Maggie led Emily down the street from the consulate and turned into 5th Avenue when the first group of Russians sped out the front door. The gates drew open and a detail of three SUVs with tinted windows pulled into the road.
The traffic lights were red and Maggie and Emily weaved between vehicles as they crossed the road, ducking behind a delivery van to stay out of view.
Scurrying across to the sidewalk, Maggie risked a look back as the lights flicked to green and the traffic began to move.
The road was one way, but the SUVs waited with drumming engines at the junction, indicating left in Maggie and Emily’s direction.
“We need to get off the street,” said Maggie, taking in her surroundings. The lavish Cooper-Hewitt museum sat directly across from them, once the mansion of industrialist Andrew Carnegie.
Across from the mansion stood the Church of Heavenly Rest, it’s neo-gothic arches and foreboding presence far from welcoming. Maggie would seek no sanctuary there. Even its very name seemed like a bad omen.
Maggie forced her pace to slow to a brisk walk and kept Emily close as they continued down the street. A row of parked cars lined their left, the brick wall that encased Central Park by their right.
The park.
“This way,” Maggie said, steering Emily past a hotdog cart and into the eastern entrance of Central Park.
It was in the opposite direction of the British Consulate, but the direct route was too open. Too dangerous.
Two point three miles lay between both consulates. Forty-seven minutes on foot. Less than that if running. It didn’t sound that long, but travelling the forty or so blocks through the city would be like a marathon with the Russians chasing after them
A lot of things could go wrong between then. Taking the direct route down 3rd Avenue would be the fastest, but not necessarily the wisest. Yet the longer Maggie kept Emily Wallace out on the streets, the longer the enemy would have to track them down and kill them both.
That meant taking an alternative route.
The park was busy for the time of year. A cluster of school kids huddled around a teacher who bellowed for them to gather around and get into pairs. The wind was picking up and swept early fallen leaves that blanketed the pathways, rushing past Maggie’s feet like a river of yellow and green.
A vendor selling cheesy t-shirts and hats had taken residence in the corner by the entrance. Some of the straggling school kids were harassing him, asking how much each t-shirt cost when the sign said everything was ten dollars.
“This isn’t worth ten bucks,” said a young haggler. “I’ll give you five for it.”
“Look kid, quit bustin’ my balls. If the sign says ten, its ten.”
Maggie brushed past the little stand and swiped an ‘I heart NYC’ shirt and hat.
“Put these on,” she instructed Emily, tossing the girl’s oversized hoody into a nearby trash can. Maggie shrugged out of her cardigan and added it to the pile, along with her short haired wig.
“Who are you?” asked Emily. “Some kind of Jane Bond?”
“No,” Maggie replied, running a hand through her real hair. “I like my martinis stirred.”
Emily simply frowned.
Tires screeched and sent Maggie’s heart to her throat. Grabbing Emily, they crossed East Drive, a road which allowed for cars to drive through the park, and slinked into Bridle Path which lay parallel to it. They dove behind a set of bushes which were beginning to turn with Autumn almost upon them and peered through the little gaps.
Two of the SUVs pulled into the park, barley slowing down for pedestrians who rushed to avoid being hit.
The brakes slammed and Aleksandar got out the front passenger seat of one of the vehicles, followed by his men. He barked out orders, sending a group to head north on foot and the second SUV southbound down the drive. The third car was nowhere to be seen.
The head of security scanned the area by the first SUV, his body taught with barely controlled rage. Maggie had penetrated his fortress and stole his witness, which not only undermined him and his job, but the country he served, too. Aleksandar was out for blood.
They may be on the hunt, but Maggie was far from easy prey.
“Come on,” she whispered, helping Emily up. “We need to go.”
Keeping hidden, they travelled up a set of stone steps and reached the Shuman Running Track which ran the circumference of the large man-made stretch of water. Beyond, the reservoir stretched out, taking center stage in New York’s oasis, acting as a reprieve to the grimy urban streets and imposing gray skyscrapers. The sun glittered off the surface and winked back at them.
It was a beautiful sight, but Maggie and Emily couldn’t stop and stare. Maggie nodded to her charge as a group of middle aged runners approached, and together they joined in the back, heading south and towards the bottom of the reservoir.
“What will happen if they catch us?” Emily asked, puffing.
“It won’t come to that,” promised Maggie, eyes trained for any signs they’d been found. The park was a big place, but Aleksandar had a whole crew of trained professionals after them.
