Exposed - A Thriller Novella (Chandler Series) by J.A. Konrath & Ann Voss Peterson (11 page)

I flinched, expecting the impact, expecting
the pain.

The Iranian flinched, looking surprised.

A moment later he slumped to the ground,
trying and failing to plug the bullet hole in his chest with his
hands.

I guess Kirk was trustworthy after all.

The subway car erupted, screams, crying,
stampeding people. I grabbed the pole to keep from being swept out,
peering past the surge and into the car, searching for Kirk and
Julie. Kirk had concealed the gun and was moving with the crowd,
pushing Julie toward the open door, acting as if they were part of
the panic.

I did the same, getting to my feet and
rushing through the door in front of me. With a gun going off and
two dead on the ground, there wasn’t a chance in hell the station
agent in the booth would let the train go on as usual. We’d have to
find another route downtown.

The sharp-elbowed woman lay on the ground
behind the dead Persian spy. She looked up, staring at me with
shell-shocked eyes.

“You should have listened to me,” I said as I
stepped over the body and blended with the crowd.

I caught up with Kirk and Julie at the
closest subway newsstand.

“The two of you. Put these on,” Kirk shoved a
Yankees baseball cap, and
I LOVE NY
tee shirt, and a pair of
fuchsia sunglasses into my arms.

I grabbed Julie and ducked into the bathroom.
Suppressing my Chicago Cubs fan sensibilities, I shoved my hair up
under the hat.

I gave Julie the tee and glasses. She was
listless, her jaw slack.

“You hanging in there?” I asked.

She stared at me like she hadn’t realized I
was standing next to her.

“You should get away from me.” She bit her
lower lip.

“My job is to protect you, Julie.”

“I could make you sick.”

“I’m willing to take that chance.”

She looked ready to burst into tears, but
choked it back.

“You’re going to be okay,” I said.

“Really?”

“Yes,” I lied.

She reached out to hug me, then caught
herself and shrank back.

Poor thing.

When we emerged, Kirk was waiting for us,
dressed in a dark blue NY tee. He gave me his white button down,
and I pulled it on as an over shirt and rolled up the sleeves.

As far as disguises went, it wasn’t much. I
doubted it would fool the Iranians or the Venezuelans or whatever
additional intelligence agencies happened to be after us, but it
might keep the cops off our tails. Eyewitnesses in stressful
situations tended to remember the simple things, if they remembered
anything accurately at all. Changing the general look of our
clothing and length of my hair would hopefully get us off the
NYPD’s radar.

One concern in a mile-long list.

“We need to get out of here,” I told Kirk.
“Think you can hoof it for a while?”

He looked about as excited about the idea as
I expected.

“The ferry terminal is at the tip of
Manhattan. That’s a long damn way.”

“Then let’s shoot for the Columbus Circle
subway station.”

He nodded. “Ever get the feeling we’re
retracing our steps?”

“It has occurred to me.”

We emerged from the subway to find rush hour
still in play and Lincoln Center’s fountain rimmed with summer
tourists and New Yorkers alike. The faint beat of helicopter blades
sounded overhead, and my stomach seized until I spotted it. Police
this time, not ideal, but at least it wasn’t Hawk Nose and his
friends.

I eyed Kirk. In the sunlight I could detect
the sheen of fresh blood darkening his pant leg, seeping through my
makeshift bandage. If we had to do much walking, I wasn’t sure he
would last.

Ditto if Julie sneezed on him.

I had to admit, I was relieved to have Julie
away from mass transit. Ever since finding out who she really was,
what she really was, the knowledge that her blood could wipe out
much of the city weighed heavily on me. The odds of getting her all
the way to the tip of Manhattan, then across the harbor to Staten
Island, seemed astronomical and growing. Even if she died, she
still represented a threat.

It was something I would have to deal with,
sooner or later.

“Come on,” I said.

Kirk nodded, sweat already soaking his hair
and trickling down his forehead. He picked up the pace, his lips
tight with pain.

“You’d better take this.” He handed me the
Ruger.

He’d proven himself a good shot, but he was
probably right. Running on a bad leg didn’t improve marksmanship.
As long as he could shepherd Julie, I’d take care of the rest. I
slipped it into my holster just as my phone buzzed.

