Chapter 9
The lit, yet locked state police station gave Russ a bad feeling, even without the stacks of “gift boxes” near its entrance.
He and Clare were closer to their destination than anyone else; the heavy glass doors leading up to the plaza were just shutting behind the lawyer and Paul Terrance, and Knox and Kevin were still wrangling the crowd along with the synagogue security guards.
“Wait here.” He squeezed Clare’s shoulder and entered the tiny lobby. He pulled one of the two chairs over to the reception window, and braced to mount the thing. “How are they doing out there?”
“Kevin’s trying to keep four food truck owners from carrying their cart with them. It looks a little like the Ark of the Covenant.”
He stood on the chair, bending the top of his head to fit under the ceiling. “I can’t see anybody. I don’t like—”
“Russ, there’s a problem with the exit.”
Russ huffed as he hopped down. He walked out of the office to take a look. The crowd was backing up behind the doors to Madison Avenue, compressing into a solid mass of increasingly agitated humanity. He couldn’t see what the issue was, but no one was leaving. “What the hell?”
A woman’s scream hit him in stereo, two notes jolting his adrenaline until he realized it was two different women screaming, one from the crowd piling up in front of the exit, one from the stairwell they had entered from.
Zhào hit one of the heavy glass doors so hard it thudded against the wall. “He’s been shot! Paul’s been shot!”
Her words echoed through the concourse, igniting the latent panic in the crowd. People shouted, yelled, jostled. First one, then three, then the whole mass turned and began running north. Toward safety. Or toward another ambush.
“We have to stop them.” Clare dashed to the center of the concourse before he could grab her. He sprinted to catch up. They both splayed their arms out like synchronized school crossing guards and bellowed, “Stop!”
Miraculously, they weren’t knocked over and trampled. Over the clamor and crying, he could hear other voices calling out, “Stop! Stop! Stop!” Khalil and Johnson waded through the crowd, a bedraggled Rabbi Jess between them.
The rabbi raised her hands and shouted, “Quiet!” in a command voice that rivaled Clare’s.
The crowd fell silent. Russ turned to the young attorney, standing transfixed by the doors, tear-streaked and trembling. “Yíxīn. What happened?”
She wiped her face and took a deep breath.
“We went up the stairs and paused at the top. He said he wanted to go to the middle of the plaza before calling. Before using the phone. He went out first because I was putting on my coat, you know?” She looked to Clare, as if asking forgiveness.
“He was only a step or two ahead of me!” She wiped her face again.
“Then there was the noise. I mean, I know what a gunshot sounds like, I was on the range with the state police during training day…” She ran out of words.
He kept his voice gentle. “Go on.”
“He was shot. He just, he just stumbled backwards, and I could see the blood, and I, and I—” She burst into tears. “I didn’t even try to help him! I just ran!”
Clare enfolded the young woman in a hug. Russ raised his voice. “Is there a doctor—”
A man shouldered his way out of the crowd. “I’m an ER doctor.”
A second man, with a build like a weightlifter, joined him. “I’ve had paramedic training. If you want to bring him down, I can help.” He held up one of the tablecloths for a makeshift stretcher.
Yíxīn turned to the now-closed door and hauled it open.
“Wait.” Russ pointed to Knox. “Go with them. Provide covering fire if necessary.” She nodded and unholstered her gun. “ID where the shot came from if you can, but the priority is getting everyone back down safely.”
“Understood, Chief.” She led the rescuers slowly up the stairs.
“Johnson, Khalil. What was the problem with the street exit?”
“Locked.” The tall security guard sounded disgusted.
“We don’t know how,” Khalil said, before Russ could ask. “I thought I saw something jammed into one of the latch mechanisms, but it was hard to tell.”
“I should have checked earlier.” Johnson’s mouth twisted.
“Let’s focus on the problem. If this is the militia, and I think it is, they want us in here.
So before we lead these people into any more booby traps, I want to clear the next nearest exit, the one that goes to the underground parking lot.
