Patterson Array: NYPD Red

“That’s twice in one day,” she said.

“Old habits die hard,” I whispered in her ear. “Brace yourself.”

They were making a mockery of his movie.

Another time, another place, and The Chameleon might have found it funny. But this was the climax of his film, and instead of acting like worthy opponents, MacDonald and Jordan had showed up and were floundering around in the water like a couple of Keystone Kops.

Liberty Island was not as close as he would have liked, but it was close enough. He had to act now. He waited for Jordan to haul MacDonald up into the Zodiac. This was the last scene, and he didn’t want them to miss it.

“And action!” he yelled.

He raised his cell phone in the air, angling the glass face so it reflected the light of the setting sun. They’d see it, and they’d know what it meant.

He held up his other hand, slowly gave them the finger, then pointed it down and rested it on the number 1 button of his speed dial.

The cops knew exactly what was coming next. They ducked for cover, but The Chameleon no longer cared about them. He gazed out at the horizon. It was just as he and Lexi had imagined-the doomed yacht, the all-knowing statue, the orange glow of the sun as it slipped into the water.

He pressed down hard on the button. He heard the beep of the auto-dial, then a single ring, and then…

“Kaboom.”

The word was followed by a deep throaty laugh.

“I said ‘kaboom,’” the voice on the other end of the phone mocked. “Sorry it isn’t any louder, but I cut the phone wires to your detonators-all three of them. What’s the matter, Mr. Chameleon? You suddenly at a loss for words?”

“Charles?” Gabriel finally said.

“You sound surprised. Didn’t you see the last-minute script changes? The cavalry showed up, cut me loose, and upgraded me to hero status.”

“Those sons of bitches,” Gabriel said.

“That’s show business,” Connor said. “Your movie doesn’t always turn out the way you-”

“My movie will turn out amazing!” Benoit screamed. He hung up. Charles Connor was an extra. Not worth talking to. The talking was over. This was an action movie, and the action was about to kick into high gear.

He gunned the engine and drew his Glock.

“Alternate scene!” he yelled as he barreled down on the other Zodiac.

Kylie and I were pressed flat to the bottom of the Zodiac, waiting for the inevitable.

She kept count. “One-one-thousand, two-one-thousand, three-one-thousand…”

By fifteen-one-thousand the inevitable still hadn’t happened.

“Something went wrong,” she said. “Take a look.”

I lifted my head and peered over the gunwale.

“Game changer,” I said, ducking back out of sight. “I don’t think he can get it to blow. He’s talking to someone on the cell phone.”

“Maybe he’s calling tech support,” she said. “Don’t give him a chance to figure it out. Let’s take him.”

I sat up and reached for the starter cord.

The first bullet tore through the Yamaha engine, and I hit the deck. Three more shots flew over our heads.

I heard Benoit’s Zodiac race past us. I rolled over, grabbed my gun, and fired back, all noise and no accuracy. He did a one-eighty and came back at us. I yanked at the starter cord, but his first shot had taken out the engine.

He opened fire, and I flattened out yet again.

“Zach, I don’t have a gun,” Kylie said.

“I have a backup. Ankle holster.” I could hear the Zodiac bearing down on us again. “I’ll get it as soon as he passes.”

He didn’t pass.

He rammed us.

He clipped the front corner of our Zodiac, catching it at the perfect angle to lift it high and pitch me overboard. I flew out of the boat backward and hit the water headfirst.

It felt like somebody came up behind me and whacked me with a two-by-four. All I could see were blue spots on a field of black, and then I went under.

I’m not a natural-born swimmer, and I thrashed my way back to the surface, coughing up river water and jerking my throbbing head in all directions looking for Kylie. Our Zodiac had righted itself, and she was still in it, but there were at least thirty feet of open water separating the two of us.

Benoit made another U-turn, saw the gap between us, and roared straight down the middle, firing at me as he came. Somehow I had managed to hang on to my piece, and, keeping it above water, I fired back wildly without a prayer of hitting him.

His bullets were much more on target, cutting through the water to my left, my right, and one striking less than a foot in front of me. He barreled right past me and swung the Zodiac into a wide arc so he could make another pass. I knew it was only a matter of time. I was a fish in a barrel, and Benoit was hell-bent on shooting fish.

And then, over the roar of the engine, I heard Kylie yell, “Zach, fake a hit! Go under.”

Benoit was bearing down on me again, but much more slowly so he could line up his shot.

He fired once. I grabbed my right shoulder, stopped treading water, and dropped straight down. The last thing I saw before I let the river swallow me up was Kylie kneeling in a shooter’s position on the hull of the Zodiac, both arms outstretched, aiming straight at Benoit.

Aiming? Aiming what?

As of two minutes ago, her gun was at the bottom of the Hudson River.

Gabriel had seen it a hundred times in the movies. In a high-speed chase scene, the cop car turns into the back wheels of an escaping vehicle, causing it to spin out of control.

He used the exact same concept to flip the cops’ Zodiac around and send Jordan flying into the water. The cop landed flat on his back.

By the time he got his bearings, he was totally separated from his partner, and now Gabriel could take them out one at a time.

Jordan first. Benoit closed in on him, firing as he went. At one point he was less than ten feet from his target, but the water was choppy, and none of his shots hit the mark.

Slow down, a voice said.

It was Gabriel the director.

Gabriel the action hero eased up on the throttle and circled the boat for another run.

Steady, steady, steady, the director said. Now.

He fired.

Jordan grabbed his shoulder, flew back, and went under.

“One down,” Gabriel said. He turned to Kylie. Her boat was disabled or she’d have come at him. She had no place to go.

He slowed his Zodiac to a crawl and stopped twenty feet from her.

It was dark, but her body was clearly backlit by the setting sun. She was kneeling in a shooter’s stance.

“NYPD!” she yelled. “Drop your gun and hold your hands up high.”

“You don’t have a gun, bitch!” he screamed. “Otherwise you’d have opened fire on me before I nailed your partner.”

“Final warning!” she called out. “Drop your gun and get your hands in the air.”

Shoot her, the voice said. This time it wasn’t the director.

It was Lexi. She was here for the final scene. Uninvited, but of course she showed up anyway. He laughed. That Lexi-he never could control her.

Shoot her for me, Gabe. Shoot her.

He pulled the trigger.

Click.

He was out of bullets.

Ram her. Run her down. Cut her in half. Kill her.

Gabriel put his hand on the throttle. MacDonald’s Zodiac was directly in his path. She was still aiming at him. And then he saw it in her hand, silhouetted against the sky.

It was boxy with a square front and yellow stripes on the side.

She squeezed the trigger.