Chapter 20: the friends I told you about; number three;
Bronx apartment, same day
Rosa's eyes opened, and for a moment she was confused where she was. Then she realized she'd fallen asleep in the living room. It seemed like something had wakened her – a sound. She thought she'd heard a noise in the apartment – and there it was again. Voices. Maybe there was trouble with her guests; she'd better go check on them.
But as she sat herself up on the couch there was movement in the darkness near her front door. She flinched. Someone was standing there, feet away – someone in her house. Her heart grabbed in her chest and she found herself rising up to defend herself.
But before she could holler for help, he stepped forward from the shadows – holding his hands out as though he didn't want her to be frightened. He was gesturing, speaking English, walking toward her. She didn't understand the words, and she backed away. At the same moment, there was noise in the hallway. Rosa swung her head that way and saw more people coming down the hall.
She recognized the injured woman, Abbey, carried like dead weight in the arms of a second man. Two women followed after; her guest, Mellie, was one and the other she didn't know. They spoke together intently as though they knew each other. Rosa was relieved for the moment. They all seemed to know each other. She and her family were not in danger after all.
The tall one at the front door took another step toward her, saying something in English that she didn't catch. Mellie looked up and realized she was there in the living room, with the tall stranger.
"Rosa, it's okay," she said in Spanish. Mellie walked away from the others and straight to Rosa. The two sat back down on the couch and Mellie grabbed for Rosa's hands. She smiled a tired smile at the older woman. The tall man from the front door moved next to them to listen. In Spanish he heard her say:
"These are the friends I told you about, Rosa. They came to move us to a safe place to help Abbey. She is feeling very bad now." Root did the best she could in Spanish, trying to make Rosa understand. The people in her apartment were here to help the two of them. Rosa nodded then. She understood.
"What can I do to help?" Rosa said, and Root smiled at her, again.
"You did too much already," Root whispered. In the hallway behind them, Root could hear the sound of Rosa's family, wakened from their rooms by the noise in Rosa's bedroom. Rosa waved them off, telling them everything was okay and she would explain in a few minutes. They stayed there, watching everything unfold.
The Team had found the apartment where the two of them, Root and Sameen, had holed up with Rosa and her family. They'd come in quietly in the middle of the night looking for the two of them, not sure what they'd find.
Sameen, or Abbey as Rosa knew her, had tried to protect Root from whatever the sounds were in the hallway. Neither one of them had a clue who it was out there coming into their room, unannounced. But once she'd tried to stand up, Sameen had passed out and hit the floor. Root was worried – they needed to get her back to the safe house and find out what was wrong.
Sameen had lost a lot of blood today. And Root kept thinking of what Sameen had said before. The bullet had broken her collarbone. There were blood vessels nearby, she'd said. If she didn't keep her arm stable, the sharp ends could puncture them and make her bleed inside where they couldn't see. Root's worry started to turn to alarm.
Root lifted Rosa's hands in hers. "We have to go now."
The two women stood, and Rosa pulled Root against her. She hugged her shoulders and kissed her on the side of her cheek. "God be with you, Mellie. And with Abbey, too."
Root backed away, mouthing thanks to her in Spanish. The tall man at her side followed, and Rosa watched the two of them head for her kitchen and the back door. The others were well ahead.
In a moment she followed after, gathering her family standing in the hallway. The little troupe stopped on the tiled floor outside the kitchen. It was cold out there, and Rosa hugged herself, standing at the opening next to the heavy drape. She watched them move off through the darkened lot. The lights in the parking lot were out, but she could just make out the shape of a white van on the street beyond. Rosa watched them lift the wounded woman into the van; then the rest of them, one by one, climbed in. Root turned back to see if she had followed. They waved to one another one last time, and then Root climbed in and closed the door.
"I'll drive," Harper said, and pulled off her cap. She jumped forward into the front seat, while the others in the back worked on Shaw. Joey slid her from his arms onto one of the seats at the side of the van. Logan grabbed for a heavy blanket folded on the floor. He leaned forward and handed it to Root. She shook it open over the top of Sameen, while Joey checked her pulse. Too fast, and not very strong. Her skin felt cold and clammy. Joey was sure her pressure was low, too. He'd seen it before, overseas, when he was deployed: when guys were wounded, bleeding bad, they looked like this.
"Lift her legs up on something," he said, and Logan searched around him for something to use. A heavy box, full of keyboards and computer parts; he lifted it up on the seat, and slid it in under Shaw's legs. Root adjusted the blanket over her, again.
"How is she now?" Root said.
"Shocky," Joey said. He looked over at Finch, sitting in the shadows, concern in his eyes.
