The Einstein Pursuit (9 page)

‘Sorry about this.’ He ripped off the strap before he tossed the purse back to her. He shifted his gaze to the teenager. ‘Same with you. Throw me your backpack.’

The teen tossed his bag without hesitation. Payne removed the bungee cord that held the bag closed and used it to tie the larger gunman’s hands to the bench. He did the same to the smaller thug using the strap from the purse. He knew the knots wouldn’t hold for ever, but it was better than nothing.

‘Listen to me,’ he said to the passengers. ‘Everything’s going to be fine, but I need you to stay in here with these two until the police arrive. There are more gunmen in the station, so it’s safer in here than there. Understood?’

‘Yes,’ the husband replied.

‘Good. Do you have a cell phone?’

‘Yes.’

‘Call 911 and tell them there’s been a shooting on the Monongahela Incline. Tell them you need the police and multiple ambulances. You don’t need to explain anything else or identify anyone. Just make sure these two are taken into custody. Okay?’

‘Okay,’ the husband said.

Payne ran through the best-case scenario in his head. The couple would call 911, and the police would arrive inside of ten minutes. That gave him enough time to get Sahlberg clear of the lower station. He knew they would have to speak with the authorities eventually – and he wouldn’t mind being there for the interrogation of the two men tied up in the cable car – but he had questions of his own that had to be answered first.

‘What about me?’ the teenager shouted. ‘What can I do?’

Payne stared at the young man. He was practically bouncing up and down with excitement. It was clear the kid was relishing this. ‘Did you enjoy the fight?’

‘Hell, yeah! That was some
Call of Duty: Black Ops
shit!’

‘Do you want to learn how to fight like me?’

‘Fuck, yeah!’

‘Then quit playing video games and join the navy.’

The lower station was a two-and-a-half-story building sitting at the foot of Mount Washington, across the street from the Station Square shopping complex. Made of brick and painted auburn, it had a peaked roof with a turquoise spire and was designed to capture the feel of the old-time train stations of the past century. The structure might have looked spacious from the outside, but its appearance was deceiving. The back half of the building was used to shelter the two loading bays from the elements, and the rest was little more than a waiting area, a set of two staircases that led to the cable cars, and a second floor with a few small offices.

Other than that, it was mostly storage space.

On a busy weekend or during rush hour there would have been a line of people waiting for their chance to board at the lower station. There would have been little time, if any, for Payne and Sahlberg to make their way to the exit before panic set in and all hell broke loose. Thankfully, today Payne could only see five people waiting.

The doors opened, and he led Sahlberg down the staircase toward the main exit. He scanned the station for any signs of the gunmen from the previous trip. He hadn’t seen their faces, but Sahlberg had described them in detail. Furthermore, Payne knew they would be watching the passengers as they passed through the station. Seeing only tourists in shorts and sandals, he felt confident they weren’t walking into an ambush.

‘Follow me closely,’ he said to Sahlberg.

They moved steadily toward the front exit, walking past the five tourists who strolled toward the cable car. He was tempted to warn them about the wreckage inside, but what could he possibly say?
I just beat the shit out of two men in the lower level, so unless you want to get blood on your shoes, you might want to find a seat in the upper section.

He knew a warning like that was just as likely to cause panic as the scene itself, so he put his head down and kept moving, hoping to make it outside before anyone noticed.

But he wasn’t quick enough.

The instant Payne opened the front door, a scream emerged from the loading platform behind him. It was a blood-curdling wail that echoed through the building and blared out into the street. At a time when Payne was trying to avoid attention, the scream might as well have been a siren imploring everyone within range to take notice.

Thankfully, the only people nearby were across the street.

Unfortunately, it was Masseri and a hired thug.

Payne instantly knew it was them. Not only because they were dressed like the two men he had knocked unconscious, but because the goon raised his pistol and opened fire.

That made things pretty obvious.

