Джеймс Паттерсон - Ambush

Alex wasn’t panicked. She never panicked. But she had never been in quite this situation. She wiped the sweat from her face several times and got control of her breathing. Every pillar and curtain looked the same. Was she going in circles?

She passed two different people in the patchwork of hallways and kept the gun in her hand, hidden in her purse.

She stopped the second man, apparently some kind of lighting technician, carrying a long pole with a set of lights on the end of it.

Alex said in a very calm and quiet voice, “Excuse me. I’ve gotten turned around. I want the exit facing the East River. Which way is that?”

The man put down the pole, which wasn’t a good sign for brevity.

Alex restrained her desire to screw the pistol into his neck and tell him to speak.

The man pointed behind him and said, “If you take this hallway to the end and turn left, I think there’s a door that takes you into the executive offices in the back of the building. The door may be locked.”

She mumbled, “Thanks,” as she kept heading that way. She picked up her pace and, as soon as the man was out of sight, broke into another run.

Alex wasn’t even thinking about laying another trap for Bennett. That guy was either really lucky or really sharp. She was afraid he was really sharp, but she knew he had a soft spot. She hoped that he had stayed to help the man she had shot in the abdomen.

She found the door the man was talking about and, as he said, it was locked.

Alex was going through it anyway — the only question was how much noise she would make. She knocked on it lightly and felt how sturdy it was. The hinges were on the other side.

She checked the lock, then pulled her stiletto from her purse. Unlike a regular knife, it didn’t have a perfectly flat blade, but it was still able to fit between the doorjamb and the door. Just that little bit of room allowed her to wiggle the knife and cause the locking mechanism to slip.

After a moment of playing with it, Alex was able to pull the door open. She saw brighter lights in the hallway beyond the door and knew this was where she wanted to be. She took a moment to straighten her blouse, then took a napkin from her purse and wiped it across her face to clean up any sweat.

Then she walked through the offices as if she were the supervisor. No one paid any attention to her as she walked toward the sunlight coming through wide bay windows facing the East River.

I raced through the hallway with my pistol up in front of me, aware of the fact that this woman could be waiting behind any corner with her pistol ready to fire. At that point it was a risk I was willing to take.

The terror I felt at seeing Juliana with a gun screwed to her temple had mutated to resolve. And anger. Any time people thought they could stir up shit in my city without any repercussions, I got mad. Now I was determined to stop this killer. If I didn’t, who knew when this nightmare might end and how many more people she would kill?

I ran all the way to the stage area, and of course the first person I saw was Carter Javits.

He was shaken to see me out of breath and with a gun in my hand. In my frantic state, I fairly shouted, “Carter, did a woman with long dark hair run through here?”

He just stared at me like a little kid. He didn’t say a word.

I called his name out sharp and loud. “Carter!”

He shook his head no.

“You haven’t seen anyone unusual?”

“A woman like that walked out with Jules a little while ago. She’s a talent agent.”

“Keep everyone in here. She’s dangerous. She has a gun. Help should be coming any minute.”

When he just stared at me again, I said, “Do you understand what I’m saying, Carter?”

This time he nodded.

I was running back down the hallway looking for turnoffs. I found one door that was unlocked and led me into a series of storage rooms and hallways that ran in several directions.

I pulled my badge from my back pocket and held it up to a guy carrying a pole with lights on it. I shouted, “NYPD. Have you seen a woman come this way?”

The guy was stunned, like most people are when confronted by an anxious cop. But he managed to get out, “She went down this way and was asking how to get into the main office.”

“How do you get in there?”

“End of this hallway, to your left. Heavy door that’s usually locked.”

I was off to the races again. I was beginning to feel panic. I didn’t want this woman to get away. I thought of Father Alonzo. I wanted to sit and comfort my daughter. And God knows what my grandfather was going through.

I came to the door, and sure enough, it was locked. I had no time to waste. I lifted my left foot and threw my whole body behind a kick. I felt the door shake and the frame crack. I hit it again, and it opened at an odd angle as one of the hinges came loose.

I burst into the bright hallway and immediately startled a woman carrying an armload of papers. She jumped back, and they fluttered to the ground in every direction.

“NYPD. Has anyone you don’t know come through here?”

The woman shook her head. “Not that I noticed.”

As I started to move past her, she said, “What’s wrong? Is it a terrorist? What should we do?”

I took a moment. “Just stay in your office. No one should bother you. Where’s the exit?”

She pointed me down the hallway that led to the lobby.

I sprinted ahead toward an astonishing view of the East River.

The receptionist, a young woman with a bright smile and blond curly hair, turned to me with a questioning look.

Before she could say anything, I held up my badge and said, “NYPD. Did anyone come through the lobby?” I worked hard to keep my voice even, but I needed answers.

The young woman just stared at me for a moment, then said, “Yes. A woman I didn’t know came from—”

Facing the receptionist, I didn’t even register the sound of the gunshot behind me. And that’s how I had a view of her face virtually exploding in front of me as a bullet struck her just above the nose.

The impact cut her off midsentence and made her stumble back against the decorative wallpaper. As she tumbled to the carpet, she left a smear of blood on the wall.

I leaped to one side, looking for any cover I could find. I knew the bullet had been meant for me, and the shot gave me a general idea of where the assassin was hiding — behind a column near the front door, with the wide bay window behind her.

I rolled to a stop behind the counter where the young woman had been standing. Her blue eyes were wide open and seemed to stare at me.

Another person I’d failed to protect from this killer.

I was behind the counter and hoped it was thick enough to stop a bullet. I peeked around it once and could see the reflection of the assassin, crouched behind the column, in the window. Her long hair flowed down her back. Behind her was a tranquil view of a park with the river beyond it. A tour boat slowly passing by.

I called out, “It’s time to give it up. You’ve got nowhere to run, and I’m no longer a sitting duck.”

I waited for an answer but got none.

“Surrender now, and I can guarantee no one will hurt you.” As soon as I finished talking, there were two blasts from the gun, and bullets hit the counter just above my head. One of them punched through and came to a stop in the wall behind me. That answered my question about whether the counter would protect me.

I leaned away from the counter and returned two rounds just to keep her head down. I wanted to remind her I had a gun, too. I also realized that time was my friend. The longer I held her in place, the more likely it was that help would arrive.