“I need a field trip tomorrow morning. I want someone to try to take me down during my run.”
Some of the advanced practitioners had agreed to participate in sneak attacks outside of class, as a way to keep their skills honed. It wasn’t a true ambush, because the victim had to arrange it to some degree, but it was a very different experience from fighting in the studio.
Sasha had served as both an attacker and a target in the past, but it had been over a year. She needed to re-center herself now.
Daniel said, “Sure. Let me check around and see who can do it. What’s the set up? Rape? Mugging?”
“No, I want you to do it. And, Daniel, I want you to try to kill me.”
“Sasha, is everything ok?”
“No. It’s not. I’ll be running the loop from my condo to the Cathedral of Learning and back. I’m not running to work tomorrow.”
“Okay. When will you be out the door?”
“Six a.m. sharp. I run a six-and-a-half-minute mile.”
“See you in the morning.”
“Thanks, Daniel.”
She hung up as she pulled into the parking lot and eased the car into her assigned space. Finally, home.
She sat for a minute, slowed her heartbeat, and scanned the dark parking lot. She realized she didn’t know what Connelly drove. She hoped he was already in her condo.
When she lifted the bag of Thai food from the floor on the passenger side, the pungent, spicy smell and the warmth coming through the plastic bag drove home how hungry she was. She checked that the gun was in easy reach, tossed her phone into her bag, and climbed out of the car.
The wind carried the faint howl of ambulance sirens from Fifth Avenue. Otherwise, the night was silent. As she strode toward the building entrance, she locked the car doors with her remote key and kept the key jammed between her fingers.
Krav Maga principles taught never to fully relax one’s guard until one was in one’s own home. And, even then, only if appropriate security measures were in place. She was almost there. Twenty more feet and she’d be in the entryway.
She stopped and placed the food on the ground while she used her house key to unlock the entrance door. Each resident’s key was keyed to open the front door, as well as his or her own door. Through the glass, she could see that the reception/security desk was unattended. Again.
As she turned the key, someone reached out from the hedges that fronted the building and snagged her by the left elbow.
“Sasha!”
She spun to her left as she grabbed the gun from her bag. She held it on its side, wielding it like a brick, and swung at her assailant’s head.
Connelly dropped her arm and ducked. “It’s Leo!” he hissed from the bushes.
Sasha peered into the row of greenery. It was, indeed, Connelly. He was in a full crouch with his arms crossed over his head for protection. She squinted. He was also shoeless.
“Connelly, what the hell is wrong with you?! I could have shot you.”
He stayed in the hedgerow and said, “Not the way you’re holding that gun. Were you going to hit me with it?”
She nodded.
“Sasha, you
shoot
a gun.”
“Let’s talk about this inside. The food’s going to get cold.” She moved back to the door, then looked at him again. “Did you lose my key? And your shoes?”
“We have a problem.”
She turned to the hedges. “What now?”
He stepped forward; the light over the entryway cast a shadow across his face.
“I was checking out the bad guys’ car in the lot and the one—Gregor, I guess—hit me from behind. I blacked out. Woke up in his trunk. No cell phone, no wallet. The car was moving. We ended up here. I think the other guy needed something. The one you hurt. So, Gregor took my shoes and left me here. He’s paying me fifty dollars to be a lookout for you. He thinks my identification is fake, I guess.”
Sasha stared at him while she processed his story. “He’s coming back?”
“Yes. Any minute.”
“How do you want to play it?” She forgot all about the bag of congealing food at her feet.
“First, give me the gun.”
“Happy to.”
She handed it to him, butt first, and he stuffed it into the waistband of his pants. Then he pulled his jacket—which looked like it had been rolled up in a ball—smooth over it.
“Let’s go,” she urged.
“No. If we want this guy, we’re going to have to wait for him and take him out here.”
She hesitated.
“Look, I get that your training emphasizes avoiding a conflict and using violence as a last resort. But this guy isn’t going to stop until he has that file.”
“I don’t
have
the file.”
“I know, Sasha, but he thinks you do. We need to face off with him and be done with it. Besides, he might have useful information.”
They stared at each other.
Sasha shook her head. “Forget it. You can come in with me and we can eat or you can stay out here by yourself. Your choice.”
Headlights washed over them as a car turned into the lot. It slowed over the speed bump, and the street light bounced off its silver paint.
“Too late.”
The sound of Gregor’s car door slamming shut and the electronic beep of the lock filled the night.
“No, it’s not.” Sasha turned back to the entryway door and put her key in the lock. Connelly grabbed her elbow again. Firmer this time.
“Connelly,” she hissed, “I’ll break your arm if you don’t let go.”
“Lady, please!” he said in a loud voice, “it was just an argument with my girl. I wanna get in and get my shoes. That’s all.” Then lower, “Just play along. Please.”
The older guy, Gregor, was coming up the walk at a half trot.
