Black operator complete.., p.6
Black Operator--Complete Box Set (Books 1-6), page 6
The ‘boom’ shook the flimsy furniture in the room, and the gunman was aware he had to get out quickly before someone called the cops. Not that he minded, he knew where his target was staying, and he would go there, kill her, and go home. He had no need to return here. His use for the apartment, and for Alexander Kalinin had ended. It took him a few minutes to check Kalinin’s laptop for the location of the hotel. He stored the directions in his mind, walked down the stairs, and out the front door. He strolled along the sidewalk, and soon he’d turned the corner and was out of sight, as the first police siren wailed in the distance.
A few people still hovered outside the hotel, including one TV truck. He pushed past them and entered the lobby. The desk clerk looked wary and didn’t recognize him.
“Hey, buddy, are you a guest here, or visiting someone? You’re not one of them reporters? You’re not allowed inside the hotel. Guests only, sorry.”
The shooter advanced on the desk, picked up the register, and surveyed it for several seconds. The clerk regarded him with astonishment. “Whaddya think you’re doing? That’s confidential. Get out of here. I’m calling the cops.”
He reached for the phone, but the gunman continued looking at the register to find what he wanted.
The clerk got an answer and shouted, “This is the Chicago Court. We have an intruder. He’s stealing hotel property, and he’s…”
He didn’t get any further. The gunman snatched the phone out of his hands and ripped the cable from the socket. The clerk took a step back, the last step he’d ever take. The Wildey came out and a single shot ‘boomed.’ It threw him against the back wall, and he slid to the floor with half his chest missing. The gunman climbed the stairs to the floor he’d identified. He strolled along the corridor, reached the room, and knocked. The door opened, and a female stood there, looking at him curiously.
“Yes?”
He fired twice, and as her body crashed to the floor, cursed. At the last moment, he’d seen the black maid’s uniform and was aware he’d made a mistake. He entered the room and looked around, but it was empty. Other than the body of the maid he’d shot. He swung around and raced out through the door, down the staircase, and back into the lobby. It was empty, just a spreading stain of blood leaking out from the gap underneath the desk, watched over by the winking gaze of the CCTV camera surveying all who came and went. He slowed to a respectable walk and exited the hotel, to run into the rubbernecker, who nodded.
“You get what you wanted, pal? No, I guess not, they left. You with Lake 24 News? I watch that channel, you gonna put me on the air tonight?”
“Yes.”
“Wow. I guess you know those people left, and the news crews went chasing after their cab. I was thinking about going myself, you want a lift anywhere?”
“Yes.”
“Damn right, I know you guys are always in a hurry. I’m heading into town, that do ya?”
“Yes.”
“Right, let’s go.”
He strolled along the sidewalk and waved in the direction of his shiny new Dodge Dart.
“You wouldn’t believe the gas mileage I get from this baby, unbelievable. I just gotta get my jacket out the trunk and I’ll be with you.”
He popped the lid, and the gunman didn’t waste a bullet, just slammed the heavy handgun against his head, so hard it cracked the skull and indented the bone. He pocketed the key remote and hefted the body into the trunk. Climbed into the driving seat and switched on the state of the art satnav. The directions for the Newport Plaza were a breeze, and he started the engine and drove away. Soon it would be over. It had to be soon, he needed the kill, craved the kill, and the rewards.
* * *
Mason and Cullum had just got back, and were parking up at the rear of the precinct, when the call came in.
“Detectives Mason and Cullum, are you still at your last location? We have reports of a shooting at the Chicago Court. Attend immediately, and be advised we have a SWAT team on the way.”
Cullum glanced at his partner. “Jesus Christ, we just came from there. Is that crazy bastard Rhodes taking the law into his own hands? You warned him, Doug.”
“We’ll go back and see. You’d better head back.”
He acknowledged the dispatcher’s call, and minutes later they pulled up outside the Chicago Court. The newsies were clustered around the entrance, filming everything that moved and plenty that didn’t, like the body stretched out on the floor inside the lobby. Two paramedics were checking the vital signs, and one looked up as they approached and shook his head. A maid came from the staircase, her face ashen.
