Witness in Death (In Death #10)(78)

"This is my turf, Lieutenant. My command."

"Target is suspected of two homicides on my turf, Captain. That's an override, and we both know it. Let's get the job done. We can have a pissing contest later." Eve waited a beat. "We're approaching Level Two. Please inform your men. Weapons are to be programmed to lowest setting and to be deployed only in extreme circumstances and for the protection of bystanders. I want a clean snatch."

"I'm fully aware how to perform an operation of this nature. I was informed the target may be armed."

"We can't confirm. Use caution and minimal force. Minimal force, Captain; that's priority. The area is packed with civilians. I'll maintain this channel for further communications."

Eve tucked the communicator back in her pocket. "Hear that, Peabody?"

"Yes, sir. She wants the collar. 'This evening, the New York City Transit Authority, led by Captain Stuart, captured the primary suspect in Richard Draco's murder, in flight. Pictures at eleven.'"

"And what is our objective?"

"To identify, restrain, and incarcerate target. In one piece, and with no civilian injuries."

"You following that, Trueheart?"

"Yes, sir."

Eve noted the transit officers holding the perimeter of Area C. And the flood of people who milled, loitered, or rushed over the wide platform and through the snaking corridors that opened into shops and eateries.

She smelled the greasy aroma of fast food, the hot scent of humanity. Babies were crying. The latest urban rock was pumping out of someone's tune box in direct violation of the noise pollution code. A small band of sidewalk singers was struggling to compete.

She saw weariness, excitement, boredom on the sea of faces. And with mild annoyance, she saw a strolling pocket-dipper snag a wallet.

"Trueheart, you're the only one who got a look at him. Keep your eyes open. We want to take this down smooth, but we don't want to waste time. The longer that express is delayed, the more nervous Stiles is going to get."

"Dallas, Feeney and McNab at nine o'clock."

"Yeah, I see them." She saw them, the surging tide of civilians, the dozens of byways. "This place is like an insect hive. We're going to spread out. Peabody, troll the right. Trueheart, take the left. Maintain visual contact."

She took the center, cutting through the crowd, eyes scanning. Across the tracks, a southbound train shot down the tunnel with a hot whoosh of air. A panhandler, his beggar's license smeared with something indefinable, worked the passengers waiting for the delayed Toronto express.

She was about to overlap with Feeney, shifted her gaze to lock Peabody's position, turned her head to lock Trueheart's.

She heard the shout, a series of screams, an explosion of glass as the panel on one of the busy storefronts shattered. Even as she spun, she saw Stiles shove his way through the panicked crowd, pursued by a transit cop.

"Hold your fire!" She shouted it, grabbing both weapon and communicator. "Stuart, order your man to cease fire! Target is cornered. Do not deploy weapons."

She was using elbows, boots, knees, to fight her way through the surge of people fleeing the area. Someone fell against her, all wild eyes and grabbing hands. Gritting her teeth, she shoved him away, bulled through an opening.

The next wave of people swarmed like bees, screaming as windows on the storefronts spat glass. She felt heat on her face, something wet ran down her neck.

She saw Stiles leap over the fallen and the cowering. Then she saw Trueheart.

He had long legs, and they moved fast. Eve used her own, burst free. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a jerk of movement.

"No! Hold your fire!" Her shouted order was drowned out in the chaos. Even as she jumped toward the transit cop, he shifted to shooting position and took aim. At the same instant, Trueheart bunched for a leap and tackle.

The shock of the beam hit him midair, turned his body into a missile that rammed hard against Stiles's retreating back. The forward force sent them both tumbling off the platform, onto the tracks below.

"No. Goddamn it. No!" She shoved the transit cop, spun to the side, and rushed to the edge of the platform. "Hold all northbound trains! There are injured on the track. Hold all trains! Oh Jesus. Oh Christ."

A tangle of bodies, a splatter of blood. She jumped down to the tracks, feeling the shock sing up her legs. Her breath panted out as she searched for the pulse in Trueheart's throat.

"Goddamn it. Goddamn it. Officer down!" Her voice cracked out of a dry throat and into her communicator. "Officer down! Require immediate medical assistance, Grand Central, Level Two, Area C as in Charlie. Deploy medi-vac units. Officer and suspect down. Hold on, Trueheart."

She yanked off her jacket, spread it over his chest, then used her hands to press down on the long gash running down his thigh.

Feeney, out of breath and sweating, landed beside her. "Ah, Christ. How bad?"

"Bad. He took a hit, jumped right into the f**king beam." She'd been a step too late. One step too late. "Then the fall. We can't risk moving him without stabilizers. Where are the MTs? Where are the f**king MTs?"

"On the way. Here." He unfastened his belt, nudged her to the side, and fastened a tourniquet. "Stiles?"

She ordered herself to maintain, crab-walked to where Stiles lay facedown, checked for a pulse. "Alive. He didn't catch the hit, and the way they went down, it looked like the kid broke the worst of his fall."