The World Beneath

Chapter 19

Ozan wiped the blade on an antiseptic tissue and slipped the knife back into his ankle sheath. The time he’d spent sharpening it had paid off — it had slid between the man’s ribs with an ease he’d learned to appreciate. Clean and fast.

Happiness radiated from the hand that had done the job into his entire body. His favorite sensation after a successful kill. He’d never taken anyone down in such a public spot before. He’d wanted to wait, known that he should wait, until the man was somewhere private, but in the end he couldn’t resist. The blade had needed to slide through the jacket and between the ribs. The man had needed to fall. Right then. And he had, like an actor in a well-rehearsed play. Tesla had, in the end, played his part with perfect timing.

Even the dog had missed the moment.

Ozan paused to watch oblivious passers-by, another first. Why should he, of all people, be denied the aftermath of his actions? That pleasure was always robbed from him because he never stayed. He leaned against a light pole a few feet away and waited, not minding the cold seeping into the soles of his shoes.

The dog suddenly realized that no one held his leash. He turned and nosed the fallen man as if he could make him wake up. But the dog was smarter than the people around him. He knew right away that the man would never wake up again. He barked, running in a circle around the fallen man, dangerously close to the traffic rushing by on Forty-Second Street.

A child stopped first, of course, because they still saw things for what they were. His mother tugged on his mittened hand, followed his gaze to the fallen man, and screamed.

The scream lanced into Ozan’s aching head, and he fell back with a gasp. She screamed again, like an actress in a bad movie. He hadn’t thought that people responded like that in real life. It was simply a man lying on the sidewalk, a red pool spreading out from his body, melting the thin layer of frost. He’d seen so many dead men that this one seemed as natural as the yellow cabs driving by or the long green tassel on the child’s cap.

A man stopped next to the screaming woman, then another. She choked out another scream, a mitten clutched to her mouth. Soon, a circle formed around the outstretched body, but no one wanted to touch it. Ozan joined the circle, wanting to get close to them, struck by their ordinariness. Had he ever been like them?

A woman in a camel-colored coat knelt next to the body. There was nothing that she could do. Ozan had killed cleanly, swiftly, the man dead before he’d hit the ground. But she didn’t know that. She pulled aside the man’s coat collar and felt for a pulse on his neck, her dark eyebrows drawn down with worry. The dog whined and paced in front of her.

As she leaned back, shaking her tawny head, Ozan looked to the victim’s young, fresh face. It was not Joe Tesla. A stranger lay dead on the ground.

Shock caused him to stumble, to stare, seemingly as upset by the man’s death as those around him. How had he made such a mistake?

Misdirection. Respect welled up in him at his target’s ingenuity. He rarely dealt with anyone so interesting. And he had been fooled. The man wore a cap from Tesla’s company. He had Tesla’s dog on a leash. He was a decoy. He wasn’t Tesla.

And, of course, he couldn’t be.

Tesla didn’t go outside.

A laugh bubbled up in Ozan’s throat and burst free. He wanted to clap, but stopped himself as people were already turning to stare at him. But he couldn’t stop grinning.

This was extraordinary. Ozan could hunt his quarry in the tunnels as long as he wanted. He closed his eyes from the joy of it. After all, Tesla couldn’t leave. And he would have more tricks in store. Ozan didn’t remember the last time that he’d been so excited by his work. Part of him knew that his reaction was out of proportion, but he didn’t care. He worked hard. He deserved a little fun.

In front of him, the woman unzipped the corpse’s navy blue jacket. He wore a blood-stained blue shirt with a silver tennis ball embroidered on the left breast, above his heart. Even from his position a few feet away, Ozan could easily read the words underneath.

Vanderbilt Tennis and Fitness Club

Grand Central Terminal

Ozan’s eyes were drawn to the Beaux-Arts-style terminal building. He’d learned the grand old dame’s ins and outs while researching the hit on Subject 523. He knew the location of every store and bathroom. His eyes went straight to the third floor, where the tennis court was located. He’d visited it once, but had not been able to find out if Tesla was a member. Apparently, he was.

A shadow moved near the top of the rounded third-floor window.

Ozan circled the crowd that had gathered around the fallen man, intent on the shadow high above him. Tesla was up there. It had to be Tesla. He had seen Ozan kill the tennis player. He knew what would happen to him.

It was Tesla. Certainty coursed through Ozan. He’d been a hunter long enough to recognize prey. And this prey would be terrified and running. He had to go after him.

The yellow dog streaked past. He wriggled between the legs of a man with dreadlocks and a knit cap in the doorway and disappeared inside the building.

Ozan ran after him. The dog must have sensed the danger that his master faced and had gone to protect him. He would lead Ozan straight to the man himself.

The hunt was on.