The Professionals (45 page)

“No,” she said. “Please. Take me with you.”

“To the airport.”

She nodded. “I need to see it. I need to know how it ends.”

Stevens rubbed his chin. “Fine. But you stick close to me at all times. You try anything funny, and I’ll shoot you where you stand.”

He led her out of the command van and down to his unmarked. He sat her in the backseat and then climbed in the front and edged the car through the crowd and through the half ring of cruisers. He pulled up outside unit 19, four doors down from where Hall had the van parked and waiting, and he watched through the front windshield as the door to Pender’s unit opened and Windermere walked out with Pender behind, his machine gun pressed to the back of her head and an Uzi in his other hand.

Windermere climbed into the back of the van, and Pender climbed in behind. He kept the gun pointed at Windermere and made her close the door, and then Hall shifted into drive and the van pulled away from the motel.

Stevens let his foot off the brake and followed the van as it made its way around the back side of the motel and pulled in behind a pair of Grosse Pointe cruisers. In the rearview, he saw Wellwood’s tactical van and another pair of cruisers follow. The convoy pulled out into the street and started for the airport, the noise and the crowds falling back into the distance.

P
ender kept the gun trained on Windermere as the van rolled along. With his free hand, he held out the bag of food. “Eat,” he said. “Playing hostage must get exhausting.”

Windermere opened the bag and took out a cheeseburger in waxed paper. She unwrapped it and took a bite. “So tell me something,” she said as she chewed. “Why the sudden change of heart? What’s wrong with Marie?”

Pender stared at her. “She ratted me out.”

“You think?”

“She said so. You said so. I guess it finally sunk in.”

Windermere took another bite. “She was scared for your life. And we’ll say anything if we think it will get you to put down your guns.”

“So you’re saying she didn’t snitch.”

She shrugged. “Think what you want. But I don’t believe that’s why you changed your mind.”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Pender. “Either way, I’m getting out of here.”

“Maybe,” she said. She reached in the bag and took a handful of fries. “You happy now? I can quit with this stuff?”

Pender nodded. She passed him the bag, and he took out another
cheeseburger and unwrapped it. It was a tiny lukewarm patty on a stale bun, but it was the first real food he’d eaten in more than eight hours and it tasted better than filet mignon.

The city passed by around them, lit up by the flashing blue and red lights of the police escort. Pender watched through the windows as the driver guided them past low-lying strip malls and little houses, industrial zones and more dingy motels. They slowed as they passed a restaurant, and Pender caught a glimpse of the customers inside, families and young couples and old couples and solitary old men, and he felt a little sad. It would have been nice, he thought, to live a normal life like that. A decent job and a house and a standing dinner date Saturday night. But the driver stepped on the gas again, and he pushed those thoughts from his head. I haven’t given up on life just yet, he thought. Not even close.

The airport appeared in the distance, a vast, flat expanse of blinking lights and shadowed terminals beyond razor-topped chain fencing. The lead police cruisers drove away from the terminals to the far side of the airfield, headed for a hangar and a fuel station and Jason Cardinal’s jet, bathed in light and miniature in the distance.

“One more question,” said Windermere. “Why’d you do it?”

Pender turned back from the window. “What?”

“I don’t really care why you kidnapped all those people. I know the how and the who, and that’s fine with me. But my partner, Agent Stevens, he cares about the why. He told me that’s all he really wanted, was to look you in the eye and try to understand what made you kids do it.”

She stared at Pender, kind of shrugging, a wry smile on her face. The driver watched them in the rearview mirror. Pender stared out the window. “Look around, Agent Windermere,” he said. “We didn’t really have options.”

She followed his gaze. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

He gave her a tight smile. “I mean, have you seen the job market these days?”

Windermere laughed, long and loud. “You kids just needed jobs? Damn, Arthur. The FBI’s always hiring.”

“We figured we were smart enough to pull this off,” said Pender. “Kind of a redistribution of wealth thing, you know what I mean? We wanted to test ourselves, see if we could do it.”

“You wanted to test yourselves,” said Windermere. “How do you think you did?”

Pender watched the hangar approach, the jet out on the tarmac, sleek and gleaming white and promising freedom. “Ask me tomorrow,” he said.

The police cruisers led the convoy onto airport property and out toward the hangar, then fell back as the van drove out to the jet. Pender twisted in his seat to watch the Crown Victoria and the second van fall back as well.

“They brought the SWAT team,” he said.

“HRT,” said Windermere. “Hostage Rescue Team.”

“Whatever. The guys with the big guns.”

“They won’t do anything unless Stevens gives the order.”

“That’s good,” said Pender. “Stevens kind of likes you.”

“You think?”

Pender glanced at her. “You tell me.”

“I guess he does,” she said. “He’ll hold them back.”

Pender leaned forward in his seat. “Driver,” he said. “Take us right up to the plane. Park in front of the stairs. Passenger side in, so you’re facing the HRT guys. You climb out first and go up into the plane. Do what I say and I won’t hurt either of you.”

He turned to Windermere. “When he’s inside the plane, you open your door and go into the plane as well. I’ll verify the plane’s ready to fly, and I’ll let you both go. Understand?”

Windermere nodded. The driver nodded, too. He drove across the tarmac and swung the van around, pulling up alongside the plane’s staircase. Pender watched as the driver put the van in park and then climbed over to the passenger seat. He opened the door and stepped out onto the tarmac and climbed the stairs up into the plane.

“Okay,” said Pender. “Time to go.”

