“But not anymore?” Train asked. “Now you think it has something to do with the Institute?”
She nodded and hung her head in anguish. “Why didn’t she come to me? Why didn’t she ask me? I would have explained ...I would have protected her . . .”
“From who, Mother?” Sydney demanded. “Protected her from who?”
She shook her head as she stood and walked away from her daughter. “You don’t understand. It’s not what you think. I can’t.”
“It’s over, Mother,” Sydney said, grabbing her by the shoulder. “It’s over, and if you ever really loved Liz, you have to stand up for her now. It’s Venable, isn’t it? He’s behind this. We know about his father, and now Venable’s using the Institute to carry on his father’s work, isn’t he?”
Lydia began to speak, but just then a movement over Sydney’s shoulder seemed to grab her attention. “No! Sydney, look out!”
Sydney spun and saw the blond man from the highway standing in the doorway. A gun in his hand was pointed directly at her, and he was holding Amanda from behind.
The room tumbled into motion around her, as Train and Cassian both moved for their guns and Lydia reached out to grab her. Sydney, though, remained transfixed, staring at the man with the gun. She saw the look in his eyes, and saw his arm pull up ever so slightly as the muscles in his hand contracted, pulling the trigger. And then, just as she heard the shot, she felt her mother push her, and she was falling.
S
YDNEY HIT THE FLOOR
hard. She lay motionless for a moment as she got her bearings, wondering in a strangely detached way whether she’d been hit. She felt no sharp pain, but she’d heard that people who are shot often go into shock and don’t realize it.
She rolled over onto her back and looked down, half ex
pecting to see a wash of blood covering her shirt, or perhaps even internal organs hanging loosely from a hole in her abdomen. Nothing was out of place, though, and she concluded, with little real relief, that she was unhurt.
That was when she saw her mother.
She was still standing in the spot from where she’d shoved Sydney, and she was staring down at her daughter, her mouth hanging open, her eyes blinking in terror and regret.
Sydney stared at her mother, wondering what she was trying to say. It took a moment before she noticed the deep red stain on the front of her mother’s expensive silk blouse. At first she thought it was part of the fabric’s design, but then she noticed that it seemed to be growing, slowly at first, but gathering speed as it swallowed her mother’s torso.
Time was lost to Sydney. She watched as her mother sank to her knees, her mouth still moving, and her eyes trying to convey emotions too deep for words. Sydney thought she might be mouthing “I’m sorry,” but couldn’t be sure. Then, finally, her mother collapsed, facedown, nearly touching Sydney’s feet.
Time caught gear again with a jolt, and Sydney realized the room was in chaos. More frighteningly, as her mind cleared, she realized that gunshots were still ringing out. Suddenly she thought of Amanda.
z
Cassian spun as soon as he heard Lydia Chapin scream. A man was standing at the doorway to the foyer, pointing a gun at Sydney. Cassian knew who he was in spite of the fact that he’d never seen him before; Sydney had described him well. Jack went for his gun immediately, but Amanda Creay was blocking him from getting off a clean shot.
Cassian felt his heart seize as he saw Sydney drop to the floor. He wanted to run to her, but he forced himself to stay fo
cused; he needed to take care of the man with the gun first.
He leveled his pistol at the man. “Police!” he yelled, even as he pulled the trigger.
The man grabbed Amanda by the arm and dove to the side, behind the wall separating the front hall from the living room. Cassian held his fire, stealing a glance over toward Sydney. She wasn’t moving, and it took all his self-control to keep from rushing to her.
The man’s gun poked out from behind the wall and fired blindly in Cassian’s direction, forcing him to duck behind a table.
“Jack! You hit?” Train yelled from behind him.
“Not yet!” Jack took a deep swallow of air. “Sydney, you all right?” he called.
“I think so. My mother’s been shot, though. Where’s Amanda?”
Jack didn’t answer. Instead, he grabbed his radio. “Dispatch, this is Cassian. We’ve got shots fired and a potential hostage situation at 3507 Wisconsin Avenue. Request immediate backup.”
