The Einstein Pursuit

13

Payne checked the fallen gunmen for signs of life. Both were breathing, but the larger one was in bad shape. He would need medical attention to survive the day.

But it wouldn’t come from Payne.

Not with Sahlberg’s life still in jeopardy.

Payne searched their pockets for identification. He found nothing useful. It was further proof that Sahlberg had been telling the truth. Almost everyone in law enforcement — local police, FBI, ATF and so on — carried a badge or some sort of ID. But Payne only found cash. No wallets. No credit cards. No personal items. These guys didn’t want to be identified.

He took a moment to examine their high-tech pistols. The palm-print scanners were almost perfectly integrated. The only thing that gave them away was a slight thickening of the grip and a noticeable change in texture. The scanner was smooth and shimmery; the rest of the grip was pebbled and dull. He had seen biometric locks before, but nothing like this. Even the prototypes he had used in the military were clunky and cumbersome.

But not these.

These were streamlined and sophisticated.

They were damn near perfect.

Payne glanced through the shattered window and saw the lower station getting closer. He had less than a minute before they reached the bottom. He had to work fast.

He looked up at the couple in the second tier. ‘Ma’am, I’m going to need the strap from your purse.’

She nodded nervously and threw the purse to him.

‘Sorry about this.’ He ripped off the strap before he tossed the purse back to her. He shifted his gaze to the teenager. ‘Same with you. Throw me your backpack.’

The teen tossed his bag without hesitation. Payne removed the bungee cord that held the bag closed and used it to tie the larger gunman’s hands to the bench. He did the same to the smaller thug using the strap from the purse. He knew the knots wouldn’t hold for ever, but it was better than nothing.

‘Listen to me,’ he said to the passengers. ‘Everything’s going to be fine, but I need you to stay in here with these two until the police arrive. There are more gunmen in the station, so it’s safer in here than there. Understood?’

‘Yes,’ the husband replied.

‘Good. Do you have a cell phone?’

‘Yes.’

‘Call 911 and tell them there’s been a shooting on the Monongahela Incline. Tell them you need the police and multiple ambulances. You don’t need to explain anything else or identify anyone. Just make sure these two are taken into custody. Okay?’

‘Okay,’ the husband said.

Payne ran through the best-case scenario in his head. The couple would call 911, and the police would arrive inside of ten minutes. That gave him enough time to get Sahlberg clear of the lower station. He knew they would have to speak with the authorities eventually — and he wouldn’t mind being there for the interrogation of the two men tied up in the cable car — but he had questions of his own that had to be answered first.

‘What about me?’ the teenager shouted. ‘What can I do?’

Payne stared at the young man. He was practically bouncing up and down with excitement. It was clear the kid was relishing this. ‘Did you enjoy the fight?’

‘Hell, yeah! That was some Call of Duty: Black Ops shit!’

‘Do you want to learn how to fight like me?’

‘Fuck, yeah!’

‘Then quit playing video games and join the navy.’

The lower station was a two-and-a-half-story building sitting at the foot of Mount Washington, across the street from the Station Square shopping complex. Made of brick and painted auburn, it had a peaked roof with a turquoise spire and was designed to capture the feel of the old-time train stations of the past century. The structure might have looked spacious from the outside, but its appearance was deceiving. The back half of the building was used to shelter the two loading bays from the elements, and the rest was little more than a waiting area, a set of two staircases that led to the cable cars, and a second floor with a few small offices.

Other than that, it was mostly storage space.

On a busy weekend or during rush hour there would have been a line of people waiting for their chance to board at the lower station. There would have been little time, if any, for Payne and Sahlberg to make their way to the exit before panic set in and all hell broke loose. Thankfully, today Payne could only see five people waiting.

The doors opened, and he led Sahlberg down the staircase toward the main exit. He scanned the station for any signs of the gunmen from the previous trip. He hadn’t seen their faces, but Sahlberg had described them in detail. Furthermore, Payne knew they would be watching the passengers as they passed through the station. Seeing only tourists in shorts and sandals, he felt confident they weren’t walking into an ambush.

‘Follow me closely,’ he said to Sahlberg.

They moved steadily toward the front exit, walking past the five tourists who strolled toward the cable car. He was tempted to warn them about the wreckage inside, but what could he possibly say? I just beat the shit out of two men in the lower level, so unless you want to get blood on your shoes, you might want to find a seat in the upper section.

He knew a warning like that was just as likely to cause panic as the scene itself, so he put his head down and kept moving, hoping to make it outside before anyone noticed.

But he wasn’t quick enough.

The instant Payne opened the front door, a scream emerged from the loading platform behind him. It was a blood-curdling wail that echoed through the building and blared out into the street. At a time when Payne was trying to avoid attention, the scream might as well have been a siren imploring everyone within range to take notice.

Thankfully, the only people nearby were across the street.

Unfortunately, it was Masseri and a hired thug.

Payne instantly knew it was them. Not only because they were dressed like the two men he had knocked unconscious, but because the goon raised his pistol and opened fire.

That made things pretty obvious.

Payne dove back inside the building, knocking Sahlberg to the floor for his protection. The old man landed hard on his right hip, but a few seconds later he was back on his feet and ready to run for cover. Meanwhile, Payne darted across the lobby and grabbed a heavy iron bench from the waiting area. He dragged it across the tiled floor and shoved it against the front entrance. It wasn’t perfect, but the improvised barricade would at least slow their pursuers. Then he turned from the door and sprinted up the steps toward the cable car, urging the five tourists to get in the car with the teenager and the married couple. They’d be safer riding up the hill than hanging out in the lobby, which would soon resemble a shooting gallery.

Sahlberg, however, was the exception.

He would be safer with Payne.

As the tourists crowded into the incline, Payne crouched low on the stairs, pulling his pistol and facing the doorway below. From this vantage point he was protected by the geometry of the door and the stairwell: the men would have to be on their knees if they wanted to shoot him, such was the line of sight between the doorway and his position. The drawback was that Payne couldn’t get a clear shot at the men if they tried to enter; he would only be able to see their feet as they came toward the stairs.

The moment the door swung open and a leg stepped into view, Payne took aim. He waited for the intruder to step over the toppled bench, then fired once. His bullet found its mark, shattering the goon’s shin like a porcelain doll.

He immediately fell to the floor.

Writhing in agony, the man tried to locate the son-of-a-bitch who had shot him in the leg, but it was all for naught: he spotted Payne just in time to see him pull his trigger again. The resulting shot hit the man in his face, popping his skull open like a piñata. But instead of candy, it showered Masseri’s shoes with bits of bone and clumps of grey matter.

Payne hoped that shot would deliver a message.

If you want to live, you better leave now.

You don’t know who you’re messing with.