The Einstein Pursuit

14

If the numbers had been even, Masseri might have reconsidered his tactics against an accurate shooter like Payne, but due to the seemingly unlimited supply of men and weapons at his disposal, he decided to escalate the attack on the Monongahela Incline.

The black sedan roared down the opposite side of the street from the station, as if it were approaching a pit row. Masseri backed away as the car accelerated toward the curb in front of him. At the very last second the driver slammed on the brakes and the wheels squealed in protest. Three men dressed in suits jumped out of the vehicle. With their buzz cuts and stern demeanors, all three looked like soldiers from central casting.

These weren’t men who dealt in subtlety.

They were here for a battle.

Despite stopping on the side of a busy road, the driver opened the trunk of the sedan to reveal their arsenal: shotguns, rifles, grenades, rockets and even a flamethrower. If they couldn’t draw Sahlberg out, they could sure as hell bring the building — or all of Mount Washington — crashing down on top of him. Too bad they needed him alive, or they could really have fun.

‘The old man’s inside,’ Masseri announced. ‘He picked up a bodyguard along the way. So far he has taken out three men by himself. The guy is a crack shot.’

The driver considered the situation. ‘Let’s gas ’em out.’

His two associates nodded in agreement. They dug into the trunk and emerged with an armful of weapons including a modified grenade launcher that could fire multiple canisters of pepper spray using a rotary magazine. The police commonly used this type of ‘riot gun’ to disperse crowds. These men would use it to flush out their target.

Masseri stared at the three soldiers, who were wired and ready for action. ‘Remember: we need the old man alive. The bodyguard you can kill. Anyone else, use your discretion.’

The men smiled. There would be no discretion.

Wasting no time, the driver launched three tear-gas cartridges through the first-floor windows. A moment later, the cartridges detonated and noxious smoke began to fill the building.

Now all they had to do was wait.

Payne recognized the odor immediately. He knew everyone in the building would be choking and wheezing as soon as the gas made its way into their lungs.

‘Cover your nose and mouth,’ he ordered as the passengers began to panic.

The entire group — minus Sahlberg and the teenager — crowded into the upper tier of the car. They all wanted to put as much distance as they could between themselves and the tied-up men in the lowest level. The teenager sat alone in the middle section, brazenly taking pictures of the fiasco with his cell phone.

Sahlberg stayed in the stairwell with Payne, who waved his arms in front of the closed-circuit video camera, hoping someone would see him in the control booth at the upper station. After a few frantic gestures to get their attention, Payne pointed up the hillside. The doors instantly closed, and before long the cable car was leaving the station toward Mount Washington above.

That left only Payne and Sahlberg in the lower station.

‘Now what?’ Sahlberg asked.

Payne tore off his sleeve and held it up to Sahlberg’s face. ‘Breathe shallow, and keep your eyes shut as much as possible. And whatever you do, don’t panic. That’s when you suck in the most gas.’

‘What about you?’

‘I’ve been through so many drills over the years, I’m practically immune to this shit. Stay with me, and you’ll be fine.’

Then he took Sahlberg by the arm and led him up a narrow passageway to the storage area above the lobby. The air was better up there, but it wouldn’t stay that way for long.

‘You, to the left,’ the driver demanded as he motioned for one of the other men to take position along the left-hand wall of the building. ‘You, to the right.’

The men scurried in opposite directions, leaving Masseri and the driver to guard the front of the station.

Masseri knew the tear gas would force Sahlberg to flee the building, but he was worried that it would take too long. The actions of his team — the gunfire, the broken glass, the rising gas billowing from the windows — were sure to attract attention. It was only a matter of time before the police arrived to investigate. If the old man didn’t appear soon, he would order the men to go inside and drag him out.

Masseri watched as the two soldiers flanking the building crept along the painted brick wall, searching for any sign of Sahlberg or his bodyguard. Suddenly, the man on the left crumpled to the ground as a plume of pink mist erupted from the top of his head.

The shot from above was almost too easy. The man had stopped directly underneath the second-floor window that Payne had opened to get some fresh air.

If he had looked up, he might have seen Payne.

But he didn’t, so now he was dead.

Payne smiled and hustled to the front of the building. He peeked through the window and confirmed what he already knew: the reinforcements had arrived.

He took aim and fired again as the enemy retaliated.

Masseri watched as another soldier dropped to the ground.

Four shots, three kills, he thought.

Who the hell is this guy?

Suddenly, the parameters of the mission had changed. Whoever was protecting Sahlberg was much more than a bodyguard. For each of his team’s moves, the guardian knew how to counter. It had taken the horrors of war for Masseri to develop these abilities, and he wondered if the shooter inside had survived similar atrocities.

‘Fall back,’ Masseri ordered.

‘We can take him!’ the driver argued.

‘Collect their weapons and leave,’ Masseri demanded. He didn’t care about the bodies. These soldiers were expendable fodder that couldn’t be traced back to him. The next-generation pistols, however, were a rare technology used by only a few manufacturers. It would take some digging, but a thorough investigation into the source of the equipment might lead back to him. Even worse, it might lead back to his boss.

Masseri feared few things in life.

His employer was one of them.

He slowly backed away, leaving the driver to retrieve the weapons from his dead colleagues before the police arrived.

Jones rounded the corner and spotted smoke drifting out of the lower station. The building seemed to ooze as tear gas found every crack in the windows and every bullet hole through the siding. He wondered if Payne was trapped somewhere inside.

Then he noticed the driver. He had scrambled from the side of the building and was halfway across the street. Jones had seen soldiers from around the globe, but few carried the sheer number of weapons this man did. He was holding a pistol in each hand. An Uzi dangled from a strap across his chest, bouncing against a bandolier of rocket-propelled grenades. The launcher itself was slung around his back.

Despite the numbness in his lower face, Jones recognized the enemy when he saw him. Even if he hadn’t been a trained operative, he had watched enough movies to know that a man with that much firepower on a city street was up to no good.

Their eyes locked, and the other man reacted. Jones accelerated just as the man opened fire. Bullets shattered the windshield and hit the grill of the SUV as Jones ducked for cover. But he never took his foot off the gas.

Frozen in a fit of rage, the driver of the sedan never stood a chance. Jones’s SUV slammed into him at more than fifty miles per hour, instantly shattering most of the bones in his body. His chest and face exploded as the impact whiplashed him into the hood of the truck. Blood and gore splattered over the front half of the SUV.

The instant he heard the thump, Jones tramped on the brakes. The sudden stop launched the assassin — well, most of the assassin — through the air as if he had been shot from a catapult. He landed several feet in front of the vehicle, just as Jones stole a peek over the dashboard.

The bastard was definitely dead.

Jones tried to smile in victory.

When he did, drool leaked from his mouth.

Masseri watched events unfold before he calmly walked toward the nearby shopping complex. Once inside, he would disappear into the crowd.

But he would return soon.

Payne had watched the incident from his position on the second floor. He had glanced out the window just as the gleaming white SUV had slammed into the gunman.

He hoped his best friend had survived unscathed.

Less than a minute later, he and Sahlberg emerged from the haze and hurried over to Jones, who was crouched next to the victim, searching for an ID.

Payne saw the blood on Jones’s shirt. ‘Are you okay?’

Jones nodded.

‘What happened? Were you hit?’

Jones shook his head, still silent.

‘DJ, look at me. Is that your blood?’

Jones nodded a second time.

‘Where’d it come from?’

Embarrassed by the injury from the dentist’s office, Jones decided to lie. ‘I bitt mmyy lipp whenn I hitt thaa bastarrd!’