Undetectable (Great Minds Thriller) (48 page)

“What, Elias?”

“They
switched
him,” Elias said, and Kevin found himself impressed. The boy knew how to skip past needless details, knew how to cut straight to the meat of the issue. “He was in the first van, but they just now put him into the second.”

“You’re a
hero
,” Kevin said, and he returned his attention to the cell phone.

Elias, confident that he had successfully made his report to the nearest possible adult, stepped back to give Mr. Brooks space. He liked what Mr. Brooks had said. Frankly, he
did
feel like a hero.

Kevin scanned the contacts list: “Doctor,” “Assistance,” “Secondary,” “Central,” and “Tracking.” He could remember feeling confused by these names, but now they all made perfect sense to him. He pushed the contact labeled “Assistance” and held the phone to his ear. There was an immediate answer.

“Go.”

“Give me ambulance and fire on Lexington. You’ve got three south-bound white Ford vans, slow them down but do
not
try to stop them. I want a funnel until 56
^th
, then an apparent road block, use the fire engines. Let the first van break through, that’s LPN with a trailing 033. Let them keep going south. Divert number two west on 57
^th
, then north on Park. That’s LPN with last three digits 464, and I don’t give a shit about number three.
Do the northbound re-direct with lights
, do you understand? No barrier, just traffic flow. Keep Park Avenue on permanent green and they’ll merge uptown to keep moving. I’ll take it from there.”

“Got it.”

Kevin returned the phone to his pocket, and then he turned and began jogging back the way he had come, toward Park Avenue.

“Are you going to rescue Anselm?” Elias called.

“Yes,” Kevin called over his shoulder.

Elias smiled. “Okay, good.”

A Single Shot Through The Window

Kevin ran back past the main entrance. Danny was still there on the ground, surrounded now by a throng of students trying to help him, and Kevin didn’t slow down. He kept running until he came to Park, then turned left and headed downtown. He could hear the sound of sirens on Lexington, which was good. People were doing their jobs. He ran another three blocks south, to 71
^st
street, and then he stopped at the south-east corner and took out his cell phone.

Again he pushed the “Assistance” contact.

“Go.”

“I want the lights.”

“Hold on.”

Kevin waited for a minute, watching the steady stream of yellow taxi cabs pass by. A few of them hesitated when they saw him standing there, hoping for a fare, but Kevin waved them on.

The person on the other end came back. “Okay, what – ”

“Put it on the phone,” Kevin said.

“One second.”

Another cycle of lights. Another wave of taxi cabs.

“All set. You’ll see it. Grid.”

Kevin ended the call and brought the phone back to its main screen. He found the new program tile, a little icon of a red traffic light with the word “Grid” underneath. He pushed it, and his screen lit up with a layout of the whole city. He was able to zoom in, select any intersection or group of intersections, and then toggle the traffic lights there from red to yellow to green, with any order or timing he wanted.

He crossed
onto the median strip of Park A
venue, walked half-way down so that he was between 71
^st
and 72
^nd
street, and then he held out his hand. A taxi appeared beside him almost at once. The driver looked puzzled to be picking up a passenger from the no-man’s land of the Park Avenue median, but all he asked when Kevin climbed in was “
W
here to?”

“Sit right here,” Kevin said. The man turned and gave him a questioning glance, but Kevin shook his head. “We’ll double the meter,” he said. “And if you get a ticket I’ll give you a thousand dollars.”

The driver shrugged and put his hands back on the wheel. The thousand dollars for a ticket was an empty promise – the cops usually left Park Avenue alone in the mornings – but doubling the meter was better than nothing. He shifted the transmission into park and relaxed.

Kevin took out his phone, called up the contacts list, and then hit “Tracking.”

“Yes?”

“Do you have the second van? It’s LPN 646, should be north-bound on Park by now.”

“We don’t have eyes yet.”

“What? Why not? Get a helicopter in the air.”

“It’s restricted airspace. It’s Manhattan.”

“This is level
seven
, are you kidding? Get the – ”

“We don’t control the air force. They haven’t been briefed, and they’ll shoot us down before that information can – ”

“
So get shot down,
I don’t care. In the meantime, give me a location, tell me something.”

A pause.

