Erased (5 page)

It was like a scene from a movie. It seemed too real to be real, especially in Sara’s hazy state of mind. Her senses were overwhelmed. The throng in the streets was a moving, twisting collage of colors. Noise filled her ears. Voices. Horns. Sirens.

Someone in the crowd shouted, “There! On the roof!” Sara glanced down and saw a kid with a skateboard pointing at her. Instantly, a dozen faces turned in her direction. They all began shouting.

She took a step back and almost tripped over something heavy. She bent over, rubbing at the painful bruise on her shin. “What the…?”

Then she realized what the object was. A rifle. Sara glanced back towards the body on the stage, and then at the sea of faces staring up at her from the crowd. The full weight of her situation came crashing down.

She wasn’t thinking clearly, but she could put two and two together. She was a lawyer. She knew how things looked. The gun, the body lying there on the stage…

“Oh my God,” she said breathlessly.

Sara panicked and broke into a run.

She plunged into the stairwell and flew down to the first landing. She stopped when she heard footsteps and voices echoing up from the passage below. A police radio buzzed out some incomprehensible message. Sara glanced over the rail and saw blue uniforms a few stories down. She froze.

They were coming for her.
They knew.
But what? What had she done? What did they know? Her mind flashed back to the stage, the body trembling… She shook her head, forcing the thoughts away. She didn’t dare admit it to herself.
Facts
, she thought
.
Find something solid to grab onto, something real.

Sara had to get away from the gun. That was what she could process. She had to get as far away as possible. Her chest rose and fell with panic. The police were climbing up the stairs, growing closer by the second.

Sara couldn’t go back to the roof, she couldn’t risk being caught there. She sure as hell couldn’t climb down the outside wall. Even if she could, that crowd would spot her long before she reached the ground.

There was a door next to her, the door that led to the top floor. She tried the handle and found it unlocked. The only thing that kept Sara from rushing in was the fact that she had no idea what might be waiting on the other side. She wouldn’t get far if it was a busy office. Then she’d have witnesses; witnesses who had seen her escaping from the roof, who could show the police right where she’d gone.

Then Sara noticed the fire alarm. A scheme unfolded in her mind. She needed time to think. She needed to figure out what had happened to her. She hadn’t done anything wrong, but Sara knew she looked guilty as hell. She knew what the police would think.

Sara pulled the fire alarm and pressed herself up against the wall. She covered her ears against the shrieking, and waited. Bodies began piling in the stairwell below. That would slow the police down.

Sara threw caution to the wind and yanked the door open. She needed to find an elevator and get to the lobby as quickly as possible. To her surprise, she found herself staring at a room full of clothing racks, displays, and boxes of merchandise. Apparently, the top floor of the building was a storage area for the department store. She glanced at the far wall and saw the elevator doors sliding shut.

The employees were gone. The place was deserted. Sara stepped inside and locked the door.

She took a moment to gather her wits. She took a deep breath. No matter how she tried to put it together, nothing made sense. How had she gotten to the roof? Had someone put her there? How could they have done that? Perhaps they had drugged her… but who? And why? Did it have to do with the sore on her hand?

Sara had been framed. That was the only answer. Someone had put her on the roof with that rifle. Then they’d killed Fortress and left Sara with the smoking gun. It
wasn’t
smoking, though. Sara hadn’t pulled the trigger. She knew that much. Someone else had killed Fortress, someone nearby. Wouldn’t the police know that?

They won’t even check
, she realized. There were hundreds of witnesses to the fact that Sara had been on that roof. As soon as the cops found the gun, they’d have all they needed. It was plain as day that she was guilty. And when they caught her, what could she say in her defense? That there was another shooter on another roof somewhere? There wasn’t a jury in the world that would believe her story. It was like a bad JFK movie. The cops would laugh at her. Then they’d toss her in prison and throw away the key. Sara had seen the inside of a prison before. She didn’t want to go there.

Sara headed for the elevator. Then she stopped. She looked at the racks of clothing and a new possibility sprang to mind. Witnesses had seen her. They knew what she looked like. They knew what she was wearing. If Sara walked out into that crowd, they’d spot her in a heartbeat. But if she changed, she might have a chance of getting out of there unrecognized.

