Last Days of the Condor (19 page)

“We're on our way,” she assured her quarry, her
protectee,
her de facto partner, as Condor looked back down the stairs toward her and the sliding-away tunnel of where they'd been, saw the thought light her face:
Not going to lose another one!

He turned forward.

Looked up the long stairs carrying them toward the neon-blue night.

Said: “Too late.”

 

14

Gonna shoot you right down.

—John Lee Hooker, “Boom Boom”

Faye spotted them at the top of the escalator carrying Condor and her ever upward toward the blue night: Four,
no,
six backlit silhouettes.

Two shapes moved with military grace at the top of the tunnel onto the
DOWN
escalator that ran past Faye's left. A man and a woman.
Like us,
thought Faye.

Faye whispered: “Be cool!”

Nothing! Condor's not answering! Did he hear me? What does he hear?

His right hand slid into the pocket of his maroon nylon jacket.

No! Had to make him trust me! He's not rogue! Or crazy!

Trapped behind Condor on stairs carrying her up toward four
unknowns
.

As sliding down the escalator next to her,
toward her,
came two more strangers.

They could all be innocents. Six total. Six bullets in a revolver.

The escalator trembled Faye with its upward glide. Cooler outside air flowed over her face. The escalator smelled like oiled steel, the black rubber handrails.

Drawing nearer on the
DOWN
escalator: Black man, white woman behind him.

Twenty feet and a few seconds apart, fifteen, ten—

The black man wore a brown leather hip-length coat over weightlifter muscles.

The white woman, hair colored Midwestern brown and—

Whirled her hands up weapon pointing at Condor WUNK!

Taser!
Two wire-leashed probes shot out—

Hit the giant belly of Condor's maroon nylon jacket, the
Gotcha!
frenzy on the Midwestern-haired woman's face turning to puzzlement as she squeezed the Taser's control handle to send fifty thousand volts of electricity coursing into …

Into nonconductive padding under Condor's maroon nylon jacket.

Condor fired the snub-nose .38 from inside his pocket.

The tunnel boomed with the gunshot roar. The bullet slammed into the Midwestern woman's chest, knocked her off balance on the sliding-down escalator stairs.

No blood spray! Ballistic vest, she's wearing armor!

The Midwestern woman crashed toward her black partner as he cross-drew—

Gun! Silenced pistol! His partner tumbles into him and he falls as he aims—

Faye heard
cough,
a bullet whine past her face.

Found the Glock in her hand, fired twice at the falling man, blood spraying from hits on unarmored flesh, then he was tumbling out of sight on the descending escalator.

BANG! Condor firing up the mouth of the tunnel.

Faye whirled—saw four human shapes dive out of sight of her escalator-up view.

Condor fired again. His bullet smacked into metal at the top of the escalators, whined off into the night
God don't let its ricochet hit some kid!

“Stop!” she yelled. “Cease—”

Gun!
Poked into the escalator shaft, wink of flame/bullet whines past Faye. She popped two shots into the metal at the top of these stairs. Gun pulled back.

“Condor!” she yelled. “Roll across to the other escalator, the
DOWN
stairs!”

Faye spotted motion near the street-level mouth of the escalator. Crashed a bullet into the metal escalator shaft up by where the steel stairs folded into the machine.

Condor lunged across the metal border separating the
UP
and the
DOWN
escalators, missed grabbing the moving rubber handrail, flopped into the shaft of the
DOWN
escalator. His baseball cap flew off, his fake glasses spun away, the Taser probes ripped free from him. A steel stair edge chopped his right arm. He yelled in pain as he somersaulted down the sliding stairs.

The snub-nose .38 flew from Condor's hand, bounced down the moving steel stairs, over the prone & gasping woman whose bulletproof vest had just proven its worth.

Condor tumbled into that Midwestern woman, rolled over her, past her, his feet pointing down on those sliding-into-the-earth steel stairs. He skidded, stopped.

