We were sitting silently on the bed, drinking another coffee we’d made with the in-room kettle, and thinking, when both of our heads shot round in unison to face the room’s back door: we’d suddenly heard a shuffling just beyond.
Fifteen minutes ago, we’d turned off the television, and shut the laptop, to give us some silence – which had made hearing the noise possible. The room was small – the front entrance led straight into the bedroom, which contained a double bed. On the left-hand wall near the back of the room was a door to a small, windowless bathroom. On the far wall, a door that led out to a run-down patio. And now it sounded like someone was just outside.
My first thought, confusion. Might this just be some civilian or motel staff? Or had Yuelin somehow hunted us down? Or had the FBI found me?
My second thought, survival.
They still had the element of surprise. But we’d been given a brief moment’s notice. And that could make all the difference.
I stood, took the Walther out of my pocket and started moving to the door. As I did so, I glanced over my shoulder. Ellen had also taken out her gun, and was crouching behind the bed. A wise move: it would shield her, but also allow her to sneak-attack anyone coming through the front entrance.
In the back of my mind, I registered I was still clutching the coffee in my left hand.
Then, no more than three seconds after we’d heard the noise, and just as I’d reached the wall directly by the door, the door smashed off its hinges.
The next moment, two bodies burst over the threshold. Both in khaki police uniforms: the uniform of the Californian State Police. And that meant they were trained. More so than your local police-officers.
And both holding Sig Sauer pistols. Which meant they were dangerous.
Yet while they were a real threat, I knew I had to disarm them without inflicting lethal harm. After all, these were undoubtedly innocent guys just following orders.
Before the one at the front had even registered me to his side, I smashed my pistol down on his wrist. He yelled, unloaded a bullet into the wall, just above Ellen’s head, and dropped the pistol. Almost in the same moment, without even thinking about it, he launched himself at me. As he did so, I saw the second guy behind pivot to face me – so I flung the hot coffee at his gun-wielding arm.
But though I heard him scream and swear, I couldn’t see if he’d dropped the weapon. Because a half-second later, the first guy was the only thing I could see – he’d basically fallen on me, trying to grapple me.
He was a big guy, strong; but on the plus side, not only was he blocking the second guy’s line of fire, but he was also still disoriented. I needed to capitalize. I smashed my shoe down on his toe, and he puffed out air in pain and loosened his grip. Then I managed to draw a half-step back, free my left arm, and swing my elbow into his jaw.
His eyes swiveled into the back of his head as his brain bounced around in the cerebrospinal fluid, and he collapsed in a floppy heap.
But before I could draw breath, the second guy was up in my grill, much faster than I’d expected. And though he didn’t seem to have his gun – I’d no idea where it’d gone – he did have a taser. And no sooner did I see it than the prongs hit my neck, and fifty thousand volts surged agonizingly through my body, and I went to ground in wide-eyed convulsions.
I was conscious, but completely at his mercy. He leaned over me with detached curiosity like he was watching a wounded animal.
Then, all at once, his body jolted: his eyes bulged, jaw slackened, and he collapsed on top of me, disengaging the Taser in the process.
For a moment, I was thinking nothing – just processing the pain. And then I understood: Ellen had knocked him out. A few seconds later, she rolled him off me.
‘You okay?’
I looked at her a few moments, then nodded. But then, before I could say anything, I could hear out front, the sound of vehicles arriving. It wasn’t a loud noise, but it sounded like perhaps four cars arriving in the car-park: I couldn’t see, since we’d shut the curtains. And suddenly I realized that I had in fact heard the first car arrive five minutes ago, but hadn’t given it a second thought.
My gut lurched. A world of trouble was gathering outside.
‘Turn on the TV.’
Ellen did. The news was on the screen an instant later. And it was bad.
Ellen Kelden, of Los Angeles, had been named as a key suspect in the assassination attempt. Her face was on the right-hand of the screen – the photo that’d been on her UCLA card. Her name spelt across the bottom.
Ellen’s face blanched. Pure panic.