It’s open; Clare and I took a look.” He lifted his chin to the guards. “Are either of you carrying?”
“I am.” Johnson reached under the back of her sweater and pulled out a Sig Sauer.
“Good. You, me, and Kevin are going to scout that parking lot.”
“I’m not armed, Chief.”
“No, but you’re fast. We might need that.”
Voices arose from the crowd, which had been mostly silent up till now. A middle-aged woman stepped forward. “What about us? What’s going on? What are we doing?”
Russ looked from his wife to Jess Oppenheim. “Can you two brief them? I can’t think of anyone better at keeping the calm than a priest and a rabbi.”
Oppenheim managed a tilted smile. “All we need is a minister.”
“Or a duck.” Clare squeezed his arm for a split second. “Be safe.”
“Always.” He ignored her skeptical hum. “Johnson, Kevin, with me.”
They took a measured pace, neither fast nor slow, scanning the walls and ceilings of the south concourse as they went.
“Keep your eyes open for anything that might be a spy camera. I’m thinking those columns are the most likely place.
” Russ pointed toward the I-beam-like supports sheltering long fluorescent lights inside.
“You think they might be filming us?” Kevin sounded uneasy.
“Makes sense,” Johnson said. “Live feed, maximize the terror effect.”
A quick look into each column didn’t yield any results other than slowing their pace. So, maybe no cameras. What were they waiting for? Russ glanced at yet another jolly pile of “presents” and suppressed a shudder.
He stopped as they drew near to the corridor leading to the parking lot. The performing arts center box office flanked the corner, and the three of them pressed against a large screen advertising upcoming shows and concerts.
“You can see from here it’s a wide corridor.
The far end branches off, that’s where the entrances to the admin buildings are.
Locked tight right now.” He kept his voice low.
“I’m not sure if we can exit the parking garage, but we can definitely get everyone well away from the explosives.
The pinch point will be the elevators down to the parking garage, so we’ll have to keep tight control of the civilians. ”
“Sounds good,” Johnson said. “If there aren’t any surprises. What’s the plan?”
“We go in and press the elevator buttons. If there’s anyone waiting in the garage, I want them focused on those doors. Then we take the emergency stairs down. Ready?”
“Ready.”
“Good to go, Chief.”
He rounded the corner. From the shadowy corridor at the end, there was a blur of movement, a startling CRACK and an almost simultaneous smash behind him, as if someone had flung a box of glass ornaments to the floor.
Johnson’s hand tightened in his shirt and Russ was yanked back to safety, boots flailing to keep up.
“What the hell!” Kevin grabbed his shoulders, looking frantically for a wound.
“I’m okay, I’m okay.” Russ pushed him away.
Across from the corridor, one of the glass doors leading to the performing arts center had a hole blown through the middle, jagged remnants matching the glass shards sprayed across the tile floor.
He took a breath. “I don’t think he was trying to kill me. ”
“Yet.” Johnson let that hang in the air.
Russ sidled next to the opening. “Chief!” Kevin hissed.
Russ patted the air, a silent settle down. “Hey!” he shouted. “Can we talk?”
The answer was another rifle shot. The exploding glass sound was much farther away this time—the bullet had passed precisely through the open hole, to be stopped by another set of doors closer to the theater. There went any hope for a poor marksman who’d been aiming for him but missed.
“Look.” Kevin leaned in. “What if you two lay down covering fire and I make a dash for the gunman?”
“No. That corridor is thirty or forty feet long.”
“And there’s no place for us to safely fire from,” Johnson added. “A good shot could take us both out and then pick you off at will.”
“We could—”
“No.” Russ dropped the word hard and heavy. He drew his breath in for one more try. “Can we negotiate?” he shouted. “What do you want?”
This time, the bullet hit the corner next to the damaged glass doors, spraying splinters and slivers of cement, leaving a gouged and cracked crater in the smooth surface of the wall.
“A very good shot,” Johnson amended.
“Goddammit.” Russ scrubbed at his face. “Back. Now.”