She tore through the racks until she found what she was looking for: a pair of hiking boots, jeans, and a simple blouse. She quickly shed her business suit. She paused for a moment when modesty got the best of her and she realized that she was standing there in her underwear. Sara actually glanced at the windows to make sure no one was watching her. Then she shook her head at her own foolishness, and made quick work of getting dressed.

Sara checked herself in an old mirror in the corner. She didn’t look like an executive anymore. She looked like a woman on a shopping trip, or maybe a store clerk. Perfect. Sara noticed a rack of leather jackets against the wall next to the elevator. She was shivering and there was a brown one in her size, so she grabbed it and threw it on.

Sara collected her wallet and cell phone and then jammed her old clothes into an empty box. She grimaced as she tossed the box into the corner. The suit was an Alaia, the shoes were Armani. It had been one of her favorite ensembles. Sara wasn’t a frivolous spender, but when she shopped, she bought quality. That usually meant a considerable price tag. In this case, she was throwing away about three grand. It wasn’t the money that hurt, though. That suit was gorgeous.

Sara pressed the elevator button. Across the room, the door handle shook. Her eyes went wide as the handle jiggled back and forth. Someone knocked, and a voice said, “This is the police! Is anyone in there?”

The elevator was three floors down. Sara pressed the button again as if that might make it come faster. The door shook, and this time the pounding was harder. “Open the door!” the voice shouted. It sounded like a cop was kicking the door from the outside. Were they trying to break it down? Did they know she was in there? Sara tapped the elevator button, her heart pounding in her chest.

Suddenly the elevator doors slid open and Sara jumped inside. She punched the button for the lobby and tried not to hyperventilate. The elevator slid shut just as she heard the police crashing through the door. Sara heard voices overhead, disappearing in the distance as the elevator made its slow descent. If they knew she was in that elevator, the jig was up. They’d be waiting for her when it opened.

Three floors down, the elevator suddenly stopped. Sara began to panic. She reflexively reached out to tap the lobby button. As she did, she noticed a price tag hanging from her jacket sleeve. At that instant, the doors opened and Sara found herself staring at the back of a uniformed cop. Her mouth went dry and a tremor shot up her spine.

Sara dropped her arm to her side and closed her hand around the tag to conceal it. Her eyes darted past the officer to the crowded room beyond. The office was full of empty cubicles. The employees stood in a tight line, moving past the elevator and towards the stairwell. The line wasn’t moving very fast. No one seemed to be in a hurry. They seemed confident that it was a false alarm or a fire drill, as if this sort of thing happened every day.

The cop turned as he heard the elevator doors open, and his hand instinctively went to the handle of his revolver. He was a heavyset man in his early thirties. Sara made a quick calculation and decided there was no way to get around him. Even if she managed to do it, there was no guarantee the guy wouldn’t shoot her in the crowd.

As a lawyer, Sara knew better than to trust someone based on the uniform he wore or the training he’d had. People did stupid things all the time, even when they clearly should have known better. When it came down to it, people were just people. They all made mistakes. Uniforms didn’t account for much. 

If she made a run for it, Sara knew the cop might very well shoot her in the back. It had happened before. She stood there, staring wildly, wondering if she should put her hands in the air. Her heart was pounding so hard it seemed that the cop must have heard it.

He gave her a reassuring smile. “Don’t panic, ma’am,” he said. “I’m going to have to ask you to take the stairs. The elevators aren’t safe in a fire.”

Sara managed a weak smile. She nodded and stepped past the cop, heart choking in her throat, guts feeling like she’d just fallen out of a moving roller coaster. Her right hand squeezed the price tag at her side. Sara forced herself not to break into a run as she joined the others in line. She smiled nonchalantly as the office workers looked at her.

Sara ripped the price tag off her sleeve and stuffed it into her pocket the instant she could do so without drawing attention to herself. She edged forward into the crowd. She was careful not to offend anyone by pushing. Instead, she watched for openings. Every time someone hesitated, distracted by a noise or a conversation, she jumped into the opening. With so many people in there, and so many of them familiar with each other, they were all distracted.

