Kill Me if You Can - James Patterson [74]
Finally Adam came back on. “And a woman. Matt, it’s Katherine. She’s headed your way.”
I exhaled and gave the command I had been waiting to give all night. “Dispatch to all cabs—go to Position Bravo right now. Let’s do this.”
Chapter 87
THE NEXT THING I saw made me want to throw up.
Vadim Chukov—the short, fat, tattooed, asthmatic turd who had sat naked, sweating, and in total fear for his life that morning in the Russian and Turkish Baths—was walking down the wide marble passageway from 42nd Street. He was brimming with confidence, and he was arm in arm with Katherine.
I’d always told her that it was impossible for her to look anything but beautiful. Even when she wakes up with bedhead and no makeup, she exudes a beauty that comes from her soul.
But now that soul was badly damaged. I wanted to blame it all on the fat bastard at her side, but I knew the truth. It had started with me. First I brought Katherine into my life; then I dragged her into my world.
Chukov and Katherine stopped at the foot of the passageway. Two more Russian punks stood behind them. High above them was Old Glory—the giant American flag that had been suspended from the ceiling in those dark hours following the terrorist attacks on September 11, 2001.
Chukov spotted me instantly. Then he looked up at the vast expanse of stars and stripes—the flag I had fought for, the colors so many of my fellow Americans had laid down their lives for—and the Russian son of a bitch slowly extended his middle finger.
He looked back across the vast cavern of Grand Central and threw me a mock salute.
He took his phone from his pocket and dialed. Seconds later, my cell rang.
“I’m ready to do business,” he said. “Bring the diamonds here.”
“Send Katherine over here,” I said. “I’ll put the diamonds down and we’ll leave quietly.”
“Nyet. She’s not going anywhere until I see them,” Chukov said. “Start walking toward me. Nice and easy. I’ve got three guns pointed at you and three on her.”
I muted my cell.
“Ready to tango, boys?” I said softly.
Ty’s voice came back first. “In Position Bravo, dancing shoes on.”
Then Adam. “I was ready to stomp all over him as soon as he gave the flag the finger.”
Then Zach. “The rabbit and I are hopping mad. Let’s kick some Russian ass.”
There were about two hundred feet between Chukov and me. I started walking toward him. Operation Nighthawks was under way.
The city that never sleeps was living up to its name. Even though the crowds had thinned, there were still hundreds of people all around us—some chattering away upstairs in the restaurant, some waiting for a late-night Metro North commuter train, and a steady stream of straphangers on their way to catch a Lexington Avenue subway or the shuttle to Times Square.
“Lots of foot traffic,” Adam said.
“We’ve got a pair of eyes on the Vanderbilt balcony checking out the main floor,” Zach said. “A cop. I can’t tell if he’s focused on you or just staring into space.”
I was halfway there, a hundred feet to go. I didn’t look up at the cop. I just kept walking.
I could see Katherine clearly now. Her tan pants were stained with dirt and grease, her hair was matted from sweat, and her eyes were red, puffy, and filled with dread.
When I got thirty feet away, I stopped and unmuted my cell phone. “This is as far as I go, Chukov,” I said.
I put the phone down, unlatched the medical bag, tipped it forward, scooped up a fistful of rhinestones, and let them trickle through my fingers and run back into the bag.
A smile spread across his jowly mug, and I knew that the worthless glass had passed for the real thing. I closed the bag and picked up the phone.
“You wanted to see them?” I said. “You’ve seen them. Now send one of your men over here with Katherine and he can have the diamonds.”
Chukov hesitated.
“Don’t take too long,” I said. “There’s a cop on the west balcony who is starting to get interested in this little tableau, and I think we all should get out of here before he decides to ask embarrassing questions.”
Chukov looked up at the cop who was standing on the balcony.