He nudged Windermere, and she obeyed, reaching over to open
the rear passenger door and climbing out of the vehicle. Pender followed, the gun held tight to Windermere’s neck as she started the climb up into the cabin.

“All right,” she said. “Don’t do anything crazy now.”

“I’m not the one you have to worry about,” said Pender. They climbed one step at a time, Pender well aware that his back was exposed to the SWAT team behind him. “If they shoot me, I’ll squeeze the trigger and you’ll be dead.” He told Windermere. “So keep your fingers crossed they don’t get cute.”

Then the driver appeared in the cabin doorway. “Get back in the plane,” Pender told him. “We’ll be there in a second.”

The driver shook his head, and then Pender saw the gun in his hand, a little cap-gun revolver. The kid stared at Pender, raising the gun to his face. “Let her go.”

“Calm down,” said Pender. “Don’t get stupid. Drop the gun.”

“Let her go.” The kid was trembling, the gun shaking and his voice unsteady. “Let her go or I shoot.”

“Drop the gun,” Pender told him. He held Windermere tight and kept the TEC-9 pressed into her skin.

“I swear to God I’ll shoot you.”

Pender pushed Windermere forward, and she climbed another step. “Then shoot,” he said. “But do it quick.”

“Do it, Hall,” said Windermere. “Take the shot.”

The kid blinked. Stared at Windermere. Shaking harder now. Pender took the gun from Windermere’s neck and pointed it at him. “If you don’t drop that gun, I’ll shoot you here and now.”

The kid stared Pender down. Pender watched his finger tighten on the trigger. “Goddamn it,” he said. “Have it your way.” He closed his eyes and let off a burst with the machine gun. Windermere screamed. The kid went down hard.

S
tevens watched from across the tarmac as Hall tried to pull his move on Pender. The kid had a gun—Pender had never frisked him—and Stevens watched with mounting horror as the junior agent tried to force the kidnapper’s hand. Pender shouted something at Hall, and then time seemed to slow as the kidnapper put a burst through the kid’s abdomen. Stevens could hear Windermere’s screams from a hundred feet away.

Stevens watched Hall’s body crumple as Pender pushed Windermere past and they both disappeared into the plane. Hall was in a heap at the base of the staircase, and the kid wasn’t moving.

He stormed over to Wellwood’s tactical van. “Who the hell gave Hall that gun?” he said. “How they hell did he get a gun on that plane?”

“Wasn’t us,” Wellwood told him. “We had nothing to do with it.”

“Goddamn it,” said Stevens. “No more mistakes. Have your men set up a perimeter around the plane. I want snipers with a clear shot at the cabin doorway.”

“Roger. What about the female agent?”

Stevens swallowed, aware that Wellwood was watching him closely. “If you guys have a shot, you take it.”

“Understood.” Wellwood turned back to his crew, and Stevens
watched while the tactical team dispersed. He turned back to the plane as his radio crackled to life.

“Agent Stevens.” Pender. He must have grabbed Hall’s radio.

Stevens picked up the radio. “Arthur, that was a mistake. We don’t know how that gun got on that plane.”

“Bullshit, Agent Stevens. You’re going to keep making your little mistakes until I’m dead. Well, listen up. I now have two hostages. The pilot and your Agent Windermere. By my count, that makes Windermere extraneous.”

Stevens felt his skin start to crawl.

“What I should do, Agent Stevens, is kill Windermere and keep the pilot to myself. But I’m not going to do that yet. Where’s Marie?”

“Back at the motel,” Stevens said. “I’m sorry.”

“Bullshit. You’re still playing games. I can see Marie in the back of your car. Get her out of there.”

“Whatever you’re planning, Pender, it’s not going to work.”

“Get her out of there or I kill Windermere now, Stevens.”

Stevens stared at the plane. “Fine,” he said. He walked around the side of the Crown Vic and opened the door. Marie frowned at him and let Stevens help her out of the car.

“Uncuff her,” said Pender.

“Arthur—”

“Do it.”

Stevens stared at the plane a moment. Then he turned back to Marie. Dug out the key to the handcuffs and freed the girl’s wrists. She glared at him, rubbing her raw skin. Stevens turned back to the plane.

“We’re going to make a trade,” said Pender. “You’re going to put down your gun and bring Marie to the cabin door, and we’ll swap.”

“Not going to happen.”

“All right, then, I’ll kill her,” said Pender.

Stevens swore. “We swap,” he said, gritting his teeth.

“Good. Put your gun down.”

Stevens made an exaggerated show of reaching into his holster and
removing the FBI-issue Glock. He left it on the seat of the Crown Vic and held both hands high.

“Now bring Marie to the plane.”

Stevens put down the radio. He took McAllister by the arm and began to lead her across the tarmac. He could hear Wellwood yelling something in the background, but he tuned the tactical officer out and kept walking.

The Gulfstream’s twin jet engines were spooling up as he approached.

Stevens felt naked and vulnerable as he crossed the tarmac, the walk seeming to take hours. The girl was shaking in his arms, whether from fear or excitement, he couldn’t tell. Finally they reached the stairway and Hall’s bloody body, and Stevens stared down at the kid; his eyes were open wide. It wasn’t as easy as it looked, was it, he thought. You can’t just
want
to be the hero.

Then he saw the kid’s gun, a .38 revolver lying forgotten a foot away from his right hand. Either Pender had missed it or he just hadn’t cared. Either way, there it was.

Stevens pushed Marie up onto the stairway and then bent down as though to nudge Hall’s body out of the way. With his right hand he swept up the gun and tucked it into his pocket. Then he followed Marie up the stairway, keeping himself behind her so the bulge didn’t show.