Beads of sweat formed across Maggie’s forehead as she ran. September in New York City wasn’t like London, where the cold swooped in like an unwelcome house guest who stayed until Spring. The last of the Summer’s sun bore down on them with each step, with only the breeze of the wind offering a light reprieve.
The track opened out when they arrived at the south gate house of the reservoir five minutes later. The stone building looked out into the park, one of the picturesque bridges residing at the foot of the steps leading up to the house. But that wasn’t what caught Maggie’s attention.
Two men in suits spotted her and Emily from under the bridge. They broke into a run the second they saw them, mouthing into earpieces, jackets flapping in the wind.
“Run,” Maggie warned, and urged Emily forward, back into the running track. A cluster of tourists had stopped by the water to feed a family of ducks with torn pieces of pretzels, taking snaps of the little birds on their cellphones.
Maggie barged into them and cleared a gap for Emily, not stopping to explain. A few of them fell into each other amid their rabble of complaints and cries, but Maggie didn’t care. They’d create a diversion, blocking their pursuers, even if only for a couple of moments. Those precious moments could be the difference between life and death.
Emily held on to the side of her waist. “I can’t keep running.”
“You must,” said Maggie, scooping her arm into Emily’s and forcing her to move. She risked a glance behind her to see the men in suits. Two had become four, a second pair of Russian’s following up behind the couple who spotted them.
They were fast. Faster than Emily.
Maggie grit her teeth and checked the baton she stole was still tucked in her waistband. It wouldn’t be much against a set of guns. As they ran, she made sure to use innocent passersby to block them from being direct targets. Maggie only hoped they wouldn’t risk taking out a civilian to reach them.
A branch broke off from the running track fifty yards down and Maggie herded Emily to take the cut off, merging back on to Bridle Path.
The Russians’ footsteps pounded behind them, yelling and getting closer.
“They’re too fast. There’s too many of them,” cried Emily between pants. She was getting slower, fatigue and fear settling in.
Maggie closed her eyes and focused on the map she studied on the flight over. Knowing your way around was a vital part to any mission. The grid system made New York easier to navigate than most cities. They were at the bottom of the reservoir now, which put them five or six blocks down from the Russian Consulate.
The transverse.
“Left,” said Maggie, warning Emily before they made the turn. There was no direct pathway from their position, causing them to barge through a thicket of trees and bushes. Bare branches snagged at Maggie’s clothes with reaching fingers, but she surged on, holding tight to Emily’s hand.
“They’re right behind us,” Emily warned.
Maggie could hear their panting breathes, much more controlled than Emily’s. Like Maggie, they could go on for miles. They wouldn’t slow down. They wouldn’t stop. Not until they caught them. Not until she and Emily were dead.
“Jump!” Maggie yelled when the thicket stopped. She didn’t wait for Emily to comply. Instead, she gripped the girl’s hand tighter and took her with her as she leapt over the edge of the bushes and dropped down into the middle of a street.
Emily screamed, but the drop wasn’t far. She landed on her knees, tearing the thin material of her leggings and skinning her knees. Maggie pulled her up and crossed the street. Emily’s injuries could wait. Right now, it was her very life she was concerned about.
The 85th Street Transverse veined through the middle of Central Park, snaking from East 85th Street on one side, to West 86th on the other. Right bang in the middle of said street was the 22nd Precinct Police Station which was exactly where Maggie was headed.
Two officers stood by the front gates of the precinct. While Maggie doubted that the NYPD’s finest boys in blue would be a match for Aleksandar’s men, she was desperate and out of options.
Above them, ruffling came from the bushes and the first of the gang of Russian’s broke through.
Maggie and Emily hurried towards the police officers and Maggie slipped on a mask of terrified innocence. “Officers! There are men following us and they have guns. They tried to force us into the back of a van.”
One of the officer’s heads snapped behind them and spotted the Russian cohort. He spoke into his radio and called for backup before stepping in front of Maggie and Emily and heading towards the approaching men.
The officer’s partner turned to Maggie and opened the gate. “Ma’am, you and the girl go inside and stay there until it’s safe.”
“Okay,” said Maggie, stepping through the gates with an arm over Emily’s shoulders.
She backtracked as soon as the officer ran to meet his partner, and left the precinct as five more policemen and women came to help their colleagues out.
The police couldn’t help them. Though they made a good distraction while Maggie and Emily hurried down the street and headed towards the Upper West Side.