Slaughter - Lutz John - Страница 63
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“All of them.”
He made his way along the halls, tried some doors until he found an unlocked one, and slipped into an unoccupied room, pushing the supposedly injured Weaver ahead of him. It was cool in there, and quiet.
He was glad again to have studied the Center’s floor plan, and thought he knew exactly where he was. If he made it about fifty feet to the next cross hall, dragging Weaver along with him, he should be able to turn right and use an exit.
Of course, the exit would be covered by the police, who by now must have surrounded the Center with much of their uniformed force, along with their teams of elite snipers.
The Gremlin went to the dim room’s door and attempted to lock it, but discovered there was no lock. That was when, for some reason, an element of fear crept into his mind. It was a small thing, leaving him no more vulnerable, but it was like having a black cat cross your path. Nothing but superstition, but still . . .
Something else he should have thought of was the young nurse he had let run away after he’d shot, and surely killed, the uniformed cop. If he’d held her as a hostage, she could have become a valuable bargaining chip. Even though she was not the one he had come to collect.
The killer looked around but didn’t see a phone. Probably the Center brought landline phones in and plugged them into wall outlets when new patients arrived.
He pulled his throwaway cell phone from his pocket and pecked out a number that was by now familiar. Quinn’s cell phone’s number. It could be traced to this area, but if he didn’t keep the connection open for a while they wouldn’t be able to pinpoint the room he was in.
There was no caller ID on Quinn’s phone, only the number that had most recently called.
Quinn answered and identified himself.
“This will be a short conversation,” the killer said. “It’s time for me to have Pearl.”
Quinn felt the anger grow in him. “I don’t think there will ever be a time for that.”
The Gremlin laughed. God, he enjoyed this! Whoever said victory was hollow didn’t know what he was talking about.
When he heard the laugh, Quinn tightened his grip on the phone. “You’re not going to get off the grounds here alive.”
“After we trade, watch and see if I get off the ground.”
Quinn knew the Gremlin might well have a way. He wasn’t the sort who wouldn’t have a plan B.
Then Quinn recalled Helen the profiler’s words: “He doesn’t want you; he wants what’s yours. He wants Pearl.” Helen had been right from the beginning. He’d been played for a fool. Weaver and her back-from-the-dead act hadn’t fooled the Gremlin. The little bastard had guessed in the beginning that Weaver had only been an arrow pointing the way to Pearl.
“I have Weaver,” the voice on the phone said. “She’ll be actually and forever dead within an hour if you don’t do as I say.”
Quinn told himself that this was going at least somewhat as planned. But he didn’t feel at all ahead in the game.
He wondered how Weaver felt. And the Gremlin.
He knew how Pearl felt, and he didn’t like that, either.
The Gremlin surprised him again. “This place doesn’t have a heliport,” the Gremlin said, “but it does have a flat grassy area up front that will do for one.”
Quinn was thrown by that. It was something he hadn’t considered. “Are you telling me you want a helicopter?”
“Not for keeps,” the Gremlin said.
Quinn thought it wasn’t good that the killer still had a sense of humor. Some of the most vicious psychotic killers he’d encountered enjoyed a good laugh. It at least distracted them for the moment.
The Gremlin was using Weaver as the surest route to Pearl.
“Get me a police or hospital helicopter, and fast,” the Gremlin said, “before it gets completely dark, or I’ll shoot your policewoman, and then everybody will be shooting everybody else. You know how these things get out of hand. Some unlucky sap in the next block will be sitting watching crap on TV and a bullet will come in through a window and blow his brains out.” He tightened his grip on Weaver and stuck the gun barrel under her right eye. “I’m waiting for your answer. You’ve got only so many seconds to make up your mind, and I’m counting.”
Weaver said, “Don’t bargain with the little prick.”
Instead Quinn said, “What happens after you get your helicopter?”
“I guess that depends on what you and our phony, miraculously reborn girlfriend here decide. If she cooperates, the helicopter will simply drop down somewhere and let her out. If she doesn’t cooperate, the same thing will happen, only from higher up.” The Gremlin laughed. “I’ll bet there’ll be some TV copters, too. Recording everything. It will be immortal on the Internet.”
Quinn stood thinking it over. At least the psychopath wouldn’t be at the controls and wouldn’t crash the helicopter.
“It isn’t as if you have a choice,” the killer said.
Quinn knew he was right.
“All right,” he said. “I’ll try to get you a helicopter. It won’t be easy. I’ll have to make some phone calls.”
Quinn used his index finger to peck out Renz’s number.
In the building’s lobby, Renz answered a Center phone and listened to Quinn’s concise request. Since all calls in or out of the Center were being monitored, he already knew the contents of Quinn and the killer’s earlier conversation, so it didn’t surprise him. Wouldn’t have surprised him, anyway. Desperate people often viewed helicopters as if they were magic carpets that could swoop down and lift them out of trouble. It was wishful thinking.
Most of the time.
He said, “I can get us a helicopter.”
“I need it fast, Harley.”
“You’ll get it.”
Renz didn’t bother telling Quinn that somewhere along the line, probably in his brief stint in the army, the Gremlin had learned to fly a helicopter. That was only seven months before he went AWOL and was given a dishonorable discharge. What Quinn didn’t know might not hurt him. Or Renz.
Quinn relayed Renz’s answer. There were few people in the country who had the popular commissioner’s push. A skillful social climber and de facto extortionist, he knew almost everyone connected to law enforcement. And not only in New York.
When he heard, the Gremlin grinned. The gun was still pointed at Weaver’s head. She looked as if she’d just swallowed a smile.
People who lived on the edge, Quinn thought. Why did he understand them so well?
He caught a glimpse of himself reflected in a window.
It was subtle, but if he’d looked closely enough he might have noticed he was smiling.
It wasn’t a nice smile.
Things got worse.
Renz called Quinn’s cell phone and told him as much.
“We’ve got more information,” Renz said. He sounded frazzled and desperate.
“Another phone call?”
“A letter, actually. Remember the Ethan Ellis death? Looked like suicide by car?”
“Of course.” Quinn could feel everything enlarging, getting more dangerous. “You saying murder now?”
“Nope. Suicide by car. There was a suicide note in an envelope stuck down between the seats. Had your name on it. From Ellis.”
Now Quinn was dumbfounded. The possibilities his mind grasped were slippery and temporary.
“Note said he was being controlled by the Gremlin. Said we’d find out how. The thing is, we’ve gotta act fast. Ellis planted explosives in about a dozen buildings. He knew where and how to plant them. Not only will the buildings come down, but the way and sequence in which they fall will cause them to bring down strings of surrounding buildings, sometimes over a dozen at a time.”
“Like dominos,” Quinn said. He felt his heartbeat accelerate. Fear creeping in as he tried to grasp what he’d just heard. What it meant.
“But with people inside.” Renz said. “Manhattan will be mostly debris when the chain reactions occur.”
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