14

Trolley Chase

The horse-drawn trolley held the seven of them, plus a young couple at the back, as well as the driver. The shooter had hopped onto an electric streetcar headed in the same direction but ahead of them and crowded with bystanders gasping at the man with the gun. The driver of their trolley had pulled the gun-spooked horses down to a more sedate pace when Lieutenant Phelps leaped into the seat next to him and glared at him.

“Follow that trolley, and hurry.”

Something about the large man’s tone and the amount of muscle he was flexing spurred the driver into instant agreement. With a flick of the reigns and a sharp cry, he sped up the trolley.

“Robert,” Agent Hessman snapped, “that derringer of yours—”

“Not enough range,” the captain answered.

“Just get me close enough and I’ll break the hand holding that gun,” Agent Harris vowed.

A jingle signaled the trolley’s approach to its next stop, but much to the surprise of those waiting there, the trolley did not even pause. Not under the constant urging of Lieutenant Phelps. It raced on by, closing in on the streetcar as another shot spat out, this time aimed at Phelps. The bullet glanced off the frame of the speeding trolley, and nearly everyone ducked. The driver had nowhere to duck to, and the couple in the back were too occupied with one another to notice anything but each other’s lips.

“Get us closer to that thing,” Lieutenant Phelps urged the driver.

“That’s an electric streetcar,” the man began. “I can’t—”

“And you have a pair of horses that can go faster, so do it!”

Another cry to the pair of horses, and Manhattan saw a trolley giving chase to a streetcar and actually catching up to it. At least until they came to the next intersection, where the man with the gun jumped off the streetcar and onto another moving behind it on a perpendicular course.

“I can only follow the track,” their driver said before the lieutenant could ask. “I can’t make a turn like that.”

Agent Hessman called out, “Stop the trolley!”

The trolley was pulled to an abrupt halt, an act that apparently did nothing to disturb the kissing couple at the back. Before it was barely to a complete stop, Agent Harris led the charge down the opposing street, racing for another trolley going in that direction.

The next gunshot didn’t happen, as the gun jammed in the shooter’s hand, affording the American team time enough to board another trolley, on which the lieutenant once again commandeered the driver’s services. This trolley was nearly full, so Agent Harris hung on by one arm and a leg while the others crowded in as best they could.

Dr. Weiss looked nervous, Professor Stein worried, and Claire excited.

“A trolley chase!” She beamed. “This will make for an exciting segment of the story for sure.”

The horses were in as close to a gallop as their burden and attached equipment would allow, speeding down the street, barely avoiding cross traffic, the driver frantically ringing the trolley bell and shouting out apologies as he passed people. The streetcar had a decent lead on them, but then electric streetcars couldn’t be made to gallop if in a rush.

They approached the streetcar, where the shooter had apparently failed to unjam his gun and looked increasingly frustrated. Agent Hessman squeezed his way into the front of the trolley, while from behind came the dismayed cries of other passengers wondering why it was going faster and passing up their stops.

“Just a bit closer,” Agent Harris called out. “I’ll try a flying tackle before he can unjam his gun.”

This time the shooter didn’t wait for an intersection. Pocketing his useless weapon, he glanced around for a good target, then leapt off the moving streetcar, rolled up to his feet, and ran. Agent Harris was after him in an instant with the same tuck and roll, while Lieutenant Phelps had the driver bring the trolley to an unscheduled stop.

Agent Hessman’s team were not the only ones to exit; many of the passengers had had enough of speeding trolleys and missed stops. The rest of the team piled out while Agent Harris ran to catch up with the shooter. She leaped, hands outstretched to grab at the first body part she made contact with. She came down, wrapping an arm around one of the man’s legs, and rolled her body into him to trip him up.

Her plan nearly worked, until the base of the man’s pistol came out, swinging into her shoulder. With a cry, she released her grip, and the man continued running to the nearest vehicle. By the time the others caught up with Agent Harris, the man was leaping into a taxi and shoving the driver out of his own vehicle.

“Sue, are you okay?” Agent Hessman asked, running up.

He was the first to offer an arm to help her up, Professor Stein bringing up the rear with Claire, who was gaping in shock that someone had just clubbed a woman.

Agent Harris came up wincing with pain, but she did get up. “I’ll be okay,” she said, shaking her arm out, “but he’s getting away.”

Even now, the taxi the man had stolen was racing down the street at a bracing forty miles an hour. Captain Beck quickly raised a hand to flag down the next taxi, but by the time one had stopped, the other was already nearly a block away.

“Quickly,” Captain Beck told the driver as they all piled in. “You see that yellow cab up ahead? Catch it and there’s a good tip in it for you.”

“Yes, sir.”

