Chapter 46: same distance between them; The one-eyed cop; according to plan; Got another one;
JFK airport, January, 2015
Harper swung onto the ramp in her heavy rig. The choppy pavement at the top made it tip a little side-to-side, so she kept the speed down in this part. With her siren wailing and with lights strobing all over the damn rig, you'd think people would notice and get out of the way. But she was on the horn, sounding the whoop-whoop over the top of the siren, too, just to get their attention. People didn't seem to know the proper etiquette for emergency vehicles any more, or maybe they just didn't care. They couldn't be bothered to move to the side and let her pass.
So Harper swung her rig far to the right side and bounced along in the breakdown lane, alongside traffic heading northbound. Once she'd cruised off the ramp and onto the highway in the breakdown lane, she opened it up and made it look like a real emergency run; that seemed to get a little more respect.
In the back of the rig, Joey had stowed the transport basket, and then he'd taken a seat to watch traffic behind them. They needed to track whether any of Greer's men might have followed from the airport. Too soon to tell yet. But the further along they drove, the clearer it would get if they had a tail on them. He'd stay there in the back for now and keep an eye on things until they could stop somewhere up ahead.
Sitting there, Joey noticed a smear of blood on his scrubs. Didn't think it was his. But he straightened his legs out in front to have a look. Lots of blood spatters and even a tear over a knee on one of his pant legs. It must have been from hauling that policewoman off the stairway, he thought. He'd seen the flight attendant out there struggling with her, and he'd jumped in to help.
What was her name? Right, Hope. He remembered the shock on her face when the cop collapsed on the stairs. At first they didn't have any idea what'd happened, but then when she turned over, there was blood all over her thigh and a hole there in her pant leg. He'd seen the same thing before, too many times, in the war. She'd been shot. When he thought about it, it could have been any of them. He didn't remember hearing the shot, and didn't know where it'd come from. They could have picked off anyone out there.
That flight attendant, Hope, had been so focused on dragging the cop back inside, that it took her a minute to notice him. As far as she'd known, he was one of the crew from the ambulance. So, what was he doing there, still inside the jet? And if he was there, then who was out there carrying Reese to the ambulance? Joey had seen it all flash into her eyes. In that split-second, he'd made the decision to bail – they'd started closing the stairway to seal it off. So he'd either have to jump for it, or stay behind and try to explain – to a bunch of people who'd just witnessed a cop getting shot. He jumped.
The plan had always been for him to walk off the plane while everyone else was busy with the Customs guy and getting Reese out to the ambulance as fast as they could. They'd been told that things had gone bad on his trip home from overseas and he needed to get to surgery right away or he might lose his leg. Inside the jet, Reese was lying in a room in the back. The cop and the Customs guy were in there checking how bad it looked and getting the signatures. It was the cop who met him at the hatch then and okayed his crew to carry Reese out. The faster he got to the ambulance, the faster he'd get to surgery.
Customs had finished up with Reese and the Nigerian 'Medic' flying with him by then. So when all the airport people left Reese alone in the room, that's when everyone on the Team switched places. Harper got into the transport basket instead of Reese; the Nigerian put on her hat and jacket and took her place on the crew. And he and Reese switched places as the second crewman. Then they just picked up the transport basket with Harper inside. She covered herself up with some blankets; and with the hats and heavy jackets on, no one could tell that the ambulance crew were any different than the ones who'd come onboard.
Up front, everyone else left inside the jet had cleared the aisles, so the three of them passed right through. The cop was out there on the stairway, chatting away with the flight attendant. They'd never even noticed the difference. Joey smiled. It'd almost worked perfectly. But once the cop dropped on the stairs, everything changed after that and he'd needed to improvise. Still, they'd all made it out okay, except for the cop.
All the adrenaline was starting to wear off now, and Joey noticed a little pain around his arm and a knee. As he discovered, leaping off the jet in his scrubs and landing on the tarmac had made a mess of his elbow and knee, but it looked worse than it really was. Lucky he was inside an ambulance. There must be something around to clean himself up.