“Is Ginny there?” Jacob’s electronic voice
asked.

“I’m sorry, she left for Phoenix yesterday,”
I said, giving the appropriate response.

“Tell me you’re not near Lincoln Center.”

We kept walking. “Are you asking me to
lie?”

“That’s what I was afraid of. Get out of
there.”

“The police are on their way, I know.”

“The city is on lockdown. They’re calling
that tunnel explosion a terrorist act, and some dead Iranians were
just discovered in the subway. They’re buttoning up Manhattan.
National Guard has been called.”

Shit. So much for our plan to get to Staten
Island. I needed to come up with another way out of the city, and I
had to do it quickly.

“Listen, I found out some interesting things
about our Julie.”

After I filled him in, Jacob was silent for a
good ten seconds before speaking.

“What are you going to do with her,
Chandler?”

I wished I knew. “I’m not sure. Get her out
of New York, for one.”

“You know the threat she represents.”

I glanced at Julie. She looked beaten.
Afraid. Confused. It wasn’t her fault our military turned her into
a germ warfare incubator.

But life wasn’t fair, and the needs of the
many outweighed the needs of the few.

“I know,” I told Jacob. “I haven’t decided
yet.”

“If the enemy gets her, or even if Uncle Sam
gets her and she’s brought back to Plum Island …”

“I know, Jacob. Right now, my main goal is
getting her away from here.”

“How?”

I glanced up at the NYPD chopper overhead. It
was a long shot, but with Kirk’s help, I might be able to make it
work.

“What’s the closest helipad to Lincoln
Center?”

I heard the clacking of a computer keyboard
over the phone despite the traffic noises all around me.

“Probably your best bet is the Port Authority
Helipad at 30th Street and the Hudson.”

“Thanks, Jacob. Oh, and Mr. Kirk is now
working for us.”

“You turned him.”

“His deep-rooted sense of patriotism won out
in the end.”

“So you offered him money.”

“How do you know it wasn’t my feminine
wiles?”

“Was it your feminine wiles?”

“Partly. We also owe him sixty grand.”

“I’ll make arrangements. I trust your
judgment, Chandler, and hope this doesn’t have anything to do with
him looking like Colin Farrell.”

“I can’t entirely rule that out.”

“Hmm. Well, maybe you two will have a chance
to hook up.”

“Maybe.”

“If you live long enough.”

“If any of us do.” I ended the call and
squinted at Kirk. “We need a cab.”

He glanced back over his shoulder, and we
spotted the men at the same time. More Iranians. Two of them
threaded through the pedestrians, each with a hand hidden under
their jackets, eighty meters away and rushing toward us at an
alarming speed.

Shit. That hadn’t taken long.

“We need to get the hell out of here,” I
said, but we were already running, weaving through pedestrians,
Kirk gimping along with his arm behind Julie, gingerly guiding her
in the right direction. Traffic flowed by on the street, cab after
cab with silhouettes in back seats, vacancy lights off, and not a
pedicab to be found.

Each equipped with two good legs, the men
were closing fast.

I felt the beat of chopper blades in my chest
and scanned the sky between buildings. A purple Bell 427 hovered
overhead.

Welcome back to the party, Hawk
Nose
.

We had to get some wheels or this would be
over far too soon.

Our trio hobbled along for another block
before a cab with an empty back seat passed us. It stopped at the
next intersection, its vacancy light off, signaling it wasn’t
looking for passengers.

Not that I was going to let that stop me.

I raced into the street. Grabbed the back
door handle.

Locked.

The front passenger window was open, so I
reached through, found the handle, and yanked it open.

“Hey! Hey! What do ya think you’re
doing?”

“Get out,” I ordered.

“I’m off duty,” he said.

“You see this?” I asked, reaching my hand
under my skirt.

“Hell, yeah!” he said. Then he saw I was
holding a gun. “Hell, no.”

“Unlock the door.”

“You’re holding me up?”

“Take your cash. I just want the car.”

He frowned. “Look, lady, I got a wife who’s a
fat, lazy bitch, a kid in a gang who sells smack, the landlord just
served us papers, and this morning I found out I have diabetes. You
kill me, you’d be doing me a favor.”

