Loyalty in Death (In Death #9)(95)

She smiled again as she slipped the ‘link away. She knew he hadn’t meant the bonds.

Having backup and a tracker didn’t stop her from feeling alone and exposed as she moved through the crushing crowd in Grand Central. She spotted some cops whose faces she knew. Her eyes passed over them, and theirs over hers, without interest.

The speakers droned overhead, announcing incoming and outgoing transports. Flocks of commuters lined the public ‘links, calling home, calling lovers, calling their bookies.

Eve strode past them. In the surveillance van two blocks away, Feeney noted her heartbeat was smooth and steady.

She saw the vagrants who’d come in from the cold and would soon be rousted out again by security. Vendors sold the news, on paper, on disc, as well as cheap souvenirs, hot drinks, and cold beer.

She took the stairs rather than the glide and moved down to check point. Lifting her arm as if to push at her hair, she muttered into her wrist unit.

“Leaving main level for check point. No contact yet.”

She felt the floor tremble, heard the whining scream as a bullet train tore out of the station.

She stood on the platform, one hand firm on the suitcase, the other in plain view. If they were going to take her out, they would do it here, fast, taking advantage of the crowd waiting for their transport. One takes her out, another snags the case, and they’re lost in the confusion.

That’s what she would do. Eve thought. That’s how she’d play the game.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw McNab in a bright yellow coat, blue shoes, and ski hat, idling at a computer game while he sat on a bench in the waiting area.

They were scanning her now, she imagined. They’d find she was armed, but they’d have expected that. If she was lucky, and Feeney was good, they wouldn’t make the tracker.

The public ‘link behind her began to ring, loud and shrill. Without hesitating, she turned and answered. “Dallas.”

“Take the incoming train to Queens. Buy a ticket onboard.”

“Queens,” she repeated with her mouth all but against her wrist unit. The caller had already disconnected. “Next train,” she added. “Incoming.”

Turning away, she moved toward the tracks as the rumble started. McNab pocketed his computer game and strolled up behind her. He’d been a good call, Eve mused. No one looked less like a cop. He was wearing headphones, doing a little head and shoulder dance as if he were listening to music that set him into motion. His body stood at Eve’s flank like a shield.

The displaced air from the train blew over them. The whine shivered away, and people began to bump and shove their way on and off the train.

Eve didn’t bother to try for a seat but gripped a security hook, planted her feet, and braced for the takeoff.

McNab squeezed in just down the line and began singing lightly under his breath. Eve nearly smiled when she recognized one of Mavis’s songs.

The trip to Queens was crowded, hot, and blessedly short. Yet even that short jaunt made Eve thankful she wasn’t an office drone condemned to ride public transpo throughout her days.

She stepped off onto the platform. McNab moved by her without a blink and headed into the station.

They sent her to the Bronx next, then Brooklyn. Then shot her to Long Island, back to Queens. She decided she’d just throw out her arms and beg for a laser blast if she had to take one more ride.

Then she saw them coming. One on the left, one on the right. She ran Fixer’s description through her head and decided these were the two who’d made his deliveries and cut out his tongue.

She backed up out of the crowd of weary commuters, noting the two-man team had slipped into a pincher pattern:

They were taking no chances, she mused, and as one flipped open his coat to show the police-issue blaster, she assumed they meant to take no prisoners, either.

She bumped deliberately into a man waiting behind her, lifted a hand as if to catch her balance, “Contact. Two. Armed.”

“Lieutenant.” One of them slipped a hand over her arm. “I’ll take the payment.”

She let him steer her back. Not a man, she realized when she took a good, hard look. Fixer had been right there, too. They were droids. You couldn’t even smell them.

“You’ll get the payment when I get the target, and it’s confirmed. That’s the deal.”

He smiled. “New terms. We’ll take the payment, my partner will cut you in half where you stand, and the target will be destroyed as a celebration to the cause.”

She saw McNab barreling down the glide. He jerked his thumb up, signaling that the target had been made. Eve showed the droid her teeth. “I don’t like those terms.”

She swung back, slamming the case into the knees of the droid behind her. With the move she swung down and to the side, catching him by the ankles as he discharged the weapon. The blast put a fist-sized hole in his partner’s chest.

Screaming for civilians to take cover, she reared up, clamped her fingers over his weapon hand, and twisted. The next blast hit the concrete, its path close enough to singe her hair. She could hear shrieks, stumbling feet, the roaring whine of an oncoming train.

Eve threw back her weight, brought the droid down with her. They rolled through running feet, toppling people like bowling pins.

She couldn’t get her hand to her weapon, and his was lost in the stampede. Her ears were ringing with the noise, and beneath her, the ground shook like thunder. The droid reared up; something sharp and silver flashed in his hand.