Joey checked through the back window first to see if anyone was following. Maybe something back there going on. Then he stood as best he could with the bumpy ride and started searching through cabinets for supplies: a little saline on a wad of gauze to clean off the dirt and pebbles, then something a little stronger for the germs. It wasn't bleeding much any more but he threw a couple of bandages over the top for good measure.
By the time he looked back to the traffic, Joey was definitely seeing something. One of the cars back there seemed like it was tracking along with them. He reached back and banged on the wall between Harper and him. Her voice came over the speaker in the back.
"How's it goin' back there, Chief?"
"Think we might have some company. Gray sedan, Jersey plates," he said.
"OK. Let's take 'em for a ride, then, and find out," she said. Joey heard the engine crank louder. His ride got more jarring back where he was, but he'd jumped to a better seat, so he wasn't getting thrown all over the place when Harper hit the potholes out there. He stared through the back window again.
That gray sedan had pulled out and matched speeds with them again, keeping the same distance between them.
Further back, a black SUV weaved along, just a little faster than the traffic nearby. The two occupants inside couldn't see the ambulance up ahead yet, but Logan had them on his screen, a blue dot blinking along on the roadway. Fusco kept his eye on the traffic around them, as he left the airport further and further behind.
If Greer's people had missed the transfer happening outside the Terminal, it'd be harder for them to catch any of the Team now. They might have been inside waiting for the Nigerian to show up at Customs – any International Flight would've had to pass through Customs. But Fusco counted at least two of them who'd figured it out – the guy he'd stopped in the woods, hoofing it over through the trees; and then there was someone else – the one who'd taken the shot at the cop. Maybe more, but he hadn't heard about anyone else yet.
Thanks to Finch and Shaw's phone call, Customs had come out to them in the plane – because the word was that the patient on-board, Reese, had supposedly taken a turn for the worse on his way home. He needed to get to surgery right away. That was their story, and it seemed like everything had worked out right in the jet. Customs came and went, and the rest of the crew inside moved out of the way for Reese getting carried out on the stretcher.
The Team'd had the chance to switch places inside, so Reese and the Nigerian got out un-noticed. But, while they were coming down the steps off the jet, someone, somewhere took a shot at the cop. Joey got stuck inside the jet then, and all hell broke loose after that. Cops and Security were coming in from all directions, the pilot closed the hatch to protect the crew inside, and the Customs agent panicked and took off for the Terminal. If Joey hadn't jumped when he did, he'd still be back there in the jet. Smart move, he thought.
Anyone watching outside would've thought the Nigerian escaped in the ambulance or maybe in his black SUV. It was the obvious thing to think, Fusco reasoned. So, any chase after that from Greer's people would have to be going for the decoys, not Shaw – who had the real targets with her. It'd been a quick thing to drop them off at her car, on the way out of the airport. Fusco smiled. He felt pretty good about the way it all went down. Except for the cop.
He thought about her, taking one in the leg like that. She'd be out for quite a while with that kind of thing. What popped into his head was that maybe she'd end up on departmental disability for a while, like him. You never can tell how bad it might be nowadays; high-powered rifles and all the other military gear out there on the streets. Like a war zone sometimes.
He touched the black patch over his right eye. Most of the time he didn't think about it much. Could have been a career-ending thing for him. But after all the drama when HR got exposed and taken down, the department had lost a lot of men in the sweep. The brass needed something to show to the public, something to take their minds off all the stories about corruption and dirty cops. They'd called him in for a meeting and he'd been expecting they'd want his badge, or worse.
And damn if they hadn't kicked him upstairs with a promotion, instead. Cop, injured in the line of duty, and they'd made him seem like some kind of hero "for his work breaking up the Zheng street gang in Queens," "for his quick-thinking in the hospital shoot-out in Manhattan," and mostly, for taking down the sonofabitch who took out his partner.
