again.
He glanced at the rearview mirror again, expecting to see the grille of the Ford preparing for a third hit, but the truck had dropped a car length back, and seemed content for the moment to just follow.
“Nate,” Quinn said. “Get a visual.”
There was a pause, then Nate said, “The front window’s tinted. I can’t see inside.”
“How long has he been behind us?” Orlando asked.
Quinn shook his head. “Not long. I checked less than a minute ago, and he wasn’t there.”
As always, Quinn had been keeping watch on the road both in front and behind. Twenty seconds before the initial hit, Quinn was positive the SUV had not been following them.
Orlando’s phone began to ring. It must have gotten disconnected sometime during one of the collisions.
“It’s Peter,” Orlando said, looking at the display on the mobile.
“Tell him we’ll have to call him back.”
Quinn looked back into the mirror as she talked to Peter. The SUV was approaching again. Quinn switched his gaze to the road ahead. The end of the block was coming up quick.
“Hold on,” he said.
He waited until the last second, then whipped the wheel to the right, taking the turn at near full speed. The Ford grazed the corner of his bumper as it shot by, causing Quinn’s car to weave to the left.
The sedan’s tires screeched as they tried to grip the surface of the road, then the car rocked in protest as Quinn straightened the wheel before it settled down.
Quinn looked in the mirror again. The truck had missed the turn and was no longer behind them. He flicked his gaze back and forth from the road to the mirror, expecting the truck to reappear. But it never did.
A half block ahead, several taxis were parked near the entrance to a small hotel. Quinn slammed on the brakes, bringing the sedan to a stop.
“Out! Both of you,” he said. “Grab a cab and follow me. If that guy comes back, see if you can get a visual. Coordinate with Peter. He should be able to get us some backup.”
Nate was out the door before Quinn finished speaking. Orlando hesitated only a moment longer.
“Be careful,” she said.
“Go, go,” he said.
He waited until they were climbing into the cab at the front of the line, then pressed down on the accelerator again.
If Quinn had been the follower, he would have gone up another block and circled around so that he might be able to catch up to his prey at the next intersection. As he neared the end of the street, he slowed and looked left, hoping to get an early glimpse of the truck if it was there.
It being night in New York City, he couldn’t be one hundred percent sure. There had to be dozens of cars within a one-block radius. The majority were cabs, but there were still plenty of private vehicles, including a fair share of SUVs. None, though, were missing a front headlight.
He turned right onto Park Avenue, heading south toward Grand Central Terminal. A few seconds later, he saw Orlando and Nate’s cab pull onto the road behind him.
Still no sign of the one-eyed SUV.
Quinn reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He placed his thumb on the touch screen, deactivating the security lock. Glancing back and forth between road and phone, he found Orlando’s number in his quick call list and touched it. As the line began to ring, he engaged the speakerphone, then set his mobile on the passenger seat, securing the end in the crevice between the back and the bottom cushions.
“As far as I can tell, the tail’s gone,” Orlando said.
“Slow down a little,” Quinn said. “See if he’s hanging farther back.”
“Okay.”
He could hear her relay the instructions to the driver. There was a few seconds’ delay, then the cab slowed.
“Still nothing,” she said a minute later. “I think he’s gone.”
Quinn turned west on Forty-seventh Street, then south again on Fifth Avenue, each time relaying his actions to Orlando. As he crossed Forty-second Street and came abreast of the New York City Library, his phone beeped, indicating he had another call.
“Hold on,” he told Orlando. He switched the calls. “Yes?”
“What kind of car are you in?” It was Peter.
“What? Why?”
“Just tell me.”
Quinn thought for a second. “Buick. A Lucerne, I think. Silver or gray.”
“You need to find someplace to hide that car now!”
“What’s going on?”
“An APB was just issued by the NYPD for a gray Buick sedan with rear bumper damage. Sound familiar?”
“Son of a bitch,” Quinn said.
“They even have the license number. The bulletin says the driver is wanted in connection with a murder. It’s been given top priority.”
Quinn’s eyes narrowed. He’d been set up. He was driving through the streets of New York City with the body of one of the country’s top-ranking intelligence officers in his trunk, and now every member of the New York Police Department was going to be looking for him. Despite the urge to go faster, he slowed down so as not to bring any extra attention to his vehicle.
“I’ll park it and let you know where it is,” he said.
“No. You’ve got to put it someplace no one will find it. We can’t risk someone discovering the body.”
“That’s a little easy for you to say right now, Peter. You’re not the one looking at a federal death sentence.”
“Find a parking garage. All the hotels have them.” When Quinn didn’t respond right away, Peter said, “Are you still there?”
“Yes,” Quinn said. “But it might be a little too late for parking garages.”
One of NYPD’s finest was parked in front of a closed-up newsstand on the left side of the road just ahead, near the corner of Fifth Avenue and West Thirty-sixth Street. There was no chance for Quinn to avoid him, no street he could turn down before passing the patrol car. And pulling over to the curb would only delay the inevitable.
“I’ll call you back,” he said, then switched back to Orlando. “We’ve got a problem.”
He told her Peter’s news while keeping an eye on the cop car as he drove by. Inside there were two officers. They seemed to be talking to each other, not noticing the traffic around them.
There was a moment when Quinn thought he’d made it. But as he checked his rearview mirror to be sure, he saw the cop in the passenger seat look over and point at the sedan.
There was no reason to wait around to see what happened next. Quinn floored it.
“He’s on you,” Orlando said through the phone.
“Yeah … I noticed that.”
Quinn could see the cop car pulling away from the curb, lights flashing in his mirror. He had a half a block lead. He only hoped it was enough.
At first the traffic lights were in his favor. He made it past Thirty-fifth and Thirty-fourth in seconds. But ahead, the light was turning yellow. He slowed only enough to make a wide turn onto West Thirty-third Street. His momentum carried him up onto the first foot of the sidewalk on the left side. If the Starbucks at the corner had still been open, the people inside would have gotten quite a rush.
Quinn straightened the sedan and sped off down the center of the street. He’d just passed the back side of the Empire State Building when the police car rounded the corner from Fifth Avenue. Quinn’s gaze changed from the mirror to the road, and he saw in an instant that his main problem wasn’t behind him, it was ahead.
Instead of cars just being parked along the left side of the road, now there were empty vehicles lining both, cutting the usable road space down to no more than a lane and a half.
“Orlando, where are you?” Quinn asked.
“On Fifth,” she said. “We’re having a little … problem with our driver.”
