Running of the bulls

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

10:12 p.m.

Theresa Wu ran.

She ran down East 82nd Street, ran past the Church of Scientology Celebrity Center and then she stepped it up when she saw that the traffic light ahead of her was green and in her favor.

She burst across Madison Avenue, ran past the Adelson Galleries and kept going until she reached Fifth Avenue and the Metropolitan Museum of Art, which cast a magnificent halo of gold against the darker backdrop of Central Park.

She took a hard left and ran down Fifth, her black hair snapping behind her in a ponytail as she weaved through the few people on the sidewalk. The evening air was so humid, she was drenched in sweat, but the run was exhilarating, particularly at this time of night, when the side streets were mostly quiet and it was just her and the city she loved.

Fifth Avenue was another story. Here, the traffic was moving briskly downtown, but she kept pace with it. She passed 79th Street, the Ukrainian Institute of America and checked her watch. She pressed a button and the dial lit up. She was doing well, but not that well, and so she ran faster, determined to beat her best time.

Earlier that morning, Helena had too many errands for her to complete before noon so she could enjoy her meeting with Marty Spellman, so Theresa had to forfeit her run until this evening. But now Helena was asleep and Theresa was free.

And she felt free. And it felt good. She had an opportunity to go out with the girls later that evening and she might just take it. It had been weeks since she’d been out. There was a new club people were raving about downtown. It would be good to have a few drinks and to let her hair down. It would be good to set herself loose on a dance floor. Last week, she’d splurged and bought a hip new dress at Prada, so why not go out?

She decided she would.

She darted left again, this time onto 76th Street. She moved swiftly and easily, crossed Madison again, and then kept running for the final turn that would bring her onto 75th and home. She’d been running for 50 minutes now. When she ran in the morning, she liked to do at least ninety minutes, but it was late and at the very least, she was getting some exercise. If she didn’t, given Helena’s frequent demands, she wasn’t sure how she’d stay fit.

When she turned onto 75th Street, she noted on the other side of the Madison throughway that a van was parked in the middle of the street, near Helena’s home and across from Judge Kendra Wood’s house. Its lights were on. Though she couldn’t hear it at this distance, she assumed its engine was idling.

A woman stepped out of the passenger’s side with a large satchel over her shoulder. She moved to the left side of the sidewalk as the van drove ahead. Theresa stood at the corner of Madison and East 75th, jogging in place until the light turned.

Meanwhile, she watched the woman move down the sidewalk. She watched her dip her hand into the satchel, watched her remove something that Theresa couldn’t see, and then watched her dip into the shadow cast by one of the many cars parked curbside. She reappeared again, reached into the satchel and bent beside one of the cars. In an instant, she was back up again and walking casually.

Rinse and repeat.

After what had happened to Wood, Theresa took no chances on these streets, regardless of how exclusive they were-and especially when there was something as odd as this going on. Now, the beat-up van was at the end of the street and about to turn onto Fifth. It sat there for a moment, then it maneuvered around the corner and left the woman to reach, dip, stand, continue.

She was attaching something to those cars.

The light turned, but Theresa didn’t cross. Instead, she looked left, saw no one coming down 75th and started running toward 74th Street. She made it in time to catch the light and crossed Madison there. She moved down 74th at a slower pace, just a jog, her mind trying to process what she’d seen, her heart catching in her throat when she saw the van turn onto 74th and start moving toward her.

Theresa kept a steady pace. All business, she pumped her arms. The van drew closer. Its high beams flashed on. Theresa lifted a hand to shield her eyes. She kept jogging. The van was upon her. As she started to pass it, she kept her focus ahead of her even though it was difficult to see. She turned to look at the driver in annoyance and absorbed the details. Male, forty-something, good looking, dark hair, turning to look at her from his open driver’s side window. They passed each other.

And then, in a shock of red light that illuminated the buildings surrounding her, he hit the brakes.

“Excuse me,” he called out.

