They dragged her back toward the gate to Fifth Avenue. With a groan of fury Pendergast staggered to his feet, stumbling forward, summoning the last of his ebbing strength, willing himself to stay on his feet. His wound was bleeding profusely but he ignored it, moving forward at a shambling lope.
He saw where the joggers were headed: a taxi, waiting at the Fifth Avenue curb. He would never make it — but the car at least was a good target. Sinking back down, head spinning, he fired at it, the round striking the side window with a dull thud, ricocheting off. Armored. He aimed lower, at the tires, squeezed off two more rounds, but the bullets ricocheted harmlessly off armored hubcaps.
“Aloysius!” Helen screamed as the joggers reached the taxi and flung open the rear door. They threw her inside and climbed in after her.
“
The passenger door slammed shut. Pendergast stopped, took careful aim, preparing to shoot at the tires again — but the car screeched from the curb and the final round zinged harmlessly off the lower body.
“Helen!” he cried. “
The last thing he saw, as a black mist rose before his eyes, was the taxi disappearing into a sea of identical cabs moving south on Fifth Avenue. As darkness rushed in, amid the sounds of rising sirens, he whispered once again:
He had found Helen Esterhazy Pendergast — only to lose her again.
Authors’ Note
While most towns and other locations in
All persons, locales, police departments, corporations, institutions, museums, and governmental agencies mentioned in this novel are either fictions or used fictitiously.