The Rescue(11)

“Already on the way out,” said her assistant. “These guys don’t look eager to stick around, either. I’m hearing a lot of sirens.”

“I have one of them on the ground right here,” said Harlow. “I don’t see any others.”

“Don’t spend too long down there,” said Decker. “If the police block the parking garage exit, we’re kind of screwed.”

“I got this,” said Harlow.

“Of course you do,” he mumbled before bolting up the stairs.

When he reached the second level, screams filled the stairwell below for a moment before the space went silent.

“Harlow. Are you in the stairwell?” he whispered.

“No.”

“I think someone got past you,” he said, drawing the suppressed pistol.

“Nobody got past me.”

Rapid footsteps echoed off the gray concrete walls, casting serious doubt on her stubborn proclamation.

“Somebody got past you.”

“I’m on my way,” she said.

“Be really careful,” he said.

Decker considered his options. He could open the door and position himself in the garage, but his pursuer would most likely hear the door. If the thug relayed that information back to his buddies in the van, Decker would have an entirely new series of problems on his hands. No. He had to take the man out quickly, before he could react or warn the others. Decker lay flat on the rough concrete landing, his pistol aimed just above the top of the stairs leading up from level one.

The sound of the steps below intensified for a moment before going quiet. The man was close, proceeding cautiously up the stairs. The opposite of what he had hoped. His impromptu tactic worked a lot better against a rushed opponent, who would be focused on the doors and upper reaches of the next flight of stairs. Decker lay in the middle of the landing, the last place anyone should expect him. Should being the operative term.

He kept the pistol level with the floor and waited. A few seconds later, clothing rustled below, followed by soft footsteps. A mop of brown hair came into view, and Decker applied pressure to the trigger. Before he could fire, a door slammed open below, causing the man to duck.

“Decker. I’m coming up,” whispered Harlow, her voice just barely audible in the stairwell. “What’s your status?”

Before the man could report what he’d heard or reposition to engage Harlow, Decker pushed off the concrete and fired twice. The bullets struck the man’s right temple in a tight pattern, spraying the concrete behind him with bright-red, speckled gore. The operative instantly dropped out of sight, his central nervous system switched off like a light. Decker stood up slowly, his eyes following a thick red streak down the wall to the man’s crumpled body.

“Decker. Please tell me you didn’t”—started Harlow over the radio, continuing out loud when she swung into view on the landing below—“blow someone’s brains out.”

Decker put his index finger to his mouth and shook his head. She nodded her understanding of the situation, frowning at the grisly sight. Decker moved quickly, finding a wireless voice-activated microphone inside the man’s collar. He removed the translucent device and placed it on the step, crushing it under his shoe.

“This is bad,” she said.

“He didn’t leave me much choice,” said Decker.

“Now we’re dealing with a murder investigation under really unusual circumstances. The cops will be all over this.”

He wanted to lay into her for letting this guy sneak by but didn’t think it would be productive. Plus, she’d saved his life. He stuffed the pistol into his waistband and knelt next to the twisted corpse.

“Don’t touch the body,” she said. “You’ll get—”

Decker turned the man’s head, revealing the mostly exploded side. He pulled the earpiece out of the man’s half-missing ear and wiped it on his pants.

“—blood all over you. And the car. Great.”

The piece looked intact, so he pushed it into his ear, catching part of a conversation.

“He said something about the parking garage,” said a male voice. “I saw him bolt north through the smoke.”

“We can’t stay here any longer,” said another man. “The first LAPD units are moments from arriving, and every cop within five miles is sure to follow. Whoever orchestrated that little stunt knew exactly what they were doing. I want all teams moving away from the scene immediately, and switch radio frequencies—in case Rich gets nabbed.”

“Copy that,” said the first voice, followed by two more acknowledgments from different men.

He took the earpiece out and stuffed it in his pants.

“Did you hear anything?”

“Get the car and pick me up at the door,” said Decker. “LAPD is seconds away.”

“Where are you going?” she said, starting up the stairs.

“Nowhere. I need to search this guy,” he said, turning the body over. “I’ll be right up.”

“We don’t have time for this,” she said, passing him.

“The guys talking on the radio weren’t Russians,” he said, digging through the man’s pants for some kind of ID.

Harlow continued up the stairs. “I could have told you that.”