Looked up the steel shaft passage to the receding half-moon of blue night.

Whine
over Condor's head clangs into metal.

From escalator beside him Faye's gun roared.

As she ran
backwards
down the steps of the moving
UP
escalator.

The Midwestern woman jackknifed up in front of Condor. Sat on the stairs, blocked his view up the tunnel as she gripped a black pistol, its bore zeroed on Condor.

Crimson spray flowered in the shiny steel–lit darkness behind her head.

She snapped forward, her ballistic vest springing her back so she sat upright on the descending escalator stairs between Condor and the shooters. A spritz of red mist glistened in her small-town-escapee hair. She rode those downward stairs sitting with dangling low arms at her sides like a “
come unto me
” Madonna.

Another bullet meant for Condor
thunked
into the dead woman, hit her vest-covered spine, not the back of her skull.

The gun she dropped filled his hand. He fired up at the night.

Condor ran down the
DOWN
escalator.

Chased by the skull-shot Madonna slumped on the stairs.

On the escalator stairs ahead of Condor lay a black man in a brown leather coat with a dark-stained left shoulder. Ooze covered the black man's left ear. He kicked as Condor staggered past him. Condor stomped his face. The black man slumped. Condor ran off the end of the moving-down stairs to the floor of the subway's entry platform where seconds later, the escalator dumped the unconscious black man.

Condor yelled up to Faye: “Covering you!”

Fired two rounds from the dead woman's Glock.

Faye vaulted onto the metal border between the escalators. Fist-sized knobs are built into that metal border to discourage the sliding Faye tried, so she improvised a scrambling charge and leapt off the escalator to the red tiles beyond Condor.

They ran deeper into the underground subway station.

She vaulted orange turnstiles, whirled to cover their retreat where descending stairs dumped a slumped Madonna on top of an unconscious black man.

“Move!” she yelled to Condor.

No vaulting over orange turnstiles for him. He used the emergency gate.

“Go!” she yelled, backing toward the escalators down to the subway platform.

He ran ahead of her.
Galumped
down the escalator to the red tiles. Staggered to the center of the platform so he could aim back up toward the turnstiles, yelled: “Now you!”

Faye ran down the last escalator.

Saw the subway schedule marquee:

Next train in five minutes.

Opposite-direction train arriving three minutes later.

A man and a woman stood alone on a red-tiled subway platform.

Both of them aiming guns up to the entrance level toward orange turnstiles they could barely see. They sidestepped apart to not cluster in one easily targetable group.

“Four left, minimum,” said Faye. “Maybe they broke off.”

“You wouldn't,” said Condor.

The marquee above them displayed four minutes to the next train, but they didn't take their eyes off where shooters might appear.

Your train comes when it comes.

Up on the entrance level: two shapes vaulting the turnstiles.

Faye fired before Condor, then they flowed forward for new defensive positions.

Soaring through the concrete cavern air:

A black stone tossed from that upper entrance level on a soared curving arc to the red-tiled platform where Faye and Condor crouched.

“Flash-bang!”
Faye leapt alongside the solid sheltering wall of the escalators.

Condor jumped behind the thick concrete pillar.

Both turned their backs toward the grenades. Scrunched their eyes closed. Covered their ears. Opened mouths to ease explosive pressure, dropped low as—

White nova FLASHING seared their closed eyelids.

Ear-stabbing BANG! rocked their equilibrium.

Faye forced her eyes open.

The subway platform shimmered into view.

A giant invisible vacuum cleaner whined in her ears.

Gunpowder smoke tinged this concrete cavern.

Your back's pressed against the solid metal side of the escalators, and—

Condor
: beside the concrete column aiming up toward the next level. His gun spits two flashes. He jumped behind the concrete pillar where POP! white dust flowers:

Someone's returning fire!

Charging feet pound down the escalator.

