” Haddad said. “This area is covered by Zones Four and Five. Once they were gone, there was no real police presence.”

“Except the police tied up at both station houses.”

“Until the Rippers took them out,” Jenna added. “With freakin’ RPGs.” She didn’t sound too happy about the prospect of facing that kind of superior firepower. Lucy couldn’t blame her.

Taylor’s voice squawked excitedly from her radio. “Boss, I know where they’re going.”

“Where?”

“The Highland Park Zoo. It’s perfect. Tons of empty land, easy access, and with Washington Boulevard blocked no one will be driving nearby. Think of the possibilities—”

“What makes you so certain?” Not that she didn’t trust Taylor, but sometimes his imagination went a little wild.

“I flew the drone ahead of the Honda, trying to map out their possible route and the zoo was the only place that made sense. Then I sent it around at treetop level and guess what I saw?”

“Taylor—”

“An RV with a satellite antenna. And going into it was Rashid Raziq.”

“Rashid?” Haddad twisted in his seat and reached for the radio. “Are you sure? Was he okay? Were Fatima and the baby with him?”

“He was alive and walking. Couldn’t tell much else. One guard with him. Carrying what looked like an AK-47.”

So Raziq was a prisoner. Still, Lucy couldn't shake her doubts about the man. Too many contradictions, too many coincidences—like Zapata targeting the hockey tournament where Mina's boyfriend was playing. No evidence, but enough to make her anxious.

“Taylor, send us a map of the zoo and mark exactly where that RV is. Keep an eye on it—if it moves, we need to know.” They could track Andre via his GPS while using the drone to watch Raziq.

Lucy hit the gas pedal. Maybe this plan wasn’t such a crapshoot after all. Maybe she really could save Mina and Badria’s family. The two girls deserved much more—like their killer caught—but it would be a start.

<><><> 

MD, the guy with the gold on his teeth spelling out his initials, directed Morgan to the zoo’s employee entrance off Lake Drive. Two men stood guard. MD stuck his head out the window and they opened the gate. Morgan had never been to the zoo before. She hadn’t realized it was surrounded by forest—you’d never know you were in the middle of a city.

They passed through the gate. There were amber lights lining the narrow street. To their left was a large glass building with a wavy roof. The sounds of an elephant trumpeting drifted through MD’s open window.

His hand rubbed against her crotch and he asked her, not for the first time, “This how you like it, bitch?”

She’d decided that MD stood for Must Die.
 

Happy to oblige, bitch.
In addition to the toys in her purse she had a wicked little switchblade hanging from a chain around her neck and another, larger one clipped to the small of her back. If good ole MD got any more friendly she might not wait until they arrived at their destination.

Andre had tried his best to distract MD, asking him questions, pointing to the fires in East Liberty, pretending to spot cops and telling MD to get down.
 

Morgan had been impressed by his volunteering to help Lucy—although she’d wondered if he had some kind of death wish. She’d also taken note of the bond he and Nick shared and had even been a little envious of the way he and his grandmother cared for each other.
 

But watching him trying so hard to protect her—especially as he was more than clueless about who or what she was—well, that was too precious for words.
 

She’d do her best to keep him alive, she decided.

She indulged herself in a little shiver of delight. It reminded her of that moment before she’d stepped in front of Nick’s car earlier tonight—that exhilarating feeling that anything was possible. This being a hero was kind of fun. Maybe Nick was right, there were better ways to channel her talents.

MD laughed, thinking her shudder was amorous in nature. Oh yeah, she just couldn’t wait to get up close and personal with him. Give her a few minutes and she’d have his heart in her hand. Literally.

They came to a crossroads. An Escalade was parked below a street sign. Lions and tigers and aquarium to the left. Bears to the right. And straight ahead the African Painted Dogs.

“We get out here,” MD announced.
 

Morgan gave a little shriek that she hoped sounded like she was terrified. In reality she was trying to decide which animal species would most enjoy snacking on MD’s heart.

Chapter 35

Andre got out of the Honda on the passenger side. He stood, blocking Mad Dog’s door, hoping the girl would take a hint and run. She turned the car off, took her time getting out, even grabbing her purse and carefully arranging it over her shoulder. Like they’d just arrived at a restaurant for a date or some shit.
 

Mad Dog shoved his door against Andre. Leaning his weight against Mad Dog, Andre looked over the hood of the car and met the girl’s eyes.

She winked at him. What the fuck?
 

Mad Dog pushed the door again, harder. Andre stumbled back. When he looked up, the girl had vanished into the shadows.
 

“Shit, where’d she go?” Mad Dog shouted. “Andre, you idiot.”

“No time for that,” Andre said. “I killed a fucking fed, man! We’ve got to find Darius and get the fuck out of here. Now.”

“Chill. Darius will take care of you. He’s right over there.” Mad Dog pointed past the Escalade down the path to a food stand lit up in the darkness. “Right across from the bears. Don’t fall in, let them eat you.”

“Aren’t you coming with?”

“Nah. Gotta a hot date with some white pussy.” Mad Dog hitched up his jeans and strolled toward the bushes surrounding the aquarium where the girl had disappeared.

