The Janus Reprisal

31

Smith stepped into a drugstore and headed to the pharmacy section. He needed gauze, alcohol, bandages, and ibuprofen. His arm was throbbing again, from the original wound and now from the second. His shirtsleeve was wet with blood and he could feel it leaking over the back of his hand.

I’m becoming bullet-ridden, he thought. He wished he could purchase equipment to stitch up the second injury, but he didn’t want to spend all his cash on medical supplies. His next purchase would be a prepaid phone and he wouldn’t turn off his current one until then because he didn’t want to miss a call from Marty. His phone vibrated. Smith opened it to find a text from Marty that said, Nolan back online, followed by an address and the words Toss this phone now. Smith sent Marty a text asking him to notify the police. Then he sent a text to Klein.

His phone vibrated in his pocket and he pulled it out and glanced at the screen. “Unknown number” appeared. Klein, Smith thought. He pressed the call button and put the phone to his ear.

“Jon, you have a lot of trouble.” Howell’s voice poured through the phone. Smith felt enormous relief at hearing the former MI6 agent’s voice.

“Where the hell have you been?”

“I’m in the East Village. You?”

“You’re in New York City.” Smith’s voice was flat.

“Yes. I’m told you’re here as well.”

“I’m near the Flatiron District. A man just tried to kill me.”

“Khalil?” Howell’s immediate grasp of the situation and the adversary didn’t surprise Smith at all. Peter Howell was one of the best.

“Doubtful. American. I think CIA.” The pause on the line dragged out. “You there?” Smith said.

“I won’t ask why the CIA might want you dead. Have you asked Russell? Even though she’s CIA, I think she’d tell you if they were out to burn you,” Howell said.

“Russell’s in the ICU. Gravely ill. She thinks there’s a mole in the agency who’s funneling information outside to a hostile actor. She doesn’t know who or why. But I’m not one of theirs, so why hunt me?”

“I’m afraid I have further bad news. I found one of Khalil’s lackeys. He says that Dattar has a new weapon he intends to unleash here in twenty hours. Not a bomb. Any ideas?”

“A few. Let me be sure to shake the guy tailing me and we’ll meet in thirty minutes.” He told Howell about Nolan and gave the address.

“I have Beckmann with me.”

Now it was Smith’s turn to pause. Beckmann was CIA and therefore suspect. “Can you lose him?”

“If I have to, yes, but I’ve known him for several years. His adherence to corporate policy can be loose, but he wouldn’t turn on the CIA. He’s not your mole. I would stake my life on it.”

“If you bring him along, you’ll be doing just that,” Smith said.

He paid for the supplies and left the store, disassembling the old phone as he did. He passed a garbage can and lobbed the electronic components into it before waving down a taxi. Traffic was light and they made it across town in less than ten minutes. The cabbie dropped him a block from the pinpoint location. He walked the block, keeping a lookout for sentries along the way.

The address belonged to a gut rehab of what looked like a former warehouse stuck in between two new square apartment buildings. All three structures were no higher than three floors. The street was tree-lined on the house side, but across from it was a small parking lot. At the end of the street was a massive glass-and-steel conference center building. The area was desolate. Only the occasional car shot down the street, its occupant uninterested in what Smith was doing that early. Smith glanced up and saw a faint glow on the second floor. He moved to the gate opening and saw that, though it was closed, the padlock hung open. It would have been impossible for someone to lock it behind them. The dangling padlock told Smith that they were still inside. He removed his gun and inched the gate aside until he had an opening large enough to allow for a view of the interior. He knelt and put his eyes to the crack.

A sentry stood at the far side of the building’s empty shell smoking a cigarette. Smith debated whether shooting him would aggravate Nolan’s situation. He assumed that Khalil was forcing her to access Dattar’s money in order to return it to him. Once the transaction was complete, Khalil would have no further reason to keep her alive.

Smith opened the door wider and slid in, keeping low. The ground floor consisted of steel beams evenly spaced, and no walls. An elevator in the back looked as though it was original to the building; next to it was a plank stairwell that lacked handrails. There was nothing that he could use as cover. He crept around the edges, keeping to the shadows, and was relieved to see the sentry pull out a phone and dial it. After a moment the man started talking in a foreign language. Smith walked faster around the perimeter while the oblivious sentry was immersed in his conversation. He was within two feet of the man when the conversation ended. Smith rose and placed the muzzle of his pistol at the base of the guard’s skull.

“One word and you’re dead,” Smith whispered into his ear. The sentry froze.