Sara found herself passing through a dozen different conversations as she passed into the stairwell and made her descent into the heart of the building. She heard conversations about everything from the football game to rumors of so-and-so cheating on his wife, or “those two” who had supposedly been screwing in the copy room. She nodded and smiled as if she knew the people, or grimaced as if she was just as bored and irritated as the rest of employees.

The only people who even gave her a second glance were the sleazy guys checking her out. One of them asked for her number. When Sara showed him her wedding ring, he smiled slyly and said:

“Hey, what he don’t know won’t hurt.”

“No, but pepper spray might,” she shot right back. “Tell me, does hitting on married women give you a thrill or is it just a way to compensate for your tiny little prick?”

Several people around them started laughing. He put his head down and disappeared into the crowd behind her.

When Sara got down to the fifth floor, cops were everywhere. They stood at each of the doorways, ushering people into the stairwell. She could see that they were monitoring the crowd, probably looking for her. She hoped they were still looking for a woman in a suit. So far, the disguise seemed to have worked. Their eyes scanned the crowd, but never even rested on Sara.

She wound her way down the last few flights and at last reached the first floor. Sara stepped into a cacophony of chattering employees and squawking police radios. A dozen cops were standing around the lobby talking to employees, watching the crowd, guarding the exits like rabid dogs. Most of them had scanners on their belts and portable mics attached to their shoulders.

Sara paid close attention every time one of those radios went off. Judging by the sound of things, the cops were sweeping the building. They were definitely looking for her.

Sara knew she’d reached the point of no return. The cops were closing in. They had swarmed the place. There was no way to get past them without being seen. Her only option was to chance it and approach the doors. Waiting would only accomplish one thing. It would keep her there until she ultimately attracted their attention. The best thing she could do was make her move now, and hope they didn’t recognize her.

Sara put on her best poker face and walked right up to the line of cops. She was terrified. What if they asked what she was doing there? Sara didn’t even have an excuse.
Shopping,
she thought anxiously.
I was just shopping officer, and then the fire alarm went off.

One of the cops guarding the front doors looked Sara up and down and then twisted aside to make room. She smiled awkwardly and walked by. The door handle was cold to the touch, and impossibly heavy. Sara felt like Sisyphus pushing his boulder up the hill as she put her weight against the door and forced it open. She almost didn’t have the strength for it.

Then she was outside. Warm sunlight splashed down on her face. The roar of the city filled her ears like music. Sara took a deep breath and stepped into the crowd.

Fifteen minutes after waking up on the roof, she was free. The first thing she did was call Scott. She dialed his cell phone. A woman answered: “Bueno?”

Sara hung up, and then dialed again. The same voice answered. “Buenos dias?”

“I’m sorry… I don’t understand. Is Scott there?”

“No Entiendo? No hablo ingles.”

Sara looked at her phone. She’d dialed the right number. Maybe Scott’s phone had been disconnected. Had she forgotten to pay the bill? No, that didn’t make sense. They wouldn’t give his number away that fast. Would they?

Sara hung up and dialed their home number. A pleasant female voice said, “We’re sorry, but this line has been disconnected.” Sara’s chest tightened. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

Chapter 10

Stryker managed to continue pacing even as the truck wound its way through downtown traffic. Once they got past the square, he instructed the driver to circle around in a one-mile perimeter. He wanted to be closer, but traffic was too heavy.

Five minutes after the assassination, Stryker started to get nervous. He was waiting for confirmation of Sara Murphy’s arrest. It should have happened within minutes. “Chaz, what’s going on? Why don’t I have an update?”

Chaz was one of the techs, the one with green hair and a nose ring. Stryker didn’t care much for him. Standards were lax when it came to the field techs. The OSS couldn’t afford to turn them away. It wasn’t a job that just anyone could do. They needed people that could do a very challenging and specialized job, and keep their mouths shut about it, too. They needed a certain moral
compliancy
. The OSS often operated under questionable legal and ethical circumstances.