Devin should have known his stall tactics wouldn’t work. The BMW had taken up position right behind the trolley, and it wasn’t going anywhere until these men got what they wanted—him. He forced himself to look away from the men who wanted him dead and focus on where he was in the city and where they were headed.
He was still processing his location when the trolley driver announced, “Next stop: Lombard Street.”
The crooked street, he always called it. With its ridiculously steep grade and eight hairpin turns, the one-block stretch of road had a posted speed limit of five miles per hour.
Devin pushed his way to the front of the trolley and exited with a handful of tourists. He managed to shield himself behind a particularly broad-shouldered man for the first few yards. Then the crowd spread out, and he felt his vulnerability.
Though he knew better than to look back, he did anyway. As he’d feared, the men chasing him were right behind the trolley.
The shotgun barrel appeared out the window once more, and Devin sprinted toward the nearest building. He never heard the expected gunshot.
After plastering himself against the brick wall, he leaned out the few inches required for him to view Hyde Street. When he saw the car heading down the brick road, he bolted toward the footpath leading along the side of Lombard Street. It was a more direct route to the bottom of the winding road, but it was also crowded with people.
“Coming through!” he shouted, pressing past a mom and daughter. The thought of these men shooting into the crowd made him add, “Gun! Get down!”
That comment had much more effect. Someone screamed behind him, and the people in front of him ducked behind hedges and scurried into bushes.
With the path now relatively clear, he took the steps two at a time. A horn blared, and Devin glanced over long enough to see the BMW nearly bumper to bumper with the hatchback in front of it.
Hope surged at the sight of the obstacle in its path, and he picked up speed. He made it down the equivalent of four flights of stairs before he had to shout again in an attempt to clear his way. “Coming through!” he yelled, his breathing now labored.
The sound of an engine revving followed by a screech of brakes drew attention once more. The hatchback that had been holding traffic to the snail-paced speed limit had pulled into a parking alcove at one of the bends in the road.
The hand that had previously been holding a shotgun now gripped a pistol.
“Gun! Get down!” Devin repeated with only moderate success. The pedestrians who had ignored his warning all had second thoughts when the gun fired.
Devin ducked at the sound and took a quick look around to see if there had been any casualties. Thankfully, the only people on the ground were those who had taken cover with him behind the low barrier wall that separated the path from the street.
Afraid the next shot would be more accurate, he held his position, searching for an escape.
The brakes squealed again, but this time he heard the crunch of metal against stone, the ground beneath him vibrating with the impact. He looked over the edge and saw that the driver had taken a turn too fast and had hit the wall only a few yards away.
Devin was nearly halfway down the winding path and considered a new option.
As though a starting gun had gone off, Devin sprang up and sprinted once more, only this time, instead of heading toward the bottom, he reversed his course and started back the way he had come.
The grinding of gears and the scrape of metal filled the air as the car started forward again. In the distance, police sirens wailed, and Devin hoped they were heading his way.
On the steep one-way street, his pursuers had to continue forward, and Devin hoped he could disappear before they reached the bottom and circled back to the top.
The muscles in his legs burned, but he forced himself to keep moving. The bell from the trolley rang again, and he was nearly to the top when he saw it pulling to a stop across the street from where he had gotten off a few minutes earlier.
Out of breath, he kept sprinting and jumped onto the running board as the conductor started to pull away. Devin dug in his pocket, paid the fare, and looked back down Lombard Street. The BMW was nowhere in sight.
Keeping his spot on the running board, Devin pulled his cell phone from his pocket and dialed.
“Someone’s after me,” Devin said the moment he heard Ghost’s voice on the line. He noticed some odd glances from his fellow passengers, but at the moment, he didn’t care.
“Are you in immediate danger?”
“I lost them, but I don’t know for how long. I’m on the trolley, and it isn’t exactly the fastest mode of transportation.”
“Where are you?”
“San Francisco.” Devin looked up at the cross street and relayed his current position.
“There’s a market on the edge of Chinatown.” Ghost gave Devin the address. “I’ll have someone meet you there in fifteen minutes.”
“What if they find me again?”
“Keep your head down. We’ll get you out of there.”
“I’m counting on it.”
Devin disconnected the call and willed his heartbeat to slow, but the adrenaline pumping through him kept his body from cooperating. He could feel the energy surging, and he waited anxiously for the trolley to reach his stop.
He hopped onto the street before the trolley reached a complete stop, and he headed for the center of Chinatown. Even though the shop where Devin was supposed to meet his contact was several blocks away, he had enough time to kill that he didn’t want to go directly there. Besides, he had been trained better than that.
The smell of Chinese food permeated the air along with an underlying scent of fish and garlic. The signs on the storefronts displayed Chinese characters and only occasionally offered the English translation below them. Round paper lanterns hung on thin wires stretched across the street. He let himself get swallowed up by the foot traffic on the sidewalk, his height betraying him over the locals of Asian descent.