“I heard shooting on the fifth floor, and I believe one of our maids is up there cleaning the rooms. I didn’t like to go and look, but I think something’s happened.”
Cullum nodded. “We’ll check it out. Did anyone see the shooter?”
A reporter was standing inside the entrance. “We all saw him, clear as day. Big guy, scarred face. Came out of the hotel and walked off with another guy who said he’d give him a lift.”
“How’d you know he was the shooter?”
The eyebrows rose, his expression cynical. “Lemme see now. Oh, yeah, maybe it was the handgun he was carrying, big enough to put a hole in a battleship. Or was it something else?”
Cullum sighed. “Yeah, very funny. Do you know where they were headed?”
“No.”
“Okay, we’ll check it out.”
He ran after Mason, who was gesturing to him from the open doors of the elevator. They rode up to the fifth floor, and it didn’t take long to find the crime scene. The door to a room was open, and a peek through the door was enough for them to see the body of a hotel maid. Mason used his cellphone to call in the crime scene techs to attend the scene when they’d finished in the lobby.
“What about paramedics” the dispatcher cut in.
“A body bag is all they’ll need up here.”
He heard an intake of breath. “Another one? Jesus, what is it today? Do we have a serial killer on the loose?”
“I never heard that serial killer crap,” Mason snapped back. “You want to start a panic, you carry on making that kind of comment. See how long it takes the Chief to come after your ass.”
“Right. I’ll let the crime scene techs know, and the ME.”
Mason ended the call, glanced once again at the body, and nodded to Cullum. “There’s nothing we can do here. It looks like she opened the door, and the shooter blasted her. What need to find this bastard before he does anyone else. Let’s go.”
They made it as far as the lobby, and it was chaos. Filled with TV and newsprint reporters, TV cameras, microphones recorders, it was like a zoo. He bellowed at them to clear the scene, but they ignored him. They were on a good story, and it would take an earthquake to shift them. Or a SWAT team, like the blue minivan pulling up outside the hotel. He pushed through the seething mass of journos and went to meet the SWAT captain, pointed to the lobby, and suggested he cleared the crime scene.
“We’ve been inside, and the shooter is long gone, but you could bust a few heads in there if your boys need to let off steam.”
The man grinned. “Appreciated, we’ll have some fun. Any leads on the shooter?”
“Nope, we’re heading back now, fill in some paperwork. He’ll show up sooner or later, so I wouldn’t stand down, not just yet.”
“You’re sure?”
“With this guy, I’m sure. The bodies will continue to tumble, what I’m asking myself is where?”
* * *
Cris stashed the R8 in the basement parking garage of the Newport Plaza. Truth was, he enjoyed driving the car. The superb acceleration and top speed made it the perfect vehicle if they encountered the shooter again, and he had little doubt they would, real soon. Then again, he just liked the car. Maybe he’d buy one himself. In about fifty years when he’d made a pile of cash. They climbed the staircase, emerged in the lobby, and approached the desk to retrieve her key.
The clerk was staring at the TV screen fastened to the wall, and Maria’s face was ashen as she regarded the image of the hotel they’d just left. The presenter was standing inside the lobby, and in shot the body of a man could clearly be seen.
“Live from the Chicago Court Hotel, we bring breaking news of another shooting. The body of the desk clerk lies feet from where I make this report, brutally gunned down by a man we understand also shot and killed a room maid on the fifth floor. Reports say this man has been identified as the same suspect involved in the killings earlier today at the Newport Plaza. Police are still hunting the suspect, a man easily identified by his scarred face.”
“Cris, we’ve just come from there. That’s your hotel. He found us.”
“Yeah, he did. We must get out of here. If he found us before, he could find us now. You’ll have to hurry. Just grab what you want, and we’re leaving.”
She nodded and asked for her key. The clerk recognized her as being the target of the earlier shooting, and his eyes narrowed. “Were you planning on staying much longer, Miss Tereshkova? We don’t want any more trouble.”