"The nearest trauma center. We'll head there instead. We're not going to lose her," Finch said. He turned to tell Harper, but she was already on it. The van sped through the streets, sliding through traffic even at this time of the night. Finch weighed contacting Mr. Reese. Having him meet them at the hospital would give them added security from the people who had gone after Miss Shaw and Miss Groves. On the other hand, he risked divulging their location and destination.
He made his decision and picked up his cell, tapping out this message to Mr. Reese:
CIP 1111
Midtown Manhattan safe house:
Reese was just finishing his preparations. He'd slept fitfully for a few hours, but then woke to his cellphone going off. When he saw who it was, he was tempted to take the call right then. He'd held the phone in his hand, staring at the screen, feeling the buzz in his palm. Every fiber of him wanted to answer that call, to answer as though everything was fine there on the East Coast, as though he wasn't waiting in a safe house for wounded coming in any minute.
But he'd closed his eyes, instead, and let it go on buzzing until it stopped. Then he watched for any message from the caller. No message. Matt would call again; Reese was sure of it. Things were going to get complicated now. Discovering the family he never knew he had was something Reese hadn't expected. And once he'd known, he realized it was only a matter of time before he was exactly in this place: choosing. Choosing which man he was going to be.
Could he keep these two lives separate? And for how long? But instead of thinking any more about it, he'd set himself to work.
Shaw had a closet full of supplies, and he stepped into it, pulling out what he thought she'd need, memorizing what was there and where it was, in case he needed something later in a hurry. She'd crammed a lot of stuff into this walk-in closet. He hoped they wouldn't need much of it.
Reese grabbed what he'd seen her use in the past, not only for the times she'd put him back together again, but when she'd worked on some of the others, too. He pulled out a box of gauze pads, a bottle of dark brown antiseptic, some packages of sutures, a bag of IV fluid and the tubing, some IV catheters, syringes, blue drapes, gloves. She had a drawer full of sterile instruments in clear packages. He rifled through them, looking for the ones he thought she might need and pulled a few of them out for her. Then he carried all of it into one of the bedrooms where they'd set up something like a mini hospital room. There were overhead hooks on a pole to hang fluids, and tanks of oxygen corralled in a corner, with a strap across the front so they didn't fall over and launch one of them through the apartment walls like a rocket. He laid out the supplies and instruments on a tall metal roll-around tray like they had in the hospital. Shaw liked everything laid out right where she needed it when she worked. She was like a machine.
Just then, he felt his cell buzzing again, and pulled it out. He swiped the screen and saw the message Finch had sent: CIP 1111. He looked up for a moment – Change In Plans, 1111. The number was their designation for a destination hospital. Things had gone bad then, he thought. They were bailing on their plans to come to the safe house. If they were letting him know, then they wanted him there, too. He frowned, thinking of who it might be and how bad it was that they couldn't deal with it here. He turned around and headed for the front of the apartment, grabbing his heavy coat, and sliding his gun into his holster.
Outside, the wind hadn't let up. It was cold and heartless, penetrating through his coat and stinging his face and hands. He hustled down the street away from the deli, back toward the garage where he'd parked before.
This was no commercial parking garage. Finch had bought the building years ago and had turned it into office space at the top, and floors of parking below, just one of such buildings he owned, scattered around Manhattan. They stored vehicles, motorcycles, and some gear and weapons in these strategic locations.
Just as he was getting to the garage, his cell went off again in his pocket. He had to open his coat to get to it, and the wind cut in through the opening, punishing him. He cupped the cell in his hands against the stinging wind.
UA OTW
Reese dropped the cell into his outside pocket and started running for the entrance of the garage. Inside, he headed for a bin with a sloping cover hanging on one wall. It looked like a feed bin in the barn on a farm. He slid his finger into a black reader on one side and heard the click of the locks opening.
Under the lid he reached in for a long heavy case, and lifted it up. Metal clacked inside the case. Reese hoisted it over his shoulder and hustled toward one of the vehicles, sliding the case inside. The key was in the middle console between the front seats. He started her up and put it into drive, then jerked forward through the double wide doors, out onto the street. He watched the doors close behind him after he tripped the circuit driving through. Reese swung to the left and drove half a dozen more blocks, turning left again, heading the wrong way down the side street.
Reese looked at his watch. Still time. He unzipped the case next to him. It barely fit inside the cab of his truck – the long, heavy fluted barrel of this fight-ender. The M82 sniper rifle was more than a match for anything headed his way. It could take out a golf ball-sized target nearly two miles away. Power and accuracy.