A clothing shop caught his eye, and he walked with purpose toward it. Five other people were inside, a middle-aged Chinese man sitting beside a cash register.
Devin zeroed in on a rack of jackets. He riffled through them, selecting one in black leather. Working his way farther into the store, he found a selection of 49ers apparel. It seemed a bit out of place in Chinatown but fit his needs beautifully.
He took a scarf and a baseball cap from the rack and carried them with the jacket to the cashier.
After exchanging cash for the items, he removed the tags, pulled the jacket over his faded blue sweatshirt, and donned the scarf and ball cap.
Slipping his backpack over his shoulder again, he approached the entrance of the store, looking both ways before stepping onto the sidewalk. He was just turning to his right when he saw a gold BMW turn the corner, a huge dent in the front fender.
Devin mustered every ounce of strength he had to continue onto the sidewalk, his path putting his back to the driver of the vehicle. His breath backed up in his lungs, and he struggled against the urge to flee.
The lessons learned during his summers with the CIA replayed through his mind. Relax. Move casually with purpose. Don’t look back.
With the changes he’d made in his clothing, he wouldn’t be recognizable from the back. He kept reminding himself of that fact as he walked, the sound of each car passing him sending waves of apprehension through him. Less than a minute after he spotted the BMW, it slowly passed by. He tried to keep his gaze lowered enough to avoid recognition, but his effort wasn’t rewarded.
The car was only ten yards past him when the driver suddenly slammed on the brakes.
Devin didn’t know it was possible for his heart to beat any faster, but he discovered he was wrong when he saw the passenger jump out of the car and start running toward him. Panicked, Devin took off, pushing people away as he wove through the crowd. He was less than a block from the market where help was supposed to meet him, but he’d never make it that far. All it would take was one gunshot into the air for the crowd to scatter and for his pursuer to get a clear shot at him.
Sure enough, a gunshot sounded behind him, accompanied by screams and racing footsteps. Devin reached the corner of a building and ducked into the narrow alleyway between it and the building beside it. In front of him, clotheslines stretched between the two structures, many of them hanging only five feet from the ground.
Devin ducked under the first one, using pants and shirts to create a shield. He zigzagged between articles of clothing, several pulling free and flying through the air.
Footsteps pounded behind him, stutter stepping through the hanging obstacles.
Devin reached the back corner of the building to his left and made a sharp turn behind it the instant a shot fired. The brick inches from his head thudded with the impact, little bits flying into the air.
More low-lying clotheslines hung in his path, and he didn’t know whether to bless or curse their presence.
When they were suddenly behind him and he found himself in an open space, he decided he preferred the obstacles to being out in the open.
He saw the cross street two buildings in front of him and increased his speed. The building he was supposed to meet in was right before him if he could only make it.
Had it been fifteen minutes yet since he had talked to Ghost? It felt like an eternity and only an instant at the same time.
He glanced back to see the man behind him fighting his way free of a dangling pair of slacks.
Devin rushed to the back door of the market and barged through it into a storage room. With little time to spare, he continued through the storage area, a meat locker on his right and tanks of live fish on his left.
He noticed a small hallway just beyond the tanks and hoped it would provide him an alternate exit or at least some kind of cover. He was nearly around the corner before he looked up and saw Chee standing in front of him, a pistol in hand.
Devin skidded to a stop, stunned to see his old handler in front of him.
Chee reached out with his free hand and grabbed him by the arm, yanking him into the hallway beside him. “Are you okay?” he asked in Mandarin, his voice low.
“One of them is right behind me,” Devin managed to say. “What are you doing here?”
“Ghost sent me to provide support.” Chee waved for him to take position behind him. “Stay back.”
Devin did as he was told, pressing himself behind Chee just as they heard the back door open again. Chee shifted silently to the edge of the hallway.
Each second seemed an eternity, soft footsteps steadily moving forward, the man clearly searching the locker and tank area before continuing toward their hiding place.
The moment the man came into view, Chee took aim. “Freeze!”
The man didn’t freeze. His gun hand lifted, but Chee didn’t let him aim. He squeezed the trigger and fired once, which was all it took to drop the man where he stood.
Whatever remorse Chee felt over killing the other man was pushed aside as he immediately turned to Devin. “How many more are there?”
“The only other person I saw was Jalen,” Devin responded. “Last time I saw him, he was driving a gold BMW with the front fender smashed in.”
“Stay here. I’m going to coordinate with the authorities to make sure we have him in custody before we take you back outside.”
Devin nodded his agreement. “Be careful.”
“It’s not me he’s looking for,” Chee reminded him. “Don’t worry. I’ll find him.”