Gamma Blade (4 page)

He gazed out across the bay. “I don’t know. I like the water. And the warmth. But New York’s got both of those, at least some of the time.” He glanced at Beth. “Why? You thinking you’d like to move here?”

She smiled, pressed against his arm. “No. Certainly not in the near future. But it’s been interesting talking to the others tonight, about the hospital scene down here.”

The dinner had been a big success in Venn’s eyes. He and Beth had been seated at a table with four other couples, all doctors and their spouses. Beth didn’t know any of them, so Venn felt immediately less out of place. And the other couples proved to be engaging company. None of the significant others were cops, but one husband was a veteran of the Navy, and he and Venn hit it off right away.

And the food was outstanding. Venn attacked his seafood paella
hors d’oeuvre
and lobster
entree
as if he hadn’t seen a decent meal in weeks, and was embarrassed to discover he’d finished before everybody else. As he mopped his mouth with his napkin, he glanced guiltily at Beth, who winked at him.

He had two glasses of wine, making them last the entire meal. Usually he’d have a few more, but since Beth had stopped drinking when she learned she was pregnant, he’d cut down a little himself. It didn’t seem fair otherwise.

Maybe he’d treat himself to a nightcap in the hotel bar, later.

The dinner had gone on until half-past eleven, and gradually they’d begun to filter out. The night was still warm outside, the afternoon heat radiating off the sidewalks. The sky was clear, a black velvet cushion studded with diamonds.

“Take a walk?” Venn suggested. Beth nodded happily, and linked arms with him.

There was no rush to get home. No pressure to do anything at all. Beth had an early start the next morning: she was going to breakfast with a bunch of colleagues, to discuss a possible research collaboration, and after that the conference program began at eight. Venn, who wasn’t a morning person, thought he’d stay put in bed.

They ambled along a gentle curve in the marina. Up ahead, a sleek boat was berthed in what looked like a customized spot. Along the side of the boat, the name was displayed:
Merry May
.

“Nice,” murmured Venn.

He liked boats, even though he hadn’t grown up with them and didn’t know a whole lot about them. The lights were on in the cabin and on deck, and there were people moving about, but it didn’t appear to be a party vessel like some of the others along this stretch.

“Boys’ toys,” said Beth mischievously.

Venn gave her a mock-reproving squeeze. “Hey. I’m not exactly Mr Flash. I don’t go for muscle cars. Allow me to indulge myself a little, even if it’s in fantasy only.”

“Venn.” She pressed close against him. “You can indulge whatever you like. If you want a boat, get one.”

“On an NYPD cop’s salary?” He laughed. “I don’t think so.”

“I’m serious.” She looked up at him. “I’m due a pay rise later this year. Plus bonuses. We can make it work.”

He smiled back, shook his head. “Appreciate it. But we’ve got other priorities now.” He reached down and ran a hand across her belly. She wasn’t showing, yet, but he was sure he could detect a fullness there. “Maybe when I’m retired.”

“You? Retired?” It was Beth’s turn to shake her head. “Can’t see it happening.”

They walked in silence for a few moments, the
Merry May
boat drawing ever closer.

It was a sore point, Venn knew. Beth respected what he did. Admired it, even. He was good at his job, and he’d pulled off some spectacular operations in the last year. He knew the Department’s top brass had their collective eye on him. His boss, Captain Kang, was one ambitious guy, and Venn had no doubt Kang would one day make Deputy Commissioner at least. Maybe even the top job. And Kang was both loyal, and smart. He’d reward those who’d supported him, and who were of sufficient quality that they’d continue doing good work. Which meant Venn himself was likely to move up. Captain next, and then... who knew?

Beth knew all of this, and appreciated it. But Venn was aware too that she was afraid for him. Every day he strapped on his holster and went out there, there was some part of her that feared the urgent phone call, the notification that he’d been seriously injured, or worse. God knew, she’d been caught up in the violence of his life more times than he cared to think about. They’d met when they were both on the run, and even after they’d gotten together, Beth had been subjected to a kidnapping and a murder attempt.