Andre blew his breath out in frustration. The girl was gone, he had to focus on finding Fatima and the baby. He checked his watch. Working just fine. He jogged toward the food stand.

The bears were in pits to his right. They must have missed dinner because they made snuffly growling noises as he passed. He moved to the other side of the trail. Another elephant called out in the distance. At the end of the path, on the other side of the food stand, was a huge pyramid shaped glass building. The sign pointing to it said "Primate Habitat" and had pictures of monkeys and apes on it.

Andre had almost reached the food stand when he pulled up short. This side of the trail was lined by a chain link fence. Rustling came from the other side accompanied by strange high-pitched chirping. Like a dolphin’s song—only it was coming from the high grass and bushes.

The rustling grew louder. Andre scanned the darkness beyond the fence. Yellow eyes flicked in and out of sight. He started jogging again, passing a sign that read "African Painted Dogs" and had a picture of a dog with a long snout and large, saucer-like ears.

They didn’t look or sound like any dogs he’d ever met. Andre figured any dog that could survive the wilds of Africa probably wasn’t one he wanted to meet. He took another two steps towards the food stand when he heard another noise. Not the weird chirping dogs, not this time. This time the noise was distinctly man-made.

The sound of a shotgun shell being chambered. From behind him.

“Glad you could make it, Andre,” Darius said as two men flanked Andre. Darius still wore his fancy designer suit. Giselle trailed along behind him, but even in the faint yellow glow of the lights lining the path Andre could see she now sported a black eye and split lip. She cut him a sidelong gaze and he had the feeling he was somehow to blame for her beating.

Darius caught her looking at Andre and grabbed her wrist, yanking her almost off her heels. “What you looking at, bitch?”

Andre let Darius’ men pat him down. They didn’t bother with his watch.

“Where’s your mask?” Darius asked.

“Lost it.” Andre fought to remember to play his role. Hard to do when anger lit through him like a wildfire and all he wanted to do was haul off and plant Darius on his ass, give him a taste of a good old fashioned beat down. “I need your help. Mad Dog and me, we shot a Fed, killed them. They’re gonna be looking for us. He said you had a way out of the city without the cops knowing.”
 

Darius squinted at Andre as if deciding whether to trust him or not. Then he nodded. “Come with me.”
 

Andre and the guards followed Darius and Giselle the rest of the way towards the food stand. It was a small rectangular building. Wood siding and a metal roof covered with fake thatching, like it was supposed to be out of Africa or some bullshit like that. Round metal tables with attached benches surrounded the entrance.

At the table farthest from them sat Fatima, holding her baby close.

<><><> 

Holy Trinity’s bell tower was square, open on four sides with a narrow catwalk around its perimeter. It was only three stories high, but since the church was on the top of the hill and faced down over the city, it felt much taller.

Walking its perimeter Nick felt like an ancient Centurion, guarding the Roman Empire. Silly, he knew, but he never would have dreamed that he’d be standing in a tower, looking out over a city at war, holding a weapon, and responsible for the lives of over a dozen people.

Every day he listened to his patients recount their stories of their war—and he prided himself on not just empathizing with them but really seeing each story as a separate, unique, individual war. All of them woven together added up to nothing remotely like the fiction the media twisted “war” into, but it was the individual perspective he was most interested in. Each person’s private story of what being a soldier fighting for their country meant to them.

What a jackass he’d been, thinking he understood anything! And Lucy, God, she must think him an idiot. All those times he lectured her on being safe and not taking risks and putting her family first.

The gun, small as it was, was heavy in his hand. He'd tried carrying it in his pocket but it was too hard to pull out fast and too easy to accidentally slide his finger on the trigger. He didn’t dare let it go or put it down—what if he needed it and it was out of reach? What if he was looking in the wrong direction, missed the danger? What if something happened and he wasn’t fast enough, smart enough, good enough to deal with it in time?

Every automatic thought and anxiety he taught his patients to conquer now held him hostage. He used all the techniques he knew, but under the pressure of adrenalin and responsibility they failed.
 

His nerves jangled with agitation, he felt at once on edge and drained, jittery and exhausted. Just holding on to all the paradoxes of emotion surging through him sapped his energy. But he couldn’t give in to fatigue. He had to stay alert.

He continued his endless pacing, cataloguing dangers.
 

East: new fires, several blocks away, accompanied by gunshots. There were cars now on the roads, weaving through the neighborhood. Gangstas on the prowl.

South: the fire at the Rippers’ clubhouse had spread to neighboring houses, both empty, the sisters had told him. Otherwise Ruby Avenue was quiet.

West: two large fires in East Liberty. Helicopters buzzing all over, their blinking red lights and the occasional high-powered spotlight breaking through the haze of smoke.

North: a large blaze where the Zone Five police station and fire department training center had been bombed. Rocket-propelled grenade—RPGs his patients called them. Helicopters circled the destruction.

His city was dying. And his wife was out there somewhere.

Footsteps sounded on the steps below him. He whirled, brought the gun up—and almost shot Sister Patrice. Nausea washed over him as he lowered the pistol. Forced himself to unclench his hand and set it on the wall. “I’m sorry, Sister.”