Seventy-One

Jael Navas, that Jew sniper, leaned over her rifle and considered the sight lines.

“This is an impossible angle,” she said. “I cannot defend you.”

We were standing on the sixth floor of the Hilton’s parking garage trying to see the sidewalk in front of Bukowski Tavern. A wide concrete barrier, five feet tall, blocked our view.

Jael continued, “I would have to climb this wall and lean over it. He would see me.”

We walked through the empty garage to another wall that faced the Mass Pike. The concrete here formed a set of Venetian blind louvers. Jael crouched against the wall and poked her rifle through.

“I still cannot see the tavern,” she said. “I can only cover you if you stand away from the tavern entrance.” She pointed to the bridge where the Mass Pike ran under Dalton Street. It was twenty yards from the rendezvous point.

“Okay.” My fingers tapped against my leg, burning off nervousness.

“If they move to the spot in front of the tavern, then you must run away from them down Boylston.”

I looked out at the spot. It was across the street from the Capital Grille. Tall windows overlooked the meeting. I wondered if Talevi would be willing to conduct business there.

Jael said, “This is a very bad idea.”

“Yeah?”

“I see no way that Talevi lets either of you live.”

“If he kills me, you’d tell Bobby about him. That should be enough insurance.”

“We could tell Agent Miller about Talevi right now. It is not too late.”

I fitted a Bluetooth headset into my ear. “He’ll kill Lucy.”

Jael took a small sip of air and almost whispered, “He will not let her live, regardless.”

“I have to try.”

“He will kill you both.”

“Not if you can get a shot. I’ll stay on the bridge.”

Jael fitted her own Bluetooth headset. “Yes. Please.”

“Please?”

“Please do not make me watch a friend die.”

I entered the narrow elevator and pressed the button for the first floor. “Nobody’s going to die today.”

The doors closed. I don’t think Jael believed me.

My cell phone played “Extreme Ways.” I activated my headset.

Jael’s voice filled my ear. “I am here.”

“Okay.”

I positioned myself in the middle of the Dalton Street bridge and leaned against the railing. The sun dropped toward the horizon over Framingham, Pittsfield, and all things west. Clouds scuttled red and low across the sky. Cars slid past in the waning rush hour, their tart fumes irritating my nose. I felt Jael’s presence over my shoulder, imagined the sniper rifle at the ready. Wondered what was in her crosshairs.

A black Lincoln Town Car glided past me and stopped in front of Bukowski, out of Jael’s line of sight. Dammit!

“They’ve parked in front of the bar,” I said into my headset.

“Do not approach them,” said Jael.

Talevi stuck his head out of the front passenger window.

“Do you have what I want?” he called.

I pulled the Paladin plans from under my jacket and waved them. “Right here.”

“Bring them!”

“I want to see Lucy.”

“You will see her when you bring the plans here, or you will never see her again.”

I said into the headset, “They’re going to bolt.”

“Let them go,” said Jael.

Talevi pulled his head back into the car. The red brake light dimmed as the car started to roll forward.

“Wait!” I yelled. I ran for the car.

“No!” said Jael.

I stopped at the car and the back door opened. A brown-skinned man pointed a machine gun at me. Lucy was behind him on the floor, duct tape covering her mouth, her arms pinned behind her back. She looked at me, her eyes wet and pleading.

“Get in the car,” said Talevi, “or we will kill you in the street.”

Jael heard the command over the headset. She barked, “Do not get in the car! Run!”

I heard a skittering sound overhead. Jael must have shifted positions and climbed the concrete railing. Talevi looked up and saw something.

“The Jew! Kill him and go,” he said.

The man with the machine gun pointed the barrel at my chest. I was going to die in the street. I jumped off the curb and, pushing the gun up, slid into the car.

I heard Jael yell, “No!” It wasn’t coming from my headset. A rifle shot cracked and a hole appeared in the Lincoln’s hood.

Talevi shouted, “Drive!” and the driver punched the accelerator. The car leapt away from the curb and shot down the street.

Talevi turned and pointed a pistol at my forehead. He motioned to the guy with the machine gun who was sitting between Lucy and me. He said something in a Middle Eastern language. Mr. Machine Gun ripped the headset from my ear and threw it out the window.

Talevi waved the gun at me. “Give him your phone.”

I handed the Droid to Mr. Machine Gun. He threw it out the window as well. I heard it clatter, skid, and fall out of earshot.

Talevi placed the muzzle of the gun against my forehead. “Put your hands behind your back.”

I did as I was told and Mr. Machine Gun ensnared my wrists in a zip tie. Then he slapped a piece of duct tape over my mouth.

Talevi sat back in his seat, facing forward. He said to the driver, “Take us somewhere we can dispose of them.”

As the car’s driver pulled away from the curb he said, “I know a good spot.”

I knew the driver’s voice. It was my cousin Sal.