“Rigged it with what? A piece of tape up in the corner?”
Kowalski didn’t say anything, because that was precisely how he’d rigged it. A piece of tape, up in the corner. It was still there.
“I’ll open it quick,” he said. “We jump if there’s an explosion.”
Vanessa looked at him. “Bollocks.” She reached down, grabbed the handle, and yanked the door upward. It rattled as it moved along the rusty tracks and settled into place above her head.
No explosions.
No gunfire.
No nothing.
Kowalski gave her a
“Well, go on then,” she said.
One down,” mumbled the Surgeon. He helped himself to more mint pastilles.
But there was a problem now. The girl was good as dead, but the male target—this Kowalski—was squeezing himself in alongside the car, making his way to the driver’s seat. Which meant he wouldn’t touch the garage door handle at all.
It was a good thing he’d prepared a secondary device.
This was even more ingenious. It was a strip of clear tape, running across the length of the garage, about six inches away from the outside of the door.
The tape was pressure-sensitive. Step on it—hell, stomp on it, hard as you can—and nothing. Just an ordinary piece of electrician’s tape. But roll the approximate weight of an automobile over the tape, and watch out.
Ka-Boomsville.
You can do all the forensic analysis you want, and all you’d find is a blown back tire that somehow, incredibly, sparked the gas tank, resulting in catastrophic combustion. That would be your best guess, anyhow. The tape would have long burned up into nothingness. You’d have nothing to analyze.
The Surgeon watched the male target start the car. Popped a mint.
Then he hit the remote control that activated the tape.
Kowalski started the car. He didn’t like this feeling. Jittery. Nerves on edge. Things moving too fast. Being forced out of his safe house—the safest place he knew—in less than an hour. Compromised. This wasn’t like CI-6. They weren’t usually this sharp. He thought he’d have more time to prepare. A week would have been nice.
Worst of all, he still had beers left up in Lee’s place. God, that pissed him off.
Kowalski reached for the gear shift. His hand missed. On the second try, he found it.
There was a fluttering in his stomach. He was almost
Kowalski sighed, then turned off the ignition. Stepped out of the car, feeling the blood rush out of his head. Squeezed himself alongside the Taurus.
“I need you to drive,” he said.
He threw the keys to the redhead.
She caught them, no problem. “I don’t know how to drive in America.”
“We’ll be on the 5 the whole time. Just stick to a lane. You’ll be fine.”
“To be perfectly frank, I don’t know how to drive. Like, at all.”
“Piece of cake. Just stay between the white lines.”
This was a lie, and Vanessa looked like she knew it. But there wasn’t much choice. The nausea was full on now, and the dizzy feeling refused to go away, no matter how much Kowalski controlled his breathing. It was going to take some effort to stay conscious in the passenger seat, let alone the driver’s seat.
Vanessa slid alongside the car, hopped behind the wheel, and turned the ignition. Kowalski stepped back. If she makes it out of the garage in one piece, I’ll consider it a good omen.
She put the Taurus in reverse and backed out of the garage.
The Surgeon braced himself.
He had a vision of the blast taking his target’s head off, bouncing it against the window here, leaving a smudge of burned flesh and a smear of blood.
Yep.
Vanessa managed to avoid running over Kowalski. She pulled up alongside him, hammered the brake.
The Taurus rocked on its suspension.
“Getting in then?” she asked.
What the fuck?!
He saw it. The car ran over the tape.
His devices had never failed before.
Never.
It was a good thing he’d brought along a tertiary device.
Kowalski had just snapped his seat belt—hey, she admitted she didn’t know how to drive—when this tubby, balding guy came stumbling out of the doorway, gun in hand. Running towards them. Aiming for them.
“Go,” Kowalski said. “Go now.”
Tubby fired once. The windshield cracked. Vanessa screamed.
“Gas pedal,” Kowalski said. “Gun it.”
She gunned it. The car shot backwards ten feet before she pushed the brake with both feet. The Taurus rocked. Tubby aimed again.
Kowalski plucked the cigarette lighter from the dash.
Tubby fired.
The shot went high.
Vanessa pushed the accelerator. The engine screamed.
“Put it in drive,” Kowalski said, then opened his door and winged the cigarette lighter at Tubby’s head. It nailed him in the mouth. Which was okay, but Kowalski had been aiming for his eyes. Tabby’s lips trembled, like he was fighting a sneeze. Kowalski reached down, grabbed the gear shift, said, “Brake, now!” and Vanessa did, and then he slid it into drive, and was about to tell her, “Gas!” but she was already there, slamming it.
The Taurus rocketed forward, smashed into Tubby.
“Go!” Kowalski said.
Tubby was airborne.
The Taurus raced down the hill.
The Surgeon tried one last time to shoot the girl in the face, but by this time he was tumbling through the air. He squeezed the trigger, but the bullet went wild.
Right into the ground.
