Payback

132

The city was a confusing tangle of one-way streets, and Túcume feared that he would make the wrong turn every time he came to an intersection. They could hear police sirens in the distance but had seen no police cars since they had left the main roads. Their maps were not very detailed, they had gotten lost several times, and even Babin wasn’t sure exactly where they were.

But they were very close to the center of the city.

“That way, go that way,” said Babin, pointing to the right. “You see the sign? Independence Mall.”

Túcume did not see the sign but turned anyway. Babin leaned forward against the dashboard, looking past him.

“Turn!”

“Where?”

“Just turn.”

He did and found himself on a narrow one-lane street.

“There were police and military trucks on that street. We have to stick to the side roads.”

“Which way?”

“I don’t know,” said the Russian, studying his map.

Babin had trouble reading the map in the dark but feared doing anything that would attract any attention to them, including turning on an interior light as they drove. He’d mapped the route earlier, avoiding what looked like the larger streets. He wanted to be on Chestnut, he thought, but he couldn’t find it now.

Anywhere nearby would do. They were close to the famed Liberty Bell and the center of the city. His heart pounded crazily; he could feel the pulse throughout his body, throbbing in every bone and muscle.

“Take a right,” he said.

Túcume turned left. They went about halfway down the block, then saw it was a dead end.

“I told you right,” Babin said angrily.

“It was one-way.”

Babin rolled down the window and looked out. “Back up. Back up quickly before someone comes.”

“If you can do better, you drive.” Túcume opened the door and jumped out of the truck.

Babin cursed and pounded on the dashboard. He pulled out his pistol, then realized there was no sense going after the general. What difference would it make a few seconds from now whether the bomb exploded here or a few blocks away?

Babin left his gun in his lap and bent to retrieve the cell phone from the well between the seats. He picked it up, his fingers jittering.

He’d never felt anxiety like this before, the anticipation of revenge, the final payoff to Evans and the CIA people who had betrayed and maimed him.

He pressed his thumb on the button to activate the phone.

“No!” yelled Túcume, suddenly at the open passenger window. In the same instant, Babin felt the general’s fist hit him square in the side of the head.