“Show me with your fingers how many are upstairs.” The man held up two fingers. Smith was relieved that he was still only dealing with the initial three that he had seen kidnap Nolan. “Lie down face-first.” The guard lowered himself to the ground and stretched out. Smith flipped his gun around and swung the grip at the side of the man’s head, aiming at the temple. The man went limp.

Smith headed to the plank stairs. As he approached, he heard the murmur of voices. All sounded male. He crept upward, wincing as one board creaked with his weight. When his eyes became level with the floor above, he stretched a bit more and peered into the second floor.

The second floor was enclosed on three sides, one covered in plastic sheeting. The rest of the interior was unfinished. Nolan sat in a chair and Khalil leaned over her. Both kept their attention on the computer in Nolan’s hands while a second man stood about four feet away. Before Smith could duck, the second man turned and spotted him. He reached for a gun in his waistband, but before he could draw, Smith shot, hitting the man dead center in the chest. Khalil spun away from Nolan as he pulled a gun from a holster under his jacket.

Smith jerked downward, crouched low and stumbled down the stairs in order to avoid a shot to the head. He jumped the last few risers and headed to the far edge of the building, pressing his back against a steel beam. In the distance came the welcoming sound of an oncoming police siren. To his right he saw motion. The sentry was still unconscious, so it wasn’t him. Smith moved around one side of the beam and he felt it vibrate as a bullet clanked off it, but he barely heard the shot. Whoever was making his way around the first floor of the building had a suppressor on his weapon. CIA, Smith thought. His earlier attacker was back.

Smith pressed his shoulder into the beam’s side, doing his best to stay in line with the metal, but the span was too narrow to provide complete cover. Smith gasped as a bullet zipped past him. He was breathing hard while he tried to gauge the shooter’s direction and angle. The man must be moving around the perimeter, getting in line for a clean shot. With nowhere to run in the gutted and open-air lower level, Smith’s options were few. It was the devil below or the demon above. Nolan was above, so Smith raced back to the stairs, taking them two at a time, heedless of the noise he made. The police siren was near, and the piercing whine had grown loud. He slowed at the floor level and rose into the room just as Khalil leaped off the back of the building. Smith ignored him while he went toward Nolan, who had risen from the chair and stood, strangely hunched over. She seemed unable to straighten. She threw the computer into a tote. When Smith reached her, she gave him a look filled with panic. Smith heard the second attacker start pounding up the stairs.

“We’ve got to jump like Khalil did. Now,” Smith said. He aimed at the stairwell and fired. The pounding of feet stopped, the sound of the siren increased.

“He’ll run from the police just like Khalil did,” Nolan said.

Smith shook his head. “He’s CIA. The police won’t worry him.”

Smith waved her to the building’s edge where Khalil had disappeared and she didn’t hesitate. She ran in a stilted manner but still managed to move. Smith reached the edge, looked back and saw the attacker step onto the second floor. Nolan jumped and Smith followed her, bending his knees to soften the impact. He glanced at the plank stairs and saw the attacker’s feet starting back down. Smith fired a round at them. The angle was off, but the shot had the desired effect because the person retreated back up.

They had landed at the back of the building, which pressed up against the neighboring buildings on three sides.

“Through the building,” Smith said. “The ceiling will protect us until we reach the street side.” Nolan sprinted next to him, still hunched over. Smith felt his heart beating in a crazy rhythm. They made it to the far end without incident, and Smith paused at the perimeter. The run to the gate would be the most dangerous part. He turned to Nolan. “Go, I’ll cover you.”

Smith burst out first, jogging backward and laying down fire in intervals, all aimed at the second floor. Nolan raced by, running in the stilted manner with her back hunched and her head down. He didn’t see the attacker, but heard a bullet hit a temporary lamppost directly behind him. The angle was beneficial to Smith, because he was still below and the attacker stuck several feet back from the ledge, but the attacker would get a much cleaner shot when Smith reached the open gate. Smith briefly considered running parallel to the building and climbing over a section of the chain link, but dismissed the idea. He’d be shot in the back as he did. He kept jogging in reverse and firing as he did. He was at the gate when he fired his last round.

He stumbled through the opening. A hole ripped through the mesh only inches from his left shoulder. Smith was relieved at the miss, knowing that he couldn’t take many more hits. Eventually an artery would be nicked and he’d bleed to death. Nolan ran on a forty-five-​degree angle across the street and through the opposite parking lot. Smith glanced to his left to check the area before he followed. He ran with her through the lot and around the building on the other side. As he hit the corner, he saw the flashing lights of the police strobe flickering off the trees. Nolan was still moving fast, the tote clutched in her hand. Smith was relieved to see a lone cab turn and head toward them. He hailed it. Ten seconds later they were inside, and the cab turned left again, heading north and away.