He'd had his fifteen minutes of fame after that and the new job, if he wanted it. No more pounding the streets any more as a Detective; he'd be pushing paper and herding patrolmen instead. A Sergeant. They'd given him some time to think about it, while he was still out getting the last work done on his eye.
The doctors had told him they weren't holding out much hope for it this time.
Hard to accept. The one-eyed cop.
Primary Safe-house, Manhattan, January, 2015
Finch sat in front of his laptop screen, in his room at the end of the hall. He wished he could say that things had calmed down now, but tension was still high. Their Team had accomplished the first part of the mission, but it remained to be seen whether there would be any more trouble with Greer. He'd done everything he could think of to protect his Team, but Greer was smart, experienced in the field, and even if he didn't have Samaritan, he always seemed to come up with something.
Team One had the ambulance, and they'd left the airport in a hurry. No one would argue with that. There was a badly injured man in the back, on his way to the OR as soon as they could get him there. So, if they hadn't waited around for police after what'd happened at the jet, Finch was sure they'd understand the situation. He wasn't expecting police to go after them. And if Greer was back there looking for escapees from the jet, the ambulance would be decoy # 1.
Team Two had left the scene next, with a small detour just long enough to drop off Mr. Reese and his guest at the real getaway car, with Miss Shaw. If all had gone as planned, no one had seen that happen and the black SUV would be decoy # 2. And even if the police chased after them, they'd find no one in the car who looked suspicious, just friends of the injured man in the ambulance. Perfectly reasonable for friends to be following the ambulance.
For their return trip to Manhattan, Mr. Pierce had taken the job of monitoring the two Teams and the traffic around them on the highways, while Detective Fusco drove their SUV. Finch, himself, would keep the drones flying patterns overhead all the way into Manhattan. The drones and the Machine would assist with checking the safety of the routes ahead, coordinating communications, and anticipating possible ambushes along the way. Just because Samaritan wasn't in the picture, it didn't mean Greer would be lacking resources, or motivation. If he'd gone all the way to Nigeria for this man, he wouldn't be giving up on him without a fight.
On his screen, in the third thumbnail window there, Finch checked on the progress Miss Shaw had made. Her eyes seemed to be tracking everywhere at once: watching traffic around her, watching the screen next to her steering wheel, with her own set of thumbnail windows, and occasionally, slipping a glance toward Mr. Reese in the passenger seat. Finch smiled to himself. He wondered how that was working out – Miss Shaw driving and Mr. Reese not. It was well-known among them that her driving style was, well, forceful.
His eyes left them and settled on Team One – Miss Rose and Mr. Durban – who were riding in the ambulance. Only Miss Rose was visible on his screen at the moment. She seemed engrossed in her driving, but didn't give any impression of stress or concern. Presumably, Mr. Durban was in the rear and watching for anyone following their vehicle.
Team Two appeared equally engrossed and unconcerned on his screen. No one had called in with any updates about traffic on the roads or overhead. There were no road accidents or construction delays up ahead. All looked like clear sailing. Everything was proceeding according to plan.
Why was it, then, that he had the feeling something was about to happen?
Long Island Expressway, Queens, January, 2015
"Are you seeing anything weird on that thing?" Fusco asked, turning to Logan in the passenger seat.
"Define weird," he said, staring at his screen. Two gray sedans, nose to tail, passed their car on the right side like they were standing still. Logan looked over at Fusco.
"That might be normal. Nothing on my screen. Better call it in," Logan murmured. At first he was going to use the car phone, but then decided to use his cell instead. He clicked Finch's number and waited.
"Yes, Mr. Pierce."
"Do you have anything on two gray sedans, passing us on the right 2 seconds ago, going at least a hundred miles an hour? Jersey plates, so that could be normal," he said, shrugging. There was a pause while Finch accessed the data.
"Take a look," Fusco said. And Logan looked in his side-view mirror at a lone gray sedan screaming past them in the right lane. Jersey plates.
"Got another one, just passed us, Finch," he said.
