man who sees his opponent first usually wins. Quickness would be the key.
The thought of being subjected to Montez’s sadism all over again wrenched his stomach. He’d eat a bullet first.
Five yards past the entrance’s threshold, he bent low at something that caught his eye. Fresh drops of blood. It appeared Montez had suffered more than just a graze and could never outrun him now, which meant an ambush became certain.
Seeing no more blood droplets in the immediate area, he followed the fence on his left until he arrived at a convex mirror. It was mounted on a building next to some kind of seated free-fall ride, presumably to allow the ride’s operator to see people on the opposite side. Nothing in the mirror now, no sign of Montez.
He took a few seconds to evaluate the light sources that would produce shadows, even if Montez were hiding out of eyeshot. Ahead and to his right, the carousel offered a good hiding spot. He noticed several video cameras mounted on the roof of the building directly in front of him, but doubted they were monitored feeds. He took a few more seconds to study the map of the park in front of the covered carousel, memorizing all the exits. Six in all, tied into the main walkway. Two to the east. Two to the south. And two toward the west. He didn’t know if any of them were gated.
Precious seconds were wasting. He needed to regain a visual of Montez. Keeping Harv’s Sig aimed toward the carousel, he advanced to the building where the convex mirror was mounted. It looked to be a ticket sales booth. Staying on the move would make him a more difficult target, so he crept forward along its wall and scanned the concrete in front of a low set of stairs leading up to the carousel.
And found more blood drops.
Montez fought back the onset of new panic. What had started as an inconvenient burning had expanded into a nasty blowtorch wound. And the dripping blood, which hadn’t decreased in volume, created an easy trail to follow. He knew McBride would be expecting an ambush, but wouldn’t know from where. Would he get more than one shot? Probably not. He’d better make it count. And there’d be no taking prisoners at this point. He needed to kill or disable McBride and clear the area. Time wasn’t on his side, but even with ample time, where could he go? He didn’t know how far he’d make it on foot with a wound like this. Half a mile? Less?
He looked down at the small pool of blood forming under his pant leg. Even if he used his shirt as a tourniquet, there was enough blood soaking his pants to keep dripping for awhile. How long before the blood worked its way down and pooled in his shoes?
Knowing McBride had to slow his pace, Montez moved to the south, hobbling down the main path of the park. Fortunately, he’d scouted this escape route a week ago and thought it unlikely his pursuer knew the layout of Belmont Park as well he did. He had a variety of pre-scouted ambush spots at his disposal, he just had to pick the right one.
That’s when a brilliant idea came. He’d turn his disadvantage into an advantage.
He looked over his shoulder and worked his way deeper into the park.
Chapter 43
Approaching sirens. At least three, probably four. Nathan considered removing the suppressor and popping off a shot to draw the police in here. No, not yet. Involving the police ran the risk of a friendly fire situation. At this point Montez had to be hurting as badly as he was. Probably worse. And weakening from blood loss.
Time to relocate again. Watching for shadows or movement behind the carousel, he advanced to some steps and crouched behind a concrete trash container. He peered around the corner to the south. No sign of Montez or any security guards. Or anyone. The park was deserted. A spinning-type ride occupied the left side, with an arcade, retail shops, and food vendors on the right. Ten feet away, he saw two more blood droplets in the middle of the walkway. And something more.
A lot more.
A partial bloody footprint.
Montez’s leg wound had soaked his pants down to his shoe. He’d definitely gone this way. But how far?
Old-fashioned streetlamps provided plenty of light toward the interior, but the perimeter storefronts allowed deep shadows in their darkened alcoves. A bullet could come from any one of them. No wonder Montez had chosen this place.
He ran in a low crouch along the base of a carnival ride’s platform and stopped at its entry stairs. He stole another look to the south, but again, saw no one. He studied his new surroundings for a few seconds. More crimson footprints led the way down the concrete walkway. From the spacing, it seemed like Montez was doing his best to run. The temptation to run after him had to be checked. That’s exactly what Montez wanted.
Satisfied, Montez ducked between a couple of souvenir kiosks in the middle of the park’s main walkway. McBride would have to expose himself to advance up the same route he’d just traversed. To his right, a concrete wall protected some sort of vomit-producing thrill ride. On his left, bumper cars. This location gave him a clear, uninterrupted view of the park’s main walk. Tactically sound. McBride would be an easy target.
His grimace from the mounting leg pain turned into a smile when he saw McBride dart from one side of the walkway to the other and duck behind a trash container.
The trash bins.
They offered a solid tactical opportunity. Spaced every twenty to thirty feet and made of three-inch thick concrete, they created perfect leapfrog stations. He’d dash from trash bin to trash bin and work his way down the interior.
He looked over his shoulder the way he’d come. No one. But the approaching sirens grew louder, definitely closing from more than one direction. He couldn’t afford a prolonged chase in here. Time to up the stakes and force Montez’s hand.
Everything hinged on his belief that Montez felt more pressure than he did.
He sprinted forward to the opposite side of the walkway and ducked behind the next trash bin. The renewed pain under his feet caused by starting and stopping felt like running on a bed of nails, but it couldn’t be helped. Leaving himself exposed for more than a few seconds, especially in this well-lit area, invited a bullet. He saw Montez’s bloody footprints continue down the concrete, but lost sight of them fifteen yards further on. He peered over the top of the trash bin. All clear. The park remained deserted. Where were the security guards?
A split second before making his next move, his answer arrived. A security guard rounded the corner at the south entrance of the park and jogged directly toward him.
He couldn’t stay in his current position without a high risk of being seen, but ducking into the courtyard to his right meant losing sight of the main walkway and potentially losing Montez for good. Not an option.
He watched the security guard for a few seconds and decided to stay put. The guard had obviously heard Montez’s gunshot and was hustling over to investigate. With a little luck, the guard would turn right and take a shortcut past the southern end of the roller coaster. If not, maybe the guard would run past his hiding place without looking back. Was the guard armed? If so, the situation might escalate. He didn’t want to deal with an armed, and likely nervous, rent-a-cop.
Montez watched McBride poke his head out from behind the trash bin, then quickly pull back. Had he been
