Quantum

35

Kilkenny cautiously approached the intersection, edging alongside a brick building that housed a copy center in its basement level. He slowly peered around the corner and saw that the Russians were moving west down the center of Liberty Street, between the parallel rows of booths that temporarily occupied the metered parking spaces.

He moved onto the sidewalk, using the booths as a screen between himself and the Russians. At the end of the block, he passed a seven-foot-tall bomb, painted like Old Glory, that stood beside the entrance of a militarysurplus store. The Russians cleared the last booths and stepped onto the sidewalk opposite Kilkenny — about half a block ahead of him. He easily picked them out in the thinning stream of people.

‘Ptashnik, this is Kilkenny. Over.’

‘I read you, Kilkenny.’ Ptashnik sounded pissed-off. ‘What’s happening?’

‘The Tangos are still on foot moving west on Liberty. They crossed Division and are nearing Fifth.’

‘Oh my God! He’s got a gun!’ a woman screamed when she saw Kilkenny crossing Liberty with his weapon drawn.

Leskov and two of his men turned at the scream and saw Kilkenny. The Russians immediately broke into a run toward Main Street.

‘Shit! They spotted me,’ Kilkenny cursed into the handset. ‘Tangos are heading toward Main.’

The radio chattered with commands and responses as the police drew their forces in. Officers on foot and in cars moved to cordon off the two-block stretch of Main Street where the cop killers were headed.

The Russian in the rear position turned and aimed his weapon. Kilkenny dove behind a parked minivan as the man fired; two rounds shattered the vehicle’s windshield. The sounds of gunfire cleared the sidewalk for two blocks as people ran for cover. Ahead, the Russians pressed forward into the thick crowd on Main Street.

‘They’re on Main, heading north from Liberty,’ Kilkenny reported.

He sprinted down the street, slowing when he reached the edge of the Art Fair’s downtown venue. Thousands of people had replaced the normal gridlock of cars.

The atmosphere was still festive as the panic of Liberty Street had not infected this area yet. The aroma of spiced lamb and onion accompanied the bouzouki music wafting from a Greek restaurant’s temporary sidewalk café. Up the block a nine-foot-tall inflatable Mongol warrior greeted passersby, encouraging all to dine at BD’s Mongolian Barbeque.

‘Ptashnik, Main Street is packed, and the Tangos are right in the middle of it. Where are those other cops?’

‘On the way,’ Ptashnik promised.

The police radio crackled as officers reported their positions, converging on the scene. Kilkenny pressed the two-way against his ear to better hear over the din around him. Frustrated, he pushed his way onto the sidewalk and began hurdling over the chain partitions that defined the outdoor seating areas of the Main Street restaurants.

‘Sir!’ a hostess shouted angrily. ‘You can’t do—’

‘Dmitri, on the sidewalk,’ Josef said.

‘I see him. It’s Kilkenny, the one who killed Pavel and the others. Josef, you’re with me. The rest of you follow Evgenii to the pickup. We’ll be right behind you.’

Leskov and Josef broke ranks, moving to intercept. Each readied his weapon as they approached their prey. The four other Russians hurried their pace, moving onto the last city block closed by the fair.

Kilkenny pushed his way through the long line of people waiting to be seated at the Mongol warrior’s restaurant, and finally reached the intersection of Main and Washington. From behind a wooden barricade, he surveyed the milling crowd, searching for the Russians. He spotted them as they passed into the next block, then realized that two were missing. Nearby, a patrol car quietly approached the intersection.

‘Turn around and keep your hands where I can see ’em!’ a cop shouted as the doors on the police cruiser flung open.

Kilkenny froze, then put both hands in the air.

As one of the officers approached, Nolan saw two of the men who attacked Sandstrom’s lab muscle their way through the restaurant’s queue. The Russians spotted Kilkenny and raised their weapons.

‘Gun!’ Kilkenny shouted as he dove for the curb.

The cops hit the pavement just as two shots roared past Kilkenny. Both flew wide of the mark, ricocheting off the pavement.

A woman screamed, pulling her children away from the restaurant’s giant mascot. Her youngest, a three-year-old boy, stumbled, and she lost her grip on his tiny hand. Hearing gunfire, the young man inside the inflatable suit dove over the child. The next shots ripped through the costume’s thick nylon skin, sending an explosion of pressurized air and fabric upward.

‘Time to go,’ Leskov announced as the window of opportunity for revenge closed.

Both men rushed with the crowd up Main Street toward Huron. On the other side of the barricade that marked the northern edge of the fair, Leskov saw the rest of his team climbing into the dark green Suburban that had brought them there.

Kilkenny stood up and began scanning the crowd for the Russians. He caught sight of the two men who’d just shot at him halfway up the block.

‘Freeze!’ the cop shouted.

‘Ptashnik!’ Kilkenny said angrily into the microphone, ‘tell the two cops at Main and Washington to lay off me right now. Your cop killers are getting away!’

Kilkenny watched the Russians move farther away while he impatiently waited for a reply.

‘Rookie, lower your weapon!’ the cop’s partner shouted as he jogged over from the patrol car. ‘This is the guy who was tracking these fucks for us. We’re here to back him up.’

‘Then let’s move it,’ Kilkenny ordered, leading the way down the sidewalk.

The crackling sound of automatic-weapons fire filled the air.

‘Oh my God!’ someone shouted, terror-stricken.

When he reached the toppled barricades at Huron Street, Kilkenny saw a plume of pale yellow steam rising from the grille of a police cruiser. Dozens of holes pockmarked the dark blue sedan. On the pavement, two more officers lay clinging to life. Farther up Main Street, a green Suburban with tinted windows sped north toward the highway.