Payne dove back inside the building, knocking Sahlberg to the floor for his protection. The old man landed hard on his right hip, but a few seconds later he was back on his feet and ready to run for cover. Meanwhile, Payne darted across the lobby and grabbed a heavy iron bench from the waiting area. He dragged it across the tiled floor and shoved it against the front entrance. It wasn’t perfect, but the improvised barricade would at least slow their pursuers. Then he turned from the door and sprinted up the steps toward the cable car, urging the five tourists to get in the car with the teenager and the married couple. They’d be safer riding up the hill than hanging out in the lobby, which would soon resemble a shooting gallery.

Sahlberg, however, was the exception.

He would be safer with Payne.

As the tourists crowded into the incline, Payne crouched low on the stairs, pulling his pistol and facing the doorway below. From this vantage point he was protected by the geometry of the door and the stairwell: the men would have to be on their knees if they wanted to shoot him, such was the line of sight between the doorway and his position. The drawback was that Payne couldn’t get a clear shot at the men if they tried to enter; he would only be able to see their feet as they came toward the stairs.

The moment the door swung open and a leg stepped into view, Payne took aim. He waited for the intruder to step over the toppled bench, then fired once. His bullet found its mark, shattering the goon’s shin like a porcelain doll.

He immediately fell to the floor.

Writhing in agony, the man tried to locate the son-of-a-bitch who had shot him in the leg, but it was all for naught: he spotted Payne just in time to see him pull his trigger again. The resulting shot hit the man in his face, popping his skull open like a piñata. But instead of candy, it showered Masseri’s shoes with bits of bone and clumps of grey matter.

Payne hoped that shot would deliver a message.

If you want to live, you better leave now.

You don’t know who you’re messing with.

If the numbers had been even, Masseri might have reconsidered his tactics against an accurate shooter like Payne, but due to the seemingly unlimited supply of men and weapons at his disposal, he decided to escalate the attack on the Monongahela Incline.

The black sedan roared down the opposite side of the street from the station, as if it were approaching a pit row. Masseri backed away as the car accelerated toward the curb in front of him. At the very last second the driver slammed on the brakes and the wheels squealed in protest. Three men dressed in suits jumped out of the vehicle. With their buzz cuts and stern demeanors, all three looked like soldiers from central casting.

These weren’t men who dealt in subtlety.

They were here for a battle.

Despite stopping on the side of a busy road, the driver opened the trunk of the sedan to reveal their arsenal: shotguns, rifles, grenades, rockets and even a flamethrower. If they couldn’t draw Sahlberg out, they could sure as hell bring the building – or all of Mount Washington – crashing down on top of him. Too bad they needed him alive, or they could really have fun.

‘The old man’s inside,’ Masseri announced. ‘He picked up a bodyguard along the way. So far he has taken out three men by himself. The guy is a crack shot.’

The driver considered the situation. ‘Let’s gas ’em out.’

His two associates nodded in agreement. They dug into the trunk and emerged with an armful of weapons including a modified grenade launcher that could fire multiple canisters of pepper spray using a rotary magazine. The police commonly used this type of ‘riot gun’ to disperse crowds. These men would use it to flush out their target.

Masseri stared at the three soldiers, who were wired and ready for action. ‘Remember: we need the old man
alive
. The bodyguard you can kill. Anyone else, use your discretion.’

The men smiled. There would be no discretion.

Wasting no time, the driver launched three tear-gas cartridges through the first-floor windows. A moment later, the cartridges detonated and noxious smoke began to fill the building.

Now all they had to do was wait.

Payne recognized the odor immediately. He knew everyone in the building would be choking and wheezing as soon as the gas made its way into their lungs.

‘Cover your nose and mouth,’ he ordered as the passengers began to panic.

The entire group – minus Sahlberg and the teenager – crowded into the upper tier of the car. They all wanted to put as much distance as they could between themselves and the tied-up men in the lowest level. The teenager sat alone in the middle section, brazenly taking pictures of the fiasco with his cell phone.

Sahlberg stayed in the stairwell with Payne, who waved his arms in front of the closed-circuit video camera, hoping someone would see him in the control booth at the upper station. After a few frantic gestures to get their attention, Payne pointed up the hillside. The doors instantly closed, and before long the cable car was leaving the station toward Mount Washington above.

