Chapter 55

CHAPTER 55

D EVINE AND JACKSON RAN DOWN the alley while gunfire chased them. They turned a corner and were, for the moment, out of the field of fire. The area they were in was deserted, as far as Devine could tell. However, the fog had thickened, the temperature had dropped, and it was hard to see more than a few feet in any direction.

Devine looked around. “Okay, let’s get behind that wall over there and see if whoever was shooting at us shows themselves.”

Their guns at the ready, the pair eyed the foggy area in front of them from the relative safety of the wall. When Devine slipped out his phone Jackson asked, “Who are you calling?”

“Nine-one-one.”

“Don’t bother. Whoever’s out there will be long gone by the time they get here.”

“But the sirens might scare them off.”

“I’d actually rather try to find out who they are, wouldn’t you?” pointed out Jackson. “And I would really rather not have to answer uncomfortable questions from Seattle’s finest.”

This gave him pause and he looked back out to the fog as he heard footsteps.

In a low voice he said, “The witnesses against Glass were taken out by snipers operating on the extreme edge of long-range shooting.”

“Well, at least there are too many buildings in the way here for them to line up a shot from two miles away.”

“You know about long-range killing.”

Jackson eyed the foggy darkness. “The more you know, the fewer surprises life holds, Devine. And in our line of work, I don’t much care for surprises. And just for the record, CIA deployed some of the best snipers in the world by poaching from the military and foreign sources. And women make extremely deadly snipers. Fine motor skills and attention to detail. It’s evolutionary, from picking all those berries, taking care of babies, and sewing all those clothes, while the men were out chucking spears at mastodons.”

“You always make small talk while someone’s trying to kill you?” he said.

“Also evolutionary, women can multitask .”

As soon as she said this, Jackson took aim and fired three rounds. An instant later they both heard someone scream out in pain.

Devine now saw the nearly invisible target, who had been lurking behind a trash can with his gun pointed at them. The man leapt up and staggered away, dragging his left leg behind him, and slipped into an alley.

“I didn’t think CIA spent much time on weapons training,” he said.

“After I escaped from my hellhole, I mapped out every skill I’d need to survive. So I spent considerable time training with one of the best shots in the world. She taught me a lot.”

“Congrats, now stay here,” instructed Devine.

“I can take care of myself,” she snapped. “I did shoot him.”

“You’re my cover. Anybody else goes into that alley, shoot them, too. I’ll see you back here.”

Before she could answer, Devine was sprinting off into the fog line.

For a moment Devine did think about the wisdom of exposing his back to a crack shot, but after a few moments he was at the mouth of the alley and out of her line of fire. Part of him wanted to call Braddock, but he knew that the woman back there would see that as a stark betrayal when he desperately needed her help to get to the bottom of this.

He eyed the length of the dirty alley. Trash cans, Dumpsters, recycling bins. Various tradesmen entrances. So lots of places to hide and then leap out and shoot. Even for someone wounded.

He moved forward cautiously, his old training kicking in. Devine was focused on his sense of hearing. Wounded people could not remain entirely quiet, no matter how tough or well trained. The brain did its own thing when the body was in pain. It let you know. And it let others know.

And that’s when he heard it. A moan, a low one, but clearly there, along with a few choice expletives.

He slowly moved down the alley. When Devine heard the sob, he hurried forward and then stopped. Up ahead was a Dumpster.

Devine called out, “I’m with Homeland Security. Throw out your weapon and come out, hands above your head, fingers interlocked. Do it now, or I can’t guarantee your safety. And I’ll get medical treatment for your wound.”

Devine waited, his pistol at the ready. There was no way, really, to predict how these things would turn out. You just had to be ready for all scenarios.

Three seconds later he heard a shot. It didn’t come at him. It didn’t ricochet off the wall.

“Shit.”

He rushed forward and poked his gun and then himself around the edge of the Dumpster.

The man was lying face up on the asphalt and next to bags of trash that had overflowed from the Dumpster.

The gun was in his hand. His leg was bloody, from Jackson’s shot. But that hadn’t killed him. The self-administered gunshot to his right temple had.

Devine knelt down to get a closer look. He knew that man. Well, he recognized him.

It wasn’t one of Danny Glass’s men.

It was one of the police officers who had followed him around Ricketts.

When he ran back to tell Jackson all this, the woman was no longer there.