Exit Strategy (44 page)

Downstairs, Jack sat with his gun on his lap, a polite reminder.

“You said this wasn’t what you thought,” I began. “And that would be…?”

“I hadn’t made up my mind,” Evelyn said.

I waited for an explanation, but she only eased back in her chair and slanted a look at Jack, who grunted, as if her meaning was perfectly clear.

“So what the hell
is
this about?” Evelyn said. “I can’t even imagine what I could have done to deserve both of you pulling guns on me.”

“Gallagher talked,” Jack said. “Gave Dee a name.”

“Dee? But she said…Okay, so this must be connected to that name. What could—?” She paused. “Gallagher didn’t finger me, did he? Now, that would explain this reaction, but it’s obviously impossible. I was with Dee for one murder and couldn’t have done the others then gotten back here in time to meet you two.”

“Wilkes.”

“The killer is Wilkes—Bullshit. Gallagher is pulling your—” She studied our faces. “And if I continue like that, I’ll only convince you I’m involved. You honestly think I’d cover for that loser, Jack? Partner with him on a job this big?”

“Had to know.”

“The only person I’d trust on something like this would be you. Wilkes ranks at the bottom of my former partners and protégés. I still say he could not be responsible. He doesn’t have the ingenuity—”

“Forget ingenuity. Technical skill?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“Could have quietly killed Kozlov. Not easy. Not impossible, either. Didn’t need this…exit strategy. Wanted more. Had something to prove.”

“Well, yes, theoretically that would fit Wilkes—”

“Gets a taste for power. Control. Gets drunk on it. Full of himself. Challenging the Feds. Making impossible demands. Playing head games. Thinking he’s winning. Now he’s somebody. Finally somebody.”

Evelyn sighed, then shook her head. “Son of a bitch. So now we need to find him. That’s not going to be easy.”

“Jack says you know his name,” I said. “His real name. Is that going to help?”

“I trained him well,” Evelyn said. “If he’s using a name, it’s probably not his own. If it is his own, any information you’d find with it would lead to a dead end. Even at the absolutely best scenario—he’s forgotten everything I’ve taught him and has a house registered under his real name—we aren’t going to show up there and find him. I’ll do the search and give you what I find, but right now, he’s out there—” She waved at the window. “Setting up his next attack. We need to figure out what that is.”

“We might already know,” I said, and told her about the missed train tip and the next one, in West Virginia.

“He fucked up with the train,” Evelyn said. “Personally, I like your idea, Dee, fulfill a promise, break a promise, get the Feds running around like chickens with their heads cut off. Brilliant—and exactly what I’d do. You, Jack or I could pull that stunt without giving a shit who thought we’d ‘failed’ the train hit. But Wilkes? Not a chance.” She lifted three fingers. “One: he’s single-minded. Two: he lacks creativity. Three: he’s got a balloon ego.”

“Balloon ego?” I said.

Jack grunted. “One prick, it deflates.”

“Something did go wrong with that train hit,” Evelyn said. “As for
what,
it’s moot. What matters is that he’ll be mad as hell right about now. He’s going to be at that parade, and he’s going to make a hit, and if the Feds are standing this one down, then I’d sure as hell recommend we be there.”

“To do what?” Jack said. “Needle in a haystack.”

“True,” I said. “But do you know the best way to find a needle in a haystack? With a magnet.”

Evelyn chuckled. Jack went still for a minute, then his gaze shot to mine, eyes hardening.

“Better not be suggesting—”

“That we draw out the needle ourselves? That’s exactly what I’m suggesting.”

“You are
not
setting yourself up to become the next victim,” Jack said.

I considered commenting on the length and completeness of that sentence, but the look in his eyes said this wasn’t the time.

“Jack’s right,” Evelyn said. “Wilkes has established a plan and he’s already ‘done’ any type you could play. We need to bait the trap with something he doesn’t have yet, something he won’t be able to resist.”

She looked at Jack.

