The Book of Lies - Brad Meltzer [102]
“It’s in a prison?” Serena asks.
I wait for my father’s reaction, but he’s far too busy staring at the security monitors—and the familiar brown-haired woman who’s just appeared on-screen. Naomi’s here. Right outside the building.
66
Watching from the far corner of the parking garage, even Ellis had to admit he was impressed. From the moment Naomi spotted Cal’s rental car, she didn’t waste a second—popping its locks, sliding inside, and picking through the interior with the speed of a veteran thief.
From what she was saying to Scotty, it was the small, foldout rental car map that gave them away. There was a tiny black dot—from the point of a pen—on the library across the street. The Historical Society. No question, Cal’s destination.
Naomi went racing down the nearby stairwell, not once checking behind her, so it was easy for Ellis to follow. That was the problem with being desperate. It always made you sloppy.
And now, as Ellis reached the bottom steps and the cold spun like a tornado up the stairwell, Naomi was halfway across the street. Approaching the Historical Society building, she paused and looked up. Cameras, Ellis realized.
Naomi didn’t care. With a tug of the glass doors, she disappeared inside. Ellis waited a moment, then stepped out casually across the snow-lined street. No reason to run, he reasoned as he pulled out the jet injector. Everyone was finally in the same place. Both Cal and Naomi . . . he still owed them for what they did to Benoni.
Climbing the few front steps, Ellis kept his head down as he passed the camera, then gave his own sharp tug to the front glass door, which swung open and revealed a burst of heated air, dozens of antique cars, and—
The punch hit Ellis in the throat, nearly taking his head off. He stumbled back, falling to one knee. The next shot came from a kick, cracking him in the knuckles and sending his jet injector crashing to the marble floor, the vial of hemlock spilling everywhere.
“You think I’m a schmuck!?” Naomi exploded, her arm cocked back as she rushed forward and again swung down in full fury.
Ellis could taste the sour-sweet blood bubble at the back of his throat. He was still down on one knee. But this time he was ready.
And so was Naomi.
They each hit hard. With a thunderclap, a single shot rang out, booming and vibrating through the marble hallways.
Then it was over.
67
Was that a gunshot?” Pointy Goatee asked.
“Call the police,” his wife snapped.
“It was a gunshot, wasn’t it?”
“Just call them! Now!”
There was a loud scream in the distance, echoing down the long hallway.
“Now!” she insisted as her husband darted to the phone at the reference desk.
“Was that an explosion?” asked one of the library visitors, sticking his head out of the microfiche room.
“We’re calling the police right—”
“—all okay! It’s under control!” a voice yelled from the hallway. “Everything’s okay!”
In mid-dial, Pointy Goatee stared past the turnstiles as a set of footsteps grew increasingly louder. But it wasn’t until he saw the badge that he finally took a breath.
“Police! Relax! You’re all safe!” Ellis announced authoritatively, striding through the turnstile and making sure they got a good look at his uniform. “Sir, you can put down the phone, please. I’m here. There’s nothing to worry about.”
The librarian slid the phone back to its cradle, staring at the blood that ran down from Ellis’s nose.
“Thank you,” Ellis said, wiping it away with the back of his thumb as he scanned the library. “Now perhaps you can help with one last thing: I’m wondering if you’ve seen my friends.”
68
There was no pain. No burning. She didn’t feel anything. Not at first.
Indeed, as Naomi lay flat on her back, the blood puddle swelling below her, she simply stared up at the bottom of the World War II biplane that was hanging from the ceiling. She was seeing double now. Two. Two biplanes. Lucas . . . her son . . . Lucas would like those.
On her far right, down the hallway, there was screaming and panicking. Then another gunshot.