Choppy Water

59

Wade Sykes stood on the landing of the stairs outside the fire door, scanning the street for hostiles — vehicles or persons. Nothing bad had appeared. He looked down at the waiting van; he could see Bess at the wheel but not Jimmy, whose presence in the rear seat was obscured by the vehicle’s roof.

He half regretted the order he had given Jimmy, but it was absolutely necessary, in the circumstances. He simply could not rely on someone who had not completely earned his trust. He hoped that all would go well, and that she would remain a part of his group. He would know very shortly.

Then, from inside the building, came a short burst of gunfire.

Stone heard the first burst from the other side of the theater, and had no wish to stick his head inside the door while weapons were firing. They were firing rapidly now, coming from more than one direction, he thought.

Tom Blake opened the door to the greenroom a crack so that he could see the stage. The armored podium that he had placed at front and center, the sort that covered the president on speaking occasions, sheltered a single man, who was looking his way.

Tom gave him the nod, and the man stood up, still mostly covered by the podium, and fired a burst into the window of the projectionist’s booth in the balcony. Hopefully, Tom thought, that would do it. But it didn’t do it.

Eugene, standing behind the projectionist’s steel chair, reflexively ducked as the glass in the window shattered, and rounds ricocheted off the chair. He moved to one side of the seat so that he could get a look at the shooter, and, to his surprise, saw a head behind the podium. God help him, it was a setup. He returned fire.

Bess, at the wheel of the van, heard the gunfire, and so did Jimmy in the rear seat. She looked ahead and saw an armored police van pull into the street and block it. Then, in the rearview mirror, she saw Jimmy make a move, followed by an incredibly loud report and the appearance of a hole in the windshield, in line with where her head would have been if she had not, as a defense against the police van, let her ass slide off the seat and drop her onto the floor, while clawing at her pistol under her blouse. Another loud noise, and a large hole appeared in the back of her seat, scattering bits of upholstery everywhere.

She flipped off the safety of her Sig Sauer, rotated to the right, and snapped off two rounds through the gap between the two seats. One of them caused blood to spray on the head lining of the rear seat, and more was coming from a hole in Jimmy’s right eyebrow. Pure luck, she thought, then fired another round into his forehead.

Sykes took in the police vehicle and the action in the van with a single glance. He ran down the stairs, opened the front passenger door, and slammed it behind him. Jimmy was dead in the rear seat, and Bess was climbing behind the wheel. “Reverse!” he yelled, then looked over his shoulder and saw a police car on Lexington Avenue partially blocking their way. The van had started to reverse.

Sykes grabbed the wheel and looked over his shoulder. “Full throttle!” he yelled, and she stomped on it while he steered.

The van struck the police car where he had aimed it, just forward of the rear bumper, and the car spun about ninety degrees. “Stop!” he yelled, and Bess did. “Now, drive!” She turned until they were pointed downtown on Lex, and got lucky with the changing of the traffic signals. She had gone ten blocks before she had to run a red.

“Hang a left on Fifty-seventh Street!” Sykes yelled, and she did. “Turn right on Second Avenue!” They would go with the traffic. “Left on Thirty-fourth Street! Keep your speed up!”

Bess followed orders. “Where are we headed?” she asked.

“East Side Heliport.” He got out a phone and pressed a button. “Start your engine!” he said. “Request departure to the south!” He listened for a moment, then hung up. “With a little luck,” he said, “we’ll catch it just right.”

Now rounds were coming through the front wall of the projection booth, and Eugene was on the floor, firing back at a point lower on the wall. He got to one knee and cracked open the door so that he could see the fire exit, then he flung himself at it, got it open, and ran out onto the landing, in time to see the van reverse, ram a cop car, then turn down Lexington. He was on his own.

He started down the stairs, his boots ringing on the steel steps, then caught a full burst from somewhere; he would never know where. He fell the rest of the way down the stairs and lay on his back, bleeding into the gutter.

“Why aren’t there any police cars?” Bess asked.

“Because it didn’t go down the way they expected,” Sykes replied. “Turn in there. The gate is open. Drive onto the ramp!”

She did exactly as he told her. A helicopter was sitting on the tarmac directly ahead of her, its rear door open, and she turned to avoid the rotor, then stopped. Sykes had opened her door and was pushing her out. “Into the chopper!” he said, and she dove for the door. He was on top of her. “Go!” he yelled, climbing off Bess and into a seat, grabbing a headset. “You know the routing,” he said into the mic. “You know the routing!”

Bess pulled herself up onto the rear seat beside him and found another headset.

“Where are we going?” Bess asked.

“To Virginia,” he said, “by a devious route.” He got his phone out and began making calls.

When he was sure the firing had stopped, Stone popped the door and looked warily around. The fire door on the other side of the theater was open, and Tom Blake and a couple of others were standing there, looking down at the sidewalk.

“Where have you been?” a female voice asked.

He turned to find the ersatz Holly, a pistol in her hand, looking at him. “How did this go down?” he asked.

“There was a guy hidden in the bulletproof podium over there. At a signal from Tom, we started firing up there.” She pointed with the pistol.

The projection booth was riddled with bullet holes, many of them large. “What was he using?”

“A heavy rifle with a long magazine. There was somebody in the booth, firing back.”

“Who fired first?” Stone asked.

She paused, then said, “Impossible to say.”