- Do you see him? - one grim man asked the other. Instead of answering, the second one put a compact army binoculars with powerful optics and auto-capture to his eyes. He paused, looking at them.
- No, not yet, but I've got a good picture of that cop-girl, so I'll use it to guide me. I hope we don't have an idea to finish her off first.
His friend grinned wryly.
- I'm not playing with her, I'm playing with Castle. She's just an unfortunate temporary nuisance, the sauce to spice things up. But that doesn't mean she's allowed to interfere, because we're all teetering on the edge here, and the slightest step sideways could be fatal. But it's even better: sweet, entertaining and extravaganza, but, I repeat, not a girl is my main goal. So did you check the rig?
- Yeah, but are you sure you want to do this? I don't know if this kind of intimidation is necessary. I mean, a writer can be caught on the street.
- What?! Has anyone got a conscience?! You didn't say that when we roasted the beggar!
- She was stinky and completely worthless. You don't feel sorry for someone like that.
- Well, don't feel sorry for them either. It doesn't make any difference. And remember, you're gonna have to get out of here fast. The cops are gonna get real pissed off and try to give us hell, but you and me, we ain't no suckers. And Castle hasn't gotten his ass handed to him yet...
His partner scratched the back of his head.
- That's what chaos is for, to do evil things. You're wrong about remorse. Obviously, if there's a big mess, it makes our job easier, but I don't feel like scrubbing bloodstains off my shoes...
...Rick looked out the window thoughtfully as they raced toward the blast site, the siren blaring all along the street. His hearing organs seemed to have shut down, and his body was numb and motionless, swaying only occasionally in time with the car. And while Beckett's walkie-talkie was on, Castle's consciousness could hear only scraps of air, in which something unimaginable was going on: loud calls and shouts, inarticulate commands and cursory messages, cracks and creaks, clicks and squeaks, and Beckett, who was quite knowledgeable in the situation, occasionally cut into this information noise, calling numerical codes or simply but succinctly commenting...
Half an hour later, the car finally rolled up to the scene. By that time, the streets in the area of the mall were already blocked, and the abundance of "lighting equipment" was incredibly rippling in the eyes. Police and fire trucks, discreet cars with "blinkers" on the roof, vans of the National Guard and special forces, a slender line of reanimation vehicles, and at once it was impossible to understand who was going where, and who was interacting with whom. Well, except for the paramedics, who just with incredible speed snatched the victims from the hands of rescuers and rushed with all their might to the ambulances waiting for them.
Beckett's car made an ugly U-turn to nestle on a tiny patch of free asphalt, and Rick's stupor subsided at once: he was instantly animated, turning his head to all four sides to get his bearings. And when Beckett struggled to crawl out of her seat, Castle, too, sucked his stomach into his spine and squeezed his way out.
It was about two hundred yards to the mall in a straight line across the square and slightly obliquely across, but even from Beckett's car you could see the ruined corner between the second and third floors, and the jagged break in the facade, from which black smoke was billowing and dark purple plaits of flame were shooting out. It smelled acridly, nauseatingly, of burning.
- Castle! Stay here! - it was Beckett, clenched in her hand token, turned to his partner - her gaze was menacing and adamant, and the characteristic movement of the raised fist symbolically accompanied this adamant message. Kate turned back to Castle only once, but it was impossible to understand what exactly she cared about. That's why Castle habitually decided that after, necessarily and in detail, will finalize the plot, diluting it with shocking nuances, and in the meantime, since the events took such a dramatic turn, it would be worth just watching ...
Rick walked over to the fence tape, behind which the police officers were on duty in a chain - while Beckett was getting the details, it was a good time to look around and watch the firemen as they set up several fire brigades and diligently extinguished the flames from the windows.
As he remembered from the brief historical note included in the abstract of one of his books, the mall building was of little architectural value. Built back in the 70s as a garment factory shop, it had been remodeled many times on the inside to meet the needs of the owners, but had remained virtually unchanged on the outside. The only thing that has been added is inconspicuous cosmetic touches for the freshness of the visuals of the wall panels, small, in the spirit of the era decorative elements of the basement and advertising stretches of new and old tenants. The facade, as before, looked austere, with a minimum of stucco on the huge looking-glass windows, and the teeming crowd of shoppers daily, through the "revolvers" of the entrance doors, penetrated inside, where they spread out as a multicolored surf along the galleries and escalators. And, as a matter of fact, the mall had been an ordinary shopping center for a long time, not big and not small, not super popular, but not the most ordinary either, and, in general, it would be hard to name a reason why the building would want to blow up. That is, unless it's someone's malicious intent or an alien invasion that suddenly missed NORAD...
