Running of the bulls

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

10:42 p.m.

For Carmen and Spocatti, time was smashed by the chaos of what they’d created.

With the clock running against them, they now needed to beat the media, who soon would go public with connections that had become so obvious, it would start what they feared all along-a running of the bulls as Wolfhagen’s former bulls left the city.

And when that happened, it would prevent them from finishing their job and collecting the millions in bonuses that came along with it.

And so they moved. They had their distraction. There were people to kill. No time to lose.

They were now four blocks east of 75th and Fifth, where the Escalade ignited and leveled the buildings surrounding it. With only a fleeting exception, they hadn’t stopped running until now, when Spocatti slowed beside a car Carmen didn’t recognize and popped the trunk.

Sirens sounded everywhere. The night was so heavy with humidity, the smoke from the explosions hung low, choking the air.

Carmen looked at the end of 75th and Fifth, where buildings had fallen into the streets. Fires were burning. Helicopters circling. People were rushing past her and toward the damage in an effort to help those likely trapped beneath the rubble.

She was aware of people screaming. She was aware of her own heart racing. She kept hearing the word “terrorists” being shouted in a cacophony of fear and outrage. She watched Spocatti click the cap off his video camera and offer Wolfhagen a final shot of the devastation. Right now, he was everything she wasn’t. He was an automaton. He was cool. He was composed.

But Carmen? She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t shaken.

Spocatti stood next to her on the sidewalk. The video camera was poised in front of him, pointing down the street. She looked at him and swore she could see the hint of a smile on his face. He was getting Wolfhagen his money’s worth, but they needed to leave before the streets were closed. She’d give him 30 seconds.

Earlier, when Carmen called Pamela Dean, the woman did exactly what they hoped she’d do-she answered her phone, confirming she was home. For the last time in her life, she said “Hello” and listened to Carmen as she sent her Wolfhagen’s best. “You knew this day would come, Pamela. You ruined his life, and now he’s taking yours. He’ll be listening to this. Can you tell him how it feels?”

Before Dean could reply-but not so quickly that she couldn’t process what was happening-the cars parked curbside lifted from the pavement and started to flip in a fiery rush. Like dominoes, one car exploded and it set off the next car, and the next.

It was so engrossing, they hadn’t wanted to leave. Hollywood should have been there to see it if only because it would have understood that it got it wrong every time-this is how it looked. Better yet, in the midst of all of it, they’d watched a person in a white caftan turn into a funnel of flames as he stumbled toward Fifth. A hail of burning debris rained down on him and those running past him. When he fell, they each turned to run, knowing that the Escalade was about to explode and blow the surrounding area into nothingness.

They raced toward Madison, clipped around the corner and pressed their backs against the buildings just as the street flashed white, the buildings shook and somewhere behind them, other buildings fell. There was a rush of searing wind and then the fireball Carmen feared most whooshed past them down the street, incinerating those caught in its path. Then, with no tunnel to propel it, it lifted in the middle of Madison, rolled high in the wide-open space and evaporated.

There was no question that Dean was dead, so they continued to run, this time cutting through the traffic until they stopped at the getaway car.

She nudged Spocatti. “That’s it. We’re out of here.”

He clicked off the camera and put it in his bag in the trunk. She walked around the car as he pulled out his keys and unlocked the doors. “Who’s first?”

“Cohen is closest. We do him, then Dunne, then Casari.” His cell phone buzzed in his pants pocket. He removed it and looked down at the number, which he didn’t recognize. He hesitated, but answered it, anyway. Wolfhagen.

“It would help if you told me when you have a new phone, Max. I almost didn’t answer.”

“Sorry. Where are you now?”

“We just did Dean. We’re getting ready to do the others.”

“They’ll need to wait.”

“That’s a mistake.”

“There are two other people I need your help with first.”

“We don’t have time for two other people. Have you seen the news? Have you looked out your window? We told you this was happening tonight. They’ll be blocking the streets. If they haven’t already, the media will make the connections and report them. And when they do, the rest will run. If you want them dead, we’ve got a narrow window to make it happen.”

“And you will make it happen. You never fail, Vincent. That’s why I hired you and your sweet little conchita. And besides, this one will be quick, it has to be done for critical reasons and I can’t do it without you.”

“You’re going to be there?”

“That’s right,” Wolfhagen said. “At last, we’ll meet.”

“You shouldn’t be there. It’s too much of a risk. Let us handle it.”

“Sorry to keep saying sorry even when I don’t mean it,” Wolfhagen said. “But that old itch is back and with these two, I’m in the mood to watch what happens when someone is stupid enough to fuck with me, to cross me, and to think I won’t do anything about it.”