Her expression hardened. “I’ll let you know.”
They took the elevator to her floor. In a little over five minutes she showered and changed her clothes. Dressed in a smart, knee length black cocktail dress, and sensible flat shoes. She put a short woolen jacket over her shoulders, picked up her purse, and announced she was ready to leave.
They walked back to the elevator, and he punched the button for the first floor. His unease was growing. She gave him a wary look.
“Surely he won’t come back to this hotel? The cops are looking for him.”
“I don’t think anything will stop him, not this guy. Wherever you are, he’ll try to find you and kill you. We’ll go direct to City Hall. At least it’ll be surrounded by cops, so you should be safe.”
“But it doesn’t start for several hours.”
“True, but when it’s your turn to speak, you’ll still be alive.”
She didn’t reply at first. They’d reached the first floor and walked out into the lobby, heading for the staircase to the parking garage, close to the front entrance. She stopped, and he looked at her.
“What is it?”
“Are you sure we should take the Audi?”
“Sure? Of course.”
“Only, I would remind you it’s stolen. It’s also very distinctive, so it could be a toss up between who spots it first, the cops or the shooter.”
He shrugged. “It drives like a race car, so we can get away from anything on four wheels.”
She smiled. “I guess that’s why you want to take it. Every boy’s fantasy of being a racing driver.”
“It’s not that at all. We just need the speed,” he finished lamely, which was the truth, but not the whole truth. The car was a dream to drive, and he’d never get the chance again. They started down the staircase.
* * *
The gunman slowed the Dodge Dart as he neared the hotel, deciding to drive past, just in case the cops had staked the place out. He slowed even more and peeked in through the open front entrance. Grunted in satisfaction, he’d come to the right place, they were there. Maria Tereshkova and the man he’d seen with her. Walking through the lobby and they disappeared into a doorway marked ‘Parking Garage.’ He drove around the block, found the entrance to the basement garage, stopped, and climbed out of the Dodge.
* * *
They reached the dimly lit garage and crossed to the far corner where he’d parked the Audi. She started to speak, but the dark shadows made him feel uneasy. If anyone wanted to ambush them and take a shot, they’d have trouble seeing it coming. They were halfway to the vehicle when a tiny ‘scrape’ made him put out a hand to stop her.
“What is it?”
“Quiet. I thought I heard something.”
“I didn’t.” But she spoke in a whisper, and when he took her wrist ready to drag her to safety should it be necessary, he felt the pulse racing through her veins.
They waited and heard the scrape of someone moving again, this time nearer. She slid out the Skorpion from under her jacket and awkwardly pushed the safety to fire, selecting single shot mode, for which he was grateful. Never again would he want to see those young bodies torn to shreds by gunfire, laid out in front of the school like discarded cords of wood. Although he knew the images would never leave him. She pointed the gun to where they’d heard the noise. She held it all wrong, like it was a live serpent in her hands. He doubted she’d hit anything she shot at.
They waited for several minutes, and nothing happened. The scrape wasn’t repeated, and he thought maybe they’d imagined it. He put his head close to hers and whispered, “It may be nothing. We’ll keep going to the car.”
He barely heard the reply. “Yes.”
“And watch what you’re doing with that gun.”
He stepped out and almost ran into him. A huge man, scarred face, and Christ, he was fast, already bringing up the big handgun. Maria screamed, brought up the gun, and…froze. They had less than a second, and he shouted, “Shoot the fucker!”
She didn’t move, and in desperation, he snatched the Skorpion out of her hands.
He moved the muzzle a fraction to take aim and pulled the trigger. One, twice, three times, and with each impact, the big man flinched, and although he dropped the handgun, he didn’t go down. It was the best he could do. The shooter rolled behind a concrete pillar, and he began dragging her toward the Audi.
“We’re leaving, now!”
She was reluctant to leave. “But, you shot him.’
“Three 9mm slugs won’t stop this guy. Run!”