“Because he knows Jack?” I shook my head. “Sure, he might go for it, off a fellow hitman, but—”

“It’s been over twenty years. A bit of work and he’d never recognize Jack. What he
will
recognize is a prize missing from his collection. A tough guy.”

Jack snorted.

“You know what I mean. A biker, a hood, muscle, all roles you’ve done many times before. There are a million guys out there right now, bragging in bars about how they’d take down the Helter Skelter killer if he ever came near them. Give him one of those, in a setting that’ll make an easy kill, and he’ll pounce on it, to prove that nobody is safe…and reinflate his ego after the train fiasco.”

FORTY-THREE

It was a five-hour trip and we didn’t have time to stop for lunch, so we grabbed sandwiches on the way. We were almost to West Virginia when we had to pull into a gas station to fill up, and for Jack to use the washroom. I eyed the attached convenience store, considered getting some candy for the stakeout. But I had a more important use for the time alone with Evelyn.

I waited until Jack headed into the store to prepay for gas, then shifted into the middle of the seat, so I could lean forward and talk to her on the front passenger side.

“So, I suppose after what happened today you’ll be rescinding that ‘offer’ you made?”

“Because you held me at gunpoint?” She smiled. “I consider it a logical and important step in a developing relationship with any good student. I’m sure I’ll give you cause to do it again and, if I don’t, then you’re not the sort of hit-woman I’d care to mentor.”

“Ah.”

As I eased back into my seat, she peered under the headrest at me. “Is that disappointment I hear? Don’t tell me you’re hoping I’ll retract the offer, save you from having to make the decision. I expected better of you, Dee.” Her gaze studied mine, then she smiled. “Or, I suppose, this was just a good excuse for bringing up the matter, since I haven’t done so myself.”

“Just checking. Seeing whether it still stood.”

“It does and, as you haven’t said no, I presumed you’re still considering it, which is good enough for me. If that offer doesn’t suit your tastes, I can get others. Someone with your talent is wasted on Mafia punks.”

When I said nothing, she tilted her head, gaze boring into mine. “I’m giving you a chance to really quench that thirst, Nadia. Take out people who even
I’ll
agree have lost the right to walk on this planet.”

I didn’t miss the switch from Dee to Nadia. A calculated reminder of how much she knew about me. If I called her on it, though, she’d only claim a slip of the tongue, so I said, as evenly as possible, “I’m not a vigilante.”

“So you’ve said.”

I turned my gaze to the window, watching Jack start pumping the gas, then looked back at Evelyn. “What would you get from it?”

“A cut, of course. Money is always good.” She eased back in her seat, gaze returning to the windshield. “When I got into this life, I only wanted three things. Money, power and respect. A girl like you, comes from a nice middle-class background, born after the so-called sexual revolution, gets a good education, takes on a man’s job. I’m sure it wasn’t as easy as we might hope, but it was possible. These days, girls don’t know what it is to want those things and know you’ve got a snowball’s chance in hell of getting them. I fought like you couldn’t imagine and got everything I wanted. But it wasn’t enough.”

A long pause as she watched Jack fill the tank.

She continued. “They say that man gains immortality through his children. I don’t have any. Never wanted them. What I
do
have are students. I take raw clay and I fashion something remarkable.”

“That’s what you want to do with me. Make me better.”

A laugh so sharp it startled me. “Oh, you don’t like that idea, do you? You can play the cool professional, act like you don’t give a shit what anyone thinks, but you’ve got your share of ego, of ambition. You’re just good at hiding it. Reminds me of someone else.” Her gaze slid to Jack, now walking to the bathroom. “What I can make you, Nadia, isn’t
better
. It’s famous. Legendary. Reach the point where you can do exactly the kind of work you want and nothing else.”

I stared out the window, watching Jack as he returned.

