The Janus Reprisal

53

Harcourt kicked Nolan in the shoulder. “Get up,” he said. Nolan moaned and rolled over. Russell shook from head to toe but did her best to keep focused and stay conscious.

“She’s bleeding,” she said.

“That’s her fault.” Harcourt kept his gun pointed at Russell. “Get up.”

Russell rose and stumbled.

“Bacteria get to you?” He smirked.

“Call the NYPD. I’ll go in with them,” she said.

“Maybe you don’t get it. You’re not going to get out of this one.”

At that moment Russell’s mind settled. She needed to get away from Harcourt, and she needed to be strong to do it. She settled her shaking limbs, but only succeeded for a second. They started up again the moment she turned her attention back to Harcourt. She moved until her back was against a wall and bent her knees. The knife that she kept in a holder was at her ankle, but it was of no use while her hands were cuffed behind her back.

Nolan moved and Harcourt kicked her again.

“Get up. Time to move some money around.”

Nolan sat. Her left eye was blackened and dried blood stained her upper lip and chin where her nose had bled.

“It will be traced to you,” she said.

“Gold bullion won’t. You’re going to get some more.”

Nolan glanced at Russell. “Is he alive?”

Russell nodded.

Relief washed over Nolan’s face. She put a hand on the wall and rose unsteadily. When she was upright, Harcourt waved to the stairs with the gun.

“Move,” he said. He turned his weapon on Russell. He was going to kill her.

Her heart began racing, and the chills that were racking her body actually stopped for a moment as the adrenaline in her system overrode everything else. She looked up and spotted a security camera high above his head and behind him.

“There’s a camera. You shoot me here and the whole world will see it.”

He glanced back at it. “Dream on. That camera’s not working. MTA’s security team is way behind schedule and overbudget. I should know. As special liaison to the NYPD, it’s my job to know where the security weaknesses are. I know a lot.”

He smirked at her and aimed at her heart. She scrambled for another excuse to stop him from shooting.

“Smith knows that I wasn’t shot. They find a bullet in me, they’ll trace it to you,” Russell said.

“Say goodnight,” he said. She heard the noise of a siren, coming fast. Or maybe it was the roaring of her own ears as the blood rushed to her head. The light dimmed and she battled against passing out. The blackness deepened, and she thought with relief that at least she wouldn’t see the bullet coming.

Harcourt shot her, point blank.

It was the second hit the vest had taken, and she could feel the punch but also heard the vest shred with the impact. She flew back and her head hit the ground. A wet liquid started at her shoulder and spread across her chest. Blood, she thought. The vest must have allowed the bullet through. She lay on the cold stone. Harcourt was hauling Nolan up the stairs when he looked back and aimed again at Russell. He’s going to finish me off, she thought.

She heard a noise on the platform behind her and looked over to see Howell, his face covered in oozing blisters and the skin around his eyes bulging. He swayed a bit as he aimed a weapon at Harcourt. He fired. Harcourt winced as bits of the wall near his face broke off and sprayed him. He turned and hustled up the stairs, dragging Nolan with him. Howell fired again, but the only visible part of Harcourt was the back of his legs. The shot didn’t land.

“Russell, are you alive? I can’t see,” Howell said. Russell nodded and then realized that Howell probably couldn’t see the motion. She tried to formulate a thank-you, but she couldn’t get her lips to move. Howell took a step nearer to her and then dropped to his knees. “Smith said it would be bad, but I’m afraid he underestimated it.”

Howell slowly slumped to the ground.

The rushing noise filled her ears and she floated in the space between full awareness and unconsciousness. She wasn’t sure how long she hovered in that state before she felt a warm, live human arm wrap itself around her shoulders and pull her to her feet. She opened her eyes again, expecting to see black, but was rewarded with a view of Smith’s face as he lifted her off the cement. He looked like hell and she wanted to tell him that and about Harcourt and Nolan, but her voice failed to function. Or maybe it did function and she just didn’t hear it, because he said, “You don’t look so good yourself.”

“You’re right. Harcourt’s the mole,” she said.

“Can you walk?”

She was too tired to respond. She started walking. Each step required her entire concentration. She leaned on Smith’s arm and kept moving.

“I’m going to get you into a car, and Agent Brand is going to get you to a hospital.”

She shook her head but couldn’t tell if he noticed, so she stopped to get his attention.

“Howell.”

Smith nodded. “I saw him. Klein’s arranging to quietly remove him from the platform and get him to a hospital. Which is where you’re going as well.”

“No hospitals. I could have contracted the mutant virus and this illness could be the flu starting all over again. I could be contagious. Take me someplace where I can be alone.”

He frowned. “You need a hospital. They can quarantine you.”

“No,” she said. “Did that already. It’s not safe.”

“Yes,” he replied. “I’ll get someone to guard you.”

“Take me where I can be alone. Or let this Brand person take me. But go after Harcourt. Now. He’s the mole and he has Nolan.” Smith’s face took on a vicious look, which was not a word she would normally have applied to him. Russell stumbled against his side and spotted a gun stuck in his waistband. “Do you have another weapon I can use? I hate being unarmed.”

“Brand may have one in the car.”

They were at the stairs, and Russell directed her attention to climbing them. As she rose, the air became fresher and she inhaled. At the top of the exit, Smith pulled her toward a large, unmarked sedan. Brand stepped out.

“This is Agent Brand of the FBI,” Smith said.

“The guitar man,” Russell said.

Brand smiled. “Yes.”

“I could be contagious,” Russell said.

Brand nodded. “I know.”

She looked at Smith. “You could be too.”

“If I find Harcourt, I’ll be sure to spit on him,” Smith said.

“He said he’s going to force her to get some gold bullion. I don’t know where or how.” Smith lowered her to the sidewalk, then turned to Brand.

“If they’re getting gold bullion, then I know where they’re headed. I’ll need a car to get there.”

Brand waved at the sedan. “Take it. I’ll help Ms. Russell.”

Russell fought the waves of nausea as she waited for the ambulance. Then the blinking lights returned and she passed out.