The stress of it all, the bouts of terrible, merciless violence, had taken their toll, and for a while last fall, Beth had left Venn. He’d gotten her back, and the symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder she’d suffered seemed to have abated. But just this winter past, in January, Venn had almost been killed at the hands of the serial killer responsible for the so-called Sigma murders in Manhattan. And he’d narrowly escaped death from a suicide bomber during his investigation into the Martha Ignatowski murder last month.

He was in a high-risk profession. He was in the firing line, constantly. And that wasn’t the kind of life in which to bring up a child. A life with a father who ran the risk, every single day, of failing to come home.

And there was Venn’s dilemma. Because he loved his work. Loved the adrenaline surge when his quarry had been identified, and he got on the trail. Loved the complexities of the investigations he undertook, the piecing together of the evidence, and the final, often brutal end game.

If he got promoted, and worked his way up the ranks, he’d move away from the front line. Life would become safer. He’d be earning a whole lot more.

And on the surface, that sounded ideal.

But Venn couldn’t shake off the niggling worry that it also sounded...
dull
. That he’d turn into the kind of chronically dissatisfied, disillusioned man he’d seen sometimes among the senior echelons of the Chicago Police Department, where he’d worked years ago, and in the NYPD itself. Hell, even among some of the top brass in the US Marine Corps.

He wasn’t, in his blood, a desk guy. And there was no use in pretending that he was.

*

They were drawing parallel to the jetty running to their right alongside the
Merry May
’s berth. A string of people, all male, stood along the jetty. Five of them, Venn counted. He had a cop’s habit of adding up the numbers in any bunch of men. It was a survival technique.

The men were evenly spaced, all with their backs to Beth and Venn and facing the boat. They had their feet apart, their hands crossed in front of them, their heads slightly lowered.

Venn recognized the pose. It was the sign of a guy who was waiting.

Waiting, but not passively. Rather, preparing for sudden action.

Venn slowed. He reached his arm across Beth.

She said: “What -?”

“Hold on.”

His eyes flicked across the backs of the heads arrayed along the jetty. None of them moved.

It suggested discipline.

Purpose.

These five men were professionals.

Now, that could mean a number of things. The yacht was a high-end model. The owner was rich. The men might be private security staff, employed to watch it.

If they were from a security firm, it was one which had strict rules. Because every single one of the heads was shaved bald.

Venn evaluated the men. They were all dressed in dark clothes, unusual for a Miami night in May. They were of varying height, but all of them looked trim and agile. None of them bounced on the balls of their feet, like boxers, but in their stillness they conveyed the impression of coiled springs, ready to erupt into movement on cue.

Venn was aware of Beth tugging on his arm and saying something, but he’d zoned out. His mind was flicking through the index cards which had been drummed into it during his military and police training, sorting them and arranging them according to prominence.

This was Miami.

An expensive yacht was berthed on the marina - nothing unusual there - but there were five menacing-looking, fighting men watching it.

Drugs came to mind.

Venn was a cop. He was way out of his jurisdiction, but he was a cop nonetheless, and duty-bound to take note of suspicious activity wherever he saw it.

He’d been walking slowly, with his arm still across Beth, slowing her too. Now he stopped.

He took out his cell phone.

“Venn,”
said Beth. “What’s going on?”

His computer guy back at the Division of Special Projects in New York, Fil Vidal, had sent him a text message earlier that day. It read:
Boss. Sorry to be a pain in the ass on your vacation, but I figured this might come in useful. It’s the numbers of the local police department divisions in Miami. Feel free to delete if you like. Have a great weekend.

A list of phone numbers followed, together with a map of the city identifying which number applied to which district.

Venn’s thumb hovered over the numbers, as he tried to work out which was the closest station to where he was now.

Then commotion broke out to his left, and he whipped round.

Chapter 6

Venn’s first impression was of the man teetering toward him on Beth’s side.

He grabbed her and dragged her back, as the man fell, face-down, onto the sidewalk.