I said: ‘They’ve done it to get to me. They can’t announce me as wanted; but they knew there was a good chance I was with you. And there’s more police outside. I imagine the motel manager squealed and the message went to every relevant law enforcement agency. California State Police car must’ve been the nearest. Outside, probably Fresno Police Department. Come to offer backup.’
‘So what do we do?’
I forced my brain into action. ‘They both entered via the back. That means they almost certainly put a metal bar across the front door without us noticing, so we wouldn’t have been able to exit had we tried.’
I paused. I knew we couldn’t sneak away via the backdoor: there was no route that didn’t go through the main car-park out front.
‘Where did you park your car?’ I asked, suddenly realizing I hadn’t seen the Roadmaster out front.
‘Round the corner. Just as a precaution – in case the guy we bought it from talked.’
I nodded. ‘Right, here’s the plan – though it’s just about lunacy. I strip off one of these officers, put on his uniform, and pocket one of their IDs and their car-keys while you pack up everything you need into the valise. Then I walk you out, like I’ve just arrested you. Then we drive round the corner, dump the car, and pick up the Roadmaster. I reckon we have a window of time: they will’ve seen the bar on the door and the squad car, and will want to give the state police some time to do their job.’
‘Will it work?’
‘It’ll work,’ I said, as convincingly as I could.
At that – with the scent of adrenaline in the air – we both got to work: I stripped the guy I’d hit in the jaw, put on his clothes, and pocketed the car keys and the other guy’s ID – his name was Dale Monroe, and looked only slightly more like me – while Ellen packed up our modest possessions. Then I took Dale Monroe’s handcuffs, placed them on Ellen, arms behind her back, and picked up the valise.
I looked in the small wall mirror, and pushed my hair back; tried to make it tidy.
‘Saul, I’m scared,’ said Ellen abruptly. She was looking back at me over her shoulder, and I saw more fear in her face than ever before. I understood: she was the most wanted person in the country, and that was goddamn overwhelming.
I reached an arm around her, and gave her a big squeeze.
‘Use it. You’re supposed to look scared. You can do this.’
I took a deep breath. This was crazy, but it was the only way past a small army of police officers, undoubtedly with all howitzers blazing.
‘Right: show time.’
I marched Ellen out the back door, and started towards the corner of the building that led round to the car-park, with a strange rollercoaster bottomlessness inside me: half fear; half that vaguely familiar rush reminiscent of a time long ago. A time when I was a con-artist, and ate police officers like these for breakfast. But back then, the stakes had been lower: jail-time at worst. But now, lives were on the line. Failure wasn’t an option.
I was playing a State officer. I knew that if I was going to see this through, I had to pull rank, make my authority work for me, play on jurisdictional tensions…
Next thing I knew, we were entering the parking lot.
There were five police vehicles: one California State Police squad car parked orderly on the opposite side of the lot; four Fresno Police cars right in the middle. And while the former was unmanned, the latter four each had two officers standing by their driver and passenger doors: seven men, one woman. And not only did they look like Fresno’s A-team – lean, fit, professional – but they were also armed to the teeth: six Glock Pistols, two menacing shot-guns. Ithaca Mag 10s – a gun that made light work of vehicles.
Every officer turned to face us as we appeared. All guns in our direction, though lowered at the sight of an officer with things in control.
I gave the team an officious nod. One man – slim, older, big mole on his upper lip – strode over. I kept on walking until he was right by me.
He slipped out his ID. My heart raced: I knew I’d have to do the same. And yet, I knew that if the guy gave a close inspection, the jig was up.
‘Ed Davison, Fresno Police.’
I slipped my own ID out of my pocket, knowing I couldn’t let him look too closely; knowing I’d have to somehow divert his attention.
‘Dale Monroe, Californian State,’ I said; then, as I flipped open the ID, I said with slight disdain: ‘Eight cops, two Ithicas – bit much for a young woman, no?’
The gambit worked: instead of looking at the ID, he blinked twice, and glanced at his small army. I slipped the ID back in my pocket.