No single woman at this time of night would stop for that call. Theresa quickened her pace even as the man called after her again. “I just need directions.”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she broke into a run while behind her, the brake lights turned to white and the van’s engine roared to life.

He was backing up.

Theresa sprinted toward Fifth. She jumped over a cat as it strolled from between two cars parked along the street and sauntered onto the sidewalk. She flew over it. The cat looked up at her and hissed.

The man pressed harder on the gas. She could feel him rushing up behind her. She looked over her shoulder and saw that he was leaning partly out of the window and looking backward as he closed the distance between them. But Theresa was an athlete and there was nothing stopping her but her own endurance. She bit down hard and pressed herself as she fled to the street corner and cut right, almost into oncoming traffic.

Car horns blared.

Theresa righted herself and ran toward 75th.

Behind her, a car made an effort to turn onto 74th Street from Fifth, but the van was blocking its way. More horns. The man in the van had no choice but to stop and go forward, where she was certain she would find him again, this time speeding up 75th.

There were people on Fifth. “Call 911!” she shouted as she shot past them. “Tell them to get to 75th and Fifth!”

She stopped just short of the street and pressed her back against the building at the corner. Slowly, she looked around and saw nothing, no sign of the woman or the van. She looked at the car parked directly next to her and saw what appeared to be a medium-sized white brick stuck to the back near the gas tank. For a moment, Theresa couldn’t move. Every part of her told her it was an explosive.

Heart pounding, she weighed her options. She should leave here, save herself, but she couldn’t. Helena meant everything to her and her home was only five houses down the street. If she could somehow get inside before the van or the woman appeared again, she could call the police herself, take Helena deep into the basement and into Cecil’s fortress of a wine cellar, which was well away from the street. They could hide in there. The walls were so thick, they’d be safe from any intruders or explosions.

She reached into her pocket, pulled out a set of keys, got the correct one ready, and peaked around the corner again.

Nothing.

This time, she carefully scanned the block, but there was no movement. The woman was gone. So far, there was no sign of the van.

And so Theresa Wu rolled the dice and ran.

When she did, she was running the fastest she’d ever run. Fear propelled her forward. With each car she passed, she made an effort to look down to see if the same brick was attached to the rear bumper. From what she could see at this speed, in most cases, it was. The woman was rigging the street with explosives. She was planning some kind of terrorist attack.

But why here?

Focus. Just two houses to go. She sprinted. But then, just as the cat had done moments ago, the woman she’d seen earlier slipped between two cars, stood, moved to the sidewalk and stopped in front of her. Blocking her. In her hands was a gun with an extended silencer. She raised it while, at the end of the street, headlights rolled around the corner and shined against the woman’s back. It was the van. Its engine roared.

Theresa was running quickly, but not too quickly to think. In an instant, she dropped hard to the ground and rolled toward the woman’s feet. Surprised, the woman fired and the bullet went deep into a confetti of concrete. She made an effort to jump but Theresa was faster. She collided with the woman, who went down like a ten pin and fell hard on her chest.

Theresa leaped to her feet. Helena’s house was just up the stairs to her right. In her hand, she still clutched the key. But the van was nearly upon her now. And the woman was on her feet, though one look told Theresa that she was dazed and obviously hurt, though not badly enough to keep her from raising her gun.

Ducking, Theresa scrambled to Helena’s house. She ran up the steps and pressed the key into the lock just as the barrel of a gun pressed against the back of her head.

It was the man from the van. She could smell his breath. It was over in an instant. There was a click. A soft “goodbye.” A sudden jolt as a bullet bore through her brain and left part of her face stuck to Helena’s door. But molecules were still working, still making an effort to connect. She was aware of herself tumbling backward down the steps. She saw bricks rise up in front of her, a fan of tree limbs, a moving sky.

When her head struck the sidewalk, it did so with a sickening THWACK-and then Theresa Wu saw lights of another sort.