“Listen,” she said to Connelly, “I’ve never seen you around here before. I don’t know what your scam is, but you need to let go of my arm this instant.”
Connelly flashed her the smallest of smiles, as Gregor loomed over his shoulder.
“Thanks, pal. I’ll take it from here. Scram.” Gregor moved Connelly aside. Sasha could see the excitement in his eyes. He was looking forward to paying her back for his friend.
“Do not touch me,” she said. “This is your only warning.”
Gregor laughed, twisting his mouth into an ugly smile.
He grabbed Sasha by the shoulders, pushing her back against the door.
Connelly removed the Sig Sauer from his waistband and thumbed the safety off. He stepped up close behind Gregor and jammed it hard into the small of his back. With his free hand, he squeezed the scruff of Gregor’s neck.
“You weren’t going to stiff me my fifty dollars, were you?”
Gregor had tensed as soon as the pressure from the gun hit his back. Now he jerked his head around in an effort to see Connelly. As he did so,
Sasha reached up to her left shoulder with her with her right hand and placed her hand on top of his.
She rotated her arm back and over the top of his hand, trapping it tight against her shoulder. Gregor turned back to her, fast, his eyes full of worry now.
Before he could move, she took a step backward and turned her body, so that she was standing perpendicular to him. She kept rotating her arm, until Gregor’s wrist had turned all the way over. She flicked her eyes down to check his hand: his thumb was pointing straight down.
She tucked his hand under her armpit and snapped her arm straight down, bringing the entire weight of her body down on Gregor’s wrist, forcing it to bend to the side. Gregor bent his knees, twisting in an effort to ease the pressure on his wrist.
“What are you doing? Is that a wrist lock?” Connelly asked.
“Yeah, I’m going to break his wrist. I’m pretty sure he’s right-hand dominant.”
They both spoke in a conversational tone, which seemed to concern Gregor more than his physical predicament. Sasha read in his eyes that he thought they were psychopaths.
She read in Connelly’s voice that he questioned her use of the wrist lock. It was technically true that Krav Maga used the move principally to disarm weapons: the preferred method for a shoulder grab defense was a head butt. That seemed like overkill, though, when she had an armed federal agent for backup.
“For Chrissake, Sasha, I might have shot him by mistake with all that wriggling around. Let’s get inside already. I’ll take our friend here. You get that bag of food. I’m starving.”
Connelly hauled Gregor to his feet, and Sasha picked up the bag and held the door open.
Gregor made a half-hearted attempt to wrest himself free as Connelly shoved him through the doorway and down the hall to the elevator.
They got lucky. An elevator was waiting in the lobby, its doors open. Sasha ran ahead, stepped inside, and held the door open button, while Connelly pushed Gregor into the elevator car.
Connelly had him stand facing the mirrored back wall of the elevator and kept the gun tight against him.
“Do you carry handcuffs or anything?” Sasha asked, as she pushed the button for her floor and the elevator started its rise.
Gregor’s eyes widened in the mirror.
“I used to, when I was in field. I still have a set, of course, but they’re in my car.”
“Right, and you hitched a ride over here with old Gregor.”
Connelly cracked a smile.
“Listen,” Gregor said, making eye contact with Connelly in the mirror, “I wasn’t going to hurt her. I just need some files that were stolen from my boss.” His voice was strained.
“That’s a lie,” Connelly informed him. “You were going to hurt her. Or you were going to try, at least. I very much doubt you could take her down. But, let’s be honest, you did kill Tim Warner. And Irwin can’t be happy with you for failing to retrieve his files, so I don’t think you were planning to use a real delicate touch.”
Gregor blanched and his face registered his shock and panic that they knew about Warner and Irwin. His shoulders slumped forward.
“Are you going to kill me?”
“Only if I have to.”
Chapter 35
They hurried Gregor inside the loft. Connelly directed him to the seat by the window in Sasha’s living room area, pointing to it with the gun. Gregor backed into the chair and sat, glaring up at them.
Sasha’s skin crawled at the sight of one of the men who had killed Warner and attacked her sitting in the dark brown club chair where she liked to do her reading. She’d always thought that was just a saying, but her nerve endings were jumping. It felt like ants were racing up and down her arms.
“Do you have any electrical tape or wire? Something to restrain him?” Connelly asked, keeping his eyes on Gregor.
“No.”
Then Sasha remembered the rock-climbing equipment. “Wait.”
She opened the closet in the foyer. On the floor behind a never-used picnic basket was a box labeled “Patrick’s gear.” She dragged it out to the foyer and dug through it. She tossed the harness, pulleys, and carabiners out onto the floor. From the yellow rope bag, she removed two lengths of rope, then she rifled through the box until she found the paracord, coiled up on the bottom.
Connelly and Gregor both watched her. Connelly, with open fascination; Gregor, with dread.
“Who’s Patrick?”