‘This is a highly-wanted, highly-dangerous suspect – we both know that full well,’ he said evenly. ‘We’re a professional outfit, and we’re not about to turn up underprepared.’ Then he added, as if only just realizing: ‘And meanwhile, there’s only just one of you? I know you State Police have been round the block, but…’
He trailed off deliberately. He’d said it with an undercurrent of accusation as if to imply executing the arrest alone had been negligent.
Up and down the country, there’s tension between city and state police. And now that I’d aroused that tension, I had to ride it out.
I shrugged, chuckled. ‘Well, somehow I managed it. Mind you, she was scrappy, but not highly-dangerous.’
He narrowed his eyes. I didn’t reckon he was suspicious. I reckoned he was just a professional old-timer who didn’t deal in bullshit. But either way, I had to hope he didn’t challenge me further, because the more he challenged, the likelier it was he’d catch us out.
After a second, he nodded as though rising above it and said: ‘Good work.’
I nodded, and took a step past him, pushing Ellen along. But he took a step with us.
‘But since you’re a one man band,’ he said politely, ‘I insist you take one of my officers with you. Can’t be too careful.’
I stopped, raised an eyebrow: ‘With all due respect, Officer – what was it? – I managed to bring her in myself, so I’ll manage the rest.’
Again, I walked past him, and could see the frustration on his face in my peripheral vision. I hardly looked at the other officers – most of whom were within ear-shot of what’d been said. Just took another three steps.
Then Davison said: ‘Would you mind if I looked at your ID again? So I can jot down details, and have something to officially log. My superiors will want to know.’
It was a reasonable request – one that’d be very difficult to shoot down. And as he said it, I realized – with a mad sinking feeling – it was the end of the line. That our little performance had run its course.
Involuntarily, I glanced at the Ithicas – chambered, ready. No making a run for it. We’d be blown into a thousand pieces of flesh and blood and—
Suddenly Ellen started thrashing around. ‘You fucking cops – you goddamn pigs – you have no fucking idea—’
I reacted immediately: I gripped her arms hard, though she kept on thrashing – her face red, spittle flying from her mouth.
It was one last throw of the dice.
‘Look,’ I said, as I genuinely exerted myself, and gave Davison a look that said I didn’t need his help as he took a step forward. ‘I’m not in the mood to mess around—’
‘—you cocksuckers. I’ll slit your goddamn throats—’
‘—So if you don’t mind’ – I continued marching her across the blacktop, without looking back, right through the middle of their four squad cars – ‘I’m going to take her in. I appreciate you want closure, but I’m only taking her to the FBI Fresno Office – it’s not a Field Office, but it’s a secure outpost, only fifteen minutes away. Call them up in twenty, and they’ll confirm things, I’m sure.’
We carried on. Davison said nothing. I reached the car, put the valise on the floor, and took out the keys, while continuing to exert myself against a still thrashing Ellen. I pushed her roughly into the back of the car, closed the door, after which, I paced to the driver’s door.
I turned to Davison, who was looking on with an intense frown.
‘Thanks for your backup, officer.’
He gave a slow, begrudging nod. I got behind the wheel, fired the engine, and nosed out of the spot and onto East Kings Canyon Road. Then I squeezed the gas, without once looking in the mirrors.
As soon as we reached the Roadmaster – three minutes, and a quarter mile later – we hurriedly changed car. Ellen got in the back and laid across the seats, so she was out of sight. I got behind the wheel, ripped off the khaki top, and threw on my tee.
And because Ellen had been wise, and left the car on a quiet residential street, nobody seemed to see us do it.
Scarcely were we back on the road again when the all-too-familiar sound of sirens started up back in the direction we’d come. Davison had realized he’d been duped. I continued in the opposite direction towards the I-80. Four minutes later, we passed two squad cars moving past us in the opposite lane, and I held my breath as they did so. But they didn’t stop. They hadn’t yet realized we’d changed car.
I kept on navigating the city, careful not to overdo it. Then, before we knew it, we were on the westbound lane of the I-80, putting distance between us and the mounting heat.
We were silent for a good fifteen minutes. Finally Ellen said:
‘Where are we going?’
There was nothing in her voice. I imagined her emotional capacity was exhausted. That, after everything she’d been through, it was hard to feel anything.
‘As near to nowhere as we can get.’