Cristos’s pounding footfalls coming up behind him but didn’t dare look for fear of slowing his flight.
Jack raced up the stairs, two at a time, his legs on fire as lactic acid poured through his muscles. By floor twenty, he thought his heart would either collapse or explode out of his chest. At floor thirty, he finally looked down and saw Cristos only two floors below and coming up hard. At floor forty, Jack came upon a wide-open floor, no walls, still under construction, and raced through the construction debris, past the idle tools and wallboard to the north-side stairs, where an open second route continued the ascent.
Up the stairs Jack ran, finally coming to a bulkhead, and he rammed through a steel fire door onto a wide- open roof deck. It was littered with gang boxes, storage sheds, portable toilets, empty beer bottles, and cigarette butts. This was the haven of the construction workers, where they escaped from the toils of their day to sit above the city that they and their brethren had built over the years.
Jack realized that he had boxed himself into a corner and had nowhere else to go. It would be a standoff unless he could figure a way out or down.
He walked to the edge, staring down on the neon lights that painted Times Square in an iridescent rainbow of colors. The sidewalks were awash in hordes of insect-sized people as the sounds of the night wafted up around him. He had escaped the Tombs, eluded his pursuers through the streets of the city, only to end up there, alone, with the one person who held Mia’s life in his hands only seconds behind.
“So, what are you going to do? Jump?” Cristos said as he stepped through the bulkhead. He slowly walked toward Jack, his gun aimed directly at Jack’s head.
Jack looked down over the city as he clutched the case tightly.
“You go through all of that effort only to commit suicide?”
Jack didn’t turn, continuing to look out over the city, at the masses who walked around enjoying their Friday night, unaware of what was happening above their heads.
“Give me the case, and I’ll let Mia go. I promise.”
“That means nothing.” Jack finally turned around and pointed his gun at Cristos.
The two held tightly to their weapons.
“You realize, if you kill me, your wife will have no chance? I’m the only link to finding her.”
“You sure about that?” Jack said.
“Quite sure. Which leaves you with not a lot of choice,” Cristos said. “You jump with the box, and I promise you, Mia will be five minutes behind you in death… and where would that leave your girls?”
Jack looked up in shock. “You stay away from them!” he snapped.
“I don’t play with the innocent lives of children,” Cristos said. “But you would be. They’ll grow up as orphans under the cloud of a father who went insane and didn’t try to save his wife.”
“What?”
“How else will it be explained that you broke into the evidence room, killed all those people, stole an evidence case?”
Jack clutched the box closer as he continued pointing the gun at Cristos. “That was your hand, not mine.”
“I’m dead, remember? That’s a pretty far-fetched story for a dead man. You, on the other hand, stealing an evidence case filled with nothing but trinkets.”
Jack stared at the box.
“Don’t tell me you didn’t look inside?” Cristos laughed. “You don’t even know what you hold in your hand, what you’re about to give your life for?”
“What?”
“That box holds the future, the answer to questions you couldn’t imagine, secrets that the world isn’t ready for. It holds mysteries and miracles. It holds the truth about certain people who are beyond desperate to ensure that the truth doesn’t come out. Why do you think your wife hid it away?”
The north bulkhead exploded open, and four cops rolled out onto the rooftop, guns drawn. Their eyes filled with caution as they saw the two armed men facing off on the edge of the building.
“Drop your weapons!” the lead cop screamed.
Jack and Cristos ignored them.
“The contents of that box are rightfully mine,” Cristos continued.
“That’s bullshit-”
“No.” Cristos cut him off. “The man who was murdered, the man who possessed the objects in that box, was my father.”
“The priest?” Jack said with shock. “Did you kill him?”
“That is between me and my father. How are things with your dad?”
Jack was shocked and offended at the question, at the intimacy this man invaded.
“Give me the box.”
Jack looked at the four cops, their guns trained on them.
Jack stepped away from the ledge. He didn’t lower his gun as he spun left toward the north bulkhead. Cristos moved in sync with him, turning as he turned, stepping as he stepped. Jack looked toward the cops. He couldn’t allow the case to fall into their hands, either. The FBI was after it, Cristos was after it, and who knew how many others were under its spell trying to get hold of it.
“Will you release her?” Jack asked. “Let her go unharmed?”
Cristos stared at the box. “I give you my word, I’ll let her go.”
Jack looked into his eyes. He wasn’t sure if he saw a moment of honesty or the shadow of a lie. But he realized that with the cops closing in, his choices were limited.
Jack laid the box down next to the open bulkhead door, his eyes filled with defeat. Cristos kept his gun trained on Jack as he reached down, collecting his prize.
Jack watched as Cristos disappeared down the stairs, clutching the case under his arm. Two of the cops raced after him, but Jack knew they would never catch him and live.
The two remaining cops approached Jack, their guns aimed high.
“Drop your weapon!” the lead cop screamed.
“Now!” the young rookie shouted.
Jack released the pistol and watched it clatter to the roof deck.
And the two cops were on him, grabbing him by the shoulders, pulling his arms behind his back, and throwing him violently to the ground. Jack’s knees hit first, but with his hands behind his back and nothing to brace his continuing fall, his head hit the surface with a violent snap.
His vision filled with blackness as the sounds of the city disappeared and he was enveloped in an unconscious nightmare.
CHAPTER 33
Jack looked around, lost, confused. He lay in a strange bed. A man stood over him, tall and broad. A scar wiggled its way down the left side of his neck; he had the countenance of someone who had seen battle on more than one occasion. But despite the rough exterior, there was a sadness in his eyes.
“Jack?” the man whispered.
“Who are you? Where am I?”
The man placed his finger to his lips. “Not too loud. Listen very carefully to me. I’ve got only a moment.” The man paused. “Hold on to your mind, or you won’t be able to save Mia.”
Jack awoke with a start and stared around the room. The white walls were cushioned, and there wasn’t a single corner or sharp angle in the ten-by-twenty space.
A tube ran into his left arm, the IV drip infusing him with a tired warmth. His chest and arms were wired up, although the monitors were nowhere in sight. A curtain was drawn across what he imagined was a large window to the outside world.