“Spotters on the ground have the van at 63
^rd
street ten seconds ago. Heading north on Park Avenue. Fifteen seconds ago. Eighteen seconds – ”

“Quiet,” Kevin said, ending the connection. He brought up the traffic control application again, and then he twisted around in his seat to watch the approaching traffic.

He had a brief moment of uncertainty in which he thought the van might already have passed, but then he saw it. Three blocks away, and in no apparent rush. Just another white van on its way to a construction site or a fish market or a flower shop. It was in the middle lane, right where Kevin wanted it. He selected the intersection at 72
^nd
street, waited another moment, and then switched the light to yellow. Then to red.

The van came to a gentle, panic-free stop behind the two cars in front of it. Kevin could almost read the driver’s thoughts: no one seemed to be chasing them, and there was nothing at all on the police frequencies. Plus, the first van was busy speeding through intersections as fast as it could, doing its best to draw attention. Everything was going perfectly.

There was no reason to risk breaking any rules.

You came to a red light, you stopped like anybody else.

One car length behind and to the left of the van, Kevin stepped calmly from his taxi. He pulled Danny’s semi-automatic Smith & Wesson .45 from his back belt loop, walked up to the driver’s side door, and fired a single shot through the window. The bullet went straight through the man’s temple. He slumped over without a word, instantly dead, and Kevin brought the gun down quickly and fired a shot into the left front tire, which ruptured and went flat at once. The van canted forward, leaning over on the wheel’s now unprotected rim, but in the next moment the vehicle leapt away and turned as if it had been stung, smashing its way between the cars in front of it. Kevin danced out of the way, and then he sprinted for the side of the building on the east side of the street, his gun still out. The van broke into the intersection and then pulled a hard right, heading east onto the cross street between Park and Lexington.

Okay, good
, Kevin thought.
Operating on remote control now, as expected.

Kevin focused on his breathing, counting deliberately so that he could accurately gauge his timing. The no-pursuit illusion had been dispelled, and strategies were being re-evaluated. He would have to be very precise.

He counted.

One. They’ll need to neutralize whoever, two, just took out the driver –
me –
which means the doors, three, should be opening… now. And letting out, four, ground forces… now. And one of them should be, five, coming to the south side of the building…

Now.

Kevin stepped around the corner and fired in one quick motion, and the man there was flung backward just as he was settling into position.

But he’s not the only one. And his backup will see me…

Now.

Kevin scurried away from the building as the wall erupted in a barrage of machine-gun fire. He dove for the curb, and took cover behind the line of cars parked there.

Second man on the far side of the street. Much better weapons. Maybe a G36 or a TAR-21.

He peered carefully over the hood of the car he was behind, ignoring the whine of bullets zipping past him. The white van was still there, idling in the street. Its back doors were still open.

A trap.

It was fully controlled, which meant they – whoever they were – had
decided
to leave the doors open.

They want me to jump in there. They’ll close the doors on me, lock me in, and then I won’t be able to shoot any more tires. Then they can just drive to a midway point, execute me, and continue on their way.

He waited for the machine-gun fire to pause, which would be his cue to run to the van.

The machine-gun fire paused.

Kevin shut his eyes, plugged up his ears, and used the moment to go through every other conceivable scenario. It took several minutes, but not as far as the rest of the world was concerned. The clocks stopped.

No, this is my only shot. There are other scenarios, but too many of them end with Anselm dumped into the East River.

He opened his eyes, came out from cover, and sprinted for the van. The second man resumed firing, herding Kevin through the doors like a shepherd who had swapped his whistle for a machine gun. Kevin landed with a thump on the floor of the van. His eyes adjusted to the dimness, and there was Anselm. He was strapped to the side wall of the van like a fragile piece of furniture. His arms, legs, and mouth were securely taped.

The doors of the van swung closed immediately, and the vehicle sped away, its front left tire rim bouncing and gnawing into the pavement. It was not a smooth ride.

“Good morning, Anselm,” Kevin said into the newly dark cargo space.

There was a muffled reply.

“I know,” Kevin said. “We’re trapped. That’s all right. They’ll have to switch you into a different vehicle shortly, which will require, as a first step, opening the doors and shooting me.”

Anselm did not try to reply this time. The scenario Mr. Brooks had outlined did not
sound
all right.

“You’ll be fine,” Kevin said. “I’m ready for this.”