I had barely registered the crack of the
gunshot when the windshield spiderwebbed, and the driver gurgled
and slumped against the wheel. The bullet had just missed me.

Julie stared, mouth open, as Kirk forced her
down behind the cab.

“Get in,” I yelled, ducking inside and
hitting the unlock button.

Kirk pushed her into the back seat, climbed
in behind her, and shut the door. He slipped his hand behind her
back and bent her forward at the waist, out of the line of
fire.

I didn’t have time to undo the seat belt and
pull out the body, so I slid onto the dead man’s lap and shifted
into drive.

The light stayed red. Cars boxed us in from
all sides.

I found the two Iranians behind us with my
mirrors. The one who had taken out the cabbie crossed the street in
front of us, weaving through standing traffic.

Here I’d been totally focused on the pursuers
behind and missed the man in front.

I couldn’t miss him now.

He walked closer and closer, until he was
just off my left bumper.

Just when I was convinced I’d made my last
mistake, the light changed to green, and the river of cars started
to inch forward.

Not fast enough.

The man in the street raised his hands, the
pistol in his fists pointed at my head.

I cranked the wheel and hit the gas.

He bounced off the hood with a sickening thud
and hit the street.

I kept going, gunning the engine as the cab
lurched and bumped over him.

Tires squealed around us. Horns blared. Cars
rushed by.

Some New Yorkers didn’t let anything get in
their way.

We cleared the intersection, traffic in front
of us still moving. In the rearview, I could see the remaining two
men race across the street.

Judging by the purpose with which they moved,
I assumed their SUV was close by. They’d be back on our tail soon.
And if Hawk Nose did even a passable job keeping track of us from
the sky, the Iranians weren’t our only concern. Even so, it was the
best head start we’d had all day, and I’d take it.

The West 30th Street Heliport rested on the
bank of the Hudson River. More than thirty blocks away. Traffic was
crazy, due to the tunnel being closed, the subway incident, and
presumably the dead man now lying in the center of 9th Avenue,
emergency vehicles everywhere.

I drove like all of our lives depended on
it.

The SUV appeared, too soon for my comfort,
ten car lengths behind.

We played stop and go, street light to street
light. Sometimes I gained a few meters. Sometimes the Iranians did.
At each red, we watched intently to see if they jumped out of their
vehicle to rush us. So far, so good.

It took ten excruciating minutes to reach
49th Street, and I got the hell off of 9th and turned right,
heading for 12th Avenue, our pace slightly faster than a snail
surfing on molasses.

“You guys okay back there?” I asked, eyeing
my passengers.

Kirk had distanced himself from Julie as much
as he could, leaning against the passenger side door.

“Never better,” he said, winking at me.

I couldn’t see the SUV behind us anymore, but
wasn’t optimistic I’d lost them. This op had been nothing but one
bad break after another, and the only thing I was optimistic about
was the fact that our luck was terrible.

I blew through a yellow light and swung left
onto the boulevard that was 12th Avenue, the vast blue/black of the
river running parallel to us, filling my nostrils. Coming up on the
right was the USS Intrepid, moored there since 1982. The once
mighty aircraft carrier was now a museum, a relic of wars past.

Once again I checked the rearview, eyeing
Julie.

The Intrepid was still a sight to behold,
over two hundred fifty meters long, weighing thirty thousand tons,
armor four inches thick in parts. A fearsome weapon.

But not as fearsome as what I had in my back
seat.

Traffic was better on the boulevard. We
passed the Silver Towers, the sprawling Javits Center, and finally
reached our destination. A long, concrete platform edged the water,
enclosed by fencing and a few no-frills trailers, the heliport was
built for function, not fanciness.

Lucky for us it wasn’t built for security,
either.

Best yet, a small, sightseeing helicopter sat
on the helipad, as if waiting for us.

Maybe our luck had begun to change.

I swung the cab into the entrance. We didn’t
have much time, and normally I would ram the cab straight through
the fence instead of risking involving civilians. But considering
Julie’s state, things weren’t so simple. If a flying bit of glass
should cut her or she happened to bump her nose, a city full of
civilians wouldn’t just be involved—they’d be dead.