James Patterson - Kill Alex Cross

But Hala was having none of it. Her Sig was out and against the self-appointed queen’s temple almost as quickly.

“Get your hand off of him,” she said.

“I told you to leave it alone,” the woman said, speaking to Tariq, not Hala.

“ Everyone calm down! ” The father shouted at them from the front, while the two boys looked on with wide eyes and closed mouths. Tariq stayed where he was, both hands still on the case’s spring clasps.

“Now,” Hala said evenly. “If he says he needs to check the case, he’s going to check it. We’re all here for the same reason. Isn’t that right, sister?”

She kept the Sig where it was, waiting for her answer. Finally, the mother bitch sat back, though not without a last, searing look at Hala.

“That’s much better,” Hala said. “Use that murder in your eyes for the benefit of The Family. Our enemies are outside the minivan, not in it.”

“Go to hell” was the answer she got.

It was a shame, Hala thought. Here was a woman she could respect on any other night. She was exactly the kind of soldier the movement needed. In any case, this argument meant nothing to the larger picture. It was time to focus, time to kill as many Americans as they could, time to send an unforgettable message.

Tariq worked slowly. He eased open the clasps on the case and gingerly lifted the lid. Nobody spoke as he began taking stock of the small metal canisters inside.

When the van bounced over a pothole on First Street, Hala saw the woman reach across for her younger son’s hand in the dark.

She’s just afraid for her children , thought Hala. She’s a good mother. Better than me .

They came to a very sudden, jolting stop on a gravel utility road. Nerves on the part of the driver. To the right, a thick stand of hawthorn shielded them from traffic passing on New York Avenue.

To the left, Hala could see the rail yard through a chain-link fence. Dozens of dark-windowed subway cars slumped in rows on the tracks. Their deadly target for tonight.

Tariq kept charge of the aluminum alloy case. The mother, father, and younger boy each took a different piece of mismatched luggage from the back of the van, and then the older son drove off to circle the neighborhood.

Hala took up a position just to the west, on a pedestrian bridge that spanned the yard. She backtracked maybe thirty yards and climbed the winding metal stairs to the walkway above. Once she was up there, she found that the area was fully enclosed with more chain link. But the bridge still offered a perfect view.

From the center of the bridge, she checked once in each direction. “Clear,” she radioed softly.

It took a few minutes for the others to appear.

They looked like animated silhouettes as they moved out onto the tracks, laterally at first, and then up between the rows of train cars, where they disappeared. Sarin gas , Hala was thinking. This was impressive. It would resonate powerfully around the world .

Several minutes ticked by. Slowly, very slowly. There had been no word about how long it would take to install the material. Hala could actually hear them breathing as they worked, but conversation was held to a minimum.

She kept her eyes moving constantly. They swept the yard, over to Brentwood Road and T Street on the far side, then back again to the utility road nearer by, and New York Avenue beyond. It wasn’t difficult to stay alert. There was plenty of adrenaline for that.

So when a police cruiser appeared on the scene, Hala saw it right away. It eased down the utility road and came to a stop not far from their original drop-off location.

“Up near the bridge,” she said softly. “We may have a serious problem.”

“Police at the south fence. One car so far,” Hala whispered. “Hold your positions. I’m watching them. I can take them out if I have to. I hope not to do that.”

The cruiser’s passenger door opened, and the shadow of a cop flowed out.

Hala leveled her Sig through the chain link, siting the man’s chest. He was as good as dead, if that was what she needed to do. Yet she felt nothing. As he stepped up to the fence, another surge of adrenaline ran through her. It felt as though her blood was running a race. She wanted to kill him .

The policeman stopped and looked around. As casual as a tourist. Then he leaned back slightly. When Hala saw the stream arcing away from his body, she almost laughed out loud.

“Stand by. He’s just urinating,” she said. “I’m watching the idiot relieve himself.”

As the cop finished up and turned to go, his partner called out something from the car. Whatever it was, the first officer stopped and turned back toward the rail yard. A flashlight came up in his hand.

He shone it through the fence and onto the tracks — where it caught a glimpse of a moving body. Hala saw it too — the younger boy. Just before he darted back out of sight. Imbecile! Amateur!

She didn’t hesitate, squeezing off three fast shots. The flashlight dropped first, then the cop himself. She was pleased with her shooting, the accuracy under duress. This was excellent practice.

“Everyone out of there,” Hala radioed. “Bring the van to the opposite side. Brentwood and T. Do it now!”

Another light, even brighter, came right up in her face!

She realized it was the search beam on the side of the cruiser. Hala fired into it, two more rounds. There was a popping sound — and the night went dark again.

For a brief moment, she couldn’t see anything, but she could hear the second cop. He was radioing for backup even as he ran toward the bridge and his fallen partner. His dead partner, Hala knew.

“Shots fired! Officer down! Request immediate assistance at the Brentwood rail yard! Repeat: officer down!”

That was followed by heavy footsteps pounding up the metal stairs.

Time to run. Time to get everybody out .

The rest of the team was scrambling and directing one another to the pickup point in breathy, frantic voices. Hala ignored all of it as she made for the far side of the bridge.

Then the cop’s voice came again, directly behind her. “ Freeze! ”

She didn’t.

A bullet ricocheted off the metal cage just over her shoulder. There was nowhere to go but straight ahead. Unless —

Hala stopped short.

She turned and dropped in one fluid motion, firing blindly down the alley of the walkway. Everything else disappeared for two very long seconds. Then the second cop dropped to the ground.

Dead? Almost definitely. She never missed. That was why she had the gun, not Tariq. Then Hala was up and running again.

She hit the stairs on the far side at full speed and almost barreled over the railing. Even now, she felt proud of herself. She was good at this, very skillful.

“We have to wait!” Tariq’s voice sounded over the radio as he scanned the area for Hala.

Then the mother bitch’s answer. “ You wait,” she said. “We’re leaving right now.”

As Hala hit the sidewalk, she saw the van pulling away from the curb, its side door still open. A taxi swerved to avoid being hit. The van didn’t slow down. It ran a fast left turn through a red light and was gone into the night.

Tariq was still there, looking around frantically. The poor man seemed lost.

“I’m here,” Hala said. “To your left, Tariq.” Come to mother .

He ran toward her and they met in the middle of the sidewalk.

“What should we do?” he said. “They drove away. They left us, Hala!”

The sound of police sirens was already closing in around the neighborhood. They had no money for a cab, or even the subway, once it started running. If the van was apprehended, it could even be unsafe to go back to their hotel room.