Reese thought about the message on his cell. Things had changed again. The van had come under attack – UA – and they were on the way – OTW – to him. He was going to put up a diversion with his sniper rifle, to give his Team some cover. They just needed to get near him and he'd take care of the rest. He checked his watch again. It was time.
He slid out of his seat and pulled the long barrel out of its case. He wouldn't need the tripod. The side of his truck would support the heavy barrel. He pulled the ammo box out of the truck and snapped it in place underneath. It would give him ten rounds. More than enough to end this.
His hands were cold, and he could barely feel the iron sights as he swung them up into place. Reese leaned down and looked through the scope. Thanks to the streetlights, he could see as if it were daylight on the street. Any minute, they'd be coming into view. If they hadn't been able to shake the bad guys and were still being chased, then he had the answer. He'd stop them in their tracks with a shot through the engine block. The round from this rifle would make a mess of things inside an engine, and his Team could get away. He'd cover them until they got to safety blocks behind him at the safe house.
A cab drove by every so often, unaware of him parked on the side street, but otherwise the street was empty of traffic. Through the scope, Reese saw a white van fly through a red light and turn, coming his way. He leaned into the stock and pulled it back hard against his shoulder.
That must be them.
Reese saw the van accelerate, and then behind it, two black SUVs rounded the same corner, swinging wide, accelerating in his direction. He could see flashes of light, gunfire, from the windows of the SUVs. Reese aimed at one of them and waited for it to swing out from behind the white van. As soon as he could take the shot, he squeezed it off and felt the stock slam back against his shoulder. The thunder-clap sound of it reverberated in the canyon of buildings around him.
Through the scope he saw the hit. The front panel exploded apart, and the hood flew up and backwards toward the windshield. Clouds of steam and fluid gushed from the engine as it lurched and rolled forward to a stop. A door opened and smoke came billowing out.
He switched back to the chase. The white van was swerving, keeping the SUV from pulling alongside. Reese leaned in again, sighting through the scope. The van kept swinging in front of the SUV. It was going to be a risky shot. If it swerved the wrong way, his shot would take out the van instead of the SUV. He steadied the rifle and took a breath, then let it out and held it. The van swung into his line of sight, pushing the SUV off again from pulling alongside, and white flashes lit up on the near side. The van swung away from the shots and that was all he needed. He squeezed off his shot and felt the shock of the recoil and the sound thundering around him.
In the scope he could see the SUV careening off to one side, steaming and gushing fluid under the engine block. It ended up stopping in the intersection of a side street. He could see men jumping out of it, bending forward, down on their knees.
With the scope, he returned to the white van. Still rushing his way. He swung back along the street behind it with the scope, looking for another SUV. There should be another one. Two chasers and one backup if the chasers failed. The van was coming fast, and Reese didn't see anyone else. He lifted the barrel from the side of his truck and slid the rifle into the cab. He jumped in, yanking it into drive as the van passed him. He screeched out behind it, following closely, and blocks down, it pulled to one side in front of the building with the safe house. Reese pulled in behind it at an angle into the street, blocking it from traffic coming up behind them. He jumped out on his side, and ran up to the driver's side. Harper was there, pushing her door open. Reese backed up, and grabbed the handle of the back door just as it was opening from the inside. Reese had his weapon out, pointing it up to the sky, looking inside the darkened van.
"I'll cover you. Go!" he said, and he stepped out between the van and his truck into the street, watching for any sign of more coming their way. Logan and Joey lifted someone wrapped in a blanket out of the back and across the sidewalk, into the front of the building. He saw a woman's figure jump out and race inside after them. Then Finch got out next. Reese made eye contact with him before he turned and headed for the building. Harper came around the back and slammed the doors closed. She headed toward him.
"I'm gonna keep driving, and take anyone else coming with me," she said. Reese nodded. He stopped her by grabbing her arm as she started to turn away.
"Who?" he said in his whisper-voice. She looked up at him, and then understood what he was asking. Her brow furrowed.
"Shaw."
Harper could see the look in his eyes and his lips tighten.
"How bad?" he shot at her. She shook her head, her eyes refusing to look at his. His hand clamped on her arm.
"She's bad, Reese."
He looked up the front of the building at the window where the apartment was, and she saw him shiver for a second. His face and eyes went dead, and a look came over him like she'd never seen before. It gave her the creeps. Like some wild thing, deadly and utterly soul-less had taken over inside him.
Whatever that was, she had no wish to hang around. She turned, and pulled her arm away from him, rushing for the driver's side of the van. A moment later, she was pulling away from the curb, leaving Reese there in the street. He jumped into the truck and pulled forward, swinging left around the next corner, then heading back for the garage.
He had an uneasy feeling. Where was number three?
