Jack sat huddled under a blanket, fighting to keep his eyes open. Four-thirty-five and he felt miserable. Must have picked up a flu of some sort. Great time to get sick.
First he’d been wracked by chills, and just when he’d reached the point where he feared he’d never be warm again, he’d broken out in a drenching sweat, so profuse he’d had to snag a towel from the bathroom to dry off.
The aftermath was weakness and lethargy. Too weak to keep standing at the window, so he’d pulled up a chair. Down the street, to the left, his Viper-1 night goggles had spotted a Taurus pulling away at 3:20 or so, leaving a man standing in the deep shadows of the sidewalk. But even at maximum magnification he remained a featureless blur.
A Kozlowski blur, Jack was sure.
This was why he’d remained on watch: for a moment like this, to confront the bomb setter face to face.
Problem was he was in no shape to confront anyone. An arthritic old lady in a wheelchair would be a challenge right now. The Kozlowskis would mop up the street with him.
All he could do was watch and wonder. He knew the man in the shadows was watching the apartment house door; but where had the car gone? What was the driver up to?
And then the Taurus was back.
Jack stiffened. When had that happened? He flipped up the night goggles and checked his watch: 4:50. Must have dozed off. Damn!
There, almost directly below, a man crossing the street, moving away. Getting into the driver side of the Taurus.
Jack’s heart began hammering. Where’d he come from? Had he been in the building? Set another bomb, a bigger one, in the lobby maybe?
He watched the Taurus. It stayed put. Good sign. A bomb in the lobby big enough to kill the people in a third-floor apartment would take out half the block. But their car was parked in the blast zone.
That meant a smaller bomb, if any. But where?
He’d have to go down and check.
That was when the second bout of chills slammed him…