Reckless (41 page)

Hauck flung open the door and crossed into the next car.

He found a snack bar two cars ahead and ordered a roast beef sandwich and a coffee for himself, and in spite of what she’d said, a turkey sandwich and a bottle of water for Naomi. She probably hadn’t had a bite to eat all day.

The clerk gave Hauck one of those cardboard trays. He made his way back up to his car, the motion of the train making it all hard to carry. He slid open the heavy outside door to his car, holding it open with his foot. Made his way back up the aisle. He saw Naomi still sitting at the far end of the car. A female college student had a
People
magazine on her lap. A black woman was knitting. The businesspeople were still recounting their meeting. He passed the guy dozing in the cap. He noticed the lettering in gold embroidery on the back, and a warning bell suddenly went off in him

101st Airborne
.

Hauck glanced down, noticing the thick braid of hair knotted into a short ponytail that peeked through the back of the cap.

Everything stopped.

He immediately flashed to the photos Evan had snapped of the two men who had killed his family.

One had a short ponytail.

Some kind of tattoo on his neck.

His body suddenly tingling, he flashed to the photo he had seen today.

He started forward again, catching Naomi’s eye. As he passed, the man in the military cap seemed to stir, shifting to the side. Hauck looked down with a quick glance. The man was wearing a gray T-shirt under a nylon jacket.

What he saw sent a tremor down his spine.

That same tattoo.
On his neck.

It looked like a panther’s claw.

CHAPTER EIGHTY-EIGHT

H
auck’s body went rigid with determination.

It was him. O’Toole. It had to be. Even before Hauck sat back down his mind fast-forwarded through what he had to do. Anger roiled in him. It was a crowded car. The train still had an hour to go. There could be no mistake. Thibault. Al-Bashir. Hassani. Dead.

They were after them now.

There was no way they would make it to DC.

He sat back down, his stomach tensing, this time on the opposite side, next to Naomi. His heart raced with the inevitability of two speeding trains about to collide. He put the tray between them. Naomi looked up, unsuspecting. She smiled, looking over what he had brought her. “Thanks.”

Hauck looked back up the aisle. The man was solid, shoulders hunched, arms folded, hugging his chest. His face was hidden underneath the hat’s brim.

Hauck wanted to leap up and kill him.

But he also knew O’Toole was aware of him too. The guy was a professional. Army trained. He clearly had no hesitation about what he had to do. He had killed a kid, for Christ’s sake. Murdered an entire family.

Hauck knew the guy was measuring him too.

Hauck leaned close to Naomi and squeezed her knee, trying not to give a sign that anything was wrong. “You remember that nice couple who picked up our Saudi friend in London?” he whispered under his breath.

Naomi looked back. Seeing his steady gaze. Sensing something wrong.

She nodded slowly, her pupils widening, meeting his.

“I don’t want you to show a reaction,” Hauck said, tightening the pressure on her knee, “but those very same people are here for us now.”

She blinked. Her gaze displayed the slightest tremor of fear. She leaned back and nodded, this time with a beat of alarm. “What are we going to do?”

Hauck glanced back toward at the man, who seemed to shift their way. “I don’t know.”

He felt underneath his jacket for his gun. He quietly unsnapped the holster. The car was crowded with unsuspecting people. Maybe the only thing to do was to seize the fact that he knew. Rush O’Toole. He had killed April, her family. His heart starting to throb, he had to hold himself back. His only ally was the element of surprise.

Suddenly the train began to slow. An announcement blasted through the tinny speakers.
“Wilmington. This is Wilmington, Delaware. Next stop, Baltimore…”

The man in the army cap stirred, grasping his satchel. He looked up and made it appear as if he was getting ready to leave. Briefly, his gaze darted their way. Didn’t make eye contact. Just made sure they were still there. He stood up. Departing passengers began to fill the aisles.

Suddenly it became clear. This was how O’Toole was going to do it. As he went by, exiting the train. Then he could bolt onto the platform.

“Wilmington
.
Wilmington Station…,”
the call came through again.

