Chapter 5 #3
A quick glance over his shoulder at the SUV he’d pinned against the side of a brick building assured him the occupants had yet to escape. The SUV rocked back and forth in an attempt to work free of the building and the abandoned SUV.
They only had seconds to disappear through the streets before the men in the other SUV moved enough to allow them to open a door.
Horns honked at Crusher and Marta as they darted in front of the slowly moving vehicles. The opposite side of the four-lane road was moving faster, so they had to pick their moments to cross.
Once on the other side, Crusher dared to glance back.
The trapped SUV backed several feet, dragging the rental Crusher had abandoned. They’d be free all too soon.
Holding Marta’s hand, Crusher dove into an alley, passing between buildings to the street beyond. They zigzagged through alleys, down streets and passed through department stores that took up entire blocks.
At one point, Crusher saw two men in black emerging from one of the alleys they’d passed through moments before. They spotted Crusher and started running toward them.
“We’re too recognizable in these clothes,” Marta said, glancing down at the navy-blue coveralls. She’d lost her hat somewhere between crashing into the other SUV and running across the crowded streets.
“We can’t help that now,” Crusher said and turned away from the advancing men. “We have to get out of here.
“If we can’t outrun them, we’ll have to outsmart them.” Marta pulled him into an office building and ran for the bank of elevators.
Crusher slowed. “They’re too close. They’ll see what floor we get off on.”
“Exactly.” She smiled, stepped into the elevator, pressed the button for the fourteenth floor and then exited before the doors closed.
“Hopefully, that will throw them off long enough for us to put some distance between them and us.” She hurried down the hallway and drew Crusher into the ladies’ room.
The woman was brilliant in the lab and proving crafty as well. He could respect that. She was also pretty with her auburn hair hanging down around her shoulders in a wild mass of curls.
Crusher stood beside the swinging door with Marta behind him. If the men following them skipped the elevator and checked the doors along the corridor first, he’d be ready. He could handle two men, as long as they didn’t start shooting.
Heavy footsteps sounded in the hallway. A man said something in Spanish. They seemed to be arguing over where to look first.
A bell dinged, indicating one of the elevators had come to a stop on the ground floor.
A woman’s voice sounded as if she were offended. A man cursed in Spanish, feet scuffled and then silence. Crusher eased open the door and peered out.
The hallway was empty.
“Let’s go,” he said and hurried to the exit, keeping a watchful eye out for the two men.
People in business suits and leisure wear moved along the sidewalk outside the office building. No men in black among them.
Crusher and Marta stayed close to the side of the building in case the men could see out a window and spot them from the fourteenth floor.
After several more blocks, Crusher found a hop-on-hop-off bus pulled to the curb and stepped aboard, bringing Marta with him.
Once inside, they sank into empty seats.
“Where to?” Marta asked.
Crusher pulled his satellite phone from his pocket and texted Royce.
Crusher: Safehouse compromised. Security detail dead
Royce: The only people who knew about it were you, Devon, and me
Crusher: Is Devon compromised?
Royce: Unknown. For now, I’m your one and only.
Crusher: Roger
Royce sent him coordinates through text.
Royce: KTP and CTS
Crusher recognized the acronyms SOS had come up with for 'Kill the Phone' and 'Coordinate Through Swede,' their technical liaison with their partner organization, the Brotherhood Protectors. When they’d left the government umbrella, Hank Patterson had offered to take them into his fold and provide some of the support they needed in the way of computers, internet, communications, and security.
For all things technical, Swede and his network of computer geeks were their go-to guys.
Crusher: Roger
He entered the coordinates into his GPS. At the fourth stop from that point, Crusher and Marta left the bus and entered a less commercial, seedier section of the city, where shuttered businesses and dilapidated homes were scattered, some occupied but in need of maintenance.
“Is it safe here?” Marta asked.
“I don’t think we’re safe anywhere,” he answered. “We sure as hell weren’t safe in the more upscale area.”
“You have a point,” she said and slipped her hand into his.
He liked holding her hand. It was small but strong. Like her.
When they arrived at the coordinates, Crusher turned off the satellite phone.
He glanced around and frowned. The building had seen better days.
Paint peeled from the eaves, there were cracks in the brick facade, running from the ground to the roof, and an official-looking notice had been tacked to the front door.
“I might be wrong, but this building appears to have been condemned,” Marta said.
A young man with long, brown, lanky hair and brown eyes, wearing his jeans hitched to the middle of his ass, his boxer shorts on full display, passed them. He stopped and pretended to tie the laces on his battered tennis shoes. “Did Royce send you?” he asked without looking up or moving his lips.
Crusher diverted his attention to the condemned building, keeping the guy in his peripheral vision. “Yes.”
“Follow me,” he whispered. When he straightened, he took off, walking faster than when he’d passed them.
Crusher hooked Marta’s arm and kept pace with the guy, but leaving a distance between them, while praying he was one of Royce’s contacts and not leading them into a trap.