...and Castle smiled wryly at his colorful but slightly inappropriate fantasy. If only Kate had been there, she would have listened to him and redirected his thoughts in the right direction, and for a moment he would have felt warmer and lighter at heart, and the current phase of creativity would have ignited a lively fire. And when in the neighborhood and suffering and blood, then you should behave and think as required by the circumstances ...
...Castle did not even notice when and how he began to be backed up by the crowd, but for all their trifling interest, the gawkers still left both for firefighters and paramedics small passages. And for better visibility had unceremoniously removed some sweaty and droopy as a fish-eye subject, so that it was possible, standing on tiptoe, to follow Beckett: in the midst of the people's heads on the other side of the fence, her beret shone visibly. But, in principle, Castle roughly so imagined Kate's route: she was moving towards the staff bus, parked on a hill at the edge of the square, just away from the mall. And all Castle had to do was wait, bored and shuffling from foot to foot...
A rumbling, rolling line suddenly pierced the evening air: leaves sprinkled from the tops of the square, pigeons fluttered fearfully, losing those caught in the lead, and another merciless line was already tearing through the advertising panel on the other side of the street, right in front of Beckett's car. Sparks from broken wiring flashed, the "neon" hissed, and a rain of glass and plastic shards rained down on the crowd: the crowd floundered in wild panic, women shrieked, the wounded screamed. And the cops, as if on command, drew their weapons and scattered in a half crouch - some behind the car, some on their knees - not realizing who was shooting and from where. Hid behind the hood of the old "Jetta" and Castle, with dislike and meaningful cursing to himself: this characteristic deadly smack Rick had not heard since the war, and it made the sounds of gunfire seemed wild and unreal. Well, there should not be machine-gun fire on peaceful people, and I wish no one died, and the maniac who unleashed the massacre should be brought to justice. Even if he had his own reasons for the attack.
- Beckett! Damn it! - And Castle grabbed the phone. - There's gunfire! There's people down!
But Beckett immediately dropped the call, and Castle was already mentally rushing with her, to the unknown and ruthless shooter. Especially that and the trajectory of the shots pointed to about the fifth floor of the corner building that triangle rose directly above the square and opposite the mall. And how great it was that, despite the danger, people rushed to help each other: giving friendly shoulders to the fallen, tearing shirts and sweaters to shreds, bandaging wounds from glass and lead ricochet, or simply holding hands. Some were calling loudly for police and medics, forgetting that they were all nearby, and Rick chewed his lip nervously, keeping his eyes on the window: if the bastards fired again, he'd scream loudly and save someone. Yes, he could have rushed to Beckett's aid, right now, but given her hard, dagger-like stare, he shouldn't have done it for no reason. And so Castle's compassionate nature, after some hesitation, indulged in the skill of bandaging, clamping bleeding wounds and soothing, soothing, soothing. Not everyone had been under fire in their lives, and not everyone had been hit by a silent bullet. And not everyone has fallen into a ravine with water, in a bloodstained shirt and darkened eyes. And he who despised death and risked his life for his friends and country understood better than anyone else the horror and consequences of what was happening here. There's the chance of a surgical emergency. This and the shaft of appeals to shrinks, real mad or unconsciously pretending clients, with their psychological twists and gloomy facial expressions. It's the weakness in your arms and legs when you realize that death has whizzed by and you're alive and optimistic about the future. And it all crashes into the consciousness for a long time, and the body and hands remember, although the mind refuses to accept...
- Come on...- Rick waved sluggishly to the paramedics shoving the gurney into the car. - It's going to be okay...
He looked at his watch: it had been no more than twenty minutes since the shooting, and it seemed like a lifetime. And stumbling to the other side of the street, and wiping the sweat from his face with his wrist, Castle wished, each and every one of them, to stay alive in the end. Because a priori they are not guilty that they came just to stare (such is human nature!), and no crazy maniac to punish them for it. But Beckett will have more work to do, and with it, more material for him. Just don't say anything to Mom and Alix, and he's a master of colorful explanations...
Rick made his way to a relatively empty seat and reached into his pocket for his phone: his message should reassure Beckett that she'd find it right where she'd left it.
With shaking fingers, Castle began to type, and at that moment someone stopped from behind. Breathed hotly into the back of his neck, coughed softly, and in that instant Rick felt a prick. Then he was dragged somewhere: his eyes immediately swam, the ground became unsteady, and the hard bottom of a car seemed softer than fluff.