Hauck tried not to show a reaction, but the sweat had built up under his shirt. Any way out of their seats was blocked now by the lineup of passengers. The man fiddled with his bag. Hauck saw him put something underneath his jacket. People left, carrying bags, suitcases.

They were blocked in.

He leaned close to Naomi and whispered with urgency, “Take out your gun. It’s happening now.”

Hidden by the departing passengers, Hauck reached under his jacket and took out his Sig. He transferred it to under his seat, hidden in the palm of his hand.

The train slowed. It entered the open station. Hauck kept his gaze riveted on O’Toole. The train came to a stop. The doors hissed open. People began to step off onto the platform.

O’Toole was about six passengers in front of them. Advancing. What if it wasn’t him? What if he was someone else? He couldn’t just start shooting. Four people between them now. Hauck saw him reach inside his jacket.

Three.

There was no more time.

O’Toole was turning toward them now. Hauck put his palm on Naomi’s back and pushed her to the floor. “
Stay down!”

He jumped up, leveling his Sig at the approaching assailant. “
O’Toole!
”

The killer looked at him, a glint of recognition in his eyes. He went for whatever he had under his jacket, then he ducked behind a passenger.

Hauck couldn’t shoot. He shouted,
“Everyone get down!”

There was a scream. A black woman directly in the line of Hauck’s aim spotted his weapon. Then everything descended into chaos. The line of passengers shifted as if they were one, people crouching, diving into the rows, covering their heads.

O’Toole stared directly at him now. Hauck spotted the Glock 9 equipped with a silencer. O’Toole was startled by Hauck’s sudden response. He grabbed one of the businesswomen in a gray suit and pulled her across his body. She was terrified, shrieking.

There was no way Hauck could shoot.

O’Toole didn’t have the same qualms. He raised his Glock and squeezed off two rounds in Hauck’s direction, bullets thudding into the seat cushions where Naomi had been sitting, his captive’s jerking movements altering his aim.

Hauck ducked down.

Everyone was screaming in panic. Running for the exits.

O’Toole stepped backward, forcing the terrified woman with him, using her as a shield. He spit off two more muffled shots as Hauck dove out of the line of fire.

“Shut the fuck up!” he screamed, twisting her by the hair. There was a flash and another silenced round clanged off the luggage rack.

Everything was at close quarters and happening fast. Hauck knew that if O’Toole simply rushed forward using the woman as a screen, he wouldn’t be able to fire back. He had nothing to protect them.

But instead, he went backward, firing as he did. Two more bullets slammed into the wall of the train, one grazing Hauck’s arm. It stung like fire.

He winced.

Naomi had made it up and had her gun leveled at O’Toole. The man kept the woman in front of him and began to back his way through the aisle to the rear of the car, trying to get to the far exit. He reeled off one more shot, and it ricocheted off the wall, hitting a bystander, who groaned. The man sat upright in his seat, his shoulder spewing blood.

Someone shouted,
“Oh, God!”

Finally O’Toole threw the woman to the side and ran to the rear as people darted out of the way into the seats.

Hauck went after him.

Naomi pushed her way toward the front entrance, shouting, “
I’m a government agent!
Everyone out of the way.
Get down!
”

O’Toole had made his way to the back of the car, turning once to fire. Hauck ducked under a seat and drew a line on him. At that very moment a black train conductor rushed out of the next car, holding a radio, shouting,
“What the hell’s going on?”

Hauck stood up in horror and raised his gun.
“No!”

O’Toole shot the man twice in the chest, the heavyset conductor dropping down to his knees, grasping a railing to hold himself up.

O’Toole ran out onto the platform.

Hauck pushed the few remaining people out of the aisle and rushed up to where the conductor was clinging to the railing. His large eyes glassed over. He was breathing heavily. A young Latino woman jumped out of a seat. “I’m a nurse.”

“Call 911!”
Hauck said. It didn’t look as if the guy would make it. He had rolled onto his back. A bubble of blood came out with each labored breath. “Tell ’em there are two people down. Call for EMTs.”

She nodded, grasping her cell phone.

He jumped out of the train onto the platform. Two bullets clanged off the side of the train, whizzing past his head. He saw O’Toole running down the platform at the end of the long track. Everyone on the platform had hit the deck.