Captain Beck sat up front by the driver, the rest in the two rows behind them, with Dr. Weiss examining Agent Harris’s injury.

“How’s it look?” she asked.

“I’m not that type of doctor,” he replied. “How’s it feel?”

“I’m not that type of patient,” she answered. “If it’s still attached, I keep on moving.”

Their driver was flooring it, their speed creeping closer to forty-five before they came to an intersection where a traffic cop was signaling them to stop. But when the one they were chasing refused to stop, Captain Beck reached out with one foot and slammed it down on top of the driver’s foot before it could lift off the gas pedal.

“Don’t stop for anything,” the captain told the man.

They raced on through the intersection, horns honking as the oncoming traffic formed cloverleaves around them, trying not to hit anything. Somewhere a police whistle blew and several people shouted, all of which the team ignored. When the taxi up ahead made a sharp turn, so did they; when it sped up, they sped up even more. Slowly the gap narrowed; then came a sharp crack of thunder as a piece of the cab chipped off.

“My cab!”

“Looks like he’s got his gun working again,” Captain Beck called back.

“Just keep on him,” Agent Hessman called. “Sue—”

“Well enough,” she replied.

“I wonder if this is what it was like for Nellie Bly in the war,” Claire said. “The perspective of being the one shot at instead of merely observing others being shot. I must say it’s . . .”

“Thrilling?” Professor Stein suggested.

“Terrifying! I don’t know how she did it.”

The taxi ahead of them made another sharp turn, but this time when they followed it, they came to a dismaying sight. The cab had pulled up alongside a hotel in front of which were several other taxis parked two and three abreast. It parked beside one group of them. As the Americans neared, they could see the man crawl quickly from his vehicle into the passenger portion of the first taxi in that group, where they lost direct sight of him. When that taxi took off, though, Captain Beck was already urging their driver into pursuit.

Then they saw the second cab start up and drive away, followed by the third one abreast. By the time their taxi had finished turning to follow the first one, the other two were also driving away in different directions.

“Follow the first one,” Captain Beck told the driver.

This chase was not nearly as long; in fact, the one they were chasing was only moving at the sedate pace of thirty-five miles an hour. They raced on down the street and got ahead of the other taxi by a car length to cut it off, the result of which was a near pileup. With drivers shouting and cussing all around, Lieutenant Phelps leaped out and ran over to the other cab, ripping the door wide open as the others joined him in surrounding the vehicle with their bodies.

“Empty,” Lieutenant Phelps announced.

“Driver,” Agent Hessman called up, “where’d your passenger go?”

“What’s the big emergency, cutting me off like that? You could have wrecked my taxi!”

“I’ll pay you for your troubles,” Agent Hessman said. “Now where did he go? Please, it’s important.”

The man shrugged, then, as Lieutenant Phelps took out a small wad of bills, shrugged out a reply. “He paid me to just drive until the fare ran out, then got out the other side for the next taxi in line and told me to go. I didn’t see after that.”

Agent Hessman silently cussed under his breath and then nodded to Lieutenant Phelps. While Phelps took care of paying both taxi drivers, Hessman stepped away with a word for his other teammates. “We saw two other taxis leaving at the same time,” Captain Beck stated. “He could be in either one of them.”

“Or neither,” Agent Hessman stated. “Make us think we had a one-in-three chance when in reality we had none at all.”

“Still back at that hotel,” Dr. Weiss said with a snap of his fingers.

“Not anymore,” Agent Hessman stated. “We just gave him enough time to get away. Everyone, status.”

“I’ll manage,” Agent Harris replied. “Just a little bruise.”

“I don’t think we left any signs in our wake,” Dr. Weiss reported.

“At least nothing that time won’t soon forget,” Professor Stein added.

“Both taxi drivers paid up in full,” Lieutenant Phelps reported.

“So who was that?” Captain Beck asked.

“We’re about to find out.” The team formed a circle of flesh around Agent Hessman, shielding him from view while he discreetly brought out his own little handheld data device. A couple of swipes of his finger and he motioned Agent Harris over for a quick look at the pictures scrolling by on the small screen.

“That one,” she said, pointing to one.

“Are you sure?” Agent Hessman asked.

“Completely.”

Agent Hessman sighed. “Then we have a new wrinkle. Because that’s one of the people from the German team.”

“The Germans?” Dr. Weiss exclaimed. “I thought it was the Japanese that created the TDW.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Agent Hessman began, quickly putting his small device away within his coat. “At first it looked like‍—‍”

A slight cough cut him off, as all members of the team turned to see who had made the sound. Claire Hill stood there, hands akimbo as she addressed the team members with a fixed glare.

“If I might ask . . . what is a TDW?”

Answers would not be forthcoming to that question either.