The sidewalk running along this stretch of the marina was broad, and the man was probably ten yards away. He hit the sidewalk with a fleshy thud.

Beth recoiled, pressing against Venn.

A second later, Venn saw, on the periphery of his vision, on the right, the five men along the jetty turn their heads.

His right hand slid into his jacket and his fist gripped the Beretta. As he drew it, he shoved Beth halfway behind him with his left arm.

He shouted:
“Police.”

Behind the fallen man to the left, a dark figure stood in silhouette, shadowed by the streetlights. It was a male figure, and from its posture, Venn could see it was holding a handgun, and aiming it downward at the man on the ground.

Venn extended his gun arm, centering on the silhouette’s chest area. With his left hand behind him, he pressed down on Beth’s shoulder, forcing her to the ground.

“Police,” he yelled again. “Drop the weapon.
Drop
it, dammit! Raise your hands above your head!”

The figure hesitated for a fraction of a second.

Then it turned, and Venn saw the man sprinting toward the buildings lining the sidewalk.

He glanced round at the pier.

The five men there were gone. It was as if they’d melted into the night.

The calculations flipped through his mind in a matter of microseconds.

He couldn’t fire at the running man’s back. The man hadn’t apparently committed any crime that justified stopping him with lethal force.

On the other hand, the guy had just assaulted somebody, knocking him to the ground, and was fleeing from the scene despite the express orders of a police officer who’d identified himself. That meant Venn couldn’t simply ignore him.

But Venn had Beth with him, and there were five suspicious-looking men who’d been lined up on the pier a moment ago and had now disappeared, and that meant he couldn’t just leave Beth there and go after the running guy.

In the end, Beth made the decision for him.

She broke free from beneath Venn’s restraining hand and began running toward the man lying  on the sidewalk.

Venn shouted: “Beth! Stay back!” But she continued running, as fast as she could on her kitten heels, until she reached the prone body and knelt by it and began slipping her hands over its back, its head.

Venn raised his eyes and saw the figure heading down an alley between and apartment block and an office building.

His cop instinct kicked in. The hunter’s instinct.

He began to run, homing in on the receding figure, inwardly cursing the too-tight new shoes on his feet, the restraining effect of his suit jacket and pants. As he passed Beth on the ground, he heard the man she was attending to groan faintly. And as he reached the mouth of the alleyway and plunged into the darkness between its walls, he heard Beth’s voice, loud and authoritative, as she spoke into her cell phone: “I need an ambulance...”

It meant there’d be an ambulance crew with her in minutes. She wouldn’t be alone and exposed then.

In minutes...

A lot could happen within that time frame.

Venn shut out the thought, ignored the image his wild, fanciful brain was trying to send him -
the five men from the pier closing in around Beth, their guns drawn
- and doubled his pace, feeling the adrenaline kick in and spur him on as he dodged a dumpster halfway down the alley and leaped over a pile of empty cardboard boxes and saw the other end of the alley ahead, with the brightly lit street beyond.

The man he was chasing had turned right.

Venn was ten paces from the end and preparing himself to emerge from the alley, with a leap to take him a few yards beyond and a pivot to the right, in case the guy was waiting there round the corner, when a voice rang out from close behind him:

“Hey.
Stop.
”

Instinct drove Venn to turn through one hundred and eighty degrees to confront the voice.

Reason stopped him.

Because as the voice uttered the second syllable, the unmistakable ratcheting click echoing off the narrow walls of the alley told him that a gun had been cocked.

Venn slowed to a walk.

He stopped.

From behind him, the voice said, softly: “That’s right.”

Venn heard footsteps, faintly squeaking and almost as quiet as the voice. Sneakers, he guessed.

“I’m aiming at the back of your neck.”

The voice was closer now. Maybe ten feet behind him.

Venn figured the guy had been crouching behind the dumpster he’d passed.

The man continued: “You’re a big guy. But if I pull the trigger, your size won’t matter. A nine-millimeter slug will tear through the base of your skull, and your brain will be veggie burger. It’ll shut down. You won’t even know what hit you.”