He started after him, looking behind him for Naomi.

He saw her. She had her back pressed against the side of the train, her gun at her side. She had a fixed, glassy look in her eyes and she seemed to stare right through him.

Then she glanced at her shoulder and muttered,
“Ty…”

CHAPTER EIGHTY-NINE

H
auck froze, focused on Naomi, as O’Toole made his getaway.

“No, no, no,
no
!”

He rushed back to her. Naomi pulled herself a little unsteadily off the side of the train, the stunned look in her eyes trying to become a bit more firm. “O’Toole’s escaping…We’re not letting him get away, Ty.
C’mon, let’s go!
”

Then her legs buckled again and she fell back against the side of the train.

Hauck looked at her, his heart exploding. “You’re hit!”

Her left arm hung limp. There was a hole in her suit jacket right below her collarbone. She shook her head, pulled herself off the train. “I’m not letting him get away…”

“No.” Hauck restrained her by the other arm.
“You can’t!”
Blood had started to seep out from her jacket. He wasn’t sure how bad it was. She was showing a bit of disorientation. He spun and took a quick glance down the tracks and saw O’Toole heading for the end of the open platform. “You stay here.
Someone help her!
” he shouted. “She’s a federal agent. You get the police to come after me. You hear what I’m saying, Naomi? Get them to come after me!”

“No.” She grabbed her gun with both hands, her shoulder hanging loosely.

“You’re staying, Naomi. Do you understand? Help her,” he said to a man in a business suit exiting the train. “I’ll be back. You wait for the EMTs.
Don’t let her leave
.”

He didn’t wait for her answer. He took off along the track after O’Toole. He was maybe fifty yards ahead and had made his way to the far end of the platform. Beyond the station it looked like just open terrain. As he ran, O’Toole loaded a new mag into his gun.

Hauck raised his Sig and squeezed off two rounds at the fleeing man. Way out of range. They both kicked harmlessly off the asphalt platform.

O’Toole got to the end, hurdled a metal railing, and jumped onto the southbound tracks.

Hauck headed after him. The man who had killed April. He wanted to grind him into pulp with his own hands. But O’Toole was younger, fit, and didn’t have a leg that still carried metal from two gunshots from a little more than a year ago. Hauck followed him to the railing and hurtled over it himself, continuing on.

There was blood escaping from a wound on his own arm. A gash was visible under his torn jacket. Hauck didn’t even feel it.

O’Toole still had about fifty yards on him.

There was a train at rest on the northbound tracks. It looked like an empty commuter train, maybe a local heading up from Philadelphia. Dense woods bordered the southbound tracks. O’Toole could maybe hide out in them for a while. But he could also be trapped with nowhere to go. Across the northbound side there was a wire fence that ran six feet high. On the other side was the train station’s parking lot. If O’Toole could somehow get across, he could force his way into a car. That seemed to be his best way out. It appeared he was trying to find his way through the parked train. Or under it.

Hauck made up some ground behind him.

His heart raced tremulously about Naomi. He didn’t know how bad her wound was. He hated to leave her there. But she was right—there was no way he could let this man get away. Not now.

This was the end of the line.

O’Toole turned back and fired off a couple shots at him, meant more to keep Hauck at bay than to stop him. At this distance, his silencer wasn’t exactly helping his aim. Hauck knew that sooner or later the police had to arrive. All he had to do was keep O’Toole contained until they got here. Not let him escape. This had been his goal since the day he first heard April’s name on the news. Thibault. Hassani. Serbia. London. That had only been his way of finding her killer.

That had been his vow.

Around a hundred yards ahead, Hauck spotted a small trestle railway bridge spanning the four tracks. O’Toole seemed to be heading directly for it. If he could make it across the tracks he might manage to leap the fence, jump into the lot, and force his way into a car.

That was his best way out of here.

Hauck quickened his pace. As O’Toole made it to the bridge, Hauck stopped, took aim, and squeezed off two rounds at him. The first kicked off the tracks, clanging into the trestle. The second managed to find its mark, striking him in the leg. He pulled up with a hop, spun around, and fired three wild shots back at Hauck, all dinging off the side of the resting train.