“Where is she?” Sydney screamed again. “Jack! Where’s Amanda?”
Jack crawled over to her and looked down at Lydia Chapin’s chest. Train was by his side almost instantly and gave Jack a questioning look. Jack shook his head in return. “She’s dead.” Just then, they heard the front door slam.
“Sydney,” Jack said. “He took Amanda. There’ll be people here in a matter of minutes, but we have to go after him. Will you be okay?”
She looked dazed, but after a moment she nodded. “Get her back, Jack,” she said in a voice so hollow Jack could hear the echo in her heart. “Please get her back.”
He held her eyes in his for another moment, squeezing her arm gently, unsure what to say. Then he looked at Train. “Let’s go.”
z
By the time they hit the front steps, Train could see the blue sedan peeling away from the curb. The man in the driver’s seat reached over Amanda, who was strapped into the passenger seat, and fired off two rounds in their direction, forcing them to take cover behind the large columns on the front steps, and then he hit the gas and sped off. Train and Cassian ran to their car.
Train jumped behind the wheel, turned the ignition, and threw the car into gear in one motion. They could still see the sedan ahead of them as it raced south on Wisconsin Avenue, picking up speed as it turned onto Massachusetts Avenue and headed down toward the city. Train took the police light off the seat beside him and reached out to put it on top of the car as he blared the sirens.
Cassian picked up the radio. “Dispatch, this is car 141, and we’re in a high-speed pursuit heading south on the 3200 block of Mass Ave, request backup!” He waited for the response to come back over the speaker. “Come on, goddammit!” he yelled at the radio.
“Calm down,” Train ordered. “We’re gonna get her back.”
“Unit 141, backup is on the way. Intercept at Dupont Circle.”
Train picked up the handheld. “Dispatch, make sure every
one knows we’re in a hostage situation here. I don’t want anyone to go in shooting.”
“Ten-four,” came the response.
Train looked over at his partner. Cassian’s gun was still in his hand, and he was leaning forward in his seat. “Calm down,” Train said again.
“You’re losing them.”
Train shook his head. “Are you hearing me?” He shot a look at his partner.
“We have to get her back,” Jack said, his jaw clenched. “I don’t care what it takes.”
Train turned his attention back to the road. “Okay, partner, I’m with you. Whatever it takes.”
z
Salvage sped down Massachusetts Avenue, pushing his ve
hicle to the limit. As they approached the city, the houses gave way to townhouses, and the streets, which had been nearly deserted farther up near the Chapin mansion, became crowded and more difficult to navigate. Twice he had to bump cars as he passed them, weaving in and out of congestion, nearly losing control of the car.
He glanced in his rearview mirror and saw the flashing blue lights still behind him. “Shit!” he said out loud. The pounding in his head had grown steadily through the night as his blood alcohol level plateaued and then dropped steadily. He should have picked up that extra bottle of booze, he realized now.
He looked to his right, at the girl in the passenger seat. She seemed so small, drawn in on herself, like a hermit crab without a shell. He took his gun and put it under her chin, lifting her head up so that she was looking at him.
“I have nothing left to lose,” he said to her. “Do you understand?”
She looked at him, and he was surprised to notice how calm her eyes seemed. He’d expected abject terror, but instead what he saw more resembled determination. Then she lowered her eyes and nodded.
“Good,” he said, focusing again on the road. “Don’t forget it.”
z
Amanda was amazed at the clarity of her thought. She would have guessed that she would simply shut down in the face of the mayhem and tragedy that had swallowed her life, but that was not the case. Instead her mind seemed to quicken, and her focus seemed to sharpen, and a burning seemed to grow in her stomach as her anger spread.