They raced through the dim basement to the Audi. He almost hurled her bodily into the passenger side, ran around, and started the engine as he leapt into the seat. He drove fast up the ramp, and behind him, he saw the big man running after them. The bullets hadn’t slowed him, as he’d feared. Maybe he was wearing a ballistic vest, or maybe the bastard was bulletproof, he didn’t want to stay around to check. The Audi surged up the exit ramp. The barrier was down awaiting the driver to insert a pass card they should have obtained from the desk. The shooter was falling back, but still running. Cris rammed the sports car through the barrier, leaving tangled fragments of plastic behind them.
He swung out onto the street and put his foot on the gas for a second before slowing almost to a stop. The traffic was all around them, and with no way to get through, he had no choice but to slow to less than ten miles an hour. In the mirror, he saw their adversary emerge from the garage entrance, but instead of racing after them, he turned away. At first Cris thought he’d lost them. Then he opened the driver’s door of a Dodge Dart, and second later he was battling through the traffic toward them.
She saw his frown. “Is he still behind us?”
He told her about the car. “If we stay in the traffic, he’ll catch up with us. This guy won’t care who he kills. I’m going to need to carry out some creative driving, so hold on tight.”
“Cris, I’m sorry about the gun. I thought I’d handle it. I just wish there was some way I could stop all this.”
“Forget it and hold on tight.”
He’d seen a gap open as a car took a right turn, and in front him the lane was clear for fifty yards. He stabbed down on the gas, and the R8 shot ahead, just beating a delivery truck who had the same idea. They were doing almost eighty miles an hour when the end of the clear stretch of road came up, and he hit the brake, but the red Dodge Dart was coming up behind them. A side street offered a way out, and he swung into it, kicking down hard on the gas. Eighty yards later the end of the street came up. He’d turned into a dead end. Behind him, he saw the red Dodge turn into the street, and he looked desperately for a way out.
The entrance to a shopping arcade appeared on his left, and he drove straight in. Knowing the shooter would follow, as pedestrians scatted, he shouted, “Out of the way. There’s a runaway car coming through. Clear the street!”
People began to panic, and screams and shouts erupted, echoing from the glass roof of the arcade. He drove through as fast as he could without killing someone. The man behind had no such scruples. The Dodge was coming up fast, and in the mirror he’d twice seen people bowled over, too slow to get out of the way. Then he had to concentrate as he weaved the car through randomly placed restaurant tables set across the end of the arcade. The tables blocked his exit, but when he found a gap with a single empty table, he went for it.
The table and two chairs flew into the air, disappearing behind them as people fled for cover. Some ran into the path of the pursuing Dodge. He swung the wheel over, and he was out of the arcade and back out on the street. He jumped a red light and drove hard for the on-ramp of a freeway. Halfway there, he saw the Dodge emerge from the arcade and head toward them. He kicked down on the gas, seeing a chance to gain on the killer. The Audi accelerated to more than a hundred miles an hour and still accelerated. The Dodge came on, losing ground to the quicker Audi, but not for a moment did he doubt the grim determination of the man stalking them.
The freeway was not busy, and he kept the speed up, hitting a hundred and twenty; and up to one hundred and fifty, weaving in and out of slower moving vehicles. They honked their horns in anger at the crazy, reckless driving, and then cleared the way for the red Dodge coming up fast behind them. It couldn’t last, and the inevitable happened. The wail of a siren, and the blue and red flashing lights appeared in his rear-view mirror. Maria threw a hasty glance behind.
“Cris, they’re behind us.”
“So is our friend in the Dodge. There’s no way I can slow down.”
“They’ll crucify you for driving this fast. You know cops.”
“Yes, I know cops.”
She thought about the Moscow Militia, and their corruption and brutality. Compared to them, American cops were angels, despite their sometimes fearsome reputation. Then again, neither the Moscow Militia nor the Chicago PD could stop the madman behind them. He was like an elemental force, a man who kept coming, no matter what. Even with Cris’ bullets in him, it seemed to make no difference. The solution was staring her in the face.