“He’s still with me, isn’t he?” Evelyn said, as if reading my thoughts. “I haven’t damaged him. Haven’t made him anything he didn’t want to be. Jack doesn’t hang around because he feels
obligated
. He wouldn’t do that and you know it. So if I’m good enough for him…”

Jack dipped his head, peering into the car, gaze shooting to Evelyn, as if he could see us watching him and talking.

“I’ll let you think about it, Dee,” she murmured. “Take all the time you need.”

For over an hour, I’d been standing in front of a fifth-story window, watching the parade route fill. To pass the time, I mentally ran through ballistics tables, recalculating the distance, velocity, trajectory, wind drift, making sure I had everything right.

I’d have rather been in one of the taller office buildings down the street, but if there were SWAT team snipers here, that’s where they’d be. And even if there weren’t, the Feds would be checking out the best perches in case Wilkes was trying for a sniper shot himself. So I had to make do with one that was third rate.

Having to take the shot standing didn’t make the situation any better. The higher up you get, the less stable you are. Ideally, I’d be on my stomach. Given that the window was four feet off the ground, lying down wasn’t an option. So, as any good sniping manual would tell you, I should have used the materials at hand to create a level and sturdy four-foot-high platform. Works great, if you’re on a SWAT team…not so great when you’re a professional killer who can’t leave any trace and may have to abandon your perch at a moment’s notice.

So I’d shoot standing, as I usually did. Not only was it the least steady position, it was the hardest to hold for an extended period. Since I used it the most often, though, I’d trained for it, doing most of my practice upright—the offhand position. To alleviate some of the unsteadiness, I used a sling. A dark-colored loop of nylon, the sling attached to a swivel at the end of the gun stock, near the barrel. I put my left arm through the opposite end of the loop and pulled the keeper along the strap until the loop was snug against my biceps.

At this distance, it was possible—if unlikely—that someone on the parade route could look up and see a silhouette in the window. To reduce the risk, I wore a brimmed hat, beaten into a shapeless lump, so my head wasn’t a rounded dome. Mosquito netting over the front of the hat darkened my face and helped it blend in with my black clothing. I’d also draped a larger swatch of netting over the window, to further darken and blur my silhouette. For the window itself, I’d cut out a pane. Breaking glass makes noise. Lifting the sash looks suspicious. If you see a closed window, you assume all the panes of glass are there.

I could see Evelyn’s hat weaving through the crowd. It was pink and old-ladyish. For Evelyn, I’m sure that was a fashion torture on par with my push-up bra, and judging by the look she’d given me when I found it for her, I was in for some serious payback. But it made her easy to track, and that’s all that mattered.

I needed to be able to find her in a split-second survey of the parade scene because my attention had to remain focused on the main lure, Jack. He couldn’t wear anything as obvious as a pink hat. Fortunately, tracking him wasn’t the issue because he’d staked out a table at the edge of a licensed patio, where he nursed a pint of beer and read a motorcycle magazine. If he attracted the attention of anyone who looked as if he could be Wilkes, Jack would fold up his magazine, vacate the patio and head for the alley beside it, which was right across from my perch and lined up for a perfect shot. Alternately, if Evelyn spotted Wilkes, she’d get Jack’s attention and he’d make his way to Wilkes, while staying within my line of fire.

Wilkes could be planning a sniper shot himself, but according to Evelyn, he was crap at distance shooting. Besides, if he wanted to reassert his credibility with the Feds, firing from a safe distance would be a cop-out. Just in case, though, I’d been careful to pick a spot with no surrounding high buildings.

As I was thinking this, something thudded over my head. My first reaction was an instant gut-clench, accompanied by a vision of Wilkes standing at the window over mine, his scope trained on Jack. My second reaction was a stifled laugh. There
was
no floor above mine—just a roof, one with a sloped front and a high lip, unsuitable for shooting.

From overhead came the distinct sound of gravel crunching underfoot. I gave myself a mental shake. Nerves are a sniper’s worst enemy. The slightest tremor, and you might as well put the rifle back in its case.

I checked my pulse. Steady. Good. Now concentrate on—