First attacker down the stairs,
a man,
running, squeezing rhythmic shots at the concrete pillar, keeping Condor pinned on the other side, killer closing to there as—

Second attacker,
young guy,
lunges over the escalator, thrusts his gun to shoot—

Faye grabbed her assailant. He toppled over the side of the escalator, crashed into her and they collapsed on the red tiles.

Don't let his gun point at you! He's grabbed your right wrist doing the same!

Faye drove her knee into the man on top of her.

He gasped, flung himself off her, their hands gripping them together like jitterbug dancers from her grandmother's era as he muscled their inertia, jerked her onto her feet.

She spins the man she grips in an airborne half circle.

They fly off the edge of the subway platform.

Crash onto the train tracks.

Third rail! Third rail! Where the fuck is the third—

Won't let go of each other, scramble to stand.

What's that noise …

She stomps her foot out to dragon kick his stomach.

He gets knocked back, trips over a rail—

—just a regular steel rail—

—his back hits the concrete edge of the platform.

Bouncing him off with a body slam that rockets her off her feet, barely catching her balance with her shoes on the grille covering the white lights along the tunnel's far wall as she sees her foe drop into a combat shooter's stance and swing his pistol—

Train
slams into her attacker, whining stopping only after the silver snake scarfs his body under its steel snout and blood spray trickles down the engineer's window.

Train
pins Faye with her back pressed against the curved gray concrete wall, her arms straight out to her sides.
Like I'm crucified
.

See the glow of train windows smack in front of her.

Smell the hot steel brakes.

Smell wet ham.

“DOORS OPENING!”

Bullet hole
punched out the train window above her.

Two more shots, holes punched through the plastic windows. Cosmically, she knew the engineer heard
gunshots,
so
get out of here!

“DOORS CLOSING!”

Faye pressed against the concrete wall as the train roared past her.

Going to suck me off my feet toss me bounce me crushed dead and—

Whump,
she saw the butt of the train, red light vanishing down the tunnel
gone,
her feet settling on the steel grille over the tunnel wall floor lights.

From the track bed where she stood Faye stared across the waist-high red-tiled platform at a warrior edging his way around the concrete pillar to gun down Condor.

Faye shot the warrior in the head. Shot him dead.

Condor left the pillar's shelter as Faye hoisted herself out of the track bed.

“Four down!” she gasped to Condor.

The handicap-access elevator by the escalator DINGED!

Metro elevators ease down shafts from the sidewalk to the subway platform. Their metal walls create a closed box big enough to hold four wheelchair travelers. Blurry steel creates mirrors on the inside; on the outside, the elevator's doors are orange.

Take the harder shot,
thought Faye, told Condor: “I got our backs!”

Faye aimed up to the main entrance.

Orange elevator doors slid open.

Faye felt Condor hustle toward that cube that could be their escape route.

Slow dance
. She walked backwards in his wake, never wavering her aim.

Quick glance showed her
he's at the elevator, gun barrel moving toward the open doors
and as she swung back to scan the darkness beyond her gun sights.

Condor eased his left foot onto the crack between the elevator and the subway platform's red tiles so that the cage door's rubber guard closed on/bounced off his shoe as he flowed forward and swung the barrel of his gun up to—

The sky fell on Condor.

Dropped from spread-eagled across the top of the elevator cage, Monkey Man, long, whip lean and strong, missing a perfect ambush onto the old guy in the maroon nylon jacket but still grabbing his gun arm BANG!

Faye whirled—

Got knocked off her feet by Monkey Man shoving Condor into her, holding on to Condor, charging past him with a pivoting aikido throw that flung the Glock out of Condor's hand even as the throw also flipped Condor off his feet and onto the red tiles.

Monkey Man spun out of his pivot with a crescent kick that slammed his shoe into Faye's extended gun arm—the kick clattered her gun away on the tiles.

But the crescent kick required heartbeats and space for Monkey Man to settle, balance, recover—and only
then
be able to attack.