She looked at the man with the gun as he spoke to her; the man who she’d watched kill her grandmother; the man who was, in all likelihood, responsible for her mother’s murder. He was talking to her, but she wasn’t listening. Her mind was fo
cused on one thing only: killing the man. She determined at that moment that she would make sure the man beside her would not live through the night, even if it cost her her own life.
z
Salvage was flying as they approached Dupont Circle, one of the hubs of the city, with several main thoroughfares radiating out from it, an area that was constantly crawling with people. Up ahead he could see the flashing lights of the police cruis
ers converging on the circle, blocking off the sedan’s path. He stepped on the gas and increased his speed.
The cruisers had pulled into the circle at an angle, leaving no room for the sedan to go around. They had failed, however, to cut off the circle itself, and he decided quickly that that was where he was headed. A gap roughly the width of a car separated the front two police vehicles, and he made for that opening, increasing his speed. If he could just make it through, he might be able to cut through the circle and escape cleanly on the other side.
He gripped the wheel and held his breath as he braced for impact. The sedan clipped both police cruisers, sending them spinning in opposite directions like pinwheels as its momentum carried the blue car through the gap and into the small park at the center of Dupont Circle. He was through, and that meant he still had a chance.
The park erupted in panic. The appearance of so many police cars had already sent those hanging out there—primarily an unruly assortment of bicycle messengers, small-time drug dealers, and New Age hippies—scurrying in fear of a drug bust. But the entry of the sedan at high speed into the middle of the park sent people screaming in terror. Salvage spun the steering wheel wildly, and for a moment he thought he had lost control, but the wheels grabbed on the cement, and he smiled at the notion that he still had some luck on his side. He even allowed himself a brief moment of optimism, and as he steered his way through fleeing pedestrians he didn’t notice the small arm reach across and grab the steering wheel until it was too late.
The steering wheel spun to the right, ripped from his hands. He looked, bewildered, at the young girl next to him as she clung to the wheel, guiding the car toward the fountain. He let go with one hand and slapped her away, then turned back to try to regain control.
It was hopeless, though. The car, already the worse for wear for its collision with the two police cruisers and its climb over the high curb at the side of the park, careened off the solid park benches that ringed the fountain, and the body rode up the face of the stonework, separating from the chassis like a toy. The momentum was too much to allow any recovery, and the car gave in to the centrifugal force of the collision, flipping up and over, and landing top down in the fountain.
z
Train and Cassian followed the sedan as far as the curb at the edge of the park. There they screeched to a stop and leapt from their car, looking on in awe at the destruction. Cassian started running toward the wreck.
“Jack!” Train yelled, following him. “Take it easy, we don’t know whether he’s still armed.”
Cassian ignored his partner, picking up speed as he raced to
ward the fountain.
“Jack! Be careful!”
Train was ten yards behind Cassian when his partner reached the car. The windows were submerged beneath the knee-deep water in the fountain, and Cassian hurdled the fountain wall, diving under the water next to the passenger door, and disappearing for what seemed an eternity. Train was
wading in the fountain by the time Cassian came up, coughing and spitting as he tried to gain his feet.
“She’s not there!” Cassian yelled. “I reached in, but she’s not there!”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean she’s not there.” Cassian was doubled over, trying to catch his breath.
Train looked closely at the wreckage, which was pinned up against the statue at the center of the fountain. Water cascaded down from the giant bowl that topped the statue, roaring against the chassis. He grabbed his partner by the shoulder and leaned in toward him.
“What about Salvage?” he yelled over the din.
Cassian looked up at him, his eyes full of despair. “He’s not there either.”
S
ALVAGE ROLLED OUT
of the broken window of his car. The water was only knee deep, but he’d been trapped briefly upside down in the car’s interior, and he was gasping for breath as he hit the surface. He was on the far side of the car from the po
lice, where he couldn’t be seen, which was a blessing at least.
His head ached, and he was fairly sure that he’d smashed it on the steering wheel when they’d hit the fountain. He put his hand up to his temple and drew it away, the wash of deep red on his palm confirming his assumption.
Other than the head injury, he seemed intact, and his legs moved freely at his command. The real problem, of course, was that there seemed to be no avenue of escape. He could make a break for the far end of the park, but there was little likelihood that in his condition he’d manage to blend into the crowd and get very far.