Джеймс Паттерсон - Ambush

She heard sirens, but so far she had only seen one police car, racing directly to the main office she had just come from.

Now all she could focus on was escape. She could have no regrets about what had happened or who had been hurt. She just needed to find a way off this property, then out of Brooklyn.

She eased away from the crowd and started walking along the sidewalk at the far end of the parking lot.

Just as she thought she was clear of any interference, a man in a uniform stepped out from between two small buildings close to the river. He had a radio, and as he approached her, she heard someone giving a description. “The suspect is a female with long hair and may be posing as someone in the entertainment business.”

The man looked up when he was right in front of Alex. He was young, black, perhaps in his early twenties, and very skinny. And he immediately realized he had stumbled onto the armed woman everyone was looking for.

She drew her pistol from her purse and casually pointed it at his chest.

Alex admired the fact that he came right to the point, raising both hands and saying, “I don’t want any trouble.”

“Neither do I.” She didn’t wave the gun to make her point. She didn’t have to. “I just need information from you, and I need it fast.”

His whole body was shaking. A tear welled in his right eye. She wanted him scared. This was good.

Alex said, “What’s the fastest way to get to a street where I can hail a cab?”

He pointed with his right hand and kept his left hand raised. “If you go straight down this sidewalk to the corner of the property, there is a person-size door in the fence. The gate’s never locked. There’s a busy street right there.”

She smiled at the young man and nudged him back with the barrel of the pistol so he walked backward to the two buildings close to the river. Then they kept walking through the narrow park to the edge of the river.

Alex said, “That was very informative and very smart. Now I need to make sure you can’t tell anyone for a few minutes. You know how we’re going to arrange that?” She held up the pistol.

The young security guard’s voice broke as he said, “Oh, God. No, please.”

“Can you think of an alternative?” Alex had no intention of shooting him. She just needed him quiet.

The security guard said, “I’m going to promise to sit right here and not call out to anyone?”

She reached onto his belt and pulled his radio off. “First we’re going to make sure you don’t have communications.” She chucked the radio over the seawall into the East River.

“Hey!”

“Maybe you should jump in after it.”

The young man looked over her shoulder at the seawall and river behind it. “That’s okay. I think I can explain it to my boss.”

She pointed her pistol. “Jump. Now.”

He hesitated and just stared at her.

Alex said, “What’s the matter? Can’t you swim?” It wasn’t an idle question. She didn’t want to kill another innocent bystander today.

He raised his voice and said, “That’s a stereotype. Of course I can swim.”

Alex nudged him in the chest with the barrel of the small semiautomatic pistol. He stumbled back a couple of steps, then turned, crawled onto the low seawall, and hopped into the water.

Alex peeked over to make sure he was okay. He was already floating with the current and wasn’t panicking.

Now she forced herself to walk calmly back onto the studio property, then down the pathway he had pointed out. With all the people milling around, it was as good a scenario as she could hope for. Civilians always distract law enforcement. No matter what the mission, civilians just get in the way. And Alex was happy about that.

She turned to her right at the end of the walkway and followed the fence to the corner of the property, where a six-foot chain-link door was built into the fence. She lifted the handle and stepped onto the sidewalk alongside a busy street.

Sweet.

Alex walked briskly along the sidewalk and noticed two more NYPD patrol cars race past, headed for the movie studio. A smile crept across her face. She felt like she was going to make it. Now that she was away from Bennett, the police response didn’t seem like a threat. In some South American countries, the authorities might even call out the army to try to seal an area. She greatly preferred this.

A block away, the traffic was light, and no one appeared concerned with what was happening at the studio. A McDonald’s looked like a good place to lay low, but Alex needed to get out of the area. She kept walking, trying to blend in. The last thing she needed was to call attention to herself.

At the corner, she saw two cabs turn onto a side street. That’s where she needed to be. She stopped for a moment to get her bearings. She could see the Freedom Tower in the distance and the Brooklyn Bridge not far away.

She would take a cab to within a few blocks of her hotel, then walk the rest of the way. Just in case someone put some effort into finding out where she went from here.

She didn’t intend to waste any time after that. She would catch a bus south and then a flight out of Baltimore or perhaps Reagan National. It was extra work but would give her peace of mind. No one would be able to figure out who she was or where she went.

Alex kept a steady pace down the street, her right hand just outside her purse for easy access to her weapons. No one gave her a second look. Another police car flew by, followed by a paramedic truck.

She turned the corner and saw three cabs sitting along the curb near the middle of the block. As she approached, she caught the first driver’s attention and stepped directly to the rear passenger door.

Her survival instinct told her she wasn’t quite clear yet. She grabbed the stiletto from her purse and held it in her right hand.

Just as she grabbed the cab’s door handle, she heard someone from behind her say, “Police — don’t move.”

She let the stiletto rest on the cab’s roof in the crease where the door closed.

As soon as I called out, “Police — don’t move,” I felt an odd mix of emotions. There was that taste of excitement any cop feels at the moment of making a big arrest, but I also felt anger. That was something strange for me. I could usually detach myself at a moment like this.

I saw her freeze, but I wasn’t going to take any chances. I aimed my service weapon at her head. The taxi driver was a veteran of the New York streets — he knew to lie down in his seat to keep out of the line of fire.

The woman didn’t move and rested her hands on the cab’s roof. I knew she carried her pistol in her purse, so I immediately said, “Drop the purse on the ground. Do it now.”

She hesitated, then tilted to her right and lowered her right arm. The purse slipped off and plopped on the ground. I could tell by the way the purse thumped on the sidewalk that it had a gun in it. The same one that killed that young receptionist. The same gun used to shoot Father Alonzo in the stomach. The same gun she had pointed at my daughter.

Now I stepped a little closer. I kicked the purse away from her and leaned forward. I used my left hand to grasp her left arm so I could handcuff her.

Then I felt her weight shift. It was slight, but if you’d been in a street fight, you would know what it meant.

She pushed hard off the cab, knocking us both back on the sidewalk. I stumbled but kept my balance.

Then she spun and extended her right arm. It arced through the air toward my face. I ducked, and the blow missed me. That was when I realized she had a knife of some kind in her hand. It took me a moment to comprehend that it was the stiletto she’d used in the murders.