“This isn’t happening!” Dan Murphy cried as Reid Farmer grabbed him from behind and pulled him down behind a big plastic trash can. Kilgore instinctively ducked into the shadows behind a dented Chrysler 300. Headlights flashed down the street, gleaming off cars, casting hollow light on the residential buildings.
“Yeah,” Reid whispered, grip tightening on the Mayan war club. “I’ve been saying that for days.” He made a face, disgusted by the smell of disposable diapers mixed with rotting fruit.
The car sailed down the narrow street, going much too fast to be one of their pursuers.
“You killed that guy!” Murphy repeated yet again.
Reid ground his teeth as he dragged the graduate student to his feet. “You do remember the gun, right? The one he was using to kidnap you? Want me to pull it out of my pocket to remind you?”
For the rest of his life, Reid would relive the instant he drove that deadly club into Simms’ neck. The feel of the wood would resonate in his hands, the vibrations of the severing cervical vertebrae never dimming.
I killed a man.
When his current terror subsided, he would attempt to deal with it. For now, it was all he could do to ratchet up his courage and keep them alive.
“Come on.” He hurried the panicked graduate student down the narrow sidewalk. “We’ve got to keep going. Straight line. Increase the search area they have to cover.”
“We need to call the police,” Murphy insisted. “By now they know there’s a dead guy lying in front of my apartment door.”
“Pull yourself together, Daniel,” Kilgore told him sharply. “We’ll deal with the police as soon as we can. Meanwhile, you’d better damn well believe us that you’re in deep. Real deep.”
“I didn’t do anything!”
“Sorry, pal. You learned Mayan math. Right now that makes you one of the most important people in the world. Who’d have guessed, huh?”
“What’s this about?” Murphy’s breath came in pants as he struggled under his load of book-packed bags.
“Apparently, a scientific discovery that will change the world,” Kilgore told him. “Just bear with us. General Grazier has a safe house. We need to get you there because you’re not safe anywhere else. Especially not with the Boston police.”
“Why not the police? You know how you sound? Like crazy people!”
Kilgore’s laugh barely hid hysteria. “Who’d have thought it was contagious?”
“Skientia has resources,” Reid said. “A battery of lawyers that managed to cow the FBI. My bet? They’d pull strings in the Justice Department to have you held, and then transferred. Think about it. You’ve got a dead guy in front of your apartment. Rizzoli and Isles are going to find fragments of Mexican obsidian in our friend Simms’ neck. They’ll know you have a Mayan war club. Justice Department says, ‘Wait, we suspect Dan Murphy of something in Mexico.’ And next thing you know, you’re picked up by Simms’ friends, bundled off to some secret location, and told to work on Mayan mathematics or you’ll never see freedom again.”
“And that’s different than what you’re doing to me?”
“Call it what you want,” Kilgore told him as she hurried along the walk. “When you parse it down to the absolutes, we’ll do our best to make sure you’re alive. Given the number of people we’ve seen Skientia kill, and the lengths they’ll go to? They really don’t give a shit if you live or die as long as you produce.”
Dan Murphy stopped short and puked his guts all over the sidewalk.
Reid figured he could relate.
As the young anthropologist wiped his mouth, he said, “I wish you people had never walked through my door.”
“If we hadn’t, you’d be on your way to Skientia by now.” Kilgore told him as she glanced worriedly at the dark houses they passed. “Simms would have offered you an unbelievable salary. Same as he did to Reid and me. You don’t find out you’re trapped until it’s too late.”
“How’d you get away?” Murphy asked suspiciously.
“Reid?” Kilgore hissed, coming to a stop, her arm out.
They were in a shadowed part of the street, but he saw the two men emerge into the light on the corner. He yanked Dan Murphy into the shadow behind a parked Jeep, Kilgore ducking down behind concrete stairs.
“Think they saw us?” she hissed.
Reid peered past the bumper in time to see one man gesture in his direction, sending the second man across the street.
“He’s coming this way.” A new tension filled Reid’s breast. “Kilgore, he’s going to see you.”
“Is he one of them?”
“I think so.” Reid swallowed hard. What would Chief Raven do? “I’ve got an idea. But we’ll have to split up. I’m drawing their attention. Going to lead them around the block. You and Dan need to get to the hotel. I’ll meet you there. In the meantime, call Sam and have him arrange transportation.”
“I’m going with you,” she whispered hotly.
“Kilgore, think! The important thing is to get Dan to safety. You and I both know where that is. I can move faster by myself.” He added, “You got a better idea?”
At her silence, he told Murphy, “Do what she tells you.”
Then, heart pounding, he stood, hand knotted around the handle so the deadly Mayan war club hung down his back out of sight. He affected a jolly walk to match his humming of “For he’s a jolly good fellow” as he went. The shadowy shape of the man had stopped, his head cocked.
The son of a bitch is going to kill me.
“What would Chief Raven do?” he asked himself again as fear began to pump bright through his veins.
“. . . That nobody can deny. Deny? Deny? That nobody can deny,” he sang. Less than ten paces now. The man stood, knees slightly bent, shoulders forward, a shadowy menace.
And his companion? The one who’d crossed the street? Where had he gone?
“Dr. Farmer?” came the sibilant question.
“Who you calling a farmer?” Reid tried to mimic a New England accent. “That you, Matt? Being an asshole like usual?”
Reid was only steps away now. He hadn’t expected the sudden blinding flash of a powerful light. It literally hit him with the force of a blow, shooting white pain through his brain.
Had he not been rehearsing in his desperate mind, had he not been expecting an attack, it might have completely incapacitated him. Instead, Reid swung blindly, the Mayan war club connecting. The man shouted, the flashlight flying away to the side.
Squinting and blinded, Reid charged forward, knocking the man off his feet. Somehow, he managed to keep his footing, caroming off cars, knocking over trash cans.
A shout came from across the street, but Reid was running for all he was worth.
Got to keep them away from Kilgore.
Adrenaline lent him wings as he rounded the corner, the Mayan war club gripped tightly. Reid cut diagonally across the street, ducked between the cars, and sprinted down the sidewalk.
At the next corner, he shot a glance over his shoulder to see the shape of a dark assailant charging after him. Reaching into his pocket, Reid pulled out the pistol, aimed it, and pulled the trigger.
Nothing.
In the dim light he stared at it, finding a series of levers. One had to be the safety. His thumb clicked the closest down. He raised the pistol in the direction of the pursuer.
The discharge probably scared him more than it did the attacker. As the gun jumped in his hand, the muzzle flash left spots behind his eyes.
Reid turned, running harder than before.
Got to keep going. Got to lead them away from Kilgore.
High overhead, he could hear the sound of a helicopter circling somewhere in the darkness.
This isn’t going to be good.