That left only Payne and Sahlberg in the lower station.

‘Now what?’ Sahlberg asked.

Payne tore off his sleeve and held it up to Sahlberg’s face. ‘Breathe shallow, and keep your eyes shut as much as possible. And whatever you do, don’t panic. That’s when you suck in the most gas.’

‘What about you?’

‘I’ve been through so many drills over the years, I’m practically immune to this shit. Stay with me, and you’ll be fine.’

Then he took Sahlberg by the arm and led him up a narrow passageway to the storage area above the lobby. The air was better up there, but it wouldn’t stay that way for long.

‘You, to the left,’ the driver demanded as he motioned for one of the other men to take position along the left-hand wall of the building. ‘You, to the right.’

The men scurried in opposite directions, leaving Masseri and the driver to guard the front of the station.

Masseri knew the tear gas would force Sahlberg to flee the building, but he was worried that it would take too long. The actions of his team – the gunfire, the broken glass, the rising gas billowing from the windows – were sure to attract attention. It was only a matter of time before the police arrived to investigate. If the old man didn’t appear soon, he would order the men to go inside and drag him out.

Masseri watched as the two soldiers flanking the building crept along the painted brick wall, searching for any sign of Sahlberg or his bodyguard. Suddenly, the man on the left crumpled to the ground as a plume of pink mist erupted from the top of his head.

The shot from above was almost too easy. The man had stopped directly underneath the second-floor window that Payne had opened to get some fresh air.

If he had looked up, he might have seen Payne.

But he didn’t, so now he was dead.

Payne smiled and hustled to the front of the building. He peeked through the window and confirmed what he already knew: the reinforcements had arrived.

He took aim and fired again as the enemy retaliated.

Masseri watched as another soldier dropped to the ground.

Four shots, three kills
, he thought.

Who the hell is this guy?

Suddenly, the parameters of the mission had changed. Whoever was protecting Sahlberg was much more than a bodyguard. For each of his team’s moves, the guardian knew how to counter. It had taken the horrors of war for Masseri to develop these abilities, and he wondered if the shooter inside had survived similar atrocities.

‘Fall back,’ Masseri ordered.

‘We can take him!’ the driver argued.

‘Collect their weapons and leave,’ Masseri demanded. He didn’t care about the bodies. These soldiers were expendable fodder that couldn’t be traced back to him. The next-generation pistols, however, were a rare technology used by only a few manufacturers. It would take some digging, but a thorough investigation into the source of the equipment might lead back to him. Even worse, it might lead back to his boss.

Masseri feared few things in life.

His employer was one of them.

He slowly backed away, leaving the driver to retrieve the weapons from his dead colleagues before the police arrived.

Jones rounded the corner and spotted smoke drifting out of the lower station. The building seemed to ooze as tear gas found every crack in the windows and every bullet hole through the siding. He wondered if Payne was trapped somewhere inside.

Then he noticed the driver. He had scrambled from the side of the building and was halfway across the street. Jones had seen soldiers from around the globe, but few carried the sheer number of weapons this man did. He was holding a pistol in each hand. An Uzi dangled from a strap across his chest, bouncing against a bandolier of rocket-propelled grenades. The launcher itself was slung around his back.

Despite the numbness in his lower face, Jones recognized the enemy when he saw him. Even if he hadn’t been a trained operative, he had watched enough movies to know that a man with that much firepower on a city street was up to no good.

Their eyes locked, and the other man reacted. Jones accelerated just as the man opened fire. Bullets shattered the windshield and hit the grill of the SUV as Jones ducked for cover. But he never took his foot off the gas.

Frozen in a fit of rage, the driver of the sedan never stood a chance. Jones’s SUV slammed into him at more than fifty miles per hour, instantly shattering most of the bones in his body. His chest and face exploded as the impact whiplashed him into the hood of the truck. Blood and gore splattered over the front half of the SUV.