Robin Cook - Vector

“Holy shit, there he is!” Steve said, frantically pointing to a bicyclist who’d just swept past them no more than ten feet away.

“You’re right!” Curt said. “Kevin, you’re on!”

Kevin scrambled forward and climbed out of the door Steve had exited. Without a moment’s hesitation he took off at a run. Steve climbed back into the van.

Curt and Steve watched as the husky Kevin vaulted over the police sawhorses, despite his heavy Doc Marten boots, and ran directly at a bicyclist who’d stopped at a water fountain. The man was still on his bike with one toe in its clip, but he was leaning over to drink. He was sporting all the proper cycling paraphernalia, including the helmet, tights, and padded gloves.

Kevin didn’t hesitate. Without a word, he grabbed the bike and snatched it from under the man, upending him.

Kevin threw a leg over the bike and was about to take off when the bicyclist recovered enough to get a grip on one of the cycle’s handlebars. Kevin responded by balling his big hand into a fist and laying the man out cold.

“Oh,” Steve gushed. “Now that was a punch!”

Despite the crowd of people in the area, the incident happened so quickly that few individuals had actually witnessed it. Although several people went to the aid of the downed bicyclist, no one went after Kevin, who was pedaling furiously in pursuit of Jack. Since it was quite light despite the sun’s having set, Jack could still be seen in the distance heading north.

“At least that went smoothly,” Steve said. “Now what do you think we should do? Sit here?”

Curt scanned the area as if he expected the answer to be in the surroundings. After a moment’s consideration, he shook his head. “No, I think we should head over to Central Park West. If Stapleton lives on the Upper West Side, that’s where he’ll come out.”

Curt put the van in gear. At a comparatively leisurely pace he drove west on Central Park South. As he did so he pulled out his cellular phone, checked to make sure it was on, then put it on the dash.

Wednesday, October 20

6:30 p.m.

Jack sat up and took his hands off his handlebars. With no hands he coasted along the pathway strewn with dead leaves. Just ahead was Central Park West and the exit across from 106th Street.

The ride home had been most enjoyable. The weather had been as glorious as he’d anticipated. The ride up First Avenue had had its normal share of aggravations, but it had been stimulating just the same. His nightly circuit around the Pulitzer fountain had been so inspiring that he’d been moved to stop to admire the resplendent nude statue of Abundance in the fading daylight. But by far the best part of the trip, as usual, had been the ride through the park. As soon as he’d broken free from the clutch of people near the park’s entrance he’d poured on the speed. It had been as if he’d been flying in a dream.

Jack waited for the traffic light to change before cycling across the busy avenue and entering his street. He was now in the cool-down stage of his ride and pedaled quickly in a low gear with almost no resistance. He stopped at the fence at the basketball court. As he’d hoped and expected, a game was in progress. Once again Warren and Flash were on opposing teams.

“Hey, Doc, you going to run or what?” Warren called out. “Get yourself out here, man.”

“You better be in good form,” Jack called back. “’Cause I’m going to be trouble tonight!”

“Uh oh!” Spit yelled. He was one of the younger players but had become Warren’s protégé. “Doc’s threatening to make some house calls.” The group teased Jack by calling any of his better moves “house calls.”

“There’s going to be plenty of house calls tonight,” Jack shouted back. He pushed off and rode across the street. He was eager to get out on the court.

Jack hesitated on his stoop while debating whether he’d cab to Laurie’s later or take his bike. He knew he’d prefer to bike, yet he wanted to humor Laurie. While he was arguing with himself over the issue he happened to notice another cyclist emerge from the darkening park. The only reason the man caught Jack’s eye was that he seemed to be stumbling, as if exhausted or hurt.

Jack watched the man for a moment to make sure he didn’t need assistance. But it was soon apparent he didn’t. He took out a cell phone and made a call while pressing the button to make the traffic light change.

Having decided to cab to Laurie’s, Jack hoisted his beloved bike to his shoulder and entered his building. In his haste he took the stairs two at a time. After keying open his apartment door, he rolled his bike inside and leaned it up against the wall. Without even taking the time to close the door to the hall, he rushed into his bedroom, removing his work clothes en route.

To his frustration, it took Jack a few minutes to locate his basketball gear. When he finally did, he dressed quickly. The finishing touches were a dark blue Nike headband and an old hooded sweatshirt. He then ran into the kitchen to grab a quick drink of water. Then the wall phone rang.

Jack debated whether to answer. His first thought was to let the answering machine get it, but then he remembered that he got few calls at home other than from Laurie. Thinking it might be her, he picked it up.

“Hello,” he said briskly, but there was no response. He said hello several times. What he heard was just what he’d heard through the receiver at the office, down to the sound of rushing water and even a distant automobile horn. Disgusted, Jack hung up.

He got only a few steps out of the kitchen when the phone rang again. On the off chance there had been a mechanical problem, he went back and picked it up again. He was glad he did. It was Laurie.

“Did you just try to call me two seconds ago?” Jack asked.

“No,” Laurie said. “Did your phone ring?”

“It’s not important,” Jack said. “What’s up? I’m just on my way out to play B-ball.”

“I know better than trying to keep you from that,” Laurie teased. “I just wanted to let you know that it’s going to be just you and me tonight. Lou can’t make it.”

“His loss, my gain,” Jack said.

“You flatterer you!” Laurie joked. “Anyway, he did offer to call the restaurant where I wanted us to go. So I know we’ll get good service. They love him there.”

“Sounds good,” Jack said. “Tell me, has Paul been pestering you?”

“Haven’t heard from him since he left the office,” Laurie said.

“Good.”

“See you at eight,” Laurie said.

“I might be a shade late,” Jack said. “As I said, I’m only now just heading out. But I’ll play only one game, and I’ll call you before I leave.”

“See you then,” Laurie said. “Remember! No bike!”

“Aye, aye, sir!” Jack said. He hung up the phone.

Jack ran out to his closet and searched around the cluttered space for his “kicks,” as Warren called sneakers. Impatient to get them on, Jack didn’t even bother to lace them before rushing out his door. He was about to close and lock it when he heard his name called out loudly from down below. Not recognizing the voice, he leaned over the banister to take a look. Three men were looking up from the ground-floor hallway, and when they saw Jack, they immediately started up the stairs. They came at a run, their boots making a fierce clatter against the bare treads. The one in the lead was a blond fireman in a blue uniform.

Jack put his head back and sniffed for smoke. He sniffed again after turning his head in the direction of his apartment, but still couldn’t smell any smoke. When he looked back down the stairs the lead man was already on the last flight leading up to Jack’s level. But instead of carrying a fire axe or some other appropriate piece of firefighting equipment, he was clutching a gun.