Flee (7 page)

A
moment was all I needed. I bucked my body, tossing her to the sidewalk. One
move and I was on my feet. My balance lagged behind and I had to pause half a
second to adjust.

Too
long. Barely a moment passed and she was up too, striking fast and hard with a
cut to the jaw.

I
blocked her blow and drove my elbow into the side of her head. Still unsteady
on my feet, I couldn't muster enough force to do real damage, and she came back
at me with a palm-heel strike to my solar plexus.

Breath
fled from my lungs. I gasped, sucking in air. I managed to block her next blow,
still wheezing when she landed a knee jab to the stomach that doubled me over.

She
grabbed my hair and yanked my head back, searing pain ripping along the cut in
my scalp. I struggled to twist to the side, throw her off balance. No good. She
shoved my head down, smacking my forehead hard against her knee.

Flashes
of light exploded in front of my eyes. I staggered to the side, somehow keeping
myself from going down.

My
injuries were making me sluggish. After the morning I'd had, she was faster,
fitter. If I hadn't impaired her vision, there would be no way I could keep up.
I wasn't sure I could now. I needed to end this. Quickly.

Before
she ended me.

She
struck again, fast, as I knew she would, coming in too close, too certain of my
defeat. She attacked from the right, trying for a strike to my carotid artery.

I
managed to block with my left elbow then straighten, bringing my right elbow up
under her jaw. I clipped her hard, driving her head back. I followed with a
strike to her throat from the other side.

As
she staggered back I grabbed her, my right arm over her chest, my left under
her thighs. I straightened my legs, pressing her against my torso and lifting
her like a barbell.

She
wasn't ready to give up yet. She found my face with her hand, trying to land a
stunning blow to the sensitive spots behind my ear and the base of my skull,
and failing that, jabbing for my eyes.

I
tucked in my chin, keeping my balance. A grunt rasped in my throat, an
aggressive and guttural sound. I managed a short lunge forward with my right
foot. Using that momentum, I brought her body down hard and smashed her back
against my knee.

I
felt her spine break just as I collapsed forward, my legs crumbling, unable to
hold her any longer. Both of us hit the sidewalk. For a second, I half expected
her to throw another move at me, a move I wouldn't be able to handle.

But
she didn't stir, didn't even twitch.

Witnesses?
I could feel people watching, no doubt calling 911. A guy across the street. A
taxi parked on the corner. But no one was stupid enough to approach. Tuning
into sounds, I heard traffic, a bus, the distant cry of a siren, the crackling
of leaves blowing across the sidewalk.

I
willed my mind clear. I had to move.

I
struggled upright and started frisking my dead double. I didn't find anything
compromising, didn't expect to, but the job took only seconds, since I knew
precisely where to look. Like the woman at the health club, she had cash and wires
sewn into her clothing precisely the way I did.

I
took her weapon, her sunglasses, her tablet computer and stuffed them into my
duffle alongside the money. Hands shaking, I tugged out my cell phone, took a
quick picture of her thumb print and sent it to a secure internet drop box
where Jacob could access it, if he was still able.

I
left her body on the sidewalk, not bothering to hide it. With the police on
their way and with eyewitnesses peppering the street, the extra time and energy
it would cost to conceal her corpse wouldn't get me much.

My
stomach roiling, I staggered away, taking fifteen steps before I was able to
balance enough to break into a jog. I rounded the corner with my fist pressed
to my stomach so I didn't throw up—the nausea, as well as the almost
uncontrollable trembling of nearly every muscle in my body, was a side-effect
of too much adrenaline.

I'd
put two blocks between me and my lifeless double before I was able to calm my
jitters, settle my thoughts, and fully focus on what I had to do next. It took
another two to locate a drugstore. The scream of a siren pierced the ambient
traffic sounds just before I ducked inside the revolving door.

Inside
I could still hear the cop car's wail mixed with the hum of voices, the whir of
the register printing out a receipt and background music, a bland rendition of
a Simon and Garfunkel classic. Perfume tinged the air, something cheap that
carried a harsh citrus note. A woman behind the cosmetics counter eyed me as if
she thought I could desperately use the Shimmer Face Primer on display.

Fighting
techniques were only one of my trained skills. I had also studied facial
expressions and body language, and I could read the intentions of others as
well as I could disguise my own. The woman seemed to be what she appeared, an
employee trying to sell makeup, but after all the surprises I'd had, I couldn't
be too sure. And even a well-meaning employee could cause me problems if she
noticed my injuries and decided it was her business to help.

I
gave her a fleeting don't-try-to-sell-me smile and hurried past like a normal
busy woman doing errands on my lunch hour. She offered a polite nod and turned
to an older woman in a track suit.

I
scanned the rest of the store, including the wide angle mirrors positioned
around the ceiling's perimeter, keeping my head low so my face didn't register
on the cameras behind them. I didn't see any other Walgreens shoppers who
flagged my attention. And miraculously, for what seemed like the first time all
day, I was the only one in the store bearing my exact features.

I
made quick work of my shopping, picking up a yellow canvas book bag (which sat next
to a display of ereaders—who really needed a book bag anymore?), a bottle of
niacin, a utility knife, and a blue knit cap. Once out the door, I pulled on
the cap and the sunglasses I'd taken off my double and continued down the
street. The only sirens were distant now, their screams partially drowned by
the rumble of the El several blocks away, the usual traffic noise, and the
whoosh of wind. The breeze carried the snap of fall and scent of pizza—oregano
and cooked sausage—from a nearby deep dish restaurant.

I
turned my head to the side as I walked, as if simply taking in the day. Several
people dotted the sidewalk behind me, the foot traffic picking up as people
stepped out to get a bite to eat. I took a right turn, ducked into a doorway
for a moment, transferring the cash from my duffle to the yellow bag, then
stepped back out onto the street. After crossing the side street, I rejoined
the first street I'd been walking and noted the traffic patterns of those
behind. No one appeared to be following.

I
stopped on the next corner and hailed a cab. I collapsed into the back seat. "The
Shedd Aquarium, please."

The
odor of stale menthol cigarettes hovered around the driver. "Sure thing."
He accelerated and blended into traffic.

We
headed in the direction of the lake. I cracked the window and let exhaust dilute
the smoke stench. A few minutes later we swung onto Michigan Avenue's
Magnificent Mile. I glanced out the window and pretended to take in the glitzy
stores, the Tribune Tower, the ornate architecture of the Wrigley Building, all
the while checking for tails. We crossed the Chicago River and moved south. By
the time my cab had reached Millennium Park, I was as certain as I could be
that I was alone.

We
took Roosevelt Drive to Lake Shore, turned at Soldier Field, and wound past the
Field Museum. As we approached the aquarium, I made a visual sweep of the area.
School busses clogged the parking lot. A mother dragged two dawdling children
up the steps to the main entrance. Wind whipped flags and raised whitecaps on
the lake.

"We're
here," the cabbie said, reaching for the meter.

"No,
wait."

His
hand stopped mid air. "This is the Shedd Aquarium."

"I
know. I'm waiting for someone. Can you sit here and let the meter run for now?"

"Sure
thing." He sounded less than enthused.

I
pulled the tablet computer I took from my most recent dead doppelganger out of
the duffle. If there was anything on the woman that might give me a clue who
she was and what was going on, this was it. The problem was getting past
whatever security measures were in place.

Three
minutes later, I hadn't made much progress. The computer was encrypted. I would
need more time to work on it. Time I didn't have. "I've changed my mind. Take
me to Macy's on State Street."

The
cabbie glanced in the rear view and arched his brows. "Whatever you want."
He was an older guy with a square face, salt-and-pepper hair, an expression
that plainly said he didn't care about anything. He wove his way out of the
parking area and started retracing the route we'd just traveled. I looked down
at my watch.

Soon
I would be face-to-face with Cory again.

I
spotted the black SUV a block from Macy's. It turned out from Pearson, and fell
into traffic four cars behind my cab. It was a slick move. One executed by
someone with experience, and at first I wasn't sure why it drew my attention.
But I'd been taught to trust my instincts, and right now they were jumping. "Can
you drive around the block? I'd like to see if my friend is here."

A
disinterested grunt from the front seat, but the driver took the next right.

Four
cars behind us, the SUV did the same. The next turn brought similar results. By
the time my cabbie had orbited the entire block, I'd long since gotten the
confirmation I needed and was working on figuring out who was behind the wheel.

It
wasn't Cory. I couldn't see the driver well, but I could see enough to know it
wasn't a face I knew. So who was it? And how did they find me?

No
one had followed me from the drugstore. No one had tailed my cab to the
aquarium. And except for the last few blocks, no one had picked us up on the
drive to Macy's. That left only one explanation.

I
was being tracked.

I
felt for the slight bulge at my waist. A cell phone signal could be tracked by
different service towers and then triangulated to find its location. I'd turned
my encrypted phone off. No one should be able to pick up a signal that wasn't
there, but maybe with this phone, on or off didn't matter. Jacob was
compromised. Maybe that meant my phone had been compromised as well.

I
fought the urge to toss the damn thing out the window. The phone was vital.
Jacob had stressed that more times than I could remember. I couldn't simply
ditch the thing. I had to figure out some other solution.

And
whatever it was, I had to come up with it fast.

"Take
me to 875 North Michigan."

"You
sure about that? Or you gonna change your mind again?"

"The
meter is running, right?"

He
held up a hand. "Yeah, yeah, I get it. Shut up and drive."

I
twisted in my seat and looked straight at the SUV.

It
took the next right turn, as I guessed it would. The driver realized I'd gone
around the block for a reason, and knew he'd been made. Not that it really
mattered. If they were tracking my cell phone, and that was the only thing that
made sense, the SUV didn't have to be riding the cab's bumper in order to keep
tabs on me. He'd catch up soon enough.

But
maybe I could use this opportunity to make his job a little more complicated.

A
few blocks later, the cab came to a stop at the curb. This time the driver made
no move to turn off the meter, as if waiting for the next destination. "Here
you go. 875 North Michigan Avenue. Hancock Center."

I
peeled some cash off the stack in the yellow bag and thrust it at the cabbie. "Keep
the change. Maybe buy yourself some cigarettes."

I
stepped out onto the curb and looked up at the hundred-story building. Black
and slightly tapered, with the two iconic white antennas on its roof forking into
the sky, and the crisscross pattern of girders running up all four sides. It
was so tall that it seemed to sway and tilt, and I felt my stomach do a little
dip.

I
glanced at my Casio and checked the time.

Eleven
minutes before my meeting with Cory.

And
not a second to waste.

"Often, you'll have to ditch items. Garbage cans are best. A
mailbox can work in a pinch. But if you want to return for the item later, you
need to be able to hide things in public places where they won't be easily
found. That requires a bit more thought, and an understanding of human
behavior."

The
lobby of the John Hancock Center smelled like marble, a vaguely dusty scent that
reminded me of the halls of government. People passed me, heels clicking on
hard floors, emerging from their condominiums or shopping at one of the retail
spots in the center. It was a beautiful building, a Chicago